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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>THE HEART LINE</title> -<meta name="PG.Released" content="2015-05-17" /> -<meta name="DC.Created" content="1907" /> -<meta name="PG.Title" content="The Heart Line" /> -<meta name="PG.Rights" content="Public Domain" /> -<meta name="MARCREL.ill" content="Lester Ralph" /> -<link rel="coverpage" href="images/img-cover.jpg" /> -<meta name="DC.Title" content="The Heart Line A Drama of San Francisco" /> -<meta name="DC.Creator" content="Gelett Burgess" /> -<meta name="DC.Language" content="en" /> -<meta name="PG.Producer" content="Al Haines" /> -<meta name="PG.Id" content="48984" /> - -<link href="http://purl.org/dc/terms/" rel="schema.DCTERMS" /> -<link href="http://id.loc.gov/vocabulary/relators/" rel="schema.MARCREL" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.title" content="The Heart Line A Drama of San Francisco" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.source" content="/home/ajhaines/heart/heart.rst" /> -<meta scheme="DCTERMS.RFC4646" name="DCTERMS.language" content="en" /> -<meta scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" name="DCTERMS.modified" content="2015-05-17T17:37:49.189794+00:00" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.publisher" content="Project Gutenberg" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.rights" content="Public Domain in the USA." /> -<link href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/48984" rel="DCTERMS.isFormatOf" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.creator" content="Gelett Burgess" /> -<meta name="MARCREL.ill" content="Lester Ralph" /> -<meta scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" name="DCTERMS.created" content="2015-05-17" /> -<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="the-heart-line"> -<h1 class="center document-title level-1 pfirst title"><span class="x-large">THE HEART LINE</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: The Heart Line -<br /> A Drama of San Francisco -<br /> -<br />Author: Gelett Burgess -<br /> -<br />Release Date: May 17, 2015 [EBook #48984] -<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>THE HEART LINE</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 coverpage"> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 76%" id="figure-91"> -<span id="cover-art"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="Cover art" src="images/img-cover.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">Cover art</span></div> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="align-None container frontispiece"> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 68%" id="figure-92"> -<span id="he-took-her-hand-testing-its-quality-and-texture-page-52"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="He took her hand, testing its quality and texture Page 52" src="images/img-front.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">He took her hand, testing its quality and texture Page </span><a class="italics reference internal" href="#id1">52</a></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">THE HEART LINE</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics x-large">A DRAMA OF SAN FRANCISCO</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics medium">By</em></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">GELETT BURGESS</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="small">Author of -<br />The White Cat, Vivette -<br />A Little Sister of Destiny, etc.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">LESTER RALPH</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">NEW YORK -<br />GROSSET & DUNLAP -<br />PUBLISHERS</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 -<br />THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="small">OCTOBER</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="align-None container dedication"> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">TO MAYSIE -<br />WHO KNEW THE PEOPLE -<br />AND -<br />LOVED THE PLACE</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">IN MEMORY OF -<br />THE CITY THAT WAS</span></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"><a class="reference internal" href="#prologue">Prologue</a></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span>I </span><a class="reference internal" href="#the-palmist-and-fancy-gray">The Palmist and Fancy Gray</a><span> -<br />II </span><a class="reference internal" href="#tuition-and-intuition">Tuition and Intuition</a><span> -<br />III </span><a class="reference internal" href="#the-spider-s-nest">The Spider's Nest</a><span> -<br />IV </span><a class="reference internal" href="#the-paysons">The Paysons</a><span> -<br />V </span><a class="reference internal" href="#the-rise-and-fall-of-gay-p-summer">The Rise and Fall of Gay P. Summer</a><span> -<br />VI </span><a class="reference internal" href="#side-lights">Side Lights</a><span> -<br />VII </span><a class="reference internal" href="#the-weaving-of-the-web">The Weaving of the Web</a><span> -<br />VIII </span><a class="reference internal" href="#illumination">Illumination</a><span> -<br />IX </span><a class="reference internal" href="#coming-on">Coming On</a><span> -<br />X </span><a class="reference internal" href="#a-look-into-the-mirror">A Look Into the Mirror</a><span> -<br />XI </span><a class="reference internal" href="#the-first-turning-to-the-left">The First Turning to the Left</a><span> -<br />XII </span><a class="reference internal" href="#the-first-turning-to-the-right">The First Turning to the Right</a><span> -<br />XIII </span><a class="reference internal" href="#the-bloodsucker">The Bloodsucker</a><span> -<br />XIV </span><a class="reference internal" href="#the-fore-honeymoon">The Fore-Honeymoon</a><span> -<br />XV </span><a class="reference internal" href="#the-re-entrant-angle">The Re-Entrant Angle</a><span> -<br />XVI </span><a class="reference internal" href="#tit-for-tat">Tit for Tat</a><span> -<br />XVII </span><a class="reference internal" href="#the-materializing-seance">The Materializing Seance</a><span> -<br />XVIII </span><a class="reference internal" href="#a-return-to-instinct">A Return to Instinct</a><span> -<br />XIX </span><a class="reference internal" href="#fancy-gray-accepts">Fancy Gray Accepts</a><span> -<br />XX </span><a class="reference internal" href="#masterson-s-manoeuvers">Masterson's Manoeuvers</a><span> -<br />XXI </span><a class="reference internal" href="#the-sunrise">The Sunrise</a></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><a class="reference internal" href="#epilogue">Epilogue</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="prologue"><span class="bold x-large">THE HEART LINE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">PROLOGUE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>In the year 1877 the Siskiyou House, originally a -third-class hotel patronized chiefly by mining men, -had fallen into such disrepute that it was scarcely -more than a cheap tenement. Its office was now -frankly a bar-room; beside it, a narrow hallway -plunged into the shabby, shadowy interior; here a -steep stairway rose. Above were disconsolate rooms -known to the police of San Francisco as the -occasional resort of counterfeiters, confidence workers -and lesser knaves; to the neighborhood the Siskiyou -Hotel had a local reputation as being the home of -Madam Grant, who occupied two rooms on the second -floor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her rooms were slovenly and squalid—almost -barbarous in the extremity of their neglect. Upon the -floor was a matted carpet of dirt and rubbish inches -deep, piled higher at the corners, uneven with lumps -of refuse, bizarre with scraps of paper, cloth and -tangled strings.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the rear room an unclean length of burlap was -stretched across a string, half concealing a disordered, -ramshackle cot, whose coverings were ragged, soiled -and moth-eaten. A broken chair or two leaned crazily -against the wall. The dusty windows looked -point-blank upon the damp wall of an abutting wooden -house. There had once been paper upon the walls; -it was now torn, scratched and rubbed by grimy -shoulders into a harlequin pattern of dun and greasy -tones.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The front room, through the open rolling doors, -was, if possible, in a still worse state of decay, and -here wooden and paper boxes, tin cans, sacks of -rags (doing service for cushions), a three-legged -table and a smoked, rusty oil-stove, with its complement -of unclean pots and dishes, showed the place, -abominable as was its aspect, to be a human abode. -A print or two, torn from some newspaper or -magazine, was pinned to the wall in protest against the -sordidness of the interior. The place gave forth a -fetid and moldy smell. The air was damp, though -the sun struggled in through cracked panes, half -lighting the apartment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was, however, one piece of furniture, glossily, -splendidly new, incongruously set amidst the -disorder—an oak bookcase, its shelves well filled with -volumes. Seated upon a cracker box in front of its -open doors, this afternoon, a boy of eight years sat -reading with rapt excitement the story of </span><em class="italics">Gulliver's -Travels</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He, too, seemed strangely set in that environment, -for he was clean and sweet in person and dress. His -hair was black and waving, his eyes deep blue, clear -and shrewd. His cheeks were pink and gently -dimpled, his mouth ample, firm and well-cut, over a -square, deeply cleft chin. He was patently a -handsome child, virile, graceful, determined in his pose. -His natural charm was made more picturesque by a -blue flannel suit, with white collar, cuffs and stockings. -Oblivious to his extraordinary surroundings, he read -on until he had finished the book.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He rose then, yawned and walked to the window in -the front room to look out upon the street. Opposite -was a row of low buildings—a stable, a Chinese -laundry, two dreary rooming-houses and a saloon. The -roof-line of the block, where the false wooden fronts, -met the sky, held his gaze for a few moments. A -horse-car lumbered lazily past, and his eyes fell to -the cobble-paved thoroughfare and its passers-by. To -the left, Market Street roared bustling a block away -and the throngs swept up and down. To the right, a -little passage starting from two saloons, one on each -corner of the street, penetrated the slums. The warm, -mellow California sunlight bathed the whole scene, -picking out, here and there, high lights on -window-glass that shot forth blinding sparks and flashes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The boy yawned again, his hands in his pockets, -then turned to the sooty oil stove and peered rather -disgustedly amongst the frying-pans, tins and -pasteboard boxes. There was nothing in the way of food -to be found. He sniffed fastidiously at the corrupt -odor of cooking, then knelt upon the floor and began -a search, crawling gingerly on hands and knees. The -ends of three matches projected slightly above the -surface of the matted layers of rubbish. Here he -scraped the dirt away with a case-knife and came -upon a little paper-wrapped parcel which, opened, -disclosed three bright twenty-five-cent pieces. He -wrapped them up again, tucked them into the hole in -the dirt and went on with his quest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His next find, a foot or so from the base-board of -the double doors, was a </span><em class="italics">cache</em><span> containing a -pearl-handled pen-knife. He put it back. Here and there -in the subsoil he came upon other treasure trove, each -article carefully wrapped in paper or bits of rag—a -jet ear-ring, a folded calendar, a silver chain, two -watches, a dozen screw-eyes, several five-dollar gold -pieces, a roll of corset laces. He returned them one -by one as he found them, and smoothed the dirt over -the place.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had nearly exhausted the field in the front room, -when he came upon a small paper bag containing a -few macaroons. These he sat down to eat, first -brushing off feathery bits of green mold. He -discovered another bag containing peanuts. He chewed -them slowly, throwing the shells upon the floor, his -eyes wandering, his air abstracted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Leading off the front room was a smaller one whose -door was shut. He opened it now, and went in -somewhat fearfully. Here was another cot drawn up in -front of the window, and, upon nails driven in the -wall, women's hats and dresses. Upon the inside of -the door was pinned a stained, yellowing newspaper -cut—the portrait of a man perhaps thirty years old, -with mustache and side-whiskers and a wide flowing -collar. Beneath it was printed the name, "Oliver -Payson." The boy gazed at it curiously for some -moments.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>From this, he turned to a corner where stood an -old trunk covered with cowhide whose hair was -rubbed off in mangy spots. Corroded brass-headed -nails held a rotting, pinked flap of red leather about -the edge of the cover. On the top of the trunk, also -in brass-headed nails, were the letters "F.G."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stooped over and tried the lid. The trunk was -locked. He lifted it, testing its weight, and found it -too heavy to be budged. He rubbed the hair with his -hand, played with the handles and fingered the lock -longingly; then, after a last look, he left the room and -closed the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had gone back to the bookcase and taken down -a volume of Montaigne's </span><em class="italics">Essays</em><span>, when he heard a -knock on the door of the back room leading into the -hallway. He unlocked the door, opened it a few -inches and stood guarding the entrance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A woman of middle age in a black bonnet, shawl -and gown attempted to pass him. He stood stiffly in -her way, regarding her harsh, sour visage, thin, cruel -lips and pale, humid, bluish eyes. At his resolute -defense her attitude weakened.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ain't Madam Grant to home?" she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, she is not. What do you want?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I just wanted to see her; you let me come in -and wait a while—she'll be back soon, I s'pose?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She doesn't allow me to let anybody in when she's -away," the boy protested.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, that's all right, Frankie; I'm a particular friend -of hers. I'll just come in and make myself to home -till she comes in. I'm all winded comin' up them steep -stairs, and I've got to set down."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sorry," the boy said more politely, "but I -mustn't let you in. I did let a lady in once, and Mamsy -scolded me for it. The next day we missed a watch, -too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My sakes! Does she keep her watches in the dirt -on the floor, too?" the woman said, her eyes sparkling -with curiosity. "You needn't worry about me, my -dear; everybody knows me, and trusts me, too. Besides, -my business is important and I've just </span><em class="italics">got</em><span> to see the -Madam, sure."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You may wait on the stairs, if you like, but you -can't come in here. She says that the neighbors are -altogether too curious." The remark was made deliberately, -as if to aid his defense by its rudeness. But -the woman's skin was tough.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're a pert one, you be!" she sniffed. "I'd like -to know what you do here all day, anyway. You -ought to be to school! We'll have to look after you, -young man; they's societies that makes a business of -seeing to children that's neglected like you, and takes -'em away where they can be taught an education and -live decent."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The boy's face changed to dismay. The tears came -into his eyes. "I don't </span><em class="italics">want</em><span> to go away, I want to -live here, and I'm going to, too! Besides, I can read -and write already, and I learn more things than you -can learn at school. I'd just like to see them take -me away!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you learn, now?" said the woman insinuatingly. -"Do you learn how to tell fortunes? Can you -tell mine, now? I'll give you a nickel if you will!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't want a nickel. I've got all the money I want!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you have, have you? How much have you -got? Say, I hear the Madam's pretty well fixed. -How much do you s'pose she's worth, now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can't work me that way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She put forth a shaky hand to stroke his dark hair, -and he warded her off. "Nor that way either!" he -said, beginning to grow angry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say, sonny, do you ever see the spirits here?" she -began again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, but I can smell 'em now," he replied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She burst out into a cackle of laughter. "Say, that's -pretty good! You're a likely little feller, you be. I -didn't mean no harm, noways."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean that you didn't mean any harm, don't -you?" he asked soberly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I don't mean no harm, sure I don't! What -d'you mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She says one shouldn't use double negatives."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's them, then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I mean you don't use good English," said the boy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't talk English? What do I talk -then—Dutch? What's the matter with you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I'm just studying grammar, that's all. Now -you see I don't need to go to school, the way you said. -Mamsy teaches me every night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, she does, does she? Well, well! I hear she -has a fine education; some say she's went to college, -even."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, she has. She went to a woman's college in -the East, once."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then what's she living in this pigsty for, I'd like -to know! It beats all, this room does. Let me come -in for a moment and just look round a bit, will you? -I won't touch nothing at all, sure."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The boy protested, and it might have come to a -physical struggle had not footsteps been heard coming -up the narrow stairway. The visitor peered over the -railing of the balusters.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's her!" she whispered hoarsely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A head, rising, looked between the balusters, like -a wild animal gazing through the bars of its cage. -It was the head of a woman of twenty-seven or eight, -and though her face had a strange, wild expression, -with staring eyes, she was, or had undoubtedly been, -a lady. Her hair, prematurely gray, was parted in -the center and brought down in waves over her ears. -Her eyebrows, in vivid contrast, were black; and -between them a single vertical line cleft her forehead. -What might have been a rare beauty was now distorted -into something fantastic and mysterious, though -when at rare intervals she smiled, a veil seemed to -be drawn aside and she became an engaging, familiar, -warm-hearted woman. She was dressed in a brilliant -red gown and dolman of mosaic cloth with a Tyrolean -hat of the period. Such striking color was, thirty -years ago, uncommon upon the streets, but, even had -it been more usual, the severity of her costume with -neither a bustle nor the elaborate ruffles and trimmings -then in vogue, would have made her conspicuous.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She came up, with a white face, gasping for breath -after her climb, one hand to her heart. For a moment -she seemed unable to speak. Then suddenly and -sharply she said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Francis, shut the door!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The boy obeyed, coming out into the hall, with a -hand still holding the knob.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The lady wanted me to let her in, but I wouldn't -do it, Mamsy," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madam Grant turned her eyes upon the apologetic, -cringing figure, whose thin, skinny fingers plucked at -her shawl.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I just called neighborly like, thinkin' maybe you'd -give me a settin', Madam Grant," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madam Grant had come nearer, now, and stood -gazing at her visitor. The expression of scorn had -faded from her face, her eyes glazed. She spoke -slowly in a deliberate monotone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your name is Margaret Riley."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The woman nodded. Her lips had fallen open, and -her eyes were fixed in awe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who are the three men I see beside you?" demanded -Madam Grant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They was only two! I swear to God they was only two!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is a little child, too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For the love of Heaven!" Mrs. Riley moaned. -"Send 'em away, send 'em away, tell 'em to leave -me be!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madam Grant's eyes brightened a little, and her -color returned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come in the room and I will see what I can do -for you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The three entered, Mrs. Riley, half terrified but -curious, darting her eyes about the apartment, -sniffing at the foul odor, her furtive glances returning -ever to the mad woman. Francis went to the -bookcase and resumed his reading without manifesting -further interest in the visitor. Madam Grant seated -herself upon a wooden box covered with sacking and -untied the strings of her hat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you want to know?" she asked sharply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I got three tickets in the lottery, and I want to -know which one to keep," Mrs. Riley ventured, -somewhat shamefaced.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madam Grant gave a fierce gesture, and the line -between her brows grew deeper. "I'll answer such -questions for nobody! That's the devil's work, not -mine. How did your three husbands die, Margaret -Riley?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The woman held up her hands in protest. "Two, -only two!" she cried; "and they died in their beds -regular enough. God knows I wore my fingers out -for 'em, too!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They died suddenly," Madam Grant replied impassively. -"Who's the other one with the smooth face—the -one who limps?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Riley coughed into her hands nervously. "It -might be my brother."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is not your brother. You know who it is, -Mrs. Riley; and he tells me that you must give back the -papers."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I'll give 'em back; I was always meanin' to -give 'em back, God knows I was! I'll do it this week."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In a week it will be too late."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll do it to-morrow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll do it to-day, Mrs. Riley."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will, oh, I will!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, if you want a sitting, I'll give you one," -Madam Grant continued. "That is, if I can get -Weenie. I can't promise anything. She comes and -she goes like the sun in spring."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never mind," said Mrs. Riley, rising abruptly. "I -think I'll be going, after all." She started toward -the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The clairvoyant's face had set again in a vacant, -far-away expression and her voice fell to the same -dead tone she had used before. She clutched her -throat suddenly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's in the water—he's drowning—he's passing -out now—he's gone! You are responsible, you! you! -You drove him to it with your false tongue and your -crafty hands. But you'll regret it. You'll pay for it -in misery and pain, Margaret Riley. Your old age -will be miserable. You'll escape shame to suffer -torment!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Riley's face, haggard and terrified, was working -convulsively. Without taking her eyes from the -medium, she ran into the front room and shook the -boy's shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wake her up, Frankie, I don't want no more of -this! Wake her up, dear, and let me go!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Francis arose lazily and walked over to Madam -Grant. He put his arm tenderly about her and -whispered in her ear.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come back, Mamsy dear! Come back, Mamsy, I -want you!" He began stroking her hands firmly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Riley, still gazing, fascinated, at the group, -backed out of the room and closed the door. Her -steps were heard stumbling down the stairs. Madam -Grant's eyes quivered and opened slowly. She -shuddered, then shook the blood back into her thin, white -hands. Finally she looked up at Francis and smiled. -"All right, dear!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her smile, however, lasted but for the few moments -during which he caressed her; then the veil fell upon -her countenance, and her eyes grew strange and hard. -She gazed wildly here and there about the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's that in Boston?" she asked suddenly, the -pitch of her voice sharply raised, as she pointed to -the shells upon the rubbish of the floor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Only some peanuts I was eating, Mamsy," said the -boy, guiltily watching her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Somebody has been in Toledo, somebody has been -in New York! I can see the smoke of the trains!" Her -eyes traveled around an invisible path, from -mound to mound of dirt and scraps, noticing the -slight displacements the boy had made in his quest for -food. He watched her sharply, but without fear.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, the train didn't stop, Mamsy; they were -express trains, you know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't tell me, don't tell me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She pointed with her slender forefinger here and -there. "New Orleans is safe; New Orleans is always -a safe, strait-laced old town; but the place isn't what -it was! They've left the French quarter now to the -Creoles, but I know a place on Royal Street where -the gallery whispers—O God! that gallery with the -magnolia trees—and the leper girl across the street -in the end room!" Her voice had sunk to a harsh -whisper; now it rose again. "Chicago—all right. I -wouldn't care if it weren't. Baltimore—</span><em class="italics">he</em><span> never was -in Baltimore. But what's the matter with Denver? -Somebody's been to Denver!" She turned her gaze -point-blank upon Francis.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He met it fairly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no, Mamsy, nobody ever goes to Denver, -Mamsy dear!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She knelt down and groped tentatively, sensitively, -across the layer of dust that sloped toward the corner, -by the bay-window. She turned, still on all-fours, to -shake her finger at him, and say solemnly: "Don't -ever go to Denver, Francis! Denver's a bad place, -a very wicked place. They gamble in Denver, they -gamble yellow money away." She arose, apparently -either satisfied or diverted in her quest, to turn her -back to the boy and look inside the bag she had been -holding.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go outside, Francis!" she commanded, after -fumbling with its contents.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He walked to the door and passed into the hall. -Here he waited, listening listlessly, drumming softly -upon the railing. The room was silent for a while; -then he heard a muffled pounding, as of one stamping -down the surface of the matted dirt. At last she -called him and he went in again. Madam Grant's -face was placid and kind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She proceeded to occupy herself busily at the little -oil stove, putting into the greasy frying-pan some chops -which she had brought home with her. The spluttering -and the pungent odor of the frying fat soon filled -the two rooms. She cut a few slices from a loaf of -stale bread, and set the meager repast forth upon the -top of a wooden box.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come and have dinner, Francis!" she said, with a -sweet look at him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That the boy was far older than his years was -evident by the way he watched her and took his cue -from her, humoring her in her madder moments, -restraining her in her moods of mystic exaltation, -pathetically affectionate during her lucid intervals. -She was in this last phase now, and from time to -time, in the course of their meal, his hand stole to -hers. Its pressure was softly returned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What have you read to-day?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I finished </span><em class="italics">Gulliver</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What did you think of it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, somehow, it seemed just like it might be true."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">As if</em><span> it might be true, Francis—what did I tell -you?" Her tone grew severe, almost pedagogic. -"You must be careful of your talk, my boy! Never -forget; it is important. You'll never get on if you're -careless and common. You will often be judged by -your speech. What else did you read?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I tried Montaigne's </span><em class="italics">Essays</em><span>, but I couldn't understand -much. It seemed so dull to me. But there's one, -</span><em class="italics">Whether the Governor of a Place Besieged Ought -Himself to go out to Parley</em><span>. I like that!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madam Grant laughed. "I'd like to have known -Montaigne; he was a kind of old maid, but he was a -modern, after all; common sense will do if you can't -get humor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where did you get all these books, Mamsy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her face grew blank again; her eyes wandered. -She recited in a sort of croon:</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Heard, have you? what? they have told you he never</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>repented his sin.</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>How do they know it? are they his mother? are you of</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>his kin?"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>A frightened look came on the boy's face and his -hand went to hers again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mamsy, Mamsy!" he cried. "Come back, Mamsy! -I want you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned to him as if she had never seen him -before. "Oh!" she said, and drew aside. Then: "You -mustn't ask questions, my boy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I won't, Mamsy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're a good little boy and you came out of the -dark," she pursued.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Out of the dark?" he repeated, tempting her on. -His curiosity was manifest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you remember?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not sure. They was a place—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There was a place," she corrected.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There was a place where they beat me, and I ran -away, and I found you, and you were good to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, it is you who have been good—I'm not good; -I'm bad, Francis."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know you're good, Mamsy, because you teach -me to do everything right, and I love you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With a quick impulse she clasped him to her, but -even as she did so, her face changed again, this time -with an expression of pain. She put her hand to her -heart suddenly and moaned. He watched her in terror.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Get the bottle!" she commanded huskily, dropping -to the floor, to support herself on her elbow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He ran to a little bath-room beside the closet, -brought a bottle and spoon, poured out a dose of the -medicine and put it to her lips. Finally she sat up, -listening.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Somebody's coming. </span><em class="italics">She</em><span> is coming! Come here, -Francis! Quickly!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Taking him by the hand, she led him to the closet -in the back room, pushed him inside, closed the door -and locked it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was dark in the closet, but he knew its contents -as well as if he could see them. Upon a row of -shelves were account-books and papers covered with -dust. On nails in the wall his own small stock of -clothes hung, and in a wooden box on the floor were -his playthings—blocks, a wooden horse, several -precious bits of twine and leather, a collection of spools -and a toy globe. He sat down on this box patiently -and waited.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Presently there came a knock at the hall door. -Madam Grant opened it and some one entered. He -heard his guardian's voice saying:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come in, Grace, here I am, such as I am, and here -you are, such as you are." Then her voice changed, -becoming tremulous and excited. "Ah, but she's -beautiful! May I kiss her, Grace? Oh, what eyes! -Her father's eyes, aren't they? Don't be afraid, -Grace, let her come to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a reply in a soft voice which Francis -could not make out, as they passed into the front -room. He tried to peep through the keyhole, but as -the key had been left in, he could see nothing. He -sat down upon the box again to wait, playing with -his toy globe. After a while he noticed a thin streak -of light admitted by a crack in the panel of the door, -and rose to see if he could see through it. At the -height of his eye it was too narrow to show him -anything in the room, but farther up it widened. He -pulled down several account-books from the shelves -and piled them upon the box. Standing tiptoe upon -these, he found that he could get a clear though -limited view of the bay-window.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Here a little girl sat quietly, vividly illuminated in -the sunshine. She was scarcely more than four years -of age and was dressed in a navy blue silk frock whose -collar and pockets were elaborately trimmed with -ruffles of white satin and bows of ribbon. She wore -a white muslin cap decorated with ribbon, lace and -rosebuds; white stockings showed above her high -buttoned boots; her hair was a truant mass of -fine-spun threads, curling, tawny yellow. Her face was -round, her eyes extraordinarily wide apart under level, -straight brows. What caught and held his attention, -however, as he watched, was a velvety mole upon her -left cheek, so placed as to be a piquant ornament rather -than a disfigurement to her countenance. She sat -listening, tightly holding a woolly lamb in her plump -little arms. The two women were out of his range -of vision.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The steady low sound of voices came to him, but -he made no attempt to listen—his attention was -riveted upon the figure of the little girl who was sharply -focused, as in an opera-glass, directly in his field of -view. Occasionally, as she was spoken to, she smiled, -and her cheek dimpled; but she seemed to be looking -at him, through the door. She scarcely moved her -eyes, but kept them fixed in his direction, as if -conscious of an invisible presence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The women talked on. Occasionally Madam Grant's -voice rose to a more excited note, and a few words -came to him, betraying to his knowledge of her that -her mood had been interrupted by her customary -vagaries. At such times the little girl would -withdraw her glance to gaze solemnly in Madam Grant's -direction; she showed, however, no signs of alarm. -It seemed, indeed, as if the little girl understood, even -as he understood, the temporary aberration. Then her -eyes would return to his, as if drawn back by his gaze.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So the scene lasted for a half-hour, during which -time he caught no glimpse of the other visitor. At -last a hand was outstretched and the little girl rose. -Francis stepped down for a moment to rest himself -from his strained position; when he had put his eye -again to the crack she had passed out of his line of -sight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was to catch a few words more, however, before -the callers left.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm glad you came to-day," Madam Grant said. -"You were just in time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, are you going to leave here?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I'm going away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Felicia," the visitor said earnestly, "why won't you -let us take care of you? This is no place for you—it -is dreadful to think of you here! Now, while you -are able to talk to me, do let me do something for you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No; it's too late. Besides, there is Francis," said -Madam Grant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let Francis come, too. This is a terrible place -for a child. Look at this room—look at the filth and -disorder!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madam Grant's voice rose again. "Take her away, -take her away!" she cried raucously. "She'll go to -New York, she'll go to Toledo—I don't want her in -Toledo meddling! She'll be in New Orleans the first -thing you know; there she goes now! Take her away, -take her away!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The door closed. Francis heard the key turn in -the lock. Then there was the jarring sound of a fall -and finally all was still. He waited for some moments, -then he called out:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mamsy, let me out! let me out!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was no reply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mamsy!" he called out again. "Where are you? -Come and let me out, </span><em class="italics">please</em><span> let me out!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was still no answer to his pleadings. In -terror now, he pounded the panels, shook the handle -of the door, and then began to cry. Climbing upon -the box again, he caught sight of Madam Grant's -skirt. She was lying prone upon the floor. As he -wept on, she moved and began to crawl slowly toward -him. At last her hand groped to the door and the -key was turned in the lock. He burst out into her -arms.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The blood was gone from her tense, anguished face; -one hand clutched at her heart. She did not speak, -but gasped horribly for breath. There was no need -now for her to direct him. He poured out a dose of -medicine and forced it between her lips. He gave her -another spoonful; the drops trickled from her mouth -and stained the front of her crimson gown. Then, -with his assistance, she crept to his couch, pulled -herself upon it and lay down, groaning. He sat on the -floor beside her, stroking her hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For some time she was too weak to speak. Her -black eyebrows were drawn down, the cleft between -them was deep, like the gash of a knife. Her white -hair fell about her head in disorder. She drew a -ragged coverlid over her chest, as if suffering from -the cold, though the sun shone in upon her as she lay -and mercilessly illumined her desperate face. The -spasm of agony abated, and after some minutes she -breathed more freely. Then, with a sigh, her muscles -relaxed and her voice came clear and calm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must be a good boy, Francis," she began, -"for I am going away. It's all over now with the -worry and the puzzle and the pain. What will you -do, I wonder? Oliver might help, perhaps. Oliver -isn't so bad, down in his heart. He was fair enough. -There's money enough. Francis, when I fall asleep, -look in the trunk and hide the money, if you -can—don't let them get it away from you! Wait till I'm -asleep, though—the key is in my bag. What a fool -I was! I might have known. There was my grandmother, -she was mad, too. It may stop with me—oh, -she was a dear little thing, though!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who was the little girl, Mamsy?" Francis inquired, -his curiosity overcoming his fear for her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Born with a veil, born with a veil! I was a -seventh daughter, too—much good it did me! I could tell -others—who could tell me? Bosh! it's all rubbish—we'll -never know! fol-de-rol, Francis, it's all gammon—all -but Weenie. Weenie knows. Yellow hair, too; -it will grow gray soon enough!" Then, as if she had -just heard his question she broke our querulously, -"Where did </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> see her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I looked through a crack in the door, Mamsy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She pulled herself up in a frenzy of anger and shook -her finger at him. "Oh, you did, did you? You -snooping, sniping monkey! I'll tell you what you -were looking at, you were watching the train to New -York! You'll go to Toledo, will you? You won't -find anything there. Go to New Orleans; there's -plenty to find out in New Orleans! In Denver, too, -and way stations, but be careful, be careful! I was -born in Toledo." She sank back exhausted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't be worried, Mamsy," said Francis, attempting -to calm her. "I won't never go to Toledo, -Mamsy!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Won't never'!" She glared at him. "What did -I say about double negatives, boy? Two negatives -make a positive, two pints make a quart, two fools -make a quarrel, two quarrels make a fool. What -language! I was at Vassar, too—I was secretary of -my class! Oh, I want to see Victoria! She would -understand, I'm sure! Oh, Francis!" Her voice -dwindled away and her eyes closed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment she seemed to be asleep. Then a -sudden convulsion frightened him. She spoke again -without raising her lids.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, there's mother! Come and kiss me, mother! -Did Weenie send for you, mother? Oh, Weenie! -Who's the old man? Father? I never saw father on -this side, did I, Weenie? He passed out when I was -very little, didn't he? So many people! Why, the -room is full of them! Yes, I'm coming—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The boy was tugging frantically at her hand, calling -to her without ceasing, sobbing in his fright. He -succeeded at last in bringing her out of her trance and -she opened her eyes to stare at him. Her breath was -coming harder. With a great effort she reached for -the boy's head and pulled it nearer, gazing into his -frightened eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Poor Francis!" she gasped. "You've been so good, -dear—you've been my hope! Felicia Grant's hope! -You have no name, dear; take that one, instead of -mine—Francis Granthope—oh, this pain!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shan't I get you the medicine?" he asked, sobbing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, it's no use." She pushed him gently -away. "I'm going—to sleep—now— Don't call -me back, Francis; I want rest. Remember the -trunk—good-by!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She closed her eyes and rolled over on her side, -turning her face away from him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He waited half an hour in silence. Then he put his -hands to her arms softly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mamsy!" he said quietly but insistently. "Are -you asleep, Mamsy?" There was no answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He arose and looked for her leather bag. He -found it on the floor where she had fallen. Opening -it, he found inside a heterogeneous collection—strings, -hair-pins, peppermints, papers, a lock of hair in -an envelope, a photograph, several gold pieces, and -the key—he took it and tiptoed into the little side room -with excited interest. He had never looked inside the -trunk before and his eagerness made his hands tremble -as he unlocked it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On top was a tray filled with account-books and -papers, letters, folded newspapers and a mahogany -box. It was all he could do to lift it to get at what -was beneath. He struggled with it until he had tilted -it up and slid it down to the floor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Below was a mass of white satin and lace. He -lifted this piece by piece, disclosing a heavy wedding -gown, silk-lined, wrapped in tissue paper, and many -accessories of an elaborate trousseau—a half-dozen -pairs of silk stockings, a pair of exquisite white satin -slippers, a box of long white gloves, another of lace -handkerchiefs, dozens of mysterious articles of lingerie, -embroidered and lace-trimmed. In a lower corner was -a little, white vellum, gold-clasped prayer-book.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lastly he found a package securely wrapped in -brown paper; opening this, he discovered six crisp, -green packages of bank-notes. These he rewrapped -and slid them inside his full blue blouse. Then he put -everything back in order, replaced the tray and locked -the trunk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Finally he stole back to the form upon the couch. -"Mamsy, are you awake?" he whispered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was no answer, and he shook her shoulder -slightly. Then, as she made no reply, he leaned over -and looked at her face. Her eyes were open, fearfully -open, but they did not turn to his. They were set and -glazed with film.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A horror came over him now, and he shook her -with all his strength.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mamsy, Mamsy!" he cried. "Look at me, Mamsy! -What's the matter?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Still she did not look at him, or speak, or move. He -noticed that she was not breathing, and his fear -overcame him. He dropped her cold hand and ran -screaming out into the hall.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-palmist-and-fancy-gray"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER I</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE PALMIST AND FANCY GRAY</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Fancy Gray was the lady's name and the lady's hair -was red. Both were characteristic of her daringly -original character, for, as Fancy's name had once been -Fanny, Fanny's hair had once been brown. Further -indication of Miss Gray's disposition was to be found -in her eyebrows, which were whimsically arched, and -her mouth, which was scarlet-lipped and tightly held. -Another detail of significance was her green silk -stockings, rather artfully displayed to lend a harmony to -her dark green cloth tailor-made suit, which fitted like -a kid glove over Miss Gray's cunningly rounded little -body. Her eyes were brown and bright; they were as -quick as heliograph flashes, but could, when she -willed, burn as softly as glowing coals of fire. Her -face seemed freshly washed, her complexion was -translucently clear, modified only by the violet shadows -under her eyes and an imperceptible tint of fine down -on her upper lip. Her hands, well beringed and well -kept, were fully worth the admiration which, by her -willingness to display them to advantage, she seemed -to expect on their account.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In New York, a good guesser would have put her -age at twenty-three; but, taking into account the -precocious effect of the California climate, nineteen -might be nearer the mark. She was, at all events, a -finished product; there was no evidence of diffidence -or </span><em class="italics">gaucherie</em><span> about Fancy Gray. She appeared to be -very well satisfied with herself. If, as she evidently -did, she considered herself beautiful, her claim would -undoubtedly be acknowledged by most men who met -her for the first time. On those more fastidious, she -had but to smile and her mouth grew still more generous, -showing a double line of white teeth, those in the -lower jaw being set slightly zigzag, as if they were -so pretty that it had been wished to put in as many as -possible—her cheeks dimpled, her eyes half closed—and -she triumphed over her critic. For there was -something more dangerous than beauty in that smile; -there was an elfin humor that captured and -bewildered—there was warmth and welcome in it. It made -one feel happy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she sat at her desk in the waiting-room she could -look across the corner of Geary and Powell Streets to -catch the errant eye of passing cable-car conductors, -or gaze, in abstraction, at pedestrians crossing Union -Square, or at the oriental towers of the Synagogue -beyond. With the bait of a promising smile, she -caught many an upward glance. Fancy Gray was not -in the habit of hiding her charms, and she levied -tribute to her beauty on all mankind. She gazed upon -women, however, far less indulgently than upon men; -never was there a more captious observer of her sex. -A glance up and a glance down she gave; and the -specimen was classified, appraised, appreciated, -condemned, condoned or complimented. Not a pin missed -her scrutiny, not a variation of the mode escaped her -quest for revealing evidence. A woman could hardly -pass from contact with Fancy's swift glance without -being robbed, mentally, of everything worth while that -she possessed in the matter of novelty in fashion or -deportment. Fancy appropriated the ideas thus gained, -and made use of them at the earliest opportunity. -The waiting-room bore, upon the outside, the legend:</span></p> -<pre class="literal-block"> -<span>+------------------------------+ -| | -| FRANCIS GRANTHOPE, PALMIST | -| | -+------------------------------+</span> -</pre> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Inside, where Fancy sat daily from ten to four, the -apartment was walled and carpeted in red. Upon -the walls, painted wooden Chinese grotesque masks, -grinning or scowling against the fire-cracker paper, -hung, at intervals, from black stained woodwork. -Between the two windows was a plaster column -bearing the winged head of Hypnos; at the other end of -the room was a row of casts of hands hanging on -hooks against a black panel. The desk in the corner -was Fancy's station, and here she murmured into the -telephone, scribbled appointments in a blank-book, read -</span><em class="italics">The Second Wife</em><span>, gazed out into the green square, -or manicured her nails—according as the waiting-room -chairs were empty, or occupied with men or with -women. Whatever company she had, she was never -careless of the light upon her or the condition of -her tinted hair.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It was a cool, blustering afternoon in August. -San Francisco was at its worst phase. The wind -was high and harsh, harassing the city with its -burden of dust. Over the mountains, on the -Marin shore, a high fog hung, its advance guard -scudding in through the Golden Gate, piling over -the hills by the Twin Peaks and preparing its -line of battle for a general assault upon the -peninsula at nightfall. In the streets men and women -clung to their hats savagely as they passed gusty -corners, and coat collars were turned up against the -raw air. Summer had, so far, spent its effort in four -violently hot days, when the humid atmosphere made -the temperature unbearable. Now the weather had -flung back to an extreme as unpleasant; open fires -were in order. There was one now burning in -Granthope's reception-room, to which Fancy Gray -made frequent excursions. She was there, making a -picture of herself beside the hearth, having resolutely -held her pose for some time in anticipation of his -coming, when Francis Granthope arrived.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Tall, erect and able-bodied, with the physique of an -athlete, and a strong, leonine head covered with crisp, -waving, black hair, Francis Granthope had the complement -of the actor's type of looks; but his alertness of -carriage and his swift, searching glance distinguished -him from the professional male beauty. Fine eyes of -deep, rich blue, fine teeth often exposed in compelling -smiles, a resolute mouth and a firm, deeply cleft chin -he had; and all these attractions were set off by his -precise dress—gloves, bell-tailed overcoat, sharply -creased trousers, varnished boots and silk hat. A -short mustache, curling upward slightly at the ends, -and a small, triangular tuft of hair on his lower lip -gave him a somewhat foreign aspect. He had an air, a -manner, that kept up the illusion. Men would perhaps -have distrusted him as too obviously handsome; women -would talk about him as soon as he had left the room. -Stage managers would have complimented his "presence"; -children would have watched him, fascinated, -reserving their judgment. He seemed to fill the room -with electricity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He sent a smile to Fancy, half of welcome, half of -amusement at her picturesque posture, and, with -cordial "Good morning!" in a mellow barytone, removed -his overcoat and hat, putting them into a closet near -the hall door. He reappeared in morning coat, white -waistcoat and pin-checked trousers, with a red -carnation in his buttonhole. He held his hands for a -moment before the fire, then looked indulgently at his -blithe assistant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now, one of Fancy's charms was a slender, pointed -tongue. This she was wont to exhibit, on occasion, -by sticking it out of her mouth coquettishly, and -shaking it saucily in the direction of her nostrils—a -joyous exploit which was vouchsafed only upon rare -and intimate occasions. This, now, she did, tilting her -head backward to give piquancy to the performance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope laughed, and went over to where she sat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're a saucy bird, Fancy," he commented, -leaning over her, both hands upon the desk. "Do you -know I rather like you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her face grew drolly sober; her whimsical eyebrows -lifted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know as I blame you," she replied. "You -always did have good taste, though."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I believe that I might go so far as to imprint a -salute upon your chaste brow!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I accept!" said Fancy Gray.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stooped over and kissed her. She was graciously -resigned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you, Frank," she said demurely. "Small -contributions gratefully received." She tucked her -head into the corner of his arm, and he looked down -upon her kindly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Poor little Fancy!" he said softly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you missed me, Frank?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Horribly!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't laugh at me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How can I help it, O toy queen?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Am I so awfully young?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're pretty juvenile, Fancy, but you'll grow up, -I think."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was quite sober now. "Oh, there's an awful -lot of time wasted in growing up," she said. Then -she squirmed her head so that she could look upward -at him. "You've been awfully good to me, Frank!" Her -tone was wistful.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You deserve more than you will ever get, I'm -afraid," was his answer as he patted her hair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think you do like me a little."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He shook his finger at her. "No fair falling in love!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed. "I believe you're afraid, Frank!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know what I'd do without you, Fancy. -We've been through a good deal together, first and -last, haven't we?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, we've had a good time. I'd like to do it all -over again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Heavens, no!" he exclaimed. "I wouldn't! There's -enough ahead. From what I've seen of life, things -don't really begin to happen till you're thirty, at least. -All this will seem like a dream."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sometimes I hope it will." Fancy was looking -away, now. Her gaze returned to him after a moment -of silence. "Don't you ever think of getting out of -this, Frank? You're too good for these fakirs, really -you are! Why, you could mix with millionaires, easy! -And you've got a good start, now. They like you. -You've got the style and the education and the 'know' -for it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He went back to the fireplace, standing there with -his hands behind his back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, this is amusing enough. What does it matter, -anyway? There are as big fools and shams in society -as there are in my business. Look at the women that -come down here, and the things they tell me! Why, -I know them a good deal better now than I should if -I were on their calling-lists and took tea with them! -But you are right, in a way. I suppose some day I -must quit this and take to honest theft."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't say that, Frank! I hate you when you're -cynical."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What else can I be, in my profession?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I do want you to quit, Frank, really I do, and -yet, I hate to think of it. What should I do? I'd lose -you sure! I could never make good with the swells. -I'm only a drifter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you can't lose me, Fan; we've pulled together -too long. You could make good all right. You've got -a pose and a poise that some ladies would give their -teeth for. I don't believe you've ever really been -surprised in your life, have you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I guess not." Fancy shook her head thoughtfully. -"When I </span><em class="italics">am</em><span> surprised, it'll be a woman who'll do it. -No man can, that's sure."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. I fancy you know all there is to know about -men. I wish I did. You'll do, Fancy Gray!" He -approached her and playfully chucked her under the -chin. Then he looked at her gravely. "I wonder why -you're willing to drudge along here with me, anyway. -You could get a much better position easily—with -your face—and brains."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">And</em><span> figure. Don't forget that!" Fancy shook -her finger at him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes." He looked her over approvingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No woman ought to be blue with a figure like mine, -ought she?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed. "I can't imagine your ever being blue, -Fancy!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy opened her eyes very wide.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's a whole lot you don't know about women -yet," she said sagely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's likely."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Am I to understand that I'm fired, then?" She -tried to appear demure.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not yet. I'm only too afraid you'll resign. It's -queer you don't get married. You must have had lots -of chances. Why don't you, Fancy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I never explain," said Fancy. "It only wastes -time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He went over to her again and very affectionately -boxed her ears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She freed herself, and turned her face up to him. -"Frank," she said, "do you think I'm pretty?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're too pretty—that's the trouble!" he answered, -smiling, as at a familiar trait.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, but really—do you honestly think so?" Her -face had again grown plaintive.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Fancy. Far be it from me to flatter or cajole -with the compliments of a five-dollar reading, but as -between friends, and with my hand on my heart, I -assert that you are beautiful."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't mean that at all," said Fancy. "I want to be -</span><em class="italics">pretty</em><span>. That's what men like—pretty girls. Beautiful -women never get anywhere except into the divorce -courts. Do say I'm pretty!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fancy, you know I'm a connoisseur of women. -You are actually and absolutely pretty."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, that's a great relief, if I can only believe you. -I have to hear it once a day, at least, to keep up my -courage. Now that's settled, let's go to work."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He went back to the fireplace and yawned. "All -right. What's doing to-day?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Full up, except from eleven to twelve."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who are they?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy jauntily flipped open the appointment book -and ran her forefinger down the page.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ten o'clock, stranger, Fleurette Heller. Telephone -appointment. Girl with a nice voice."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Be sure and look at her," Granthope remarked; "I -may want a tip."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ten-thirty, Mrs. Page."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope smiled and Fancy smiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you remember what I told her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy looked puzzled. "What do you mean? About -her husband?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, not that. The last time she came I tried a -psychological experiment with her. I told her that -normally she was a quiet, restrained, modest, discreet -woman, but that at times her emotional nature would -get the better of her; that she couldn't help breaking -out and would suddenly let go. I thought she was -about due this week. There's been something doing -and she wants to tell me about it to appease her -conscience. Give them what they want, and anything -goes!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy listened, frowning, the point of her pencil -between her lips. "You don't need any of my tips on -Mrs. Page," she said with sarcasm. "At eleven, -Mr. Summer, whoever </span><em class="italics">he</em><span> is."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't care, if he's got the price."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It bores you to read for men, doesn't it, Frank? I -wish you'd let me do it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she spoke, the telephone bell on the desk rang, -and she took up the receiver, drooping her head -coquettishly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes?" she said dreamily, her eyes on Granthope, -who had lighted a cigarette.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, half-past eleven o'clock, if that would be -convenient. What name, please? ... No, any name will -do..... Miss Smith? All right—good-by."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She entered the appointment in her book, and then -remarked decidedly, "</span><em class="italics">She's</em><span> pretty!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No objections; they're my specialty," Granthope -replied; "only I doubt it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never failed yet," said Fancy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope looked at his watch, then passed through -a red anteroom to his studio beyond. Fancy began to -draw little squares and circles and fuzzy heads of men -with mustaches upon a sheet of paper. In a few -moments the palmist returned, his morning coat -replaced by a black velvet jacket tight-fitting and -buttoned close.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Fancy, take a few notes, please; you didn't get -that last one yesterday, I believe."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She reached for a lacquered tin box, containing a -card catalogue, withdrew a blank slip and dipped her -pen in the ink. Then, as he stopped to think, she -remarked:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't see why you go to all this trouble, Frank. -Nobody else does. You've a good enough memory, -and I think it's silly. I feel as if I were a bookkeeper -in a business house."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One might as well be systematic," he returned. -"There's no knowing when all this will come in handy. -I don't intend to give five-dollar readings all my life. -I'm going to develop this thing till it's a fine art. -I've got to do something to dignify the trade. This -doesn't use nearly all that's in me. I wish I had -something to do that would take all my intellect—it's all -too easy! I don't half try. But it's a living. God -knows I don't care for the money—nor for fame either, -for that matter. Fame's a gold brick; you always pay -more for it than it's worth. I suppose it's the sheer -love of the game. I have a scientific delight in doing -my stunt better than it has ever been done before. -Some play on fiddles, I play on women—and make -'em dance, too! Some love machinery, some study -electricity—but the wireless, wheel-less mechanics of -psychology for mine. Practical psychology with a -human laboratory. Pour the acid of flattery, and -human litmus turns red with delight. Try the -alkali of disapproval, and it grows blue with -disappointment. I give 'em a run for their money, too. -I make life wonderful for poor fools who haven't the -wit to do it for themselves. I peddle imagination, -Fancy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You get good prices," Fancy said, smiling a bit -sadly. "There are perquisites. There aren't many men -who have the chances you do, Frank. Women are -certainly crazy about you, and now that you're taken up -by the smart set, I expect you will be spoiled pretty -quick." She shook her head coquettishly and dropped -her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He shrugged his shoulders. "I should think you -would be almost ashamed of being a woman, Fan, -sometimes," he said. "They are all alike, I believe."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy bridled. Then she bit her lip. "You'll meet -your match some day!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God, I hope so! It'll make things interesting. -Nothing matters now. I haven't really wanted -anything for years; and when you don't want anything, -Fancy, the garlands are hung for you in every house."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you ever have a conscience, Frank?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not I. I shouldn't know what to do with it, if I -had one. I don't see much difference between right -and wrong. We give them what they want, as clergymen -do. It may be true and it may be false. So may -religion. There are a hundred different kinds—some -of them teach that you ought to kill your grandmother -when she gets to be fifty years old. Some teach -clothing and some teach nakedness. Some preach -chastity—and some the other thing. Who's going to -tell what's right? My readings are scientific; my -predictions may be true, for all I know. Some I help and -some I harm, no doubt. But from all I can see, God -Himself does that. Take that Bennett affair! He lost -his money, but didn't he have a good taste of life? -We'll never know the truth, anyway. Why not fool -fools who think there's an answer to everything, and -make 'em happy? Do you remember that first time -we played for Harry Wing? I was new at it then. -When I crawled through the panel and put on the robe, -the tears were streaming down my face to think I was -going to fool an old man into believing I was his dead -son. What was the result? He was so happy that he -gave me his gold watch to be dematerialized for -identification. He got more solid satisfaction and -comfort out of that trick than he had out of a year of -sermons. I only wish I could fool myself as easily as -I can fool others—then I could be happy myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, aren't you happy, Frank?" Fancy asked, her -eyes full of him. "I wish I could do something to -make you happy—I'd do anything!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I'm not unhappy," he said lightly, neglecting -her appeal. "I can't seem to suffer any more than I -can really enjoy. I suppose I haven't any soul. I need -ambition—inspiration. But we must get to work. -Are you ready?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy nodded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"August 5th," he dictated. "Mrs. Riley. Age -sixty-five. Spatulate, extreme type. Wrist, B. Fingers, -B, X, 5. Life 27. Head 18. Heart 4. Fate 12. 3 -girdles. Venus B. Mars A. Thumb phalange -over-developed. Right, ditto. Now:—married three times, -arm broken in '94, one daughter, takes cocaine, -interested in mines. Last husband knew General Custer -and Lew Wallace. Accidentally drowned, 1877. -Accused of murder and acquitted in 1878. Very poor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't forget to look up Lew Wallace, Fancy! Go -down to the library to-night, will you?" he said, laying -down his note-book.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where did you ever get that old dame?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madam Spoll sent her here. She's easy, but no -money in her. Still, I like to be thorough, even with -charity cases; you never know what may come of them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The telephone bell prevented Fancy's reply. She -took up the receiver and said "Yes" in a languishing -drawl.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. Number 15? .... Payson? Spell it .... Hold -the line a minute." She turned to Granthope, -her ear still to the receiver, her hand muffling the -mouth-piece.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Funny. Speak of angels—here's Madam Spoll -now! She wants to know if you've got anything about -Oliver Payson?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Payson?" he repeated. "Oliver Payson? No, I -don't think so, have we?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't remember the name, but I'll run over -the cards. Talk about method! I wish Madam -Spoll had some! P., Packard, Page—no; no Payson -here." She returned to the telephone. "No, we have -nothing at all. Good-by." Then she hung up the -receiver.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope, meanwhile, had been walking up and -down the room, frowning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's queer—that name is somehow familiar; I've -heard of it somewhere. Oliver Payson—Oliver Payson."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Funny how you never can think of a thing when -you want to," said Fancy, sharpening her pencil.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know something about Oliver Payson," Granthope -insisted. "But it's no use, I can't get it. Perhaps it -will come to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You never know what you can do till you stop -trying," Fancy offered sagely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope spoke abstractedly, gazing at the ceiling. -"It's something about a picture, it seems to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He walked into his studio, still puzzling with blurred -memories. Fancy took up </span><em class="italics">The Second Wife</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At ten o'clock the door opened, and Fancy's hand -flew to her back hair. A girl of perhaps twenty years -with intense eyes entered timidly. Her hair was -distracted by the wind and her color was high, increasing -the charm of her pretty, earnest, finely freckled face. -She wore a jacket a little too small for her, with frayed -cuffs. Her shoes were badly worn; her hat was cheap, -but effective.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I called to see Mr. Granthope; I think I have an -appointment at ten," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Miss Heller?" Fancy asked. The girl nodded. -Fancy took inventory of the girl's points, looking her -up and down before she replied, "All right; just be -seated for a moment, please."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She walked to the studio and met Granthope coming -out. They spoke in whispers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let her down easy," Fancy suggested. "It's a love -affair. She has a letter in her coat pocket, all folded -up; you can see the wrinkles where it bulges out. -Hat pin made of an army button, and she doesn't -know enough to paint. Make her take off her coat -and see if her right sleeve isn't soiled above where she -usually wears a paper cuff to protect it. She is half -frightened to death and she has been crying."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right," said Granthope. "I'll give her five -dollars' worth of optimism."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy put her hand in his softly. "Say, Frank, just -charge this to me and be good to her, will you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right. If you like her, I'll do my best. She'll -be smiling when she comes out, you see if she isn't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As the girl went in for her reading, Mrs. Page walked -into the reception-room, and nodded condescendingly. -She was a dashing woman of thirty-five, full of the -exuberance and flamboyant color of California. Her -hair was jet black and glossy, massively coiled upon her -head; her features were large, but regular and well -formed; her figure somewhat voluptuous in its tightly -fitting tailor suit of black. She was a vivid creature, -with impellent animal life and temperament linked, -apparently, to a rather silly, feminine brain. Her -mouth was large, and in it white teeth shone. She was -all shadows and flashes, high lights and depths of -velvety black. From her ears, two spots of diamond -radiance twinkled as she shook her head. When she -drew off her gloves, with a manner, more twinkles -illuminated her hands. Still others shone from the -cut steel buckles of her shoes. She was somewhat -overgrown, flavorless and gaudy, like California fruit, -and her ways were kittenish. Her movements were -all intense. When she looked at anything, she opened -her eyes very wide; when she spoke she pursed her lips -a bit too much. Altogether she seemed to have a -superfluous ounce of blood in her veins that infused -her with useless energy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy eyed her pragmatically, added her up, -extracted her square root and greatest common divisor. -The result she reached was evident only by the -imperious way in which she invited her to be seated -and the nonchalant manner in which, after that, she -gazed out upon Geary Street.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Page, however, would be loquacious.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shall I have to wait long?" she asked. "I have -an engagement at eleven and I simply </span><em class="italics">must</em><span> see -Mr. Granthope first! It's very important."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know," said Fancy coolly. "It depends -upon whether he has an interesting sitter or not. -Sometimes he's an hour, and sometimes he's only -fifteen minutes." She spoke with a slightly stinging -emphasis, examining, meanwhile, the spots on her own -finger-nails.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," said Mrs. Page, and it was evident that the -remark gave her an idea as to her own personal powers -of attraction. "I thought Mr. Granthope treated all -his patrons alike."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sometimes he does and sometimes he doesn't," was -Fancy's cryptic retort. She watched the effect under -drooped lashes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The effect was to make Mrs. Page squirm uneasily, -as if she didn't know whether she had been hit or not. -She took refuge in the remark: "Well, I hope he will -give me a good reading this time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It all depends on what's in your hand," Fancy -followed her up, smiling amiably.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Page minced and simpered: "Do you know, -somehow I </span><em class="italics">hate</em><span> to have him look at my hand, after -what he said before. He told me such </span><em class="italics">dreadful</em><span> things, -I'm afraid he'll discover more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why do you give him a chance, then?" said Fancy -coldly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I hope he'll find something better, this time!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Weren't you satisfied with what he gave you?" -Fancy asked. "I have found Mr. Granthope usually -strikes it about right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, of course, I'm satisfied," Mrs. Page admitted. -"In fact, I trust him so implicitly that I have acted -on his advice. But it's rather dreadful to know the -truth, don't you think?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy nodded her head soberly. "</span><em class="italics">Sometimes</em><span> it -is." She accented the adverb mischievously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I don't mean what you mean at all!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know. You mean it's dreadful to have other -people know the truth?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No; but I can't help my character, can I? It's not -</span><em class="italics">my</em><span> fault if I </span><em class="italics">have</em><span> faults. It's all written in my palm -and I can't alter it. Only, I mean it's awful to know -exactly what's going to happen and not be able to -prevent it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's worse not to want to." Fancy waved her hand -to some one in the street.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Page withdrew from the conversation, routed, -and devoted herself to a study of the Chinese masks, -casting an occasional impatient glance into the -anteroom. Fancy polished her rings with her -handkerchief.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope's voice was now heard, talking pleasantly -with Fleurette, who was smiling, as he had -promised. As she left, flushed and happy, Granthope -greeted Mrs. Page, and escorted her, bubbling with -talk, into the studio. The door closed upon a -pervading odor of sandalwood, Mrs. Page's legacy to -Fancy, who sniffed at it scornfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Many cable-cars had passed without Fancy's having -recognized any one worth bowing to, before the next -client appeared; but, at that visitor's entry, she became -a different creature. Her eyes never really left him, -although she seemed, as he waited, to be busy about -many things.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was a smart young man, a sort of a bank-clerk -person, dressed neatly, with evidence of considerable -premeditation. His hair was parted in the middle, -his face was cleanly shaven. His sparkling, laughing -eyes, devilishly audacious, his pink cheeks and his cool -self-assured manner gave him an appearance of -juvenile, immaculate freshness, which rendered an -acquaintance with such a San Francisco girl as Fancy -Gray, easy and agreeable. He laid his hat and stick -against his hip jauntily, and asked:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Could I get a reading from Mr. Granthope without -waiting all day for it?" As he spoke he loosed a -frivolous, engaging glance at her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He'll be out in just a moment," Fancy replied with -more interest than she had heretofore shown. "Won't -you sit down and wait, please?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He withdrew his eyes long enough to gallop round -the room with them, but they returned to her like -horses making for a stable. He took a seat, pulled -up his trousers over his knees, drew down his cuffs, -felt the knot in his tie and smoothed his hair, all with -the quick, accurate motion due to long habit. "Horrible -weather," he volunteered debonairly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's something fierce, isn't it?" said Fancy, opening -and shutting drawers, searching for nothing. "It -gets on my nerves. I wish we'd have one good warm -day for a change."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Been out to the beach lately?" he asked, eying her -with undisguised approval. He breathed on the crown -of his derby hat and then smelt of it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," she replied. "I don't have much time to -myself. I hate to go alone, anyway." Fancy looked -aimlessly into the top drawer of her desk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's too bad! But I shouldn't think you'd ever -have to go alone. You don't look it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really?" Fancy's tone was arch.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's right! I know some one who'd be willing -to chase out there with you at the drop of the hat."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy, appearing to feel that the acquaintance was -making too rapid progress, said, "I don't care much -for the beach; it's too crowded."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That depends upon when you go. I've got a car out -there where we could get lost easy enough. Then you -can have a quiet little dinner at the Cliff House almost -any night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can you? I never tried it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's time you did. Suppose you try it with me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy opened her eyes very wide at him and let him -have the full benefit of her stare. "Isn't this rather -sudden? You're rushing it a little too fast, seems -to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not for me. I'm sorry you can't keep up. You -don't look slow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy turned to her engagement book.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must have known some pretty easy ones," she -said sarcastically.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The snub did not silence him for long. He recrossed -his legs, drummed on the brim of his hat, and began:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say, did you ever go to Carminetti's?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, where is it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Down on Davis Street. They have a pretty lively -time there on Sunday nights. Everybody goes, you -know—gay old crowd. They sing and everything. -It's the only really Bohemian place in town now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm never hungry on Sundays," Fancy said coolly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nor thirsty, either?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir?" she said in mock reproof, and then burst -into a laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say, you scared me all right, </span><em class="italics">that</em><span> time!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't look like you would be scared easy. -I guess it's kind of hard to call </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> down."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He folded his arms and squared his shoulders. "I -don't know," he said. "I don't seem to make much of -a hit with </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you may improve!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Upon acquaintance?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps. You're not in a hurry, are you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's what I am!" He went at her now with more -vigor. "I say, would you mind telling me your name? -Here's my card."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He rose, and, walking over to the desk, laid down a -card upon which was printed, "Mr. Gay P. Summer." Fancy -examined it deliberately. Then she looked up -and said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My name is Miss Gray, if you </span><em class="italics">must</em><span> know. What -are you going to do about it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll show you!" he laughed, drawing nearer. -What might possibly have happened (for things do -happen in San Francisco) was interrupted by sounds -predicting Mrs. Page's return.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say, Miss Gray, I'll ring you up later and make a -date," he said under his breath. Then he turned to -Mrs. Page and stared her out of the room with -undisguised curiosity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can see Mr. Granthope now," said Fancy, -unruffled by the competition.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He made an airy gesture and followed the palmist -into the anteroom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy grew listless and abstracted. After a while -she went to the closet, examined herself in the glass -on the door, adjusted the back of her belt, fluffed her -hair over her ears and reseated herself. Then she took -her book languidly and began to read.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There came a knock on the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come in," Fancy called out, arousing herself again. -The new-comer was one who, though at least twenty-seven, -was still graciously modeled with the lines of -youth. Her head was poised with spirit on her neck, -but, like a flower on its stem, ready to move with her -varying moods, from languor to vivacity. Her hair -was a light, tawny grayish-brown, almost yellow, -undulant and fine as gossamer. In the pure oval of her -face, under level, golden brows, her eyes were now -questioning, now peremptory, but usually smoldering -with dreams, hiding their color. Their customary -quiescence, however, was contradicted by the -responsiveness of her perfectly drawn mouth—a springing -bow, like those of Du Maurier's most beautiful women. -The upper lip, narrow, scarlet, so short that it seldom -touched the lower, showed, beneath its lively curve, -a row of well-cut teeth. With such charm and delicacy -of person her small, flat ears and her proud, sensitive -nostrils fell into lovely accord. She wore a veil, and -was dressed in a concord of cool grays, modishly -accented with black. Her movements were slow and -graceful, as if she had never to hurry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I believe I have an appointment with Mr. Granthope -for half-past eleven," she said in a smooth, -low, rather monotonous voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Miss Smith?" Fancy asked briskly, but with a more -respectful manner than she had shown Mrs. Page.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The lady blushed an unnecessary pink, and blushed -again to find herself blushing. She admitted the -pseudonym with a nod.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Take a seat, please," Fancy said. "Mr. Granthope -will be ready for you in a few minutes." Then her -eyes fluttered over the visitor's costume, rested for a -second upon her long black gloves, darted to her little, -patent-leather shoes, mounted to her black, picturesque -hat, and sought here and there, but without success, -for jewelry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The lady took a seat in silence. She repaired the -mischief the wind had done to her hair, raising her -hand abstractedly, as she looked about the room. The -Chinese masks did not entertain her long, but the head -of Hypnos she appeared to recognize with interest. -From that to Fancy, and from Fancy to the row of -casts, her glance went, slowly, deliberately. Then she -took a large bunch of violets from her corsage, and -smelled them thoughtfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy began to play with one of her bracelets, -clasping and unclasping it. The lock caught in a -bangle-chain, and, frowning, she bent to unfasten it. -In an instant the lady noticed her dilemma, smiled -frankly, and walked over to the desk, drawing off -her long glove as she did so.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me do it for you!" she said, and, taking -Fancy's hand, she busied herself with the clasp.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy watched her amusedly. The lady was so -close that she could enjoy the odor of the violets and a -fainter, more exquisite perfume that came from the -diaphanous embroidered linen blouse, whose cost -Fancy might have reckoned in terms of her week's -salary. With careful, skilful movements the chain was -unfastened, but the lady still held Fancy's hand in -her own.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, what beautiful hands you have!" she exclaimed. -"I never saw anything so lovely in my life! -Let me see them both! I wonder if you know how -pretty they are!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked questioningly into Fancy's face and the -twinkle in Fancy's eyes answered her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, of course you do! Mr. Granthope must have -told you! He has never seen a prettier pair, I'm -sure!" She laid them carefully down, palms to the -table, and smiled at Fancy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see you've got the right idea about hands," said -Fancy Gray archly. "That second finger's pretty -good; did you notice it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Both laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope you don't think I'm rude," said the lady.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't worry me a bit, so long as you can keep -it up. I'm only afraid you're going to stop! But it -seems to me you've got a pretty small pair of hands -yourself! No wonder you noticed mine!" Fancy -gazed at them, as if she were surprised to find any -one who could compete with her own specialty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For answer, Miss Smith, as she had called herself, -drew her violets from her coat, kissed them and handed -them to Fancy. Fancy played up; kissed them too, -nodded, as if drinking a health, and tucked them -safely away on her own breast. Then she treated -Miss Smith to the by-play of her delicious dimples, -as she said, "Come in as often as you like, especially -when you have flowers!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Miss Smith's" face had become wonderfully -alive, and she gazed at Fancy so frankly admiring -that now Fancy had to drop her own eyes in -embarrassment. At this moment Granthope's voice was -heard as he came out of his studio with Gay P. Summer. -A kind of shyness seemed to envelop the -visitor and she drew back, her color mounting, her -lids drooping.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm all ready for you, Miss Smith," said -Granthope, coming into the room and bowing suavely. -"Come in, please."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Leaving Mr. Summer in conversational dalliance -with Fancy Gray, the lady followed the palmist into -his studio. As she walked, her graceful, long-limbed -tread, with its easy swing, seemed almost leopard-like -in its unconscious freedom, her head was carried -somewhat forward, questing, her arms were slightly -extended tentatively from her side, as if she almost -expected to touch something she could not see.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="tuition-and-intuition"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER II</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">TUITION AND INTUITION</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It was a large room, unfurnished except for a -couch in a recess of the wall and a table with two -chairs drawn up under an electric-light bulb which -hung from the ceiling. The walls were covered from -floor to cornice by an arras of black velvet, falling -in full, vertical folds, sequestering the apartment in -soft gloom. Over the couch, this drapery was -embroidered with the signs of the zodiac in a -circle—all else was shadowy and mysterious.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The young woman walked into the place with her -leisurely stride—her chin a little up-tilted, her eyes -curious. In the center of the room she stopped and -looked slowly and deliberately about her. The -corners of her mouth lifted slightly with amusement, -evidently at the obvious picturesqueness of the studio.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope watched her keenly. With his eyes and -ears full of Fancy Gray's ardent, dramatic youth, -sparkling with the sophistication of the city, slangy, -audacious, gay, this girl seemed almost unreal in her -delicacy and exquisite virginity, a creature of dreams -and faery, the personification of an ideal too fine and -fragile for every-day. Her face showed caste in every -line. He was a little afraid of her. Her bearing -compelled not only respect, but, in a way, reverence—a -tribute he seldom had felt inclined to pay to the -</span><em class="italics">mondaines</em><span> who visited him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His confidence, however, soon asserted itself. He -had found that all women were alike—there were, as -in chess, several openings to his game, but, once -started, the strategy was simple.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, how do you like my studio?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's like dreams I've had," she said. "I like it. -It's so simple."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Most people think it too somber."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is somber; but that purple-black is wonderful -in the way it takes the light. And it's all so different!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I flatter myself it is that. But I'm 'different' -myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you?" She turned her eyes steadfastly upon -him for the first time, as if mentally appraising him, -as he stood, six feet of virility, handsome, vivid and -nonchalant. The color which had risen to her cheeks -still remained.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are, too," he went on, examining her as -deliberately.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled faintly and took a seat by the table and -removed her veil. Her face was now clearly -illuminated, and Granthope's eyes, traveling from -feature to feature in quest of significant details, fell -upon her left cheek. His look was arrested at the -sight of a brown velvety mole, a veritable beauty-spot, -heightening the color of her skin. It was charming, -making her face piquant and human. His hand -went to his forehead thoughtfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the sight of this mark upon her cheek, something -troubled him. His mind, always alert to suggestive -influences, registered the faintest impression of a -thought at first too elusive to be called an idea. It -was like the ultimate, dying ripple from some far-off -shock to his consciousness. The impact died almost -as it reached him—a flash, vaguely stimulating to his -imagination, and then it was gone, its mysterious -message uncomprehended.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She watched him a little impatiently, seeming to -resent his scrutiny. Noticing this, he summoned his -distracted attention and seated himself at the table. -But, from time to time, now, his glance darted to -her cheek surreptitiously, searching for the lost clue. -He had learned the value of such subtle intuitions and -would not give up his efforts to take advantage of -this one.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laid her bare hand upon the black velvet -cushion beneath the light, saying, "I'm sorry that -something has disturbed you." She looked at him, -and then away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, nothing has disturbed me," he said. "Why -should you think so?" Even as he pulled himself -together for this denial her quick perception gave him -another cause for wonder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm rather sensitive to other people's moods -sometimes. That's one reason why I came. I didn't -know but you might tell me something about it—how -far to trust it, perhaps—though I came, I confess, -more from curiosity."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her air was still so detached that her conversational -approaches seemed almost experimental. She spoke -with pauses between her phrases, while her eyes, now -showing full and clear gray, lit upon him only to rove -off, returned and departed again, but never rapidly, as -if she sought for her words here and there in the -room, and brought them calmly back to him. She -did not shun a direct gaze, but her look wandered as -her thought wandered in its logical course, for the -time seeming to forget his presence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext" id="id1"><span>He took her hand and felt of it, testing its quality -and texture, preparing himself for his speech. Her -hand was long and slim, with scarcely a fiber more -flesh upon the bones than was necessary to cover -them admirably. He had no thought at first except -to give his ordinary routine of reading, but his study -of her showed her to be an exceptional character. -She was beautiful, with the loveliness of an aristocratic -and slightly bewildering spiritual type. Her hand in -his was magnetic, delicious of contact, subtly alive -even though not consciously responsive. Other women -with more obvious charm had left him cold. She, -aided by no suggestion of coquetry or complaisance, -allured him. She awakened in him a desire not wholly -physical, although he could not fail to regard her -primarily in the sex relation that, so far, had been -his chief interest in women. She, as a woman, -answered, in some secret way, him, as a man. This -was his first wave of feeling. Her hint amused him, -true as her intuition had been; she had stumbled upon -his embarrassment, no doubt, and had claimed -prescience, a common enough form of feminine conceit. -There he had a valuable suggestion as to the direction -of her line of least resistance to his wiles.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Following upon this, as the first feeling of her -unreality faded, upon contact, came the thought of her -as a wealthy and credulous girl, who might minister to -his ambitions. He was without real social aspirations, -except in so far as his success in the fashionable -world favored the game he was playing. Years of -contact with credulity and hypocrisy had carried him, -mentally, too far to value the lionizing and the -hero-worship he had tasted from his smarter clients. But -the patronage of such a fair and finished creature as -this girl, especially if he could establish a more -intimate relation, might secure the permanence of his -position and his opportunities. He saw vistas of -delight and satisfaction in such an acquaintance. He -had had his fill of silly women whose favors were -paid for in ministrations to their vanity. Such tribute, -easy as it was for him with his facility, irked him. -Here, perhaps, was one who might hold his interest -by her fineness and her mentality, and by the very -difficulty he might find in impressing her. There -would be zest to the pursuit.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Beneath these waves of feeling, however, and -beneath his active intelligence, there was an inchoate -disturbance in some subconscious stratum of his mind. -He felt it only as the slight mental perplexity the -mole upon her cheek had caused; he had no time, -now, to pursue that incipient idea. His impression -of her as a desirable, pleasurable quarry incited him -to devise the psychological method necessary for her -capture. He knew to a hair, usually, what he could -do with women; but now he was forced to gain time -by a preamble in the conventional patter of the -palmist's cult.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her hand, it appeared, was of a mixed type, neither -square nor conic, with long fingers, inclined to be -psychic. He remarked the extraordinary sensitiveness -denoted by their cushioned tips. Nails, healthy and -oval; knuckles indicating a good sense of order in -mental and physical life. She was, in short, of strong, -vigorous mentality, well-balanced, artistic, generous, -liberal; but (he referred to the Mount of Jupiter) -with a tendency to be a looker-on rather than a -sharer in the ordinary social pleasures of life. -Saturn, developed more toward the finger, gave her -a slightly melancholy temperament; Apollo showed a -great appreciation of the beautiful in nature, with -no little critical knowledge of art; Mercury was less -developed, and implied a lack of humor; Venus -betrayed a well-controlled but warm feeling; it was -soft—she was, consequently, easily moved. Her -thumb was wilful rather than logical, her fingers -suggested respectively, pride, perception, self-respect, -morbidity, love of the beautiful as distinguished from the -ornamental, tact.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had thrown himself into a pose so habitual as -to become almost unconscious, though it was keyed to -the theatrical pitch of his picturesque appearance and -surroundings. The girl's expression showed, to his -alert eye, a slight disappointment at the conventionality -of his remarks. This spurred him to more -originality and definiteness. He tossed his hair back -with one hand in a quick gesture and turned to -the lines in her palm, examining them first with a -magnifying glass and then tracing them with an -ivory stylus. Her eyes were fixed upon his, as if she -were more interested in the manner than the matter -of his task.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are the sort of person," he said, "who is, in -a certain sense, egoistic. That is, after a criticism of -any one, you would immediately ask yourself, 'Would -I not have done the same thing, under the same -circumstances?' You're stupendously frank—you'd own -up to anything, any faults you thought you possessed; -you'd even exaggerate a jestingly ignoble confession -of motives because you hate hypocrisy so much in -others. You are eminently fair and just, as you are -generous. You have none of the ordinary feminine -arts of coquetry. If you liked a man you would say -so frankly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was typical of Granthope's enthusiasm for his -game that he dared thus play it so boldly with his -cards face up upon the table. His visitor began to show -more interest; it was evident that she appreciated the -ingeniousness of his phrasing. Her lip curved into a -dainty smile. Her eyes gleamed slyly, then withdrew -their fire.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He continued: "You are slow in action, but when -the time comes, you can act swiftly without regard of -the consequences. You are not prudish. You are -willing to look upon anything that can be regarded as -evidence as to the facts of life, even though you may -not care to go into things purely for the sake of -experience. You are faithful and loyal, but you are not -of the type that believes 'the king can do no wrong'—you -see your friends' faults and love them in spite -of those faults, yet you are absolutely indifferent to -most persons who make no special appeal. You are -lazy, but physically, not mentally—there is no effort -you will spare yourself to think things out and get -to the final solution of a psychological or moral -problem. You love modernness, complexity of living, the -wonderful adjustments that money and culture effect, -but not enough to endure the conventionality that -sort of life demands. You are not particularly -economical—you'd never go all over your town for a -bargain or to 'pick up' antiques—you would prefer -to go to a good shop and pay a fair price. You are -fond of children—not of all children, however, only -bright and interesting ones. You are fond of dress -in a sensuous sort of way; that is, you like silk -stockings, because they feel cool and smooth; silk skirts, -because they fall gracefully and make a pleasant -swish against your heels; furs, on account of the color -and softness, but none of these merely because of -their richness or splendor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His face was intent, almost scowling, two vertical -lines persisting between his brows; his mouth was -fixed. His concentration seemed to hold no personal -element; there was nothing to resent in the contact of -his fingers or the absorption of his gaze. Suddenly, -however, he looked up and smiled—he knew how to -smile, did Granthope—and the relation between them -became so personal and intimate that she involuntarily -drew away her hand. He was instantly sensitive to -this and by his attitude reassured her. Not, however, -before she had blushed furiously, in spite of evident -efforts to control herself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His eyes glanced again at the mole on her cheek. -Then, as if electrified by the sudden kindling and -intensification of her personality, his subconscious -mind finished its work without the aid of reason. -As a bubble might separate itself from the bottom of -the sea and ascend, quivering, to the surface, his -memory unloosed its secret, and it rose, to break in -his mind. The mole—</span><em class="italics">he had seen it before</em><span>—where? -Like a tiny explosion the answer came—</span><em class="italics">upon the -cheek of the little girl who visited them that day</em><span>, -twenty-three years ago, at Madam Grant's—the day -she died. It reached him with the certainty of truth. -It did not even occur to him to doubt its verity. -In a flash, he saw what sensational use he could make -of the intelligence. Another idea followed it—an old -trick—perhaps it would work again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Would you mind taking off that ring?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She drew off a simple gold band set with three -turquoises. He laid it upon the cushion, turning it -between his fingers as he did so. In a single glance he -had read the inscription engraved inside. His ruse -was undetected; her eyes had roved about the room. -He turned to her again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are twenty-seven years old. You have a lover, -or, rather, a man is making love to you. I do not -advise you to marry him. You have traveled a good -deal and will take another journey within a year. -Something is happening in connection with a male -relative that worries you. It will not be settled for -some time. Are there any questions you would like -to ask?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think you have answered them already," she -replied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He leaned back, to shake his hands and pass them -across his forehead, theatrically. Another bubble had -broken in his consciousness. "Oliver Payson!"—the -name came sharply to his inner ear like a voice in a -telephone. Oliver Payson—he recalled now where he -had seen the name—</span><em class="italics">upon the newspaper cut pinned -to the door of Madam Grant's bedroom</em><span>. Like two -drops of quicksilver combining, this thought fused -with that suggested by the mole on the girl's cheek. -"Clytie Payson"—this name came to him, springing -unconjured to his mind. He determined to hazard a -test of the inspiration. He simulated the typical -symptoms of obsession, trembled, shuddered and -writhed in the professional manner. Then he said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Would you like a clairvoyant reading? I think I -might get something interesting, for I feel your -magnetism very strongly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She assented with an alacrity she had not shown -before. Her eyes opened wider, she threw off her -lassitude, awakening to a mild excitement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me take your hands again—both of them. -This is something I don't often do, but I'll see what I -can get."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He shut his eyes and spoke monotonously:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see a name—C, l, y—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl's hands gave an involuntary convulsion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"—t, i, e. Is that it? Clytie! Wait—I get the -name—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Beneath slightly trembling lids, a fine, sharp glance -shot out at her and was withdrawn again. It was as -if he had stolen something from her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Payson!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl withdrew her hands suddenly; she drew -in her breath swiftly, paling a little.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's my name, Clytie Payson! It's wonderful! -Go on, please!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She gave him her gracilent, dewy hands again, and -he thrilled to their provocative spell. He took -advantage of her distraction to enjoy them lightly. When -he spoke there was no hesitation in his voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't understand this! I don't know who these -people are, or where they are, and it seems ridiculous -to tell it. But there is a fearfully disordered room -with the sun coming in through dirty, broken windows. -The floor is covered with rubbish, there's no furniture -but a few old boxes. I see two women and a little -girl. They are in old-fashioned costumes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie's face was pale, now, and she watched him -breathlessly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One of the women has white hair and vivid black -eyebrows. She talks wildly sometimes; sometimes -she's quite calm. The other woman is middle-aged -and has a soft voice. The little girl is dressed in -blue; she is sitting on a box listening. The crazy -woman is kissing her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He shook himself, shuddered and opened his eyes, -to find Miss Payson gazing upon him, her hand to -her heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's strange!" she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It sounds nonsensical, I suppose," he said, "but -that's just what I get. Can you make anything of it?"'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's all true!" said Clytie. "That very thing -happened to me when I was a little girl—so long ago, that -I had almost forgotten it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You remember it, then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, it all comes back to me—though I have -wondered vaguely about it often enough. It was when -I was four years old and I went with my mother to -call on this strange, crazy woman—if she were crazy! -I never knew. I never dared speak to father about it. -He never knew that we went, I think. I had an -idea that he wouldn't have liked it, had he known."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And your mother?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She died—the same year, I think. We left San -Francisco, father and I, soon after, and we lived -abroad for several years. I didn't even remember the -scene until long afterward, when something brought -it up. Then it was like a dream or a vision."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you know, Miss Payson, I feel that you have -very strong mediumistic powers; I can feel your -magnetism. I think that you might develop yourself so as -to be able to use your psychic force."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She took it seriously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I think I do have a certain amount of capacity -that way. I can never depend upon it, though, but my -intuitions are very strong and occasionally rather -strange things have happened to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It amused him to see how quickly she had fallen -into the trap he had set for her. Experience had -taught him it was a common enough assertion for -women to make, and he was cynically incredulous. -He was a little disappointed, too; as, in his opinion, -it discounted her intelligence. Nevertheless, he found -in it a way to manipulate her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps I might help you to develop it," he -suggested, "although I'm not much of a clairvoyant -myself; I claim only to be a scientific palmist."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think you are wonderful," Clytie asserted, giving -him a glance of frank admiration. "This test alone -would prove it. You see, having some slight power -myself, I'm more ready to believe that others have it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He waived her compliment with apparent modesty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Women are more apt to be gifted that way—it isn't -often I attempt a psychic reading. What is written -in the palm I can read; as a physician diagnoses a -case from symptoms in the pulse and tongue and -temperature, so I read a person's character from -what I see in the hand. I have been particularly -interested in yours, Miss Payson, and perhaps I have -been able to give you more than usual. I hope I may -have the opportunity of seeing you again; I'm quite -sure I can help you, or put you in the way of assistance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She arose and slowly drew on her gloves, her mind -full of the revelation. He watched every motion with -delight. Her brief mood of irradiation had given -place to her customary languor, and her fragile -loveliness, emphasizing the opposite to every one of his -virile, ardent traits, allured him with the appeal of -one extreme to another. Most of all, her mouth, -wayward with its ravishing smile, enchanted him. -It was controlled by no coquetry, he knew, and it -moved him the more for that reason. Yet she seemed -loath to go and moved slowly about the room. She -stopped to point with a sweeping gesture at one side -of the velvet-hung wall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's rather too bad to hide the windows, isn't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled at her divination, doubtful of its origin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have a very good sense of direction, haven't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She appeared to notice his incredulity, but not to -resent it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed, I have very little," she said; then, giving -him her hand with a quick impulse of cordiality, she -smiled, nodded and turned to the anteroom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He glanced at the table, saw her ring, and made a -motion toward it. Then it occurred to him that it -might be used as an excuse for seeing her again and -he followed her out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the reception-room, Fancy was yawning; seeing -them, she brought her hand quickly to her mouth and -raised her eyebrows at Granthope. He made no sign -in reply. Clytie walked up to her impulsively and -held out her hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do hope I'll see you again, sometime," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy laughed. "I do, too. You're the only one -who's ever really appreciated me. You make me -almost wish I was a lady." By her tone, there was -some old wound that bled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're that, and better, I'm sure," Clytie -answered softly; "you're yourself!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned to leave. Granthope, who had watched -the two women, amused, opened the door for her, -received her long, steady glance, her quiet, low "Good -morning," and bowed her out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As soon as she had fairly left, he turned quickly to -Fancy. "Where's Philip?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In the back room, I suppose." Fancy looked -surprised.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go and get him, please; tell him to find out where -this girl lives, and all he can about her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say, Frank—" Fancy began, rising.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hurry, please! I don't want him to miss her. -She's a good thing!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She's </span><em class="italics">too</em><span> good, Frank, that's just it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's why I want her. I don't catch one like that -every day. Why, she's worth all the rest put -together." He looked impatiently at her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy shrugged her shoulders and sailed airily out -of the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope stood for some time, his hands thrust into -the pockets of his velvet coat, gazing abstractedly at -the red wall of his reception-room. Then he took up -the telephone and called for Madam Spoll's number.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He made himself known and then said, "I'll be -round to-night before your séance. I want to talk -something over."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-spider-s-nest"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER III</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE SPIDER'S NEST</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The architecture of San Francisco was, in early -days, simple and unpretentious, befitting the modest -aspirations of a trading and mining town. Builders -accepted their constructive limitations and did their -honest best. False fronts, indeed, there were, making -one-story houses appear to be two stories high, but -redwood made no attempts in those days to -masquerade as marble or granite.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>During the sixties, a few French architects -imported a taste for classic art, and for a time, within -demure limits, their exotic taste prevailed. The -simple, flat, front wall of houses, now grown to three -honest stories high, they embellished with dentil -cornice, egg-and-dart moldings and chaste consoles; they -added to the second story a little Greek portico with -Corinthian columns accurately designed, led up to by a -flight of wooden steps; the façade was broken by a -single bay-window, ornamented with conventional -severity. Block after block of such dwelling-houses -were built. They had a sort of restful regularity, they -broke no artistic hearts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In later days, when San Francisco had begun to take -its place in the world, a greater degree of sophistication -ensued. Capitals of columns became more fanciful, -ornament more grotesquely original, till ambitious -turners and wood-carvers gave full play to their -morbific imagination. Then was the day of scrolls -and finials, bosses, rosettes, brackets, grille-work -and comic balusters. Conical towers became the rage, -wild windows, odd porches and decorations nailed on, -regardless of design, made San Francisco's nightmare -architecture the jest of tourists. Lastly, after an -interregnum of Queen Anne vagaries, came the -Renaissance and the Age of Stone, heralded by -concrete imitations and plaster walls of bogus granite.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madam Spoll's house was of that commonplace, -anemically classic style which, after all, was then the -least offensive type of residence. It was painted -appropriately in lead color—for the house, with the rest -of the block, seemed to have been cast in a mold—a -tone which did its best to make Eddy Street prosaic. -It had been long abandoned by fashion and was now -hardly on speaking terms with respectability. It -occupied a place in a row of boarding-houses, cheap -millinery establishments and unpretentious domiciles. -There was a dreary little unkempt yard in front, -with a passage leading to an entrance under the front -steps; above, the sign "Madam Spoll, Clairvoyant and -Medium," was displayed on ground glass, and below, -hanging on a nail against the wall, was a transparency. -When the lamp was lighted inside this, one read the -words: "Circle To-night. Admittance ten cents."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This Thursday the lamp was lighted. It was -half-past seven o'clock.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Devotees had begun to arrive, and, entering by the -lower door, they paid their dimes to Mr. Spoll, who -stood beside the little table at the entrance, left their -"tests"—envelopes, flowers, jewelry or what not—and -passed into the audience-room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This had once been a dining-room and its walls -were covered with a figured paper, above which was a -bright red border decorated with Japanese fans and -parasols. A few gaudy paper lanterns hung from -the ceiling, and here and there were hung framed -mottoes: "There Is No Death"—"We Shall Meet -Again"—"There Is a Land that is Fairer than -Day." This room was filled with chairs set in rows, -and would hold some forty or fifty persons. It was -separated by an arch from a smaller room beyond, -where, upon a platform, stood a table with an open -Bible, an organ, two chairs and a folding screen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Only the front seats were at present occupied, these -by habitués of the place, all firm believers, a -picturesque group showing at a glance the stigmata of -eccentricity or mental aberration. For the most part -they were women in black; they bowed to one another -as they sat down, then waited in stolid patience for -the séance to open. The others were pale, blue-eyed -men with drooping mustaches and carefully parted -hair, and a whiskered, bald-headed old gentleman or -two who sat in silence. The room was dimly -illuminated by side lights.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Farther down the hallway, opposite the foot of a -flight of stairs leading upward to her living-rooms, -was Madam Spoll's "study," and here she was, this -evening, preparing for business.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This room was small and crowded with furniture. -The marble mantel held an assortment of bisque -bric-à-brac, sea-shells, paper knives and cheap curiosities. -The walls were covered with photographs, a placque -or two, fans and picture cards. A huge folding -bed, foolishly imitating a mirrored sideboard, -occupied one corner of the room. A couch covered with -fancy cushions and tidies ran beside it. A table, -heavily draped, a three-legged tea-stand, an easel with -a satin sash bearing the portrait, photographically -enlarged in crayon, of a bold, smirking, overdressed -little girl, a ragged trunk and several plush-covered -chairs were huddled, higgledy-piggledy, along the -other side of the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Upon the couch Madam Spoll sat, spraying -envelopes with alcohol from an atomizer on a small -bamboo stand before her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was an enormous woman of masculine type, -with short, briskly curling, iron-gray hair and a triple -chin. Heavy eyebrows, heavy lips, heavy ears and -cheeks had Madam Spoll, but her forehead was unlined -with wrinkles; her expression was serene, and, when -she smiled, engaging and conciliating. She was -dressed in black satin with wing-like sleeves, the front -of her waist being covered with a triangular decoration -of bead-work.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Watching her with roving, black eyes was -Professor Vixley, smoking a vile cigar. His face was -sallow, of a predatory mold with a pointed, mangy -beard, and sharp, yellow teeth. He wore a soft, -striped flannel shirt with a flowing pink tie. From -the sleeves of his shiny, cutaway coat, faded to a -purplish hue, his thin, tanned, muscular hands showed -like the claws of a vulture.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You seem to be doin' a pretty good business," he -remarked, dropping his ashes carelessly upon the floor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So-so," Madam Spoll answered. "If things go -well we hope to get a new hall up on Post Street, but -there ain't nothing in tests. Straight clairvoyance is -the future of </span><em class="italics">this</em><span> business. Of course, we have to -give cheap circles to draw the crowd, but it's a lot -of bother and expense and it does tire me all out. -Then there's always the trouble from the newspapers -likely to come up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pshaw! I wouldn't mind gettin' into the newspapers -occasionally, it's good advertisin'. The more -you're exposed the better you get along, I believe."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Lay low and set on your eggs' is my motto," said -the Madam. "I don't like too much talk. I prefer to -work in the dark—there's more money in it in the -long run. I don't care if I only have a few -customers; if they're good and easy I can make all I -want."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you bother with sealed messages for, -Gert?" Professor Vixley asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I got to fix a lot of skeptics to-night. I can -usually open the ballots right on the table easy -enough behind the flowers, but I want to read a few -sealed messages besides. It may help along with -Payson, too." She took up an envelope numbered -"275." It was saturated with alcohol. She held it -to the light, and squinting at the transparent paper, -she read: "'When is Susie coming home?' Now, -ain't that a fool question? I'll take a rise out of </span><em class="italics">her</em><span>, -see if I don't! That's that woman who got into -trouble in that poisoning case."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say, the alcohol trick's a pretty good stunt when -you get a chance to use it! But I don't have time for -it in my business."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, it's easy enough if you use good, grain -alcohol, but I wish I had an egg-tester. They save -a lot of time, and you can read through four or -five thicknesses of paper with 'em. Spoll, he has plenty -of chance to hold out the ballots and bring 'em in to -me; his coming and going ain't noticed, because he -has to fetch 'em up to the table, anyway. By the time -I go on, all the smell's faded out. If it ain't, my -handkerchief is so full of perfumery that you can't notice -anything else. I'm going to fit up my table with one -o' them glass plates with an electric flash-light -underneath that I can turn on with a switch. You can read -right through the envelope then. But I don't often -consent to tests like that. It deteriorates your powers. -And my regular customers are usually contented to -send their ballots up open and glad of the chance to -get an answer. </span><em class="italics">They</em><span> don't want to give the spirits -no trouble! Lord, I wish I had the power I had when -I begun." She smiled pleasantly at her companion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see old Mrs. Purinton on the front row as I -come in," Vixley observed, shifting his cigar labially -from one corner of his mouth to the other.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say, there's a grafter for fair!" she exclaimed. -"She's been coming here to the publics for two years -and never once has she gave me a private setting. -That's what I call close. She's as near as matches! -And always the same old song—little Willie's croup or -when's Henry going to write, and woozly rubbish -like that. I got a good mind to hand her a dig. -I could make a laughing-stock out of her, and scare -her away easy. Folks do like a laugh at a public -séance; you know that, Professor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure! It don't do no harm as long as you hit -the right one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I ain't out for nothing but paper-sports and -grafters. I know a good thing when I see it. I -hope there'll be something doing worth while in this -Payson business. He may show up to-night. Lulu -claims she conned him good."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope I'll have a slice off him," said Professor -Vixley, his beady, black eyes shining. "We got to get -up a new game for him before we pass him down the -line."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, if anybody can I guess we can; there's more'n -one way to kill a cat, besides a-kissing of it to death."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, smotherin' it in hot air, for instance!" Vixley -grinned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They's one thing I wish," said Madam Spoll, "and -that is that we had a regular blue-book like they have -in the East. Why, they tell me there's six thousand -names printed for Boston alone. If we had some way -of getting a lead with this Payson it would be lots -easier. But I expect the San Francisco mediums will -get better organized some day and coöperate more -shipshape."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Here Mr. Spoll entered, a tall, thin, bony, wild-eyed -individual with a rolling pompadour of red hair, his -face spattered with freckles. He walked on tiptoe, as -if at a funeral, bowed to the Professor, coughed into -his hand, and took up the letters Madam Spoll had -been investigating, putting down some new ones.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, here's that 'S.F.B.' that Ringa told me about," -she said, glancing at an envelope. "Is Ringa come -in yet?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I ain't seen him; but it's early," said Spoll. "He'll -show up all right. I'll send him right in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is Mr. Perry in front?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You bet!" Spoll was still tiptoeing about the room -on some mysterious errand. "Perry ain't likely to -lose a chance to make a dollar, not him!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's a good one!" Madam Spoll smiled at the -Professor. "I don't hardly know what I'd do without -him. I can always depend upon him to make good. -He ain't too willing, and sometimes, I declare, he -almost fools me, even. I've known him to stand up -and denounce me something fierce, especially when -there was newspaper men in the audience, and then -just gradually calm down and admit everything I -wanted him to. He looks the part, too. Why, I -sent him round to Mrs. Stepson's circle one night, -when she first come to town, and she was fooled good. -I've seen him cry at a materializing séance so hard -it would almost break your heart."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Does he play spook?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, he's best in the audience. He's a good capper, -but I don't believe he could play spook—besides, he's -getting too fleshy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who else have you got regular?" asked Professor -Vixley.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Only two or three. I don't need so many touts as -most. I pride myself on doing my own work without -much help. Of course, you got to give a name -sometimes when a fishing test won't work, and a friend in -the audience helps. Miss French, she's pretty good, -but she's tricky. I'm afraid of her. I was gave away -once to the </span><em class="italics">Chronicle</em><span> and I lost a whole lot of business. -Men are safer. Harry Debert is straight enough, but -he's stupid. He's the too-willing kind, and you don't -have a chance to get any effect.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say, Spoll," she added to her husband, "be sure -and don't take no combs nor gloves! I ain't going to -do no diagnosing in public—not for ten cents. Them -that want it can pay for it and take a private setting."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They're mostly flowers to-night," said Spoll as he -crept out of the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lord, I do hate a flower test!" she groaned. "It's -too hard work. Of course, they're apt to bring roses -if their name's Rose, or lilies and daisies the same way, -but you can't never be sure, and you have to fish. -Lockets is what I like, lockets and ballots."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At this moment Mr. Ringa entered. He was a -bleached, tow-headed youth, long and lanky, with -mild gray eyes and a stubbly, straw-colored mustache. -Two front teeth were missing from his upper jaw. -His clothes seemed to have shrunk and tightened upon -his frame. He bowed respectfully to Madam Spoll -and Professor Vixley, who represented to him the -top of the profession.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you get that 'S.F.B.' letter, all right?" he -asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, what about it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She's easy!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vixley grinned. "If she's easy for you she must -be a cinch for us!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ringa persevered. "Well, I got the dope, anyway. -She's a Mrs. Brindon and she's worried about her -husband—he's gone dotty on some fluzie up North. -I read her hand last week. I told her they was -trouble coming to her along of a dark woman—she's -one of these beer-haired blondes—what I call a -Würzburger blonde—then I showed it to her in the -heart-streak. 'Go ahead and tell me how it will come out,' -she says. I says: 'There's a peculiar condition in -your hand that I ain't quite on to,' I says. She says: -'Why, can't you read it?' Says I: 'Madam, if I could -read that well, I wouldn't be doing palms for no two -bits a shot; I'd be where Granthope is, with a fly-away -studio and crowding it at five plunks, per.' Then I -says: 'Say, I hear Madam Spoll has great gifts in -predicting at all affairs of the heart. I ain't never -been to any of her circles, but why don't you shoot -around next Thursday night and try her out?' 'What'll -I do?' she says. Then I told her to write -on a paper, 'Does he care more for Mae Phillips than -he does for me, and how will it come out?' She done -it and sealed it up into an envelope I give her."</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 67%" id="figure-93"> -<span id="i-told-her-they-was-trouble-coming-to-her"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""I told her they was trouble coming to her"" src="images/img-072.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"I told her they was trouble coming to her"</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good work!" said Madam Spoll. "I'll give you a -rake-off if I land her. I've got her ballot right here. -I won't need to open it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ain't that job worth a dollar to you as it stands?" -Ringa asked nervously. "I'll call it square and take -my chances on the percentage."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right. It's a good sporting chance! Only I -wish it was a man. Women are too close." Madam -Spoll opened her purse and paid him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As Ringa left, Vixley asked: "By the way, how -about this fellow Payson? Do you think Lulu roped -him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I guess so. Lulu's done pretty well lately, and -she's brought me considerable business. She ought -to be here by this time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should think she'd be able to handle him alone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you go and tell her so! The thing for her -to do is to get a manager, but I don't intend to queer -my own game."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What line is she workin' now? She's failed at -about everything ever since she begun with cards."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, she's doing the 'Egyptian egg' reading. -Wouldn't that freeze you? Lord, that was out of -date twenty years go; but everything goes in San -Francisco."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say, ain't this town the penultimate limit!" Vixley -ejaculated, grinning. "Why, the dopes will stand in -line all night for a chance to be trimmed, and send -their money by express, prepaid, if you let 'em. -Gert, sometimes I'm ashamed of myself for keepin' -'em waitin' so long! Talk about takin' a gumdrop -away from a sick baby; that's hard labor to what -we did for Bennett. What I want to know is, how do -these damn fools ever get all the money we take away -from 'em? It don't look like they had sense enough -to cash a check."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I had one or two more decoys as good as Ringa -and Lulu Ellis, I'd be fixed all right. I could stake -out all the dopes in town. Say, Granthope could cut -up a lot of easy cash if he'd agree to stand in. I tried -to tap him about this here Payson, and he wouldn't -give me a tip."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps he didn't know anything. You can't -loosen up when you're wide open, can you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He generally knows all there is to know. The -trouble is he's getting too high-toned. Since he fitted -up his new studio and butted into society you can't -get near him with nothing like a business proposition. -I believe he thinks he's too good for this place and -will go East. He's a nice boy, though. I ain't got -nothing against him, only I wish he'd help us out. -Hello, here's Lulu. Good evening, Lulu, how's -Egyptian eggs to-day?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lulu Ellis was a dumpy, roly-poly, soft-eyed, -soft-haired, pink-cheeked young woman, as innocent -appearing a person as ever lived on her wits. Not that -she had many of them, but a limited sagacity is -enough to dupe victims as willing to be cajoled as those -who appeal to the Egyptian egg for a sign of the -future. Lulu's large, brown eyes were enough to -distract one's attention from her rule-of-thumb -methods. Her fat little hand was soft and white, her -plump little body full of extravagant curves.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say, Mr. Payson has come!" she exclaimed -immediately, with considerable excitement. "He's on -the third row at the far end."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madam Spoll became alert. "Did you see his test?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, he was here when I come," Lulu replied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go out and get Spoll." Madam Spoll spoke -sharply. "We've got to fix this thing up right now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lulu returned to say: "There's such a crowd coming -in he can't leave, but he says it was a gold watch with -a seal fob."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right, so far," said the Madam. "Now, Lulu, -are you sure of what you told me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lulu's reply was interrupted by the entrance of -Francis Granthope, in opera hat and Inverness cape, -making a vivid contrast to the disreputable aspect of -Professor Vixley. He greeted the three conspirators -with his customary elegance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sorry I had nothing about Payson when you -rang me up, Madam Spoll, but just afterward his -daughter came in for a reading. Queer, wasn't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God, that's a stroke of luck!" said Vixley eagerly. -"I say, Frank, you can work her while we handle the -old man, and we'll clean up a fortune. They say -he's a millionaire." Vixley's little eyes gleamed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let's hear what Lulu has to say, first," said Madam -Spoll.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, I didn't get much," Lulu confessed. "He -said he dropped in by accident as he was passing by, -to see what Egyptian egg astrology was. I got his -name off of some letters he had in his overcoat pocket. -I made him hang it on the hall hat-rack. I did all -I could for him——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did he get gay with you?" Professor Vixley -interrupted. He had been overtly enjoying Lulu's plump -charms with his rapacious eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope smiled; Lulu Ellis colored slightly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, he didn't! I don't do none of that kind of -work!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The more fool you!" Madam Spoll retorted. "He's -an old man, ain't he?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sixty," said Vixley, "I looked him up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then he ought to be easy as chewing gum," said -Madam Spoll.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope lighted a cigarette and listened with a -mildly cynical expression.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He ain't that kind, though," Lulu insisted. "I -ain't altogether a fool, after all. Why, he don't even -go to church!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her three auditors laughed aloud, the Professor -raucously, Madam Spoll with a bubbling chuckle, -Granthope with scarcely more than an audible smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That settles it, then. You're coming on, Lulu! -What else do you know?" said Madam Spoll.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, he has a daughter——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Granthope knows all about that," from the -Madam.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Her name is Clytie," said Granthope. "Twenty-seven."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is she a looker?" asked Vixley.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope turned to him and gave him a patronizing -glance. "</span><em class="italics">You</em><span> wouldn't think so, Professor. She's -hardly your style. But she's good enough for me!" He -languidly flipped the ash from his cigarette and -took his pose again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lulu went on: "I think he had a love affair before -he was married, but I couldn't quite get it. I didn't -dare to fish very much. And that's about all I got."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's plenty, Lulu. You can go now. Here's a -dollar for you and much obliged for passing him up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, thank you," said Lulu. "I'm afraid it ain't -worth that much. He gave me a dollar himself, -though I don't charge but four bits, usually."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lord, what a fool!" said Vixley, watching her -go out. "That girl won't ever get nowhere, she's too -innocent. She knows no more about real life than a -boiled egg."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She's all right for me, though," Madam Spoll -replied. "That's just the kind I need in my business. -She fools 'em every time. They ain't nothing like a -good blusher for a stool-pigeon, you take my word -for it. Lulu's all right in her place." She turned to -wash her hands at a bowl in the corner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," said Vixley, crossing his legs, "are you -coming in with us, Frank?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It looks pretty good to me, so far. But it depends. -What have you got about Payson, anyway?" Granthope's -tone was languid.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madam Spoll winked at Vixley, as she wiped her -hands behind the palmist's back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why," Vixley replied, "Payson's in wool and is -director of a bank, besides. He's a square-head with -a high forehead, and them are easy. Gertie, here, -can get him into a private sittin', and when she does, -you leave him to her—she'll find a way all right. She -don't do no lumpy work, Gertie don't, you know that, -all right! When she passes him along to me, I'll -manage him like the way we worked Bennett with -the real estate. I'd like another chance as good as him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You just wait," said Madam Spoll. "I got a -hunch that this Payson is going to be pretty good pie; -and we got a good strong combination, Frank, if you -want to do your share."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's a pity Spoll ain't got some of Gertie's gumption," -said Vixley, smiling with approval at his partner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you make no mistake about Spoll—he's done -some good work on Payson already." The Madam -was adjusting her waist before the glass and -coquetting with her hair. "The trouble with you, -Vixley, is that you ain't got no executive ability—I'm -going to organize this game myself. I can see a way -to use Spoll and Ringa, and Flora, too. We want to -go into this thing big. Payson's a keener bird than -Bennett was, but they's more in him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So Spoll has begun, has he?" Granthope asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. He located the Paysons over on North Beach."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know that much already. The mother's dead. -Mr. and Miss Payson have traveled abroad. What -else do you know about her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, it seems she's the sole heir. Good news -for you, eh? High society, too—Flower Mission, -Kitchen Garden, Friday Cotillions, Burlingame, -everything. She could help you, Frank, if you got on the -right side of her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Here Mr. Spoll tiptoed in, bowed to Granthope, -and said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eight o'clock, Gertie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madam Spoll arose cumbrously, took a last peep in -the mirror of the folding bed and turned into the hall, -saying, "You take my advice, Frank. We depend -upon you. See what you can do with the girl." She -paused to bend a keen glance upon him. "What did -you do with her, anyway?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, I did happen on something," he answered. -"Do you remember Madam Grant, who used to live -down on Fifth Street, twenty-odd years ago?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madam Spoll came back into the room eagerly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The crazy woman who lived so queer and yet -had lots of money? Yes! She did clairvoyance, -didn't she? I remember. She had a kid with her, -too. Let's see—he ran away with the money, didn't he? -And nobody ever knew what become of him. What -about her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a duel of astute glances between them. -Granthope had his own reasons for not wanting to say -too much. He guarded his secret carefully, as he -had guarded it from her for years.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Miss Payson used to go down to see Madam Grant -with her mother, when she was a little girl."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No! </span><em class="italics">did</em><span> she, though? With her mother? That's -queer! Hold on, Vixley. What did Lulu say about -a love affair before Payson was married? Do you -get that? Here's his wife visiting Madam Grant; -you remember her, don't you? There's something in -that I believe we got a good starter already."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Spoll appeared again, anxiously beckoning, and she -went with him down the hall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vixley took up the scent. "Say, Frank," he asked, -"how did you happen to get on to that, anyway? -That was slick work."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope turned to him and replied patronizingly, -"Oh, I ought to know something about women by this -time. I got her to talking."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vixley frowned, intent in thought, stroking his -scant, pointed beard and biting his mustache; then -he slapped his knee with his claw-like hand. "Say, -you got a grand chance there," he exclaimed. "See -here, you can get in with the swells and be in a -position to help out lots. It's the chance of a lifetime, -and we'll make it worth your while."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How?" Granthope inquired contemptuously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By a fair exchange of information. You put us -wise, and we'll put you wise. I'll trust you to find -ways of using what help we give you." He cackled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—you can trust me. I think I might have some -fun out of it. I don't mind helping you out, but -all I need myself is a little imagination, some -common-sense and a frock coat."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vixley looked at him admiringly. "I wish't I had -your chance, Frank; that's what I do. Say, you just -light 'em and throw 'em away, don't you! I s'pose -if I had your looks I could do it myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope looked him over calmly. "There's no -knowing what a bath and a manicure and a suit of -clothes would do for you, Professor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can't make brains out o' soap," retorted the -medium.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you can't make money out of dirt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We'll see who has the money six months from now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's a fair enough bargain. I take the girl, you -take the money. I'm satisfied." Granthope arose and -yawned. "Oh," he added, "did you know Payson -had a partner named Riley? He was drowned in -seventy-seven."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's funny. Queer how things come our way! -Mrs. Riley is here in the front room with a test. She -was tried for the murder of one of her husbands. -Gert's goin' to shoot her up with it to-night. You -better go in and see the fun. She'll give it to her -good."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think I will," said the palmist.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He left Vixley plunged in thought, and walked out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Turning into the audience-room he sat down on a -chair in the rear. The place was almost filled. His -eyes scanned the assembly carefully, roving from one -spectator to another. On a side seat near him, a party -of four, young girls and men, sat giggling and chewing -gum. The rest of the company showed a placid -vacancy of expression or lukewarm expectancy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madam Spoll at the organ and her husband with -his violin, had, meanwhile, been playing a dreary -piece of music, "to induce the proper conditions," as -she had announced from the platform. They stopped, -retarding a minor chord, and the medium went to the -table and began to handle the tests, rearranging them, -putting some aside, bringing others forward, in an -abstracted manner. Then, looking up with a -self-satisfied smile, she spoke:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want to say something to the new-comers and -skeptics here to-night in explanation of these tests. -Them who have thoroughly investigated the subject -and are familiar with every phase of mediumship, -understand, of course, that these objects are placed -here merely to attract magnetism to the sitter and -induce the proper conditions, so that your spirit friends -will be able to communicate with you. This phase of -mediumship is called psychometry, but if I'd stop to -explain just what that means, I wouldn't have time to -give any readings. Now, it won't be possible to get -any messages unless you come here in the proper -mood to receive them. You must send out your best -thought and do all you can to assist, or else my -guides won't be able to establish communication on the -spirit plane. If you merely come here only to laugh -and to make a scoff of the proceedings, I'll have to -ask you to leave before I begin, for they's many here -to-night who are honestly in search of the truth, -seeking to communicate with the dear, loved ones -beyond on the other side."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She passed her hand across her eyes, sighed, and -fingered her chin nervously. She poked the articles -on the table again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As I come on to this platform, I see an old man -over there, in that direction, what you might call a -middle-aged man, perhaps, of a medium height, and -whiskers, like. I feel a condition of going on a -journey, you might say, somewhere east of here, -though maybe not very far, and I get the name John. -The light goes over in your direction, lady, that one -with the red hat. Yes, you. Would that be your -father, possibly?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The lady, straightening herself upon being thus -addressed, said timidly, "I think perhaps you mean my -uncle. His name was John."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Maybe it is an uncle, though I get the influence -of a father very strong, too. Has your father passed -out?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The lady in the red hat nodded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then it </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> your father, do you see? Yes, I get an -uncle, too, who wishes to communicate, only his -influence ain't strong enough. That shows it ain't mind -reading, as the newspaper folks say, don't it?" She -smiled, as if she had made a point, and the audience -appeared to be impressed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"About this journey, now: maybe you ain't had no -idea of traveling, but John says you will. I don't -think it's liable to be very far, though. It'll be before -the last of September or the first of October and John -says it'll be successful. Do you understand what I -mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The lady, frightened at the terrible import of this -question, did not speak.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you send up an article?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's that purse with the chain."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madam Spoll fingered it and weighed it reflectively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I get a condition of what you might call inharmony. -Seems to me like in your home something is worrying -you and you ain't satisfied, you understand, with -the way things are going and sometimes you feel as if, -well, you just couldn't stand it!" Her smile, now, -bathed her dupe with sympathy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The lady nodded vigorously, with tightly shut lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You kind of wonder if it does any good for you -to go to all the trouble you do to sacrifice yourself and -try to do your duty, when it ain't what you might call -appreciated. And you're worried about money, too. -Ain't that so?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She received a ready assent. The woman's eyes -were fixed upon her. Every one in the room watched -the stripping naked of a soul.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, John says that your father and him are helping -you all they can on the spirit plane, and he thinks -conditions will be more favorable and will take a -turn for the better by the first of the year."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A question fluttered on the woman's lips, but before -it had time to escape, Madam Spoll suddenly turned -in the other direction.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"While I was talking to that lady," she said, "I felt -an influence leading me to that corner over there by -the clock, and I get the initials 'S.F.B.' Is there -anybody of that name over there?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A flashily dressed woman, with tinted yellow hair -and rhinestone ear-rings, raised her hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Those are my initials," she announced.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madam Spoll grew impressive. "Your name is -Brindon, ain't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The woman gasped out a "Yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did I ever see you before?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said the blonde, "not to my knowledge, you -didn't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madam Spoll made a comprehensive gesture with -both hands, calling attention to the miracle. "You -sent up a sealed ballot, didn't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The woman nodded. She was obviously excited, -looking as if she feared her skeleton was to be -dragged forth from its closet; as indeed it was.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madam Spoll took up the envelope with her delicate -thumb and forefinger and displayed it to the audience.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You see, it's still sealed," she announced, then, -shutting her eyes, she continued: "My guides tell -me that he's what you might call infatuated, but he'll -come back to you and say he's sorry. Do you -understand that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The woman was now painfully embarrassed and -shrank into her seat. The medium, however, did not -spare her. It was too good a chance for a dramatic -sensation. She tore the envelope open and read its -contents boldly: "Does he care more for Mae Phillips -than he does for me?" It was a psychological moment. -The old women stared at Mrs. Brindon with morbid -delight. There was a little buzzing of whispers -through the room. Then the audience prepared itself -for the next sensation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The medium picked up another envelope. "This is -marked '275,'" she said, then she clutched her throat. -"Oh," she cried, "I'm strangling! They's somebody -here who passed out very sudden, like they was -poisoned. It's terrible. I can't answer the question -the party has written because there's an evil influence -here, a wicked woman. She had three husbands and -two of 'em died suspicious. Her name is Riley. -Would that be you?" She pointed forcefully at a -dried-up, old woman in a shawl, with bleared eyes and -a veined nose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was no response.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Was this question something about your daughter?" -Madam Spoll asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The woman coughed and bowed, shrinking into herself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I guess you better go somewhere else for your -readings," Madam Spoll declared cruelly. "Your aura -don't seem to me to be very harmonious. I don't -know what's the matter to-night," she went on, passing -her hand across her forehead in apparent distress. -"The conditions around me are something horrid." Her -voice rose. "There's somebody in this very room -here who has committed murder. I can't do a thing -until I get that off my mind. My guides tell me who -it is, and that they'll be satisfied if he'll acknowledge -it and say he's sorry. Otherwise, this séance can't -go on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stopped and glared about the hall. By this -time she had worked her audience up to an intense -excitement. Every one looked at his neighbor, -wondering what was to come, but no one offered to -confess to a crime. Madam Spoll raged up and down -the platform in a frenzy. Then she stopped like an -elephant at bay.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know who this person is. It's a man, and if he -don't rise and acknowledge it, I shall point him out!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No one stirred. On the fourth seat, a clean-shaven -man of thirty-five, with sharp, aquiline features and -wide-spread ears, sat, transfixed with horror, his -two hands clenched. It was Mr. Perry, the cleverest -actor in the medium's support.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She advanced toward him as if drawn by a secret -power, stared into his eyes, and putting her hand upon -his shoulder, said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou art the man!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Perry wriggled out of her grasp. "See here," -he cried, "you mind your own business, will you. -You're a fake! You got no right to make a fool of -me." His voice trembled, his face was a convincing -mask of guilt arraigned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The medium shook a warning finger at him. "You -either acknowledge what I say is true, or you leave -the hall! I can't go on with you here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Spoll came in to stand beside her valiantly; -spectators stood up to watch the drama. Mr. Perry's -eyes were wild, his face distorted; suddenly he arose -and rushed out of the room. Madam Spoll snapped -her fingers two or three times, shook herself and -went back to the platform. The murmurs died down -and the séance was resumed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madam Spoll waited a while in silence, then she -picked up a gold watch with a seal fob from the table. -"I'm glad to feel a more peaceful influence," she said. -"I'm directed toward this watch. I don't know who -brought it up, for I was out of the room at the time, -but I get the name 'Oliver.'" She looked up -expectantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A gentleman arose from an end seat in the third -row. He had a high domed head, partly bald, and a -gray chin-beard with a shaven upper lip; under shaggy -overhanging eyebrows, cold gray eyes looked through -a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles. His air was -benevolently judicial and bespoke culture and ease. He -had, moreover, a well-marked presence, as of one -used to being considered influential and prominent. -A row of false teeth glittered when he opened his -mouth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's my name," he acknowledged in a deep, -fluent voice that was heard all over the room, "and -that is my watch."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madam Spoll fixed him in the eye. "I'd like to -know if I can't get your other name. My guides are -very strong to-night." After a few moments of -self-absorption, she smiled sweetly upon him. "I -think I can get it clairaudiently. Would it be Pearson?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, but that's pretty near it, though."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It sounds like Pearson to me, Pearson. Payson, -oh, yes, it's Payson, isn't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's right," he said, and sat down.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did I ever see you before?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not to my knowledge, Madam."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked triumphantly at her audience and smiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If they's any skeptics here to-night, I hope they'll -go away satisfied." A number of old ladies nodded -emphatically. "Of course, newspaper men never come -on a night like this, when my guides are strong. -Funny what you see when you ain't got a gun, ain't -it? The next time I'm half sick and tired out, they'll -be plenty of them here to say I'm a fake, like our -friend here who left so sudden, white as a sheet. -Now, when I was directed to that watch, I was -conscious of a spirit standing beside this gentleman," she -pointed at him benevolently, "influencing me to take -it up. It's a woman, and she must have been about -thirty when she passed out, and remarkably handsome, -too. She was sort of fair-complected, between dark -and light. I get a feeling here in my throat and down -here," she touched her breast, lightly, curving her arm -gracefully inward, "as if she went out sudden, like, -with heart disease. Do you know what I mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Payson had bent forward now. "Yes," he -said, "I think I do. Has she any message for me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, she has; but—well, you see, it ain't one I'd -exactly care to give in public, and I don't think you'd -want me to, either. If you come up after the -séance is over, I'll see if I can get it for you. Or -you might do still better to have a private setting and -then I'll have time to tell you more. She brings -me a condition of what you might call worry or -anxiety, as if you had something on your mind."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned to a bunch of flowers, and, taking them -up, smelled them thoughtfully, for a while. Mr. Payson -settled back in his seat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As the medium commenced again, Granthope arose -with his faint, cynical smile and walked quietly out. -He found Mr. Spoll at the table by the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I guess he's on the hook." The palmist -buttoned his cape and lighted a cigarette.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Trust Gertie for that," said Spoll; "she'll land him -all right, see if she don't. Good night!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope turned up his collar and walked out into -the street.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-paysons"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER IV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE PAYSONS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Mr. Oliver Payson lived on a half-deserted street -on the northerly slope of Russian Hill, in a quarter -of the town which, at one time, promised to become a -favored, if not an aristocratic residential district. -But the whim of fashion had fancied in succession -Stockton Street, Rincon Hill, Van Ness Avenue, Nob -Hill, and had now settled upon the Western Addition -and the Presidio Heights. The old North Beach, with -its wonderful water and mountain view, nearer the -harbor and nearer the business part of the city, had -long been neglected. The few old families, who in -early days settled on this site, still remained; and, -with the opening of new cable-car lines, found -themselves, not only within a short distance of down-town, -but at the same time almost as isolated as if they -had dwelt in the country, for this part of the city is -upon none of the main routes—few frequent the -locality except upon some special errand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One side of the street was still unbuilt upon; on -the southern side stood three houses, each upon its -fifty-vara lot, comfortably filling the short block. That -occupied by the Paysons was an old frame structure -of two stories, without attempt at ornamentation, -except for its quaint, Tudoresque pointed windows and -a machicolated wooden battlement round the flat roof. -It stood on a gentle slope, surrounded by an -old-fashioned garden, which was hedged in, on either side, -by rows of cypress and eucalyptus trees, protecting it -from the trade winds, which here blow unhampered -across the water.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In front, a scene ever-changing in color as the -atmospheric conditions changed, was ranged in a -semi-circular pageant, the wild panorama of San Francisco -Bay, from Point Bonita and Golden Gate in the west, -past the Marin County shore with Sausalito twinkling -under the long, beautiful profile of Mount Tamalpais, -past Belvedere with its white villas, Alcatraz and -Goat Island floating in the harbor, to the foot-hills -behind Oakland and Berkeley, where, in the east, -Mount Diablo's pointed peak shimmered in the blue -distance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the second story of this house Clytie had a -bookbinding room, where she spent most of her spare -time. It was large, bare, sunny, impregnated with -the odor of leather skins, clean and orderly. A -sewing frame and a heavy press stood behind her -bench and upon a table were neatly arranged the pages -of a book upon which she was working. Carefully -placed in workmanlike precision were her knives, -shears, glue pot and gas heater and a case of stamping -irons in pigeonholes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was, this afternoon, in a brown gingham -pinafore, with her sleeves rolled up, seated before the -table, her sensitive hands moving deftly at the most -delicate operation connected with her craft. Upon a -square of heavy plate glass, she laid a torn, ragged -page, and, from several old fly leaves, selected one that -matched it in color. She cut a piece of paper slightly -larger than the missing portion, skived the edges, and -pasted it over the hole or along the frayed margin. -The work was absorbing and exacting to her eyes; -to rest them, she went, from time to time, to the -window and looked out upon the bay.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The water was gray-green streaked with a deeper -blue. In the "north harbor" two barks lay at anchor -in the stream and ferry-boats plied the fairway. In -and out of the Gate there passed, at intervals, tugs -with sailing ships bound out with lumber or in with -nitrates, steamers to coast ports, or liners from -overseas, rusty, weather-beaten tramps, strings of -heavy-going barges, lusty little tugs, lumber schooners -wallowing through the tide rip, Italian fishing smacks, -lateen-rigged with russet sails, saucy launches, and, -at last, the magnificent bulk of a white battleship -sliding imperiously into the roadstead along the waterfront.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At four o'clock Clytie's mind seemed to wander from -her occupation, and now, when she ceased and looked -out of the window, her abstracted gaze was evidently -not directed at what she saw. Her mental vision, -rather, seemed alert. Her slender golden eyebrows drew -closer together, her narrow, sharp nostrils dilated; -her lips, half open, inhaled deep, unconscious breaths. -The pupils of her eyes contracted like a cat's in the -light. Then she shook herself, passed her hand over -her forehead, shrugged her shoulders and resumed -her work.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A little later this performance was repeated; this -time, after her momentary preoccupation, she rose -more briskly, put her tools away, laid her book -carefully aside and took off her pinafore. After washing -her hands she went into her own room on the same -floor. She went down-stairs ten minutes after, in a -fresh frock, her hair nicely arranged, radiating a faint -perfume of violet water. She opened the front door -and walked slowly down the path to the gate where -the wall, though but waist-high on the garden side, -stood high above the sidewalk. Here she waited, -touching the balustrade delicately with her -outstretched fingers, as if playing upon a piano. The -breeze loosened the severity of her coiffure, which -relaxed into slight touches of curling frivolity about -her ears and neck. Her pink frock billowed out into -flowing, statuesque folds as she stood, like a figurehead, -gazing off at the mountains. Her mouth was set into -a shape not quite a smile, a queer, tremulously subtle -expression of suspense. She kept her eyes in the -direction of Hyde Street.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was not long before a man turned the corner -and walked briskly toward her. He looked up at the -first house on the block, searching for the number; -then, as his eyes traveled along to the next gate, he -caught sight of her. Instantly his soft felt hat swung -off with a quick flourish and he sent her a pleased -smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here I am, Mr. Granthope!" Clytie called down to -him, and on the instant her face was suffused with -pink. She had evidently expected him, but now she -appeared as agitated as if his coming had surprised her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He ran up the flight of wooden steps, his eyes -holding hers all the way. His dark, handsome face -glowed; he abounded with life and spirit as he stood -before her, hand outstretched. In the other, he held a -small leather-bound book.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good afternoon, Miss Payson!" he said heartily. -He shook hands eagerly, his touch, even in that -conventional greeting, consciously managed; the grasp -was sensitive and he delayed its withdrawal a suggestive -second, his dark eyes already at work upon hers. -"How lucky I was to catch you out here!" he added, -as he dropped her hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I've been expecting you for some time," Clytie -replied, retreating imperceptibly, as from an emotional -attack, and turning away her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He noticed her susceptibility, and modified his -manner slightly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why! You couldn't possibly have known I was -coming?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I did! Does that surprise you? I told you -I had intuitions, you know. You came to bring my -ring, didn't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, of course. You really have second-sight, -then?" He looked at her as one might look at a fairy, -in amusement mingled with admiration.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—haven't </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>?" She put it to him soberly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Haven't I already proved it?" His eyes, well-schooled, -kept to hers boldly, seeking for the first -sign of her incredulity. Into his manner he had tried -to infuse a temperamental sympathy, establishing a -personal relation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She did not answer for a moment, gazing at him -disconcertingly; then her eyes wandered, as she -remarked: "You certainly proved something, I don't -quite know what."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed it off, saying: "Well, I've proved at -least that I wanted to see you again, and made the most -of this excuse."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I'm glad I forgot the ring. I'm really very -glad to see you, too—I half hoped I might. Won't you -come up to my summer-house? It's not so windy -there, and we can talk better."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He accepted, pleased at the invitation and the -implied promise it held, and followed her up the path -and off toward the line of trees. The place was now -visited by belated sunshine which compensated for the -sharp afternoon breeze. In the shelter of the cypress -hedge the air was warm and fragrant. Here was an -arbor built of withe crockery crates overgrown with -climbing nasturtiums; it contained a seat looking -eastward, towards Telegraph Hill. In front stood a -sun-dial mounted on a terra cotta column, beneath -a clump of small Lombardy poplars.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she seated herself she pointed to it. "Did you -know that this is a sort of cemetery? That sun-dial -is really a gravestone. When I was a little girl I -buried my doll underneath it. She had broken open, -letting the sawdust all out, and I thought she must be -dead. It may be there now, for all I know; I never -dug her up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked over at the shaft, saying, "A very pretty -piece of symbolism. I suppose I have buried illusions, -myself, somewhere."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She thought it over for a moment, and apparently -was pleased. "I'd like to dig some of them up," she -said at last, turning to him, with the slow movement -of her head that was characteristic of her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Haven't you enough left?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She started to reply, but evidently decided not to -say what she had intended, and let it drop there, her -thought passing in a puzzling smile as she looked away -again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had laid his book beside him upon the bench, -and, when her eyes came back, she took it up and -looked at it. A glance inside showed it to be an old -edition of Montaigne. She smiled, her eyes drifted -to him with a hint of approval for his taste, then she -turned her interest to the binding. As she fingered -the leather, touching the tooled surfaces sensitively, -her curiosity did not escape his sharp eyes, watching -for anything that should be revelatory.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She explained: "I have a technical interest in bindings. -I do some of that work myself. It's curious that -I happened to be at work to-day on an old copy of -Montaigne. I'm rebinding it for my father's -birthday. You'd never think my hands were of any -practical use, would you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed. "Inconsistencies like that are what -baffles one most, especially when one knows that most -characters are inconsistent. But we professionals have -to go by general rules. I should expect you to be an -exception to all of them, though."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He watched her surreptitiously, noting her diminishing -color, the evasion of her glance, and the air of -self-consciousness with which she spoke, as they talked -for a while of obvious things—the weather, the view, -and the picturesque, old-fashioned garden. She had -taken the ring and had put it upon her finger, keeping -her eyes on its turquoises. Her whole demeanor -ministered to his vanity, already pleased by her frank -welcome. He was used enough to women's interest and -admiration for him to expect it and play upon it, but -this was of a shyer and more elusive sort; it seemed to -hold something more seriously considered, it baffled -him, even as he enjoyed its unction. Besides all this, -too, there was a secret romantic charm in the fact that -they had shared together that vivid experience of the -past. He came back for another draught of flattery.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was odd that you expected me, wasn't it?" he -said. "I can't help wondering about it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had her eyes upon the Sausalito boat, which -was weaving a trailing web of foam past Alcatraz -Island. At his words, she turned to him with the -same slow seriousness as before and replied:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shouldn't think it would seem so remarkable to -you, your own power is so much more wonderful."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps so in that one case, but you know I don't, -ordinarily, claim clairvoyance. It's only occasionally, -as the other day with you, that I attempt it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her eyes awakened; she said earnestly, "Was I -really able to bring that out in you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He caught at the hint. "Why, what else could it -be but your magnetism? It was the more strange -because I had never seen you before."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The glow faded, and she relaxed her nervous energy. -"Ah, hadn't you? I wonder!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, had you ever seen me before that day?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think so. At least you seem, somehow, familiar."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When was it, and where, then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She seemed too puzzled to answer, or fatigued with -following an intangible thread of thought. As she -spoke, slowly, intensely, her hands made large, vague -gestures, often pausing in mid air, as her voice paused, -waiting for the proper word to come. "I don't know. -It only seems as if I had been with you—or near -you, or something—I don't know what. It's like a -dream—or a story I can't quite recall, only—" she -did not finish the sentence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He wondered what her game could be. Fundamentally -cynical, though he never permitted it to show -in his manner, he distrusted her claims to prevision. -There was, after all, nothing in Miss Payson's words -that might not be accounted for by what he knew of -the wiles of feminine psychology. His training had -taught him how much a baseless hint, injected at the -proper moment, could accomplish in the masquerade -of emotions and the crafty warfare of the sexes. That -he and she had been actors together in a past -uncomprehended scene, he regarded as a mere coincidence -of which he had already made good use; he refused -to connect it with her suggestive remark, for he was -sure that she must have been unaware of his presence -in Madam Grant's room that day, so long ago. It -seemed to him more likely that, woman-fashion, she -had shot into the air and had brought down an -unsuspected quarry. And yet, even as a coincidence, he -could not quite dismiss the strangeness of it from his -mind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was preparing to turn it to a sentimental advantage, -when Clytie, who had relapsed into silence, suddenly -aroused herself with one of those impulsive -outbursts which were characteristic of her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is something about it all that is stranger -still, I think!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her golden brows had drawn together, separated -by two vertical lines, as she gazed at him. Then with -a little jet of fervor, she added:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm afraid I know too much about you, Mr. Granthope! -It's somewhat embarrassing, really. It doesn't -seem quite fair, you know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not quite sure that I understand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you know! You must know!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed. "Really, Miss Payson, it's very -flattering, of course—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no, it's not in the least flattering."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish you'd explain, then." He leaned back, -folded his arms and waited indulgently. So long as -he could keep the conversation personal, he was sure -of being able to manage her, and further his own -ends. It amused him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She busied herself with a lace handkerchief as she -continued, in a low voice, as if she were ridding -herself of a disagreeable task, and always with the slow, -monotonous turning of her questing eyes toward him, -and away. "Of course I've heard many things about -you—you're a good deal talked about, you know; -but it's not that at all—it's an instinctive knowledge -I have about you. I can't explain it. It's a queer -special feeling—almost as if, in some way, I had the -right to know. That's why I wanted to see you -again—I hoped you'd come. I wanted to tell you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But all that certainly is flattering," he said. "I -wouldn't be human if I weren't pleased to hear that -you're interested, even if—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She could not help breaking into smiles again, as -she interrupted him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, but I haven't told you yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Please do, then!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It sounds so foolish when I say it—so priggish! -But it's this: I don't at all approve of you. Why in -the world should I care? I don't know. It isn't my -business to reform you, if you need it." Now she had -brought it out, she could not look at him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Curiously enough, though he had been amused at -her assumption of a circumstantial knowledge of him, -this hinted comprehension of his character, of the -duplicity of his life, if it were that, impressed him -with the existence in her mind of some quality as -rare and mysterious as electricity, a real psychic gift, -perhaps. It gave him an instant's pause. Instinctively -he feared a more definite arraignment. He began a -little more seriously, now, to match his cleverness -against her intuition; and, for the first defense, he -employed a move of masculine coquetry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have been thinking of me, then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," she replied simply, "I have thought about -you a good deal since I was in your studio. But I -suppose you're used to hearing things like that from -women." She was apologetic, rather than sarcastic.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He shrugged his shoulders. He seemed to be able -to make no way against her directness. "I've thought -not a little of you, too, Miss Payson. You are -wonderfully psychic and sensitive. I think you should -develop your power—you might be able to do -extraordinary things with it. I wish you'd let me help you. -That is," he added humorously, "if I'm not too far -gone in your disapproval."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, the disapproval—I call it that for want of a -better word—isn't so important as the fact that I should -feel it at all, don't you see? You remember that you -told me I was the kind of a woman who, if she liked -a man, would tell him so, freely. That is true. I -would scorn to stoop to the immemorial feminine -tricks. I do like you, and in spite of what I can't quite -explain, too. I don't know why, either. It seems -as if it's a part of that other feeling I've mentioned—that -I've been with you, or near you, before."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He leaned forward to extort more of this delicious -confession from her. "Do you mean spiritually, or -merely physically near?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I don't mean an 'elective affinity' or anything so -occult as that," she laughed. "Indeed, I don't quite -know what I do mean—it's all so vague. I can't -formulate it. It escapes me when I try. But I did know, -for instance, quite definitely, that I'd see you again. I -tell you about it only because I think that you, -with your power in that way, may be able to -understand it and explain it to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He thought he saw his chance, now, and instinctively -he began to pose, letting his eyes deepen and burn on -her. He nodded his head and said impressively:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. I have felt it, too, Miss Payson. It's -wonderful to think that you should have recognized me and -understood me so well. No one ever has before. We -are related by some tie—I'm sure we've met before, -somewhere, somehow—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She jumped up and stood before him, her hands -tightly held, her lips pressed together. For a moment, -so, she looked hard at him; then what there had -been of anger in her gaze softened to something like -sadness or pity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">That's</em><span> what I meant!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He misunderstood her remark and her attitude and -went still farther astray from her meaning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are not like any other woman I have ever -known," he said, in the same soulful way.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why can't you be honest with me!" she broke out. -She was astonishingly alive now; there was no trace -of her former languor. He winced at realizing, -suddenly, and too late, that he had made a false step.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why do you make me regret having been frank?" -she went on, with a despairing throb in her voice. -"You have almost succeeded in making me ashamed of -myself, already. </span><em class="italics">That</em><span> is just what I disapprove of in -you. Don't imagine that you can ever deceive me -with such sentimentality. I shall always know when -you're straightforward and simple. That's what I've -been trying to make you understand—that I </span><em class="italics">do</em><span> know!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned slowly away from him, almost hopelessly. -For a moment she remained immobile, then -before he had recovered his wits, she had modified the -situation for him. Her eyes drifted back to his as -she remarked thoughtfully:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am sure, too, that you could help me, if you -would."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How?" He tried to pull himself together.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Merely by being honest with me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He raised his eyebrows.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I know that's a good deal to ask," she laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of any one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll try, Miss Payson," he said, not too seriously. -"But you've frightened me. I don't dare think too -hard about anything, you're such a witch."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She released him graciously and keyed down to -an easier tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must forgive me if I've been too frank, -Mr. Granthope, but this interview is almost like a first -meeting, and you know how much one is apt to say -in such a situation. Let's not continue the discussion—I'm -embarrassed enough already. I know I shall regret -what I've said. We'll talk of something pleasanter. -Tell me about that pretty girl in your office."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" he exclaimed, and his tone was as if he had -said, "Aha!" He wondered if it were possible that, -after all, it was only this which had moved her to -speak.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie frowned, but if she read his thought, she -let it go unchallenged.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She's an original little thing; I like her," she added.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You do?" he said mischievously exaggerating his -surprise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I do. Don't think I'm trying to patronize her, -but she's a dear—and she's very pretty."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you think so? I shall have to tell her that. -She's pretty enough, at least, to have been on the stage. -She was in vaudeville for a couple of years. I first -got acquainted with her at the Orpheum. I've known -her a long time. She's a great help and a great -comfort to me, and a very clever girl."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How long has she been your assistant?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Two years."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you haven't fallen in love with her yet?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope was relieved. He was sure now that she -was, if not jealous, suspicious of his relations with -Fancy. It was not the first time he had encountered -such insinuations.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, not in the least," he said. "I can give you -my word as to that. I don't think it ever occurred to -me—though I'd do anything in the world for her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I suppose you're as sure of her immunity?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, of course," said Granthope, and in his tone -there was the ring of masculine assurance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie smiled and shook her head. "There are some -things men never can know, no matter how clairvoyant -they are," she said, looking away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did not follow this up, but arose to leave. "I'm -afraid you have a very poor opinion of me, Miss -Payson," he said, "but I do feel complimented by your -frankness. Perhaps I shall merit it—who knows?" It -was his turn to address the distance, and, in spite of -his consciousness of an histrionic effect, his own words -sounded curiously in his ears; they seemed premonitory. -He shook himself free from her influence again. -She had controlled the situation from the first word; -he had only made a series of mistakes. It all confirmed -his first estimate of her: that she was very well worth -his while, but that her capture would be difficult.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie, too, had arisen. Her mood had lightened, -and her sense of humor had returned. "I hope I -haven't been either tragic or absurd," she said, -smiling. "I'm not always so serious, Mr. Granthope. The -next time I meet you I'll probably be more conventional."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I may see you again?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I doubt if you can help it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall certainly not try to!" Then he paused. -"You mean—?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was something delightful to him in this rapid -transfer of wordless thought. It again established -an intimacy between them. That she acknowledged -such a relation by anticipating another meeting, an -inevitable one, charmed him the more. He might win, -after all, with such assistance from her. Her power -of intuition aroused his curiosity—he longed to -experiment with it. She was a new plaything which he had -yet to learn to handle. Before, he had dominated her -easily enough; he might do so again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Miss Payson," he said, "won't you come down to -my studio again sometime? I'd like to make a more -careful examination of your hand, and perhaps I can -help you in developing your psychic sense."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no, thank you. Really, I can't come again—I -shall be pretty busy for a while—I have to go to the -Mercantile Library every afternoon, looking up -material for my father's book—and, after all, I got what -I wanted."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What did you want?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Partly to see you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He bowed. "Curiosity?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let's call it interest."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You had no faith, then, in my palmistry?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very little."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yet you acknowledge that I told you some things -that were true?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Haven't I told you several things about yourself, too?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd like to hear more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I've said too much, already."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let's see. That I am more or less of a villain—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But a most interesting one!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That I have met you before—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not perhaps 'met'—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That Fancy Gray is in love with me—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I didn't say that!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you suspect it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I did, it was impertinent of me. It's none of my -business."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, you won't come again—you've quite -satisfied your curiosity by seeing me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite. I've confirmed all my suspicions."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What were they?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie laughed. "Really, you're pushing me a little -too hard, Mr. Granthope. I'd be glad to have you call -here, sometime, if you care to. But my psychic powers -are quite keen enough already. They rather frighten -me. I want them only explained. As I say, it's -embarrassing, sometimes. I hate to speak of what -I feel—it's all so groundless and it sounds silly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know more, then, than you mention?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, much!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"About me, for instance?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. But it's vague and indefinite. It needn't -worry you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Even though you disapprove?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed again. "You may take that as a -compliment, if you like."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He nodded. "It is something that you care."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm mainly curious to see what you'll do—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you're expecting something, then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm watching to see. I confess I shall watch you. -I said that you interested me—that's what I mean. -You're going to—well, change."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she stood between him and the light her soft -hair showed as fine and crisp as spun glass. Her -lips were sensitively curved with a flitting smile, her -eyes were dreamy again. Everything about her -bespoke a high spiritual caste, but, to Granthope, this -only accented the desirability of her bodily self—it -would make her the greater prize, unlike anything -he had, so far, been able to win. He had an epicure's -delight in feminine beauty, and he knew how its flavor -should be finely tinctured by mind and soul; even -beauty was not exciting without that, and of mere -beauty he had his fill. Besides, she had unexpected -reserves of emotion that he was continually tempted -to arouse. But so far he had hopelessly misplayed -his part, and he longed to prove his customary -skill with women.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," he said finally, offering his hand, "I hope -I'll be able to satisfy you, sooner or later. I'll come, -soon, for a report!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, my mood may have changed, by that time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He gave her the farewell amenities and went down -the path to the gate. There he turned and saw her -still watching him. He waved his hat and went down -the steps, his mind restless with thoughts of her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie remained a while in the arbor. The fog had -begun to come in now with a vanguard of light fleecy -clouds riding high in the air, closing the bay in from -all sides. The massive bank behind followed slowly, -tinted with opal and rose from the setting sun. It -settled down, shutting out her sight of the water, and -its cohorts were soon scurrying past her on their -charge overland from ocean to harbor. The siren at -Point Bonita sighed dismally across the channel. It -soon grew too cold to remain longer in the garden, -and she went into the house shivering, lighted an -open fire in the library and sat down.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For half an hour she sat there in silence, inert, -listless, lost in thought, her eyes on the blurred landscape -mystic with driving fog. The room grew darker, -illuminated only by the fitful flashes of the fire. Her -still, relaxed figure, fragile and delicate as an ivory -carving, was alternately captured and hidden by the -shadow and rescued and restored by the sudden gleam -from the hearth. She had not moved when her -father's step was heard in the hall. He came in, -benignly sedate. His deep voice vibrated through the -room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Cly, dreaming again?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She started at the sound and came out of her reverie -to rise and greet him affectionately. He put down -some books and a package of papers and lighted the -chandelier, exchanging commonplaces with her—of her -bookbinding work, which she confessed to have -shirked; of the weather, with a little of old age's -querulous complaint of rheumatic touches; of the black -cat, which was their domestic fetish and (an -immortally interesting topic to him) of the vileness and -poisonous quality of San Francisco illuminating gas. -His voice flowed on mellifluously with unctuous authority, -as he seated himself in his arm-chair beneath the -lamp, shook out his evening paper and rattled its -flapping sheets.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie evinced a mild interest in his remarks, smiled -gently at his familiar vagaries, answering when replies -should be forthcoming, in her low, even, monotonously -pitched tones. She questioned him perfunctorily about -the book he was writing, an absorbing avocation with -him, warding off his usual disappointment at her -lack of sympathy by involving herself in a -conversational web of explanation regarding Foreign Trade -Expansion, Reciprocal Profits and The Open Door in -the Orient.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's not much use working on it at the office," -he concluded. "I'm too liable to interruptions."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who interrupted you to-day?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, there was a queer chap in this afternoon, an -insurance solicitor; Wooley, his name was. I told -him I didn't want an accident policy, but I happened -to tell him about that time on the Oakland Mole, when -I got caught between two trains in the Fourth of July -crush—you remember? and he told me about all the -narrow escapes he ever heard of, trying to get me to -go into his company. Funny dog he was. He kept -me laughing and talking with him for an hour. Then -Blanchard came in. He says he's coming around -to-night." He hesitated and scanned her intently -through his gold-bowed glasses, under his bushy -brows. "I hope you will treat him well, Cly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her face grew serious and her sensitive lips -quivered, as she said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why do you like Mr. Cayley so much, father?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, he's a very intelligent fellow, Cly; I don't -know of another young man of his age who is really -worth talking to. He knows things. He has a broad -outlook and a serious mind. He's the kind of young -man we need to take hold of political and commercial -reform. I tell you, the country is going to the dogs -for lack of men who are interested in anything -outside of their own petty concerns. Why, he's the only -one I know who really seems interested in oriental -trade and all its development means to the Pacific slope. -That's remarkable, considering he isn't himself -connected with any commercial enterprise. I don't know -what I'd do if I didn't have him to discuss my subject -with. He seems to be genuinely interested in it. I -wish you were as much so, Cly!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie turned away, smiling somewhat ironically, an -uncommon expression for her engaging features.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know," she said slowly, "that I don't quite -trust him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, you two have been friends long enough, you -should know him better by this time. You're intimate -enough with him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, it's only a feeling I have. You know I have -my intuitions—but what friendship there is has been -of his seeking."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's all right, Cly," her father said dictatorially. -"I haven't lived in the West for fifty years without -knowing something of men. I do want you to learn -to appreciate him. He's got a future before him and he -is certainly fond of you. You know, if anything did -come of it, I would—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie arose abruptly. "I think dinner's almost -ready, father, and I'm hungry. Are you ready?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was imperious, holding her tawny head erect, -her chin high, her hands clasped behind her back, -the willowy suppleness of her body now grown rigid. -Mr. Payson sighed resignedly, and allowed a moment's -silence to speak for him; then, finding that his daughter's -attitude continued to dominate the situation, he, -too, arose, patted her cheek and shook his head. This -pantomime coaxed forth a gracious smile from her. -He took his manuscripts and left to go up to his room. -Clytie remained at the window till he returned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They had nearly finished their dinner, when, after -a casual dialogue, she remarked, without looking at -him:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Father, do you remember anything about an old -crazy woman who lived down south of Market Street -somewhere, years ago—in a cheap hotel, I think it -was?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He started at her question and his voice, ordinarily -so calm and so mellow, quavered slightly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean? Who was she?" he asked -earnestly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's what I want to know," Clytie said, stirring -her coffee.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you know about her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why—I went to see her once."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">You</em><span> went to see her? When?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you </span><em class="italics">did</em><span> know her!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Payson spoke cautiously, watching his daughter. -"I have heard about her, yes, but I never knew you had -been there. How in the world did that happen? It -must have been a long time ago." He stared as if -he could scarcely believe her assertion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mother took me there once or twice. It's almost -the first thing I remember."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She did? She never told me! It's strange you -have never mentioned it before."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps I oughtn't to mention it now. I thought, -somehow, that she wouldn't want me to tell you about it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His tone now was disturbed, anxious, pitched in a -higher key.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why shouldn't you speak of it? What difference -could it possibly make? I remember that woman, yes. -She was not old, though. Do you recall her well? -You were very young then."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can almost see her now. She had white hair -and black eyebrows, with a vertical line between them; -she was pale, but with bright red lips. She wore a -strange red gown. I think she must have been very -beautiful at one time. Who was she, father?" Clytie -sent a calm, level glance at him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, she was a friend of your mother's. Your -mother and I used to keep track of her and help her, -that's all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Was she poor, then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, she wasn't. That was the queer part of it. -She had considerable ability and actually carried -on a real estate business, though she was pretty mad. -She had lucid intervals, though, when she was as -reasonable as any one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What became of her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She died, I think, of heart disease. It must have -been the same year your mother died, if I remember -rightly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What was her name?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Payson grew more nervous at this questioning, -but he replied, "They called her Madam Grant, I -believe. How did you happen to bring up the subject -after all these years, Cly?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was her turn to be embarrassed. "Well—I've -recalled that scene occasionally, and wondered about -it—it has always been a mystery I couldn't explain, -and I never dared talk about it. Of course, it's only -one of those vivid early pictures of childhood, but it -has always seemed very romantic."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was a strange situation," Mr. Payson replied. -"She was a very unfortunate woman and I was sorry -for her. I never would have permitted you to go, if -I had known, of course, but perhaps your mother knew -best." He dropped his chin upon his hand. "Yes, -I'm glad you went, now. What impression did she -make on you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I only remember thinking how beautiful she must -have been."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," Mr. Payson's voice was almost inaudible. -He pushed his chair back, rose and went into the -library. Clytie followed him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you going out to-night, father?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I've got some business to attend to."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In the evening?" she raised her brows.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I'm only looking up something—for my book." He -turned away to avoid her gaze.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" She sat down and took up a book without -questioning him further. Soon after, the front -doorbell rang and Mr. Cayley was shown in by the Chinese -servant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Blanchard Cayley was well known about town, -for he had a place in many different coteries. By his -birth he inherited a position in a select Southern set -that had long monopolized social standing and -looked scornfully down upon the upstart railroad -aristocracy and that </span><em class="italics">nouveau riche</em><span> element which was -prominent chiefly through the notoriety conferred by -the newspapers. Blanchard Cayley's parts gained him -the entrée, besides, to less conventional circles, where -his wit and affability made him a favorite. He belonged -to two of the best clubs, but his inclinations led him -to dine usually at French or Italian restaurants, where -good-fellowship and ability distinguished the -company. He wrote a little and knew the best -newspaper men and all the minor poets in town. He drew -a little, and was familiar with all the artists. He -accounted himself a musical critic and cultivated -composers. He knew San Francisco like a rat, knew it -as he knew the intricacies of French forms of verse, -as well as he knew the architecture of music and the -history of painting. He had long ceased his nocturnal -meanderings "down the line" from the Hoffman Bar -to Dunn's saloon, but he occasionally took a -post-graduate course, of sorts, to see whether, for the -nonce, the city was wide open or shut. He had -discovered the Latin Quarter, now well established as a -show-place for jaded pleasure-seekers, and had played -</span><em class="italics">bocce</em><span> with the Italians in the cellars of saloons, before -the game was heard of by Americans. He had found -the marionette theater in its first week, traced every -one of Stevenson's haunts before the Tusitala had died -in Samoa, knew the writings of "Phoenix" almost -by heart, and had devoured half the Mercantile -Library. Tar Flat and the Barbary Coast he knew as well -as the Mission and North Beach, and as for Chinatown, -he had ransacked it for queer jars, jade and hand-made -jewelry, exhausting its possibilities long before San -Franciscans had realized the presence, in that quarter, -of anything but an ill-smelling purlieu of tourists' -bazaars.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had "discovered" women as well—women, for -the most part, whose attractions few other persons -seemed to appreciate. His last find was Clytie -Payson—a much more valuable tribute to his taste than -any heretofore. He had devoted himself assiduously -to her, and it was his boast that he could remember -the hat she wore when he first saw her, ten years -before. His pursuit of her had been eccentric. Cayley -was mathematical and his methods were built upon a -system. During the first years of their acquaintance -he alternated months of neglect with picturesque -arrivals on nights so tempestuous and foul that his presence -would be sure to be counted as a flattering tribute, -and would outweigh, with his obvious devotion, the -previous languor of his pursuit. This was a fair -sample of the subtlety of his psychological amours, for -Blanchard Cayley was not of the temperament to run -across the room and kiss a girl with verve and ardor. -He led, however, an intense mental life; there he -was a creature of enthusiasms and contempts, capable -of no intermediate emotion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What else was true of his character it would be -necessary to determine from the several ladies of his -choice whom he kept carefully apart, recipients of his -subdivided confidence. Blanchard Cayley did not -introduce female contemporaries.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He wore a carefully trimmed, reddish, Vandyke -beard, with a drooping mustache; his hair curled a -bit effeminately. Large blue eyes, the well-developed -nose of the hobbyist, hands of a sixteenth-century -gentleman, aristocratic, well-kept, soft. To-night he -was in half-dress—dinner jacket and gold studs, an -inch wide stripe upon his trousers—this under a yellow -mackintosh and cricket cap, in strict accordance with -his own ideas of form.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Payson was in the library still busy with his -manuscript when he entered. The two shook hands. -Blanchard's manner had in it something of a survival -of the old school. He was never awkward, yet never -bombastic. Suave, rather, with a semi-humorous touch -that relieved his courtesy of anything solemn. He -smiled, showing his teeth, saying, with an appearance -of great interest,</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Mr. Payson, I see you're still at it. How's -</span><em class="italics">The Open Door in the Orient</em><span>?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, getting on," said Mr. Payson. "I want to -read you my last chapter when I get a chance. I -think you'll like it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cayley had been successful in appearing to listen, -and at the same time pay his respects to Clytie, whose -hand he did not let go without a personal pressure -in addition to the visible greeting. He kept it an -unpleasant half-second longer than had Granthope. -She freed herself with a slight gesture of discomfort. -"Perhaps I'd better go up-stairs and leave you men -alone to talk it over," she suggested.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly not," said her father. "I'll wait until -some other time, only I thought Blanchard would -be interested."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed, I am," Cayley protested. "I'm very -anxious to hear your opinion about gold, too. I have -something to suggest, myself. Oh!" He delved into -his breast pocket. "Here are some notes on the -history of the trade dollar, Mr. Payson. You know I -was speaking of it. I've been looking up the subject -at the mint and at the library for you; I think it -might give you some ideas."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Payson took the paper eagerly and pushed up -his spectacles to examine it. "Thank you; thank you -very much. I'll be glad to look it over. It's a -pleasure to find any one nowadays who's so interested -in what is going to be a very vital question. You'll -find my cigars here, somewhere. Cly, you go and find -the box, won't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As Clytie disappeared in the direction of the -dining-room, he added, "You must humor her, Blanchard, -she's a bit skittish. Don't force her hand and I think -you'll bring her around."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks for the tip, but I have my idea," was the -reply. "It's only a question of time when I shall -be able to produce the psychological condition I want."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Payson shook his head dubiously. "I don't -know. That isn't the way we went about it when I -was young. We didn't bother much with psychology -then. We had emotions to attend to."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, love-making is just as much a science as -anything else, and there is no reason why it shouldn't -progress. There are modern methods, you know; -it's only a form of hypnotism." He smiled blandly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When he and Clytie were alone—a situation she -seemed to delay as much as possible—Cayley sat down -opposite her with an ingratiating, disarming smile. -He was neither eager nor impressive. He was sure -of himself. It did not, as he had said, seem to matter -a great deal about her emotions; he scarcely considered -her otherwise than as a mind whose defenses he -was to overthrow in an intellectual contest. He began -with elaborate circumlocution.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I've discovered something."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her delicate eyebrows rose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is a curious botanical fact that there are four -thousand lamp-posts in the city of San Francisco."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why botanical?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is just what I expected you to ask."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I'll not ask it." She was already on the -defense.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you did!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?" She appeared to resent his tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, see here!" He laid his right forefinger to -his left palm. "Suppose a Martian were visiting the -earth. He wouldn't at first be able to distinguish the -properties of things. So, seeing these four thousand -lamp-posts, he might consider them as a part of the -Terrene flora—queer trees."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was like a game of chess, and it was evident that -she could not foresee his next move. The detour was -too complicated. She seemed, by her attitude, to be -on her guard, but allowed him, with a nod of assent, -to proceed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, suppose you have the Martian, or let us call -it the uncorrelative point of view. Suppose you use -brain-cells that have hitherto been quiescent or -undeveloped."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't exactly follow." Her attention wandered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He probed it. "Suppose I should get up and kiss you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She awoke suddenly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You see what I mean now?" he continued. "You -exploded a new cell then. You gained a new point -of view with regard to me. Don't be afraid. I'm not -going to kiss you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed, you're not!" Her alarm subsided; her -resentment, rising to an equal level, was drawn off in a -smile at the absurdity of the discussion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He went on: "But you must acknowledge that I -have, at least, produced a psychological condition. I'm -going to use that new cell again." He waited for her -answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear me!" she exclaimed at last. "We're getting -very far away from the lamp-posts. I'm quite in -the dark."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He proceeded: "My character is lighted by four -thousand lamp-posts also."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, I see! You want me to regard them as botanical -facts. I, as a supposititious Martian, with this -wonderful new cell, am to perceive in you something that -is not true?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, for in Mars, the lamp-posts, we will suppose, -</span><em class="italics">are</em><span> vegetables—not mechanical objects."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A little more light from the lamp-posts, please."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They are emotions, alive and growing. They have -heat as well as light, in spite of their subtleties. I want -you to perceive the fact that my methodical nature -shows that I have a determined, potent stimulus—that -I have energy—that I am in earnest."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She seemed to sniff the danger now and stood at -gaze. He went on:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall keep at the attempt until you do look at me -in this way—till I've educated these dormant cells."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you are leading up to another proposal," Clytie -said, "I must say I admire your devotion to method, -but it is time thrown away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He took this calmly enough. He took everything -calmly; but he did not abate his persistence. "I'm -not leading up to a proposal so much as I am to an -acceptance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie shrugged her shoulders. "You'll be telling -me you're in love with me next."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you doubt it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A half-dozen proposals have not convinced me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Seven," he corrected. "This is the eighth."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How long do you intend to keep it up?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Until I produce in your mind a psychological -condition which will convince you that I'm in earnest, -that I am sincere, that I am the man for you. Then -I shall produce an emotional reflex—it's sure to follow. -It may come to-night and it may come next year. -Sooner or later circumstances will bring about this -crystallization. Some shock may help; it may be a -simple growth. I am sure to win you in the long run. -I'm bound to have you, and I will, if I have to make -a hundred attempts. You can't dismiss me, for I'm -an old friend and you need me. I have educated you, -I have broadened your horizon. You see, I am -playing with my cards on the table."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But without trumps." Clytie stifled a yawn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Meaning, I suppose, that I have no heart? Clubs -may do. I rely upon your atavism."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose you have as much heart as can be made -out of brain."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What if I say that I'm jealous? Will that prove -that I have a heart?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you're too conceited ever to be jealous."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I am! I'll prove it. I happen to know that -that palmist person, Granthope, was here this -afternoon and you spent half an hour with him. How's -that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How do you know?" She awoke to a greater interest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't seem to realize that I make it my -business to know all about you. This came by accident, -though. I was on the Hyde Street car and I saw -him get off and come in here. I waited at the end of -the road till he went back. Now, what if I should -tell your father that you have been entertaining a -faking palmist here, on the sly?" He leaned back and -folded his hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie rose swiftly and walked to the door without -a look at him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Father," she called, "Mr. Cayley has something -to say to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never mind," Cayley protested. "That was merely -an experiment."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Payson, in overcoat and silk hat, thrust a mildly -expectant head in the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was only about the trade dollar business," said -Cayley. "I'll tell you some other time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Payson withdrew, scenting no mischief, and -Clytie sat down without a word.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thought you'd call my bluff, did you?" said -Cayley, unruffled. "I like spirit!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you don't look out you'll succeed in boring -me." Clytie's manner had shown an amused scorn -rather than resentment. She was evidently not afraid -of him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're fighting too hard to be bored," he remarked -coolly. He added, "Then you are interested in him, -are you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am." Clytie looked him frankly in the face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've heard a lot about him and he appeals to my -imagination. I scarcely think I need to apologize for -it. Have you any objection to my knowing him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd rather you wouldn't get mixed up with him; -since he's been taken up the women are simply crazy -about him, as they always are about any charlatan. -They're all running after him and calling on him and -ringing him up at all hours. Why, Cly, they actually -lie in wait for him at his place; trying to get a -chance to talk to him alone. I don't exactly see you in -that class, that's all. You can scarcely blame me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I haven't rung him up yet," said Clytie, "but -there's no knowing what I may do, of course, with all -my unexploded brain-cells."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How did he happen to come here, then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He came to see me, I suppose."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cayley accepted the rebuff gracefully. "Well, in -another month, when some one else comes along, -people will drop him with a thud. He's a nine days' -wonder now, but he's too spectacular to last. This is -a great old town! We need another new fakir now -that the old gentleman in the Miller house has stopped -his Occult Brotherhood in the drawing-room and his -antique furniture repository in the cellar. I haven't -heard of anything so picturesque since that Orpheum -chap caught the turnips on a fork in his teeth, that -were tossed from the roof of the Palace Hotel. I -suppose I'll have a good scandal about Granthope, pretty -soon, to add to my collection."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie accepted the diversion, evidently only too glad -to change the subject. "What collection?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My San Francisco Improbabilities. I've got a -note-book full of them—things no sane Easterner -would believe possible, and no novelist dare to use -in fiction."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, I remember your telling me. What are -they? One was that house made entirely of doors, -wasn't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, the 'house of one hundred and eighty doors' -at the foot of Ninth Street. Then, there is the hulk -of the </span><em class="italics">Orizaba</em><span> over by the Union Iron Works, where -'Frank the Frenchman' lives like a hermit, eats swill -and bathes in the sewage of the harbor. Then there's -'Munson's Mystery' on the North beach—nobody has -ever found out who Munson is. And Dailey, the star -eater of the Palace Hotel—he used to have four -canvas-back ducks cooked, selected one and used only the -juice from the others; he ordered soup at a dollar a -plate; and he had a happy way of buying a case of -champagne with each meal, drinking only the top glass -from each bottle."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie laughed now, for Cayley was in one of his -most amusing and enthusiastic moods. "Do you -remember that tramp who lived all summer in the -Hensler vault in Calvary Cemetery?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, but that isn't so impossible as Kruger's castle -out in the sand-hills by Tenth Avenue. It's a perfect -jumble of job-lot buildings from the Mid-winter Fair, -like a nightmare palace. I went out there once and -saw old Mother Kruger, so tortured with rheumatism -that she had to crawl round on her hands and knees. -She had only one tooth left. The old man is one of -the last of the wood-engravers and calls himself the -Emperor of the Nations. He has resurrected Hannibal -and an army of two hundred thousand men; also he -revived Pompeii for three days. He wanted to bring -Mayor Sutro back to life for me, but I wouldn't -stand for it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cayley swept on with his anecdotes. "Who would -believe the story of 'Big Bertha,' who buncoed all the -swellest Hebrews in town, and ended by playing -Mazeppa in tights at the Bella Union Theater? Who -has written the true story of Dennis Kearney, the -hack-driver, who had his speeches written for him by -reporters, and went East with a big head, unconsciously -to plagiarize Wendell Phillips in Fanueil Hall? -Or of 'Mammy' Pleasant, the old negress who had -such mysterious influence over so many millionaires—who -couldn't be bribed—who died at last, with all her -secrets untold? There's Romance in purple letters!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you think of a first folio Shakespeare, -the rent-roll of Stratford parish, and a collection of -Incunabula worth thirty thousand dollars, kept in the -deserted library on Montgomery Street in a case, by -Jove, without a lock! What's the matter with Little -Pete, the Chinaman, jobbing all the race-tracks in -California? Who'd believe that there are streets here, -within a mile of Lotta's fountain, so steep that they -pasture cows on the grass?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then there's Emperor Norton, and the Vigilance -Committee, and all the secrets of the Chinatown slave -trade," Clytie contributed, with aroused interest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I'm not speaking of that sort of thing. That's -been done, and the East and England think that -Romance departed from here with the red-shirted -miner. Everybody knows about the Bret Harte type of -adventure. It's the things that are going on now -or have happened within a few years—like finding -that Chinese woman's skeleton upside down, built into -the wall of the house on the corner of Powell and -Sutter; like Bill Dockery, the food inspector, who -terrorized the San Bruno road, like a new Claude -Duval, holding up the milkmen with a revolver and -a lactometer, and went here, there and everywhere, -into restaurants and hotels all over the peninsula, -dumping watered milk into the streets till San -Francisco ran white with it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then there's Carminetti's," Clytie recalled, now. -"That's modern enough, and typical of San Francisco, -isn't it? I mean not so much what's done there, as -the way they do it. I've always wanted to go down -there some Saturday night and see just what it's like."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wouldn't want you to be seen there, Cly, it -wouldn't do." Cayley shook his head decidedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why wouldn't it do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's a little too lively a crowd. You'd be disgusted, -if they happened to hit things up a bit, as they -often do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't see why I shouldn't be privileged to see -what is going on. It's a part of my education, isn't -it? It's all innocent enough, from what you say; it's -at worst nothing but vulgar. I think I am proof -against that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"People would get an altogether wrong opinion of -you. They'd think you were fast."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I fast?" Clytie smiled. "I think I can risk that. -I shouldn't probably want to go more than once, it's -true. You don't know me, that's all. You don't -believe that I can go from one world of convention -to another and accept the new rules of life when it's -necessary. It's just for that reason that I </span><em class="italics">do</em><span> wish -to go—as, when I went to London, I wanted to see if -I could accept all their slow, poky methods of business -and transportation and everything and find out the -reason of it all for myself, before I thought of criticizing -it. I want to understand Carminetti's, if I can, -and if you won't take me, I'll find some one who will."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Granthope, perhaps?" Cayley suggested with irony.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have no doubt he'd understand my motives better -than you do!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, it might be an interesting experiment. Miss -Payson at Carminetti's—there's a San Francisco -contrast for you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You may add it to your list of Improbabilities. -Study me, if you like, and put me in your list. You -may find that I have a surprise or two left for you." She -smiled to herself and threw back her head proudly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You do tempt me to try it," he said, coolly watching -her. "You'd look as inconsistent there as those old -French family portraits in that saloon out on the -Beach—Lords of Les Baux, they were, I believe, administrators -of the high justice, the middle and the low!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And, oh!" he added, "that reminds me of another -thing I found to-day while I was looking over a file -of the </span><em class="italics">Chronicle</em><span>, digging up this trade dollar -business. It was way back in 1877; a queer story, but I -suppose it's true."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What was it?" Clytie asked. The rays of the -lamp shot her hair with gold sparks as she sat in a -low chair, listening.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, there was an old woman who was half -crazy; she lived down south of Market Street -somewhere in the most fearful squalor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie suddenly moved back into the shadow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes,—what else?" She followed his words -with absorbed attention.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There was no furniture except a lot of boxes and -a bookcase. And here's the remarkable thing: there -was about two inches of rubbish and dirt matted down -all over the floor, where she used to hide money and -food and any old thing, wrapped in little packages. -When she died, her stuff was auctioned off, and they -found a trunk with a whole new wedding outfit in it. -How's that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What was her name?" Clytie asked breathlessly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't remember it. She was a sort of clairvoyant, -I believe. There was a little boy lived with her, too. -It seems he disappeared after she died. Ran away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie leaned forward again, her eyes wide open and -staring. Her hands were tightly clasped together.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A little boy?" she repeated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, that's what it said in the paper. Great story, -isn't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie's breath came and went rapidly, as if she were -trying to breathe in a storm, amidst the dashing of -waves. The color went from her cheeks, her thin -nostrils dilated. Then, retreating into the shade again, -she managed to say:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It certainly is romantic."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No one would believe a thing like that could be -true," he followed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I can scarcely believe it's possible, myself," she -replied, controlling her agitation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Blanchard Cayley ran on and on with his talk. -Clytie gave him scant attention, answering in -monosyllables.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-rise-and-fall-of-gay-p-summer"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER V</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE RISE AND FALL OF GAY P. SUMMER</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Two hours after leaving Granthope's studio, -Mr. Gay P. Summer had "dated" Fancy Gray. Mr. Summer -was a "Native Son of the Golden West"; he had, -indeed, risen to the honorable station of Vice -President of the Fort Point Parlor of that ecstatic -organization. He was, in his modest way, a leader of men, -and aspired to a corresponding mastery over women. -In all matters pertaining to the pursuit and conquest of -the fair sex, Mr. Summer was prompt, ingenious and -determined. Before two weeks were over he was -able to boast, to his room-mate, of Fancy's subjection. -Fancy herself might equally well have boasted of his. -At the end of this time he was, at least, in possession -of her photograph, six notes written in a backward, -slanting penmanship, twelve words to the damask -page, with the date spelled out, a lock of hair (though -this was arrant rape), and one gray suede, left-hand -glove. These he displayed, as trophies of the chase, -upon the bureau of his bedroom and defended them, -forbye, from the asteistic comments of his room-mate, -an unwilling and unconfessed admirer of Gay P. Summer's -power to charm and subdue.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In those two weeks much had been done that it is -not possible to do elsewhere than in the favored city -by the Golden Gate. A Sunday excursion to the beach -was the fruit of his first telephonic conversation. -There are beaches in other places, indeed, but there -is no other Carville-by-the-Sea. This capricious -suburb, founded upon the shifting sands of "The Great -Highway," as San Francisco's ocean boulevard is -named, is a little, freakish hamlet, whose dwellings—one -could not seriously call them houses—are built, for -the most part, of old street-cars. The architecture is -of a new order, frivolously inconsequent. According -to the owner's fancy, the cars are placed side by side -or one atop the other, arranged every way, in fact, -except actually standing on end. From single cars, -more or less adapted for temporary occupancy, to -whimsical residences, in which the car appears only in -rudimentary fragments, a suppressed motif suggested -by rows of windows or by sliding doors, the owners' -taste and originality have had wanton range. Balconies -jut from roofs, piazzas inclose sides and fronts, -cars are welded together, dovetailed, mortised, added -as ells at right angles or used terminally as kitchens -to otherwise normal habitations.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gay P. Summer was, with his room-mate, the -proprietor of a car of the more modest breed. It was a -weather-worn, blistered, orange-colored affair that had -once done service on Mission Street. The cash-box -was still affixed to the interior, the platform, shaky -as it was, still held; the gong above, though cracked, -still rang. There was a partition dividing what they -called their living-room, where the seats did service -for bunks, from the kitchen, where they were bridged -for a table and perforated for cupboards. There was -a shaky canvas arrangement over a plank platform; -and beneath, in the sand, was buried a treasure of -beer bottles, iron knives, forks and spoons and -wooden plates.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Here, unchaperoned and unmolested, save by the -wind and sun, Gay P. Summer and Fancy Gray proceeded -to get acquainted. They made short work of it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy's velvet cheeks were painted with a fine rose -color that day. Her hair looked well in disorder; how -much better it would have looked, had it kept its -natural tone, she did not realize. Her firm, white line -of zigzag teeth made her smile irresistible, even -though she chewed gum. Her eyes were lambent, flickering -from brown to green; her lower lids, shaded with -violet, made them seem just wearied enough to give -them softness. None of this was lost on Gay.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He, too, was well-developed, masculine, agile, with -a juvenile glow and freshness of complexion that -rivaled hers. His dress was jimp and artful, with tie -and socks of the latest and most vivid mode. Upon -his short, pearl, covert coat, he wore a mourning band, -probably for decoration rather than as a badge of -affliction. His eyes were still bright and clear without -symptoms of dissipation. His laughter was good to -hear, but, as to his talk, little would bear -repetition—slangy badinage, the braggadocio of youth, a gay -running fire of obvious retort and innuendo, frolic and -flirtations. That Fancy appeared to enjoy it should go -without saying. She was not for criticism of her host -and entertainer that fine day. She let herself go in -the way of gaiety he led and slanged him jest for jest, -for Fancy herself had a pert and lively tongue.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Upon one point only did she fail to meet him. Not -a word in regard to her employer could he get from -her. Again and again, Gay came back to the subject -of the palmist and his business secrets; Fancy parried -his queries every time. He tried her with flattery—she -laughed in his face. He attempted to lead her on by -disclosing vivacious secrets of his own life; his -ammunition was only wasted upon her. He coaxed; he -threatened jocosely (she defended herself ably from -his punitive kiss), but her discretion was impregnable. -She made merry at his expense when he sulked. She -tantalized him when he pleaded. Her wit was too -nimble for him and he gave up the attempt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The stimulation of this first meeting went to Fancy's -head. She laughed like a child. She sang snatches -from her vaudeville days and mimicked celebrities. -Gay dropped his pose of worldly wisdom and made -shrieking puns. They played like Babes in the Wood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At seven o'clock, hungry and sun-burned, they -walked along the beach to the Cliff House and dined -upon the glazed veranda, watching the surf break on -Seal Rocks. As they sat there in the dusk, haunted -by an elusive waiter, Gay waxed eloquent about himself, -told of his high office in the Native Sons, revealed -the amount of his salary at the bank, touched lightly -upon his previous amours, bragged loftily of his -indiscretions at exuberant inebriated festivals, puffing -magnificently the while at a "two-bit" cigar.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy paid for her meal by listening to him -conscientiously, ejaculating "No!" and "Yes?" or "Say, -Gay, that's a josh, isn't it?" If her mind wandered -(Fancy was nobody's fool), he did not perceive it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To their cocktails and California claret they now -added a Benedictine, and Gay grew still more confidential. -The night fell, and the crowd began to leave. -They walked entirely round the hotel corridor, bought -an abalone shell split into layers of opalescent hues, -then with a last look at the sea-lions, barking in the -surge, they walked for the train, found a place in -an open car and sat down, wedged into a hilarious -crowd, reveling in song and peanuts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Disregarded was the superb view they passed. The -train, skirting the precipitous cliffs along the Golden -Gate, commanded a splendor of darkling water and -tumultuous mountain distances, theatrical in beauty. -The sea splashed at the foot of the precipice -beneath them. The hills rose above their heads, the -intermittent twinkle of lighthouses punctuated the -purple gloom. It was all lost upon them. Fancy's head -drooped to Gay's shoulder. He put his arm about -her, cocking his hat to one side that it might not -strike hers as he leaned nearer. No one observed -them, no one cared, for every Jack had his Jill, and -a simple, primitive comradeship had settled upon the -wearied throng. A baby whined occasionally as the -train lurched round the sharp curves of the track. A -riotous yell or two came from the misogynists of the -smoking compartment. Fancy did not talk. Gay's -loquacity oozed away. He was content to feel her -breathing against his side.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>There were telephone conversations often after that, -then occasional lunches down-town, when Fancy, -always modishly dressed, drew many an eye to her -well-rounded, well-filled Eton jacket, her smart red hat, -her fresh white gloves and her high-heeled shoes. Gay -was proud of her, and he showed her off to his friends -without caution. Fancy was nothing loath. Occasionally -they went to the theater, dining previously -in style at some popular restaurant, where Gay hoped -that he might be seen with her. To such as discovered -them, he would bow with proud proprietorship; or -perhaps saunter over, on some flimsy pretext, to hear -his friends say, with winks and smiles:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By Jove, that girl's all right, old man! She's a -stunner. Say, introduce me, will you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To which Gay would answer:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not on your folding bed! This is a close corporation, -old man. I've got that claim staked out, see? -So long!" and walk away pleased.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the theater, he always made a point of going -out between the acts, in order that his reëntry might -point more conspicuously at his conquest. Afterward, -at Zinkand's, having engaged a table beside which all -the world must pass, he would pose, apparently oblivious -to the crowd, talking to her with absorbed interest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy suffered the exhibition without displeasure. -She had no objection to being looked at. To make -a picture of herself, to play the arch and coquettish -before a room of well-dressed folk was one of the -things she did best.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was recognized occasionally and pointed out by -one or another of Granthope's patrons. "There she is; -over behind you, in the white lace hat, with a -chatelaine watch—don't look just yet, though," was the -almost audible formula which Gay P. Summer learned -to wait for. At such times his chest swelled with -pride. To walk into a restaurant with her late at night -and leave a wake of excited whispers behind him, was -all he knew of fame.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It did not escape Gay's notice, however, that -Fancy's eyes were not always for him. In the middle of -his longest and most elaborate story, she would often -throw a surreptitious glance about the room, letting -it rest for an instant—a butterfly's caress—upon some -admiring stalwart stranger. Once or twice he detected -the flicker of Fancy's smile, a smile not meant for him. -He found that, although his attention was all for -Fancy, Fancy's errant glances allowed nothing and nobody -to escape her observation. If he mentioned any one -whom he had seen in the room, Fancy had seen him, -or more often her, first. Fancy always knew what -she wore, what it cost, what she was doing, how much -she liked him and what her little game was.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This sort of thing would have been an education -for Gay, had he been amenable to such teaching; but -what women see and know without a tutor he would -and could never know. Wherefore, such dialogues as -this were common:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy: "The brute! He's actually made her cry, -now. She's a little fool, though; it's good enough -for her!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>From Gay: "Where?—who do you mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Over there in the corner—don't stare so, </span><em class="italics">please</em><span>!—See -those two fellows and two girls? The girl in the -white waist is tied up in a heart-to-heart talk with that -bald-headed chap, but she's dead in love with the other -fellow, see? Yes, that fellow with the mustache. -My! but she's jealous of the other girl."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How can you tell? Oh, that's all a pipe-dream, Fancy!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, any fool would know it—any woman would, -I mean. She had a few words with him—the fellow -she's stuck on, just now! He must have said -something pretty raw. Look at her eyes! You can tell -from here there are tears in them. Look! See? I -thought so. She's going to try and make him -jealous! What do you think of that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, she's changed places with him; what's that -for?" To Gay, the drama was as mysterious as a -Chinese play.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just to get him crazy, of course! That other -fellow thinks she's really after him, too. The other -girl sees through the whole game, of course. My, but -men are easy! Those two fellows are certainly being -worked good and plenty. Just look at the way she's -freezing up to that bald-headed chap now. Well, I -never! If that other girl isn't trying to get you on -the string. Smile at her, Gay, and see what she'll do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never mind about her!" said Gay, secretly pleased -at the tribute. "You girls can always see a whole -lot more than what really happens. She's just changed -places on account of the draught, probably. She is -lamping me, though, isn't she? Say, she's a peach, -all right!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, she's sure pretty. Say, Gay—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What?" His eye returned fondly to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you think I'm as pretty as she is?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you make me tired, Fancy. Gee! You've got -her sewed up in a sack for looks!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So Fancy played her game cleverly, keeping Gay, -but keeping him off at arm's length. But as time went -on, his ardor grew and she was often at her wits' end -to handle him. Though free from any conventional -restraints, she did not yet consider her lips Mr. Summer's -property, though she permitted him a cool and -lifeless hand upon occasion. In time, the excitable -youth began to understand her reserve; but instead -of dampening his enthusiasm, it aroused his zest for the -chase. She was not so easy game as he had thought. -He waxed sentimental, therefore, and plied her with -equivocal monologues, hinting, in the attempt to make -sure of his way. At this, her sense of humor broke -forth, effervescing in lively ridicule. This brought -Mr. Summer, at last, to the point of an out-and-out -proposal. Fancy, experienced in such situations, warned -in time by his preludes, did not take it too seriously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am sorry to say you draw a blank, Gay," she -informed him lightly. "I'm not in the market yet. -Many a man has expected me to become domesticated -at sight, and settle down in content over the -cookstove. But I haven't even a past yet—nothing but a -rather tame present and hope for a future. I don't -seem to see you in it, Gay. In fact, there's nobody -visible to the naked eye at present."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," he said, "I'll cut it out for now, as long -as I can't make good, but sometime you'll come to me -and beg me to marry you, see if you don't. Whenever -you get ready, I'll be right there with the goods."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy laughed and the episode was closed.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Say, Fancy, there's a gang of artist chaps and -literary guys I'd like to put you up against," Gay said -one afternoon. "I think you'd make a hit with the -bunch, if you can stand a little jollying."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You watch me!" Fancy became enthusiastically -interested. "Where do they hang out?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They eat at a joint down on Montgomery Street. -They're heavy joshers, though. They're too clever -for me, mostly. It's the real-thing Bohemia down -there, though."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why didn't you tell me about it before?" she -pouted. "I'm game! Let's float in there to-night and -see the animals feed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So they went down to the Latin Quarter together.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bohemia has been variously described. Since Henri -Murger's time, the definition has changed retrogressively, -until now, what is commonly called Bohemia -is a place where one is told, "This is Liberty Hall!"—and -one is forced to drink beer whether one likes it -or not, where not to like spaghetti is a crime. Not -such was the little coterie of artists, writers and -amateurs, who dined together every night at Fulda's -restaurant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In San Francisco is recruited a perennial crop of -such petty soldiers of fortune. Here art receives -scant recompense, and as soon as one gets one's head -above water and begins to be recognized, existence is -unendurable in a place where genius has no field for -action. The artist, the writer or the musician must fly -East to the great market-place, New York, or to the -great forcing-bed, Paris, to bloom or fade, to live -or die in competition with others in his field.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So the little artistic colonies shrink with defections -or increase with the accession of hitherto unknown -aspirants. Many go and never return. A few come -back to breathe again the stimulating air of California, -to see with new eyes its fresh, vivid color, its poetry, -its romance. To have gone East and to have returned -without abject failure is here, in the eyes of the -vulgar, Art's patent of nobility. Of those who have -been content to linger peaceably in the land of the -lotus, some are earls without coronets, but one and -all share a fierce, hot, passionate love of the soil. -San Francisco has become a fetish, a cult. Under -its blue skies and driving fogs is bred the most -ardent loyalty in these United States. San Francisco -is most magnificently herself of any American city, -and San Franciscans, in consequence, are themselves -with an abounding perfervid sincerity. Faults they -have, lurid, pungent, staccato, but hypocrisy is not -of them. That vice is never necessary.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The party that gathered nightly at Fulda's was as -remote from the world as if it had been ensconced on a -desert island. It was unconscious, unaffected, -sufficient to itself. Men and girls had come and gone -since it had formed, but the nucleal circle was always -complete. Death and desertions were unacknowledged—else -the gloom would have shut down and the -wine, the red wine of the country, would have -tasted salt with tears. There had been tragedies and -comedies played out in that group, there were names -spoken in whispers sometimes, there were silent toasts -drunk; but if sentiment was there, it was disguised -as folly. Life still thrilled in song. Youth was not -yet dead. Art was long and exigent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was their custom, after dinner, to adjourn to -Champoreau's for </span><em class="italics">café noir</em><span>, served in the French -style. In this large, bare saloon, with sanded floor, -with its bar and billiard table, foreign as France, -almost always deserted at this hour save by their -company, the genial </span><em class="italics">patron</em><span> smiled at their gaiety, as he -prepared the long glasses of coffee. To-night, there -were six at the round table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Maxim, an artist unhailed as yet from the East, was, -of all, the most obviously picturesque, with a fierce -mustached face and a shock of black hair springing -in a wild mass from his head to draggle in stringy -locks below his eyes, or, with a sudden leonine shake, -to be thrown back when he bellowed forth in song. -He had been in Paris and knew the airs and argot of -the most desperate studies. His laughter was like the -roar of a convivial lion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dougal, with a dog-like face and tow hair, so -ugly as to be refreshing, full of common sense and -kindness, with a huge mouth full of little cramped -teeth and a smile that drew and compelled and -captured like a charm—he sat next. Good nature and -loyalty dwelt in his narrow blue eyes. His slow, -labored speech was seldom smothered, even in the wit -that enveloped it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Most masculine and imperative of all, was Benton, -with his blur of blue-black hair, fine tangled threads, -his melting, deep blue eyes, shadowy with fatigue, -lighted with vagrant dreams or shot with brisk fires -of passion. His hands were strong and he had an air -of suppressed power.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The fourth man was Philip Starr, a poet not long -for San Francisco, seeing that the Athanæum had -already placed the laurels upon his brow—he was as far -from the conventional type of poet as is possible. -He had a lean, eager, sharply cut face, shrewd, quick -eye and sinewy, long fingers. His hair was close -cropped, his mouth was tight and narrow. Electricity -seemed to dart from him as from a dynamo. Just now -he was teaching the company a new song—an old -one, rather, for it was an ancient Anglo-Saxon -drinking-song, whose uproarious refrain was well fitted -to the temper of the assembly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At one end of the table sat a young woman, </span><em class="italics">petite</em><span>, -elf-like as a little girl, a brown, cunning, soft-haired -creature, smiling, smiling, smiling, with eyes half -closed, wrinkled in quiet mirth. This was Elsie -Dougal.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Opposite her was a girl of twenty-seven, with -a handsome, clear-cut, classic face, lighted with gray -eyes, limpid and straightforward, making her seem -the most ingenuous of all. Mabel's hair curled -unmanageably, springy and dark. Her face was serious and -intent till her smile broke and a little self-conscious -laugh escaped.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Starr pounded with one fist upon the table, his -thumb held stiffly upright:</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Dance, Thumbakin, dance!"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>he sang, and the chorus was repeated. Then with the -heel of his palm and his fingers outstretched, pounding -merrily in time:</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Oh, dance ye merrymen, every one,"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>then with his fist as before:</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"For Thumbakin, he can dance alone!"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>and, raising his fists high over his head, coming down -with a bang:</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>"</span><em class="italics">For</em></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>"Thumbakin he can dance alone!"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>They went through the song together, dancing -Foreman, Middleman, and Littleman, ending in a -pianissimo. Then over and over they sang that queer, -ancient tune, till all knew it by heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Benton pulled his manuscript from his pocket and -read it confidentially to Elsie, who smiled and smiled. -Starr recited his last poem while Dougal made -humorous comments. Maxim broke out into a French -student's </span><em class="italics">chanson</em><span>, so wildly improper that it took two -men to suppress him. Mabel giggled hysterically and -began a long, dull story which, despite interruptions, -ended so brilliantly and so unexpectedly, that every -one wished he had listened.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then Dougal called out:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The cavalry charge! Ready! One finger!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They tapped in unison, not too fast, each with a -forefinger, upon the table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Two fingers!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The sound increased in volume.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Three fingers, four fingers, five!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The crescendo rose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Two hands! One foot! BOTH FEET!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a hurricane of galloping fists and soles. -Then, in diminuendo:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One foot! One hand! Four fingers, three, two, -one! Halt!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The clatter grew softer and softer till at last all -was still.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>As Gay opened the door, Fancy heard a roar that -increased steadily until it became a wild hullabaloo. -Looking in, she saw the six seated about the table, -the coffee glasses jumping madly with the percussion. -The noise was like the multitudinous charge of -troopers. Then the tumult died slowly away, the patter -grew softer and softer, ending in a sudden hush as -seven faces looked up at her. Gay P. Summer's -advent was greeted with frowns, but Fancy gathered -an instant acclaim from twelve critical eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stepped boldly into the room and shed the -radiance of her smile upon the company.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I guess this is where I live, all right!" she -announced. "I've been gone a long time, haven't I? -Never mind the introductions. I'm Fancy Gray, -drifter; welcome to our fair city!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They let loose a cry of welcome, and Dougal, rising, -opened a place for her between his chair and Maxim's.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm </span><em class="italics">for</em><span> her!" He hailed her with a good-natured -grin. "She's the right shape. Come and have coffee!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I accept!" said Fancy Gray.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gay's reception was by no means as cordial as hers, -which had been immediate and spontaneous at the -sound of her caressing, jovial voice and the sight of -her genial smile, which seemed to embrace each -separate member of the party. They made grudging -room for him beside Elsie, who gave him a cold little -hand. Mabel bowed politely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where'd you get her, Gay?" said Starr. "You're -improving. She looks like a pretty good imitation of -the real thing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I'll wash, all right," said Fancy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gay P. proudly introduced her to the company. -He played her as he might play a trump to win the -seventh trick. Indeed, without Fancy's aid, he would -have received scant welcome at that exclusive board. -Many and loud were the jests at Summer's expense -while he was away. Many and soft were the jests -he had not wit enough to understand when he was -present. Philip Starr had, at first sight of him, dubbed -him "The Scroyle," and this sobriquet stuck. Gay -P. Summer was ill versed in Elizabethan lore, but, had his -wit been greater, his conceit would still have protected -him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had already unloaded Fancy, though he was as -yet unaware of it. She was taken up with enthusiasm -by the men, whom she drew like a magnet. Mabel -and Elsie watched her with the keenness of women -who are jealous of any new element in their group. It -was, perhaps, not so much rivalry they feared, for -their place was too well established, as the admittance -into that circle of one who would betray a tendency -toward those petty feline amenities that only women -can perceive and resent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Fancy Gray showed no such symptoms. She -did not bid for the men's attention. She made a -point of talking to Elsie, and she managed cleverly -to include Mabel in the attention she received. -Fancy, in her turn, scrutinized the two girls artfully -and made her own instantaneous deductions. All of -this by-play was, of course, quite lost upon the men.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The talk sprang into new life and Fancy's eye ran -from one to another member of the group, dwelling -longest upon Dougal. His ugliness seemed to -fascinate her; and, as is often the case with ugly men, -he inspired her instant confidence. She made up to -him without embarrassment or concealment, taking his -hairy hand and caressing it openly. At this, Elsie's -eyelids half closed, but there was no sign of jealousy. -Mabel noticed the act, too, and her manner suddenly -became warmer toward the girl. By these two -feminine reactions, Fancy saw that she had done well.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They sang, they pounded the table; and, as an -initiation, every man saluted Fancy's cheek. She -took it like an empress. Then, suddenly, Dougal held -up two fingers. Every one's eyes were turned upon -him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Piedra, Pinta?</em><span>" he cried, with a side glance at -Fancy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Every one voted. Mabel held up both her hands -gleefully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So was Fancy Gray, though she was not aware of -the honor till afterward, admitted to the full comradeship -of the Pintos. It was a victory. Many had, with -the same ignorance as to what was happening, -suffered an ignominious defeat. Fancy's election was -unanimous.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And for this once, in gratitude for his discovery, -Mr. Gay P. Summer, The Scroyle, was suffered to -inflict himself upon the coterie of the Pintos.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There were other honors in store for Fancy Gray.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Piedra Pinta is two hours' journey from San -Francisco to the north, in Marin County—a land of -mountains, virgin redwood forests and trout-filled -streams. One takes the ferry to Sausalito, crossing -the northern bay, and rides for an hour or so up a -little narrow-gage squirming railroad into the canyon -of Paper Mill Creek; and, if one has discovered and -appropriated the place, it is a mile walk up the track -and a drop from the embankment down a gravelly, -overgrown slope, into the camp-ground. Here a great -crag rears its vertically split face, hidden in beeches -and bay trees. At its foot a flattened fragment has -fallen forward to do service as a fireplace. Beyond, -there are more boulders in the stream, which here -widens and deepens, overhung by clustering trees. -Save when an occasional train rushes past overhead, -or a fisherman comes by, wading up-stream, the place -is secret and silent. Opposite, across the brook, an -oat-field slopes upward to the country road and the -smooth drumlins beyond. A not too noisy crowd can -here lie hugger-mugger, hidden from the world.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To Piedra Pinta that next Saturday they came, -bringing Fancy Gray, a smiling captive, with them. -The men bore blankets and books; the women food -and dishes enough for a picnic meal. They came -singing, romping up the track, big Benton first with -the heaviest load. In corduroys and jeans, in boots and -flannel shirts they came. Little Elsie, like a girl -scout, wore a rakish slouch hat trimmed with live -carnations, a short skirt, leggings, a sheath knife -swinging from her belt. Mabel had her own -pearl-handled revolver. The rest looked like gipsies.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They slid down the bank and debouched with a shout -into the little glade. Fancy entered with vim into -the celebration. Not that she did any useful work, -that was not her field; she was there chiefly as a -decoration and an inspiration. She had dressed herself in -khaki. Her boots were laced high, her sombrero -permitted a shower of tinted tendrils to escape and -wanton about her forehead. She found fragrant -sprays of yerba buena and wreathed them about her neck.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was all new and strange to her, all delightful. -She had seen the artificial side of the town and knew -the best and worst of its gaiety; but here, in the -open for almost the first time, she breathed deeply of -the primal joys of nature and was refreshed. Her -curiosity was unlimited; she played with earth and -water, fire and air. She unbuttoned the collar of her -shirt-waist and turned it in, disclosing a delicious pink -hollow at her throat. She rolled up her sleeves, -displaying the dimples in her elbows. At the preparations -for the dinner she was an eager spectator, and -when the meal was served, smoked and sandy, and the -bottles were opened, all traces of the fairy in her -disappeared; she was simple girl. She ate like a cannibal -and ate with glee.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The shadows fell. The nook became dusky, odorous, -moist; the rivulet rippled pleasantly, the ferns moved -lazily in the night airs. The moon arose and gave -a mysterious argent illumination. The going and -coming ceased, the shouting and lusty singing grew -still. The blankets were opened and spread at the -foot of the rock. Dougal and Elsie took their places -in the center and, the men on one side and the girls -on the other, they lay upon the ground and wrapped -themselves against the cooling air. The fire was -replenished and its glare lighted up the trees in planes -of foliage, like painted sheets of scenery.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They lay down, but not to sleep. Dougal's coffee, -black and strong, stimulated their brains. The talk -ran on with an accompaniment of song and jest. One -after another sprang up to sing some old-time tune -or to recite a familiar, well-beloved poem; the -dialogue jumped from one to the other. Some dozed -and woke again at a chorus of laughter; some sat -wide-eyed, staring into the fire, into the darkness, or -into one another's eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Maxim was prodigious. He blared forth rollicking -airs, he did scenes from </span><em class="italics">La Bohème</em><span>, posturing -picturesquely against the flame, his long black locks -sweeping his face. Starr improvised while they -listened, rapt. Benton climbed high into a beech tree -and there, invisible, he recited </span><em class="italics">Cynara</em><span> and quoted -</span><em class="italics">The Song of the Sword</em><span>, while Dougal jeered and -fed the blaze. Mabel listened entranced and -appreciative, and ventured occasionally on one more long, -dull story—her tale always growing melodramatically -exciting, as the attention of her listeners wandered. -Elsie sat and smiled and smiled, wide awake till three.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Forgotten tales, snatches of song, jokes and verses -surged into Fancy's head and one after another she -shot them into the night. She, too, arose and sang, -dancing. Not since her vaudeville days had she -attempted it, but mounting to the spirit of the occasion, -she thrilled and fascinated them with her drollery.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She and Dougal were the last ones awake. They -spoke now in undertones. Maxim was snoring -hideously, so was Benton. Starr lay with his mouth -open, Mabel was curled into a cocoon of blankets, -flushed Elsie was still smiling in her sleep.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At four the dawn appeared. They watched it -spellbound, and as it turned from a glowing rose to -straw color, the birds began to twitter in the boughs. -Fancy shook off her lassitude.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm going in swimming," she exclaimed, starting -up. "Stay here, Dougal—I trust to your honor!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll not promise," he replied. "One doesn't often -have a chance to see a nymph bathing in a fountain -nowadays, but I have the artist's eye; it will only be -for beauty's sake—go ahead!" He kept his place, -nevertheless; the pool was invisible from the level of -the camp-ground.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy darted down the path to the wash of pebbles -below. Dougal shook Elsie into a dazed wakefulness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mabel's eyes opened sleepily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fancy's gone in swimming," he whispered. "Don't -wake up the boys."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Like shadows the two girls slid after her. Dougal -lay down to sleep.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In half an hour he was awakened by their return, -fresh, rosy, dewy and jubilant. Elsie crawled to his -side under the blankets; Fancy and Mabel scrambled -up the bank to greet the sun, chattering like sparrows. -Maxim rolled over in his sleep. Benton and Starr, -back to back, dreamed on. The sun rose higher and -smote the languid group with a shaft of light. The -men rose at last, and, dismissing Elsie from the camp, -took their turns in the pool. At seven Dougal -announced breakfast.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At high noon, after a climb up the hill and an hour -of poetry, Fancy was crowned queen of Piedra Pinta, -with pomp and circumstance. She was invested with -a crown of bay leaves and, for a scepter, the camp -poker was placed in her hand. Dougal, as her prime -minister, waxed merry, while her loyal lieges passed -before her to do her homage. She greeted them one by -one: The Duke of Russian Hill, with his tribute of -three square meals per week; Lord of the Barbary -Coast; Elsie, Lady of Lime Point, Mistress of the -Robes; Sir Maxim the Monster, Court Painter; Sir -Starr of Tar Flat, Laureate; and Mabel the Fair, -Marchioness of Mount Tamalpais, First Lady of the -Bedchamber, to keep her warm.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>She issued many titles after that, as her domain -increased, and as "Fancy I," she always styled herself -in signing her letters. Her royal edicts were not often -slighted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For she was gay and young, and she was bold and -free. Life had scarcely touched her yet with care. -This was her apotheosis. The scene went down in the -annals of the Pintos and the tradition spread. Her -reign was famous. Her accolade was a smile. Her -homage was paid in kisses—and in tears.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Yet Fancy Gray was not a girl to commit herself -to any one particular set. Her tastes were eclectic. -She was essentially adventurous. It was her boast -that she never made a promise and never broke -one—that she never explained—that she liked everybody, -and nobody. She guarded her independence jealously, -restless at every restraint. With the friend of the -moment she was everything. When he passed out of -sight, she devoted an equal attention to the next comer, -and she was faithful to both.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was often seen with Granthope dining or at -the theater. Mabel and Elsie whispered together, -adding glances to smiles, and frowns to blushes, -summing them up according to the feminine rules of -psychological arithmetic. The men did not even -wonder—it was none of their business, and was she not -Fancy Gray? When they were seen together, they -were conspicuously picturesque. Granthope had an -air, Fancy had a manner, the two harmonized -perfectly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Gay P. Summer, meanwhile, had by no means -given up the chase. He was not one to be easily -snubbed, and the only effect of the slight put upon -him by the Pintos was to make him seek after Fancy -still more energetically, and while he paid court to her, -to keep her away from the attractions of that engaging -set. Fancy accepted his attentions with condescension. -After all, a dinner was a dinner—her own way of -putting it was that she always hated to refuse "free -eggs."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He still tried his best to draw her out, but when -he asked her about Granthope, she gave a passionate, -indignant refutation of his innuendoes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I owe that man everything, everything!" she -exclaimed. "He took me when I was walking the -streets, hungry, without a cent, and he has been good -to me ever since! He's all right! And any one who -says anything against him is crossed off my list!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This was at Zinkand's. The slur had been occasioned -by the sight of Granthope at table with a lady -whom Gay knew rather too much about. It happened -that there was another group in the room that drew -Fancy's roving eye and nimble comment. She asked -about the man with the pointed beard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, that's Blanchard Cayley—everybody knows -him," Gay explained. "He's a rounder. I see him -everywhere. No, I don't know him to speak to, but -they say he's a clever chap. I wonder who that is with -him, though? I've seen her before, somewhere."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know," said Fancy; "that's Mrs. Page."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"H'm! Funny, every time I see her she's with a -different man. She's pretty gay, that woman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is she? You're a cad to tell of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why? Do you know her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She scorned to answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On a Sunday night soon after, Gay invited her to -dinner at Carminetti's. She accepted, never having -gone to the place, which was then in the height of -its prestige, a resort for the most uproarious spirits -of the town.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was down near the harbor front, a region of -warehouses, factories, freight tracks and desecrated, -melancholy buildings, disheveled and squalid, that -Mr. Summer took her. He pushed open the door to -let upon her a wave of light frivolity and the mingled -odor of Italian oil and wine permeated by an under-current -of fried food. The tables were all filled, some -with six or eight diners at one board, and by the -counter or bar, which ran all along one side of the room, -there were at least a dozen persons waiting for seats. -Gay walked up to bald-headed "Dave," the patron, -who in his shirt-sleeves was superintending the -confusion, keeping an eye ready for rising disorder. -After a quick colloquy, he beckoned to Fancy, who -followed him down between the gay groups to a -table in a corner. It was just being deserted by a -short young hoodlum, with a pink and green striped -sweater, accompanied by a girl several inches too tall -for him, dressed in a soiled buff raglan and a triumphal -hat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here we are," said Gay; "we're in luck to get a -table at all, to-night. But I gave Dave a four-bit piece -and that fixed it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy sat down and looked about. "It is pretty -gay, isn't it? It looks as if it were going to be fun."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you wait till nine o'clock," Gay boasted wisely. -"They're not warmed up to it yet. The 'Dago Red' -hasn't got in its work. There'll be something doing, -after a while."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The walls were decorated with beer- and wine-signs -in frames, and on either side of the huge mirror hung -lithographic portraits of Humberto and the Queen of -Italy. Opposite, a row of windows looking on the -street was hung with half-curtains of a harsh, -disagreeable blue; over them peeped, now and again, -wayfarers or others who had dined too well, rapping -on the glass and gesticulating to those inside. All -about the sides of the room and upon every column, -hats, coats and cloaks were hung, making the place -seem like an old-clothes shop. The floor was covered -with sawdust and the tables were huddled closely -together.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For the most part the diners were all -young—mechanics, clerks, factory girls and the like -though here and there, watching the sport, were -up-town parties, reveling in an unconventional -air. The groups, now well on in their dinner, had -begun to fraternize. Here a young man raised his -wine-glass to a pretty girl across the room and the -two drank together, smiling, or calling out some easy -witticism. In one corner, a party of eight was singing -jovially something about: "One day to him a letter -there did come," and anon, encouraged by the applause -and the freedom, a lad of nineteen, devoid of collar, -closed his eyes, leaned back and sang a long song -through in a vibrant, harsh voice. He was greeted -with applause, hands clapped, feet pounded and -knives clattered on bottles till the </span><em class="italics">patron</em><span> hurried from -table to table quelling the pandemonium. Waiters -came and went in bustling fervor, dodging between one -table and another, jostling and spilling soup; at -intervals a great clanging bell rang and the apparition of a -soiled white cook appeared at the kitchen door ordering -the waiters to: "Take it away!" The kitchen was an -arcade into which from time to time guests wandered, -to joke with the cook and beat upon the huge -immaculate copper kettles on the wall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The conversation at times became almost general, -the party of songsters in the corner leading in the -exchange of persiflage. Two girls dining alone, with -hard, tired-looking eyes and cheap jewelry, began a -duet; instantly, from a company of young men, two -detached themselves, plates and glasses in hand, and -went over to join them. A roar went up; glasses -rang again and Dave fluttered about in protest at the -noise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy talked little. The crowd, the lights, the -</span><em class="italics">camaraderie</em><span> hypnotized her. She watched first one -and then another group, picking out, for Gay's edification, -the prettiest girl and the handsomest man in the -room. She waved her hand slyly at the collarless -soloist and applauded two darkies who came in from -outside to make a hideous clamor with banjos. As -she waited to be served, she nibbled at the dry French -bread and drank of the sour claret, watching over -the top of her glass, losing nothing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the middle of the room, Blanchard Cayley sat -with three ladies. One of them Fancy recognized as -Miss Payson. Fancy's eyebrows rose slightly at -seeing her, and a smile and a nod were cordially -exchanged. The others Fancy did not know. They -were both pretty women, well-dressed, with evident -signs of breeding, and, as the urn waxed freer, -apparently not a little embarrassed at being seen in -such a place. Miss Payson showed no such feeling in -her demeanor, however much she may have been -amused or surprised at the spirit of the place. -Blanchard Cayley divided his attentions equitably amongst -them, till, looking across the room, he caught Fancy's -errant glance. He smiled at her openly as if challenging -her roguery.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She boldly returned the greeting. Gay caught the -glance that was exchanged.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"See here, Fancy," he protested, "none of that now! -He's got all he can do to attend to his own table. -I'll attend to this one, myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now, this was scarcely the way to treat a girl like -Fancy Gray. At her first opportunity, she sent -another smile in Cayley's direction. It was divided, this -time, by members of his own party and the women -began to buzz together. Gay was annoyed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's something I like about that man," Fancy -remarked presently. "What'd you say his name was? -That's the one we saw at Zinkand's, wasn't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's something I don't like about him. He'd -better mind his own business," Gay growled, now -thoroughly provoked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can't blame any one for noticing </span><em class="italics">me</em><span>, can -you, Gay?" Her tone was honey-sweet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can blame you for flirting across the room when -you're here with me!" he replied fiercely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy opened her eyes very wide. "Indeed?" she -said with a sarcastic emphasis.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's right," he affirmed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In answer, she cast another languishing glance -toward Cayley. Cayley, despite Clytie's entreating hand -upon his arm, sent back an unequivocal reply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," said Gay, rising sullenly, "I guess it's up -to me to leave!" He reached for his hat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Gay!" she protested in alarm, "you're not -going to throw me down before this whole crowd, are -you?" Already their colloquy had attracted the -attention of the near-by tables.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He hesitated a moment. "Unless you behave yourself," -he said finally. His tone of ownership decided her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Run along, then!" She gave him a smile of limpid -simplicity, but her jaws were set determinedly. "I -expect I can get some one to take care of me. Don't -mind me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Their discussion had not been unnoticed at Mr. Cayley's -table. Clytie was watching the pair interestedly, -as if reading the motions of their lips. Fancy -caught her eye and flushed a little.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gay's brows gathered together in a sullen look as -he crowded his hat upon his head savagely. He -turned with a last retort:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll be sorry you threw me down, Fancy Gray! -You want too many men on the string at once!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned and left her, passing sulkily along the -passages between the tables with his hat on his head, -till he came to the cashier, where he paid the bill for -two dinners with lordly chivalry. Then, without -looking back, he opened the door of the restaurant and -went out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An instant after, Fancy was on her feet. Gay's -going had already made her conspicuous and her flush -grew deeper. Cayley watched her without smiling, -now, waiting to see what she would do. Beside him, -Clytie Payson sat watching, her lips slightly parted, -her nostrils dilated, absorbed, seeming to understand -the situation perfectly, her eyes gazing at Fancy as if -to convey her sympathy. Fancy looked and saw her -there, and the sight steadied her. With all her -customary nonchalance, with all that jovial, compelling -air of optimism which she usually radiated, as if she -were quite sure of her reception and came as an -expected guest, she sauntered carelessly over to the -central table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her smile was dazzling as it swept about the board, -meeting the eyes of each of the women in turn. One -by one it subjugated them. They even returned it -with trepidation, not too embarrassed to be keenly -expectant, waiting for the outcome. But it was for Clytie -that Fancy Gray reserved her warmest, deepest look. -In that glance she threw herself upon Miss Payson's -mercy, and appealed to the innate chivalry of woman -to woman, to the bond of sex—a sentiment in finer -women more potent than jealousy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Even before she spoke Clytie had arisen and -stretched out her hand. In a flash she had accepted -what had run counter to all her experience, and played -up to Fancy's audacity with a spirit that ignored the -crowd, the eyes, the whispers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Who, indeed, could resist Fancy Gray in such a -fantastic, tiptoe mood? Her act, audacious, even -impertinent, was so delicately achieved, she was so sure -of herself and her own charm that it was dramatic, -poetic in its confidence, picturesque. But no one could -have equalled Clytie as she arose to meet such bravado, -when she shook off her reserves and took her hand -at such a psychological game. Not even Fancy Gray, -with all her superb poise. On Fancy's cheek the color -deepened—it was she who blushed so furiously, now, -not Clytie. In that flush she confessed herself beaten -at her own game.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How do you do?" Clytie was saying. "We've been -wishing all the evening that we could have you with -us. Do sit down, here, beside me—we'll make room -for you. I want you to meet Miss Gray, Mrs. Maxwell."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Something in the graciousness of her manner drew -the other women up to her chivalrous level. -Mrs. Maxwell bowed, smiled, too, with a word of welcome, -so did Miss Dean as she was introduced. Fancy -beamed. Meanwhile Cayley had arisen. He was -the most perturbed of all. He offered his chair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You see what you've done, Mr. Cayley," said -Fancy. "I've just been jilted for the first time in my -life, and it was all your fault. I'm afraid I shall have -to butt in and ask you to protect me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was not Fancy but Clytie who had, apparently, -most surprised him. He gave a questioning look at -her as he replied, not a little confused:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Won't you sit down here in my place? There's -plenty of room. I'll get another chair—or," he stole -another glance at Clytie, "I'll let you have half of -mine!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I accept!" said Fancy Gray.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie smiled encouragingly. "I'll divide mine with -you, too, if you like."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're a gentleman! I'd much rather sit with you, -Miss Payson; thank you!" Then she looked at Clytie -fondly. "I </span><em class="italics">thought</em><span> I was right about you! You </span><em class="italics">are</em><span> -a thoroughbred, aren't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We're educating Mr. Cayley, my dear." Clytie -gave him a bright smile. "He has a few things yet -to learn about women."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I plead guilty," said Cayley, watching the two -with curiosity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Miss Gray and I are disciples of the same school. -She gave me the password." Clytie was fairly -superb—she even outshone Fancy—she was regal.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy laughed. "You're the only one who knows it, -that </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> ever met, though."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah," said Clytie, "then that's the only way I can -beat you—I believe many women are initiated."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy clapped her hands softly in pantomime. Then -she turned to Mrs. Maxwell and the others. "I hope -I'm not out of the frying-pan into the fire," she said. -"Please let me down easy, ladies. If you don't make -me feel at home pretty quick, I'll be up against it I -You don't really have to </span><em class="italics">know</em><span> me, you know. Only -it looked to me like when he had three such pretty -women to take care of one more ought to be easy -enough."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We </span><em class="italics">were</em><span> three pretty women before, perhaps, my -dear, but now I'm afraid we're only one!" said Clytie. -She herself, kindled with the spirit of adventure, and -so adequately welcoming it, was irresistible.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy blew a pretty kiss at her. "No man would -know enough to say anything as nice as that, would -he? But I'm afraid I can't trot in your class, Miss -Payson. Why, every man in the room has been -watching you all the evening. I really ought to sit -beside Mrs. Maxwell, though, to show her off. It -takes these brunettes to make me look outclassed, -doesn't it? I used to be a brunette myself, but I -reformed. Mr. Cayley, you may hold me on, if you -like. And remember, when I kick you under the table -it's a hint for you to say something about my -hands." She laid them on the table-cloth ingenuously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie took one up and showed it to Mrs. Maxwell. -"Did you ever see a prettier wrist than that?" she -said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's charming! I'm afraid she'd never be able to -wear </span><em class="italics">my</em><span> gloves."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy smiled good-temperedly. "That second finger -is supposed to be perfect," she said, looking at it -reflectively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's queer that the fourth one hasn't a diamond -on it," Mrs. Maxwell suggested amiably.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's only because I hate to fry my own eggs. I -never could learn to play on the cook-stove."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear, you'll never have to do that," said Clytie. -"No man would be brute enough to endanger such a -complexion as you have!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy rubbed her cheek. "Good enough to raise a -blush on. Has it worn off yet? I wish you could -make me do it again; I'd rather wear a good No. 5 -blush than a silk-lined skirt."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The third lady at the table was thin and dark, a -piquante, sharp-featured girl, with a dancing devil in -her eyes. She had been watching Fancy with an -amused smile. "I thought I'd seen you before," she -said. "Now I remember. You're the young lady at -Granthope's, aren't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, that's my tag. I suppose I am entered for a -regular blue-ribbon freak. But I've seen you, too, -Miss Dean, once or twice, haven't I?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Miss Dean hastened to say, "Mr. Granthope's a -wonderful palmist, isn't he? He has told me some -extraordinary things about myself." She held out her -hand. "Do tell me what you think about my palm, -please!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Fancy refused. "Oh, I don't want to make -enemies, just as we've begun to break the ice. Every -one would be jealous of the other, if I told you what -I saw. Besides, I ought to be drumming up more -trade for Mr. Granthope."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How long have you been with him?" Cayley asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, about five years."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie bit her lip. Granthope himself had said two.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He has been fortunate to have such an able -assistant as you," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Frank's been mighty good to me. I owe him -everything." Fancy said it almost aggressively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cayley caught Clytie's eye, and he smiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Blanchard," she said, disregarding his hint, -"am I in your list of Improbabilities now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're easily first! You certainly have surprised me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Heretofore Mrs. Maxwell, as chaperon of the party, -had been the star, but now Clytie, with her intuitive -grip on this human complication, established Fancy -as the guest of honor. She drank Fancy's health, and -Fancy's smile became more opulent and irresistible. -She kept Fancy's quick retorts going like fire-crackers, -she manipulated the conversation so that it came back -to Fancy at each digression. She put Fancy Gray in -the center of the stage and kept her there in the -calcium till her buoyant spirits soared.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Drink with Fancy!" cried Fancy Gray, and the -company, Mrs. Maxwell included, did her honor. -"Drink with Fancy," she pleaded again, with a pretty, -infantile pout, and Clytie knocked glasses with her -every time. "Drink with Fancy," she repeated, and -Cayley drew closer. It did not, apparently, daunt -Clytie. She had accepted Fancy Gray as Fancy Gray -had accepted her, and she did not withdraw an inch -from her position. The talk ran on, with Fancy always -the center of interest. Her sallies were original, brisk, -and often witty. Fancy's brain grew more agile and -more bold. Also, her glances played more softly -upon Blanchard Cayley. He made the most of them, -with an eye on Clytie, awaiting her look of protest. -But it did not come.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>About them the revelry still continued amidst the -clattering of knives and forks and dishes. Course -after course had been brought on and removed by the -hurrying, overworked waiters. Once, a madcap couple -arose to dance a cake-walk up and down between the -tables. Of the group of eight singers in the corner, -three had fallen into a mild stupor, three were -affectionately maudlin; two, still mirthful, sang noisily, -pounding upon the table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>By twos and threes, now, parties began to leave.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a popular song swinging through the -room, accented by tinkling glasses, when Fancy -reached out her left hand, and took Clytie's.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I must be going, now; good night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie held the hand. "Oh, must you? Wait and -let us put you on your car, anyway!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I'll drift along. I can take care of myself, all -right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stopped, and, with her head slightly tilted to one -side, looked Clytie in the eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What did you go to Granthope's for?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie began to color, faintly. She seemed, at first, -at a loss to know how to reply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy prompted her. "For a reading, of course—but -what else?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know," said Clytie seriously. "Really I don't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's what I thought!" said Fancy. Then her -troubled brow cleared, and she turned to Cayley.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I must say 'fare-thee-well, my Clementine,'" she -said. "You certainly came to the scratch nobly. I -hope it wasn't all Miss Payson's prompting, though!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Next time I hope I'll be able to bring you," he -answered. "I'm sorry I can't take you home now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who said I was going home?" she smiled. Then -she looked at him, too, and spoke to him with a -variation of the quizzical tone she had used toward Clytie. -"I don't know what there is about you that makes -such a hit with me—what is it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The dagoes say I have the evil eye," he replied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed. "That's it! I </span><em class="italics">thought</em><span> it was -something nice!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then she rose and bowed debonairly to Mrs. Maxwell -and Miss Dean. "Good night, ladies, this is where -I disappear. I'm afraid you've impregnated me with -social aspirations. Watch for me at the Fortnightly!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The collarless youth stretched a glass toward her -in salutation and sang: "Good-by, Dolly Gray!" There -was a burst of laughter that drew all eyes to -Fancy Gray.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cayley held her coat for her, and as she turned to -him with thanks, a sudden mad impulse stirred her; -she audaciously put up her lips to be kissed. He did -not fail her. The ladies at the table looked on, -catching breath, stopping their talk. A waiter, passing, -stood transfixed. Every one watched. Then a cheer -broke out and a clapping of hands all over the restaurant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy Gray bowed to her audience with dignity, as -if she were on the stage. Then, with a comprehensive -nod to her entertainers, she passed demurely down -the aisle between the tables. Every eye followed her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the counter she turned her head to see Blanchard -Cayley still standing by his place. She came -hurriedly back as if drawn by some magic spell, blushing -hotly, with a strange look in her eyes. She looked -up at him as a little girl might look up at her father. -The room was hushed. It was too much for that -audience to comprehend. The act had almost lost its -effrontery; the audacity had become, somehow, pathos.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy walked like a somnambulist, her eyes wide -open, staring at Blanchard. He had turned paler, -but stood still, with his gaze fastened upon her, -reveling, characteristically, in a new sensation. The ladies -in his party did not speak. Nobody spoke. The room -was like a well-governed school at study hour, every -eye fixed upon Fancy Gray. Whatever secret emotion -it was that drew her back, it was for its moment -compelling, casting out every trace of self-consciousness. -She seemed to show her naked soul. She -reached him, and again he put his arms about her -and kissed her full on the lips. Again the tumult -broke forth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In that din and confusion she slipped back to the -door. There was another hush. Then the crowd -gasped audibly and tongues were loosened in a babel -of exclamations. With a cry, some one pointed to -the window. There stood Fancy Gray, pressing -through the glass, histrionically, one last kiss to -Cayley—and disappeared into the night. Half a -dozen men jumped up to follow her, and turned back -to account for a new silence that had abruptly fallen -on the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Blanchard Cayley was still standing. He had -snatched a wine-glass from the table, and now, with -a silencing gesture, he held it above his head. He was -perfectly calm, he had lost nothing of his usual -elegance of manner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know who she is, but here's to her!" he -called out to the roomful of listeners. "Bottoms-up, -everybody!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He drank off his toast. Glasses were raised all -over the room. Men sprang upon their chairs, put -one foot on the table and drank Fancy Gray's health. -Then the crowd yelled again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the confusion Mrs. Maxwell leaned to Clytie. -"I don't know, my dear, whether I'll dare to chaperon -you </span><em class="italics">here</em><span> again!" She herself was as excited as any -one there.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Frankie Dean's thin lips curled in a sneer. "Oh, -they call this Bohemia, don't they! Did you ever see -anything so cheap and vulgar in your life? I feel -positively dirty!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cayley watched for Clytie's answer. It came with -a jet of fervor. "Why," she exclaimed, "don't you -see it's real? It's </span><em class="italics">real</em><span>! It isn't the way we care to do -things, but they're all alive and human—every one of -them!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bah! It's all a pose. They're pretending they're -devilish."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't care!" Clytie's eyes fired. "Even so, there's -a live person in each of them—they're just as real as -we are. I never understood it before. Look under -the surface of it—there's blood there!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's San Francisco!" said Cayley, "that explains -everything. Oh, this town!" He sat down shaking -his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old </span><em class="italics">patron</em><span> bustled excitedly through the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Take-a de foot off de table! Take-a de foot off -de table!" he protested. "You spoil the table clot'—you -break-a de dishes! I don't like dat! Get down, -you! Get down!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="side-lights"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER VI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">SIDE LIGHTS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Mrs. Chenoweth Maxwell would be very glad to -see Mr. Francis Granthope next Friday evening at -nine o'clock for an informal Chinese costume -supper. Kindly arrive masked."</span></p> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>This invitation marked a climacteric in Granthope's -social career. It was supplemented by an explanation -over the telephone that left no doubt in the mind of -the palmist as to the genuineness and friendliness of -its cordiality. He had appeared already at several -assemblies of the smarter set and had, by this time, a -considerable acquaintance with the fashionable side -of town. Of the information thus acquired he had -made good use in his business. He had always gone, -however, in his professional capacity as a paid -entertainer; and no matter how considerately he had been -treated, the fact that he was not present as a guest had -always been obvious. He was in a class with the operatic -star who consents to sing in private and maintains -her delicate position of unstable social equilibrium with -sensitive self-consciousness. In his rise from obscurity, -at first, he had been pleased with such invitations, seeing -that they brought him money and an increasing fame. -He was now sought after as a picturesque and personable -character. Women evinced a fearful delight in -his presence; they treated him sometimes as if he were -a handsome highwayman, tamed to drawing-room -amenities, sometimes as they treated those mysterious -Hindus in robes and turbans who occasionally appeared -to prate of esoteric faiths in the salons of the -Illuminati.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope's sense of humor and his cynical view -of life, had, so far, been sufficient to preserve his -equanimity at the threshold of fashionable society. -His equivocal position was tolerable, for he knew well -enough what a sham the whole game was, and how -artificial was the social position which permitted a -woman to snub him or patronize him in public, and -did not prevent her following him up in private. -He had seen ladies raise their eyebrows at his -appearance in the Western Addition, who had visited him -for a chance to talk to him with astonishing egotism.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a strain in him, however, the heritage -of some unknown ancestry, that, since meeting Miss -Payson, began to give him more and more discomfort -in the presence of such company. He had risen above -the level of the mere professional entertainer, and had -become fastidious. Clytie had met him upon terms of -equality. Her frankness had flattered him, and her -implied promise of friendship was like the opening of -a door which had, hitherto, always been shut to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Maxwell's bid, therefore, was a distinct -advance, and he welcomed it, not so much because it -unlocked for him a new sort of recognition, as that it -furthered the game he had in hand. He could scarce -have defined that game to himself. He was playing -neither for position nor money nor power—his sport -was perhaps as purely intellectual as that of chess, a -delight in the pitting of his mind against others.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Maxwell, with the tact of a woman of sensibility, -had made it plain to him that he was invited -for his own sake, upon terms of hospitality. As a -lion, yes, she could not deny that. She confessed that -she wished to tell people that he was coming—but -he would not be annoyed by requests for entertainment. -With another, he might have suspected that this was -only a subterfuge to avoid the necessity of paying him -his price, but Mrs. Maxwell's character was too well -known to him for that possibility to be entertained.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He set himself, therefore, to obtain a costume for -the affair at the "House of Increasing Prosperity," -known to Americans as the shop of Chew Hing Lung -and Company. With the assistance of the affable and -discerning Li Go Ball, the only Chinese in the quarter -who seemed to know what he required, Granthope -selected his outfit, a costume of the character worn by -the more prosperous merchant class of Celestials.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope had fitted up the room next beyond his -studio for a bed-chamber and sitting-room, access to -it being had through the heavy velvet arras concealing -the door between the two apartments. The place was -severely masculine in its appointments and order, but -bespoke the tasteful employment of considerable -money. Here he had his library also, for since his -earliest youth he had been a great reader. Prominent -on its shelves were many volumes of medical books, -and, to offset this sobriety, the lives and memoirs of -the famous adventurers of history—Casanova, Cagliostro, -Fenestre, Abbé Faublas, Benvenuto Cellini, Salvator -Rosa, Chevalier d'Eon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A massive Jewish seven-branch candlestick illuminated -the place this evening, splashing with yellow -lights the carved gilded frame of a huge oval mirror, -glowing on the belly of a bronze vase, enriching the -depths of color in the dull green walls, smoldering in -the warm tones of the great Persian rug on the floor, -twinkling upon the polished surface of the heavy -mahogany table in the center of the room. But it was -concentrated chiefly upon the gorgeous oriental hues -where his Chinese costume was flung, flaming upon -the couch. There the colors were commingled as on -an artist's palette, cold steel blue, pale lemon yellow, -olive green that was nearly old gold, lavender that -was almost pink in the candle-light, a circle of red -inside the cap, and flashes of pale cream-colored -bamboo paper here and there.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had already put on the silken undersuit, a -costume in itself, with its straight-falling lines and -complementary colors. Fancy Gray was helping him with -the other garments, enjoying it as much as a little girl -dressing a doll, trying on each article herself first and -posing in it before the mirror.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>First, she wrapped the bottom of his lavender -trousers about his ankles, over white cotton socks, tying -them close with the silk bands, carefully concealing the -knot and ends as Go Ball had instructed him. She -held the black boat-shaped satin shoes for him to put -on. Next she tied about his waist the pale yellow -sash so that both ends met at the side and hung -together in two striped party-colored ends. Then the -short, padded jacket, and over all this the long, -steel-blue, brocaded silk robe, caught in at the waist with a -corded belt. Lastly the olive-green coat patterned -with brocaded mons containing the swastika, and with -long sleeves almost hiding the tips of his fingers. -Upon its gold bullet-shaped buttons she hung the -tasseled spectacle-case and his ivory snuff-box.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Frank, I forgot!" said Fancy, as she paused -with his wig of horse-hair eked out with braided silk -threads, in her hand. "Lucie was here to-day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope was at the mirror, disguising himself -with a long, drooping mustache and thin goatee. He -put down his bottle of liquid gum and turned to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What did she say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, she said she didn't have time to wait, and -didn't want to tell me anything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why didn't she write?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Said she was afraid to. You're to manage some -way to see her to-night, if you can, and she has a -tip for you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"H'm!" Granthope, with Fancy's assistance, drew -on the wig, and clapped over his black satin skullcap -with its red coral button atop. Then he paused -again reflectively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It must be something important. If I can only get -hold of some good scandal in this 'four hundred' -crowd I can have some fun with 'em."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should be afraid to trust these ladies' maids; they -might give you away any time, and then where'd you -be? That would be a pretty good scandal, -itself." Fancy shook her head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aren't they all in love with me?" he said, smiling -grimly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy looked dubious. "That's just the trouble. -'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope now laughed outright. "Fancy, when -you get literary you're too funny for words."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She bridled, stuck out her little pointed tongue at -him, and walked into the front office, where she sat -down to attend to some details of her own work. At -last she finished her writing and went to the closet to -put on her hat and jacket.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Frank!" she called out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Fancy!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't think I'm jealous, do you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes!" he laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She appeared at the doorway and called again:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Granthope!" He was busy, and did not answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Granthope!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked up, now, to see her put her thumb to her -nose with a playfully derisive gesture, such as gamins -use.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He put his head back and laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then she looked at him seriously, saying, "When -I am, you'll never know it. I'm not afraid of ladies' -maids. When you really get into your own class it -will be time enough for me to worry. But I wish you -wouldn't use those girls. They're all cats, and they'll -scratch!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was standing before the mirror inside the -closet door, with her hat pin between her lips, -adjusting her toque to the masses of her russet hair, when -there came a knock at the hall door. She looked round -and raised her eyebrows, then, after closing the door -to the anteroom of the studio, she called "Come in!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madam Spoll, in a black silk gown covered with a -raglan, entered. She wore a man's small, low-crowned, -Derby hat trimmed with a yellow bird's wing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How d'you do?" said Fancy, not too cordially.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good evening," Madam Spoll panted; then, as -her breath was spent with climbing the stairs, she -dropped into a chair and gasped heavily. Fancy went -on with her preparations without further attention to -her visitor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Frank in?" was Madam Spoll's query as soon as -she could breathe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Meaning Mr. Granthope?" said Fancy airily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know who I mean well enough!" was her -pettish reply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, </span><em class="italics">do</em><span> I?"—and Fancy, her costume now in readiness -for the street, walked jauntily into the anteroom -and knocked at the door. "Madam Spoll is here to -see you," she called out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just a moment," he answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy, pulling her jacket behind, wriggling, and -smoothing down her skirt over her hips, walked to the -window and cast a glance out. Then she slammed the -drawers of her desk, put a hair-pin between the leaves -of her novel, straightened her pen-holders on the stand, -stoppered a red-ink bottle, and marched out without -looking to the left or to the right.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madam Spoll glared at her in silence till she had -gone; and then, with an agility extraordinary in so -stout a woman, she sprang to the closet, opened the -door and picked up an envelope lying on the floor. -It had been opened. She took the letter out, gave it -a hurried glance and then returned to her seat, stuffing -the paper up under her basque.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The letter was short enough for her practised eye -to master the contents almost at a glance. It ran:</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>My dear Mr. Granthope:—I hope you didn't take offense -at my frankness the other day—if I was too candid don't -misinterpret it and my interest in you. Sometime I may -explain it more intelligently, but for the present believe me to -be, Your friend, CLYTIE PAYSON.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Granthope came out after she had concealed the -note. He was fully dressed and almost unrecognizable -in his costume. He walked gracefully, with the -light-footed stride of a mandarin, and saluted her with mock -gravity. Madam Spoll stared at him with her mouth -open. For a moment she did not appear to know him. -Then she chuckled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For the land's sakes, what are you up to now, -Frank? Doing the Chinese doctor's stunt and selling -powdered sea-horses?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed at her surprise. "No, I'm doing society," -he explained.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do 'em good, then! Lord, you are a-butting in -this time, ain't you! I wouldn't know you from a Sam -Yup highbinder on a Chiny New Year in that rig! -What is it, a fancy-dress ball at the Mechanics' -Pavilion?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Worse than that," he laughed; "this is a private -supper-party in costume and I am a guest."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lord, you are getting on, for fair! You ain't -been conning them swell girls for nothing, have you? -And, to be frank with you, I always thought you was -after something very different. I was kind of afraid -they'd spoil you, too. It's a good graft, Frank, and -if I can do anything to give you a lift, just say -the word."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks," he said dryly, taking a seat in front of -her and pulling his long sleeves up to his wrist.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She kept her eyes upon him, as if fascinated by the -gorgeousness of his costume, seemingly a little in fear -of his elegant manners as well. Then she broke out, -pettishly:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say, Fancy's getting pretty fresh, seems to me. -She's a very different girl from what she was when she -used to play spook for us. She was glad enough once -to be polite—butter wouldn't melt in her mouth them -days!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you mustn't mind Fancy; she's all right when -you get used to her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She's pretty, if she is sassy," the medium -acknowledged. "I can hardly blame you, Frank. I s'pose -you find a good use for her. She seems to be pretty -fond of you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope scowled. "Never mind about her. She's -a great help to me here, and I like her—that's enough -for you. You didn't come here to talk about Fancy -Gray."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should think your ladies would object, though," -the medium pursued. "It looks kind of funny, don't -it? She stays here pretty late, it seems to me, if any -one was to notice it. Some ladies don't like that sort -of thing; they get jealous. Fancy's too pretty by -half!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That'll be about all about Fancy Gray. Suppose -we change the subject."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very good then; we'll change it to another girl -that's as pretty. How would Miss Payson do to talk -about?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What about her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A whole lot about her. How are you getting along -with her, for the first thing?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope smiled with an air of satisfaction, but -contented himself with remarking, "Oh, I'm getting -on all right. I can attend to my own end of the game, -thank you. I've handled women before."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"More ways than one, eh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She's not that kind. Don't you believe it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then what, for the Lord's sake, are you doing -with her!" Madam Spoll gave her words a playful -accent that he resented. Then she added, more -seriously: "Frank, d'you know, I believe you could marry -that girl. If you have changed yourself enough to like -that kind, you might go farther and fare worse. -She'd give you a good stand-in with the Western -Addition, too. And we might help you out a bit; who -knows! I can see all sorts of things in it, just as it -stands."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I haven't begun to think of anything like that," he -replied carelessly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course not. I know well enough what you was -thinking of. But you take my advice and don't spoil a -big thing for a little one. Work her easy and you -can land her. That's better a good sight than playing -with her in your usual way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He rose and walked to the window and looked out, -vaguely annoyed. He turned, in a moment, to ask, -"Has the old man made a will?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"D'you mean to say you ain't found that out yet? -Lord, Frank, you </span><em class="italics">are</em><span> getting slow. I don't know. I -ain't come to that yet. But if he ain't, I'll see that he -does make one, and that's where I can look out for -your interests."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a slight sneer on his face. "Oh, don't -trouble yourself. I've my own system, you know. I -haven't made many breaks yet. It's likely that I can -help you more than you can me. That reminds me; -you might take these notes. It's about all I have got -from the girl so far. They may come in handy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He went to his desk, took a couple of cards from a -tin box in the top drawer, and handed them to Madam -Spoll. She looked them over interestedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Much obliged. H'm! So she thinks she's a -psychic, does she? They might be something in that. -Supposed to be engaged to B. Cayley. Well, you'll -have to fix </span><em class="italics">him</em><span>, won't you! Father writing a book—ah! -That's just what we want. Say, that's great! -Me and Vixley will work that book, don't you worry! -Wears a ring with 'Clytie' inside. Turquoises. Mole -on left cheek. Goes to Mercantile Library three to -five. Sun-dial with doll buried under it. That's -funny. I wish it was papers, or something important—I -don't see what we could do with a doll, do you? -Still, you never can tell. All's generally fish that -comes to my net. I've known stranger things than -dolls. Making a birthday present of a hand-bound -volume of what? Montaigne? What's that? Say, -what's this about Madam Grant, anyway?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned to her and held out his hand for the -card, now distinctly impatient. "I don't know—that -is, I forgot I put that on. There's nothing there that -will help you, I guess. You'd better let me have it -back, after all. It's chiefly about Miss Payson, -anyway, and that isn't your business."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madam Spoll refused to return the card. Instead, -she tucked it into the front of her dress, saying, "Oh, -I don't know. You never know what may be useful. -It's well to be prepared."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"See here; you understand that you're to keep your -hands off Miss Payson," said Granthope with emphasis. -"She's my game. Do what you like with the old -man, but leave me alone, that's all!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you fret yourself about that. Ain't we -worked together before, for gracious sakes? I guess -I can mind my own business!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The palmist walked over to the fireplace, stood -leaning against the mantel and kicked the fender -meditatively, somewhat disturbed by Madam Spoll's presence. -He had seen Miss Payson only twice, yet he had -already come to the point where he was annoyed to -hear her so cold-bloodedly discussed, and his own -heartless notes quoted. Even less could he enjoy -thinking of so fine and delicate a creature in the toils of -Vixley and Spoll. No, she was for his own plucking. -She was a quarry well worth his chase. To share his -plans with such vulgar plotters seemed to cheapen -the prize, to rub off the bloom of her beauty and -charm. He would play a more exquisite, a more -subtle game. It would not do, however, to break -with the mediums. They were still useful to him, in -spite of his assertion of independence. They knew, -besides, altogether too much about him for him to dare -to kindle their resentment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If Madam Spoll had noticed his detachment she did -not show it. She herself had, evidently, been thinking -something over, and now she interrupted his meditation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say, Frank, about that old Madam Grant, now—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She wasn't so old, was she?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How d'you know she wasn't?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He covered his mistake as well as he could with: -"Oh, I've heard she was a young woman, not more -than thirty, when she died."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, it's so far back, it seems as though she must -have been old. You know I fished a little with what -you give me about her and Payson; putting that -together with what Lulu Ellis got, I believe I can work -him. Funny you happened on that bit. Did the -Payson girl tell you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I got it—she let it out in a way. You know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madam Spoll chuckled. "Lord, they tell us more'n -we ever tell </span><em class="italics">them</em><span>, don't they! But I was saying: I -wish I could find out more about that little boy Madam -Grant used to keep. I wonder was he her son, now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose you might find out something if you -looked up the files of the </span><em class="italics">Chronicle</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's a good idea. I'll do it. D'you know what -year it was?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"1877."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How d'you know?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He walked away from her carelessly, replying: -"That's the idea I got of it. About that time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Frank," she said, "ain't you ever got any clue to -who you are, yet? Never got any hint at all?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why don't you go to some real sure-enough -psychic? They might help. I've known 'em to do -wonderful things."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope gazed at her and laughed loud. "</span><em class="italics">You?</em><span>" -was all he could say.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She drew herself up. "Yes, </span><em class="italics">me</em><span>! Sure. Why, you -don't think I consider they ain't no genuine ones, even -if I do fake a little, do you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You actually believe there's a medium alive that -can tell such things?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm positive of it. Why, when I begun, I give -some remarkable tests myself. I used to get names, -sometimes. But there </span><em class="italics">are</em><span> straight ones. Not here, -maybe, but in New York. You could send a lock of -your hair."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He went up to her and clapped his hand on her -shoulder, still laughing. "You're beautiful, my dear; -you're positively beautiful!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned a surprised face to him. "What in the -world d'you mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He shook his head and walked away. "Preserve -your illusions! It's too wonderful. I'll be believing -in palmistry, next I'll believe myself in love, after -that. And then—I'll believe I'm honest, dignified, -honorable, modest!" His tone grew, word by word, -more hard and cynical. Then he turned to her with a -whimsical expression: "So you believe your doll's -alive!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've no time to talk nonsense any longer!" she -exclaimed, rising ponderously. "I can't make you out -at all, Frank. Sometimes you're practical as insurance -and sometimes you're half bug-house. Maybe it's them -clothes!" She regarded him carefully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He bowed to her with mock courtesy, spreading his fan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lord, you </span><em class="italics">do</em><span> look like a fool in that Chink's rig. -Have a good time with 'em—but keep your eyes and -your ears open!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She went out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was about to turn out the electric lights and -leave, when he heard a knock at the door. He opened -it, and saw the little freckled-face girl who had come -to his office the day he had first met Clytie Payson. -He recognized her instantly, but she, seeing him so -extraordinarily disguised, drew back in surprise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you want Mr. Granthope?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes!" She finally made him out, but still gazed -at him, somewhat frightened. Her face was bloodless.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come in," he said kindly. "I'm Granthope. You'll -have to excuse this costume." He set a chair for her, -but she stood, timidly regarding him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm awfully afraid I'm bothering you, Mr. Granthope, -coming so late—I know I ought to have come -in your office hours, but I couldn't possibly get -off—and I did want to see you awfully! D'you suppose -you could help me a little, now? I thought you might -be able to, you said such wonderful things when I -was here before, and I just can't stand it not to know, -and I don't know what to do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do sit down. Tell me what's the matter, my dear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She crept into a chair, and sat with nervous hands, -staring at him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, don't you remember?" She gazed at him in -alarm. "Oh, I've depended so on what you said—it's -all that kept me going!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just pardon me a moment, please." He went to -his desk drawer and began to fumble over his card -catalogue. "I have a memorandum to make. Then -I'll talk to you." He came to the card, and made a -penciled note and glanced it over. Then he returned -to her and sat down. "Now tell me all about it," he -said gravely. "I remember perfectly, of course. Bill -was in the Philippines, wasn't he? You hadn't heard -from him for some time, and you were expecting him -home on the next transport?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She sat, limply huddled in her chair, gazing at him -through her sad eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He did come back. I couldn't meet the boat. I -missed him. And now he's gone!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He didn't let you know where he went?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Mr. Granthope, it's too awful! I can't bear -it, but I could stand anything if I could only find him! -You </span><em class="italics">must</em><span> find him for me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll do what I can, my dear. Your hand shows -that it will all come out for the best. I wouldn't -worry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, but you don't know! You don't know how -bad it is!" she moaned. "I thought you might know. -He was wounded in a battle."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But he came back?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes." Then she burst into a hurried torrent of -words. "He didn't want me to know. He was shot -in the face—his nose was shot off—it's awful—some -of the men told me about it. Bill was ashamed to -have me see him—he tried to make me think he wasn't -in love with me any more, so I'd go away. But I -knew better. Bill's so proud, Mr. Granthope, you -don't know how proud he is! He'd rather leave me -than make me suffer. But what do I care for his nose -being gone? Why, Bill's a hero! He had more nerve -than Hobson, anyway! Just because he was the only -man in his company that dared to go through a -swamp, under fire, to save his lieutenant—and he -brought him in on his back, Bill did! Why, Bill's -father was killed at Antietam, but Bill's luck was a -heap worse than that! He has to live without a face -and be despised and sneered at because he did his -duty! Oh, if I can only find him, I'll give him -something that will make him forget. Don't I love him all -the more for it? He's tried to sacrifice his whole life -and happiness only for me—just to save me from -suffering when I look at him. D'you know many men -who'd do that for a girl? I don't!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She broke down and sobbed convulsively. The story -seemed to Granthope like a scene from a play, and -his inability to comfort her smote him while she -fought to restrain her tears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you can't find out where he is?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. The company was mustered out, and Bill just -naturally disappeared. Nobody knows where he is. -I've asked all his officers, and all the men I could find."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He took her hand and looked at it soberly for a -moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It will all come out right, my dear. You trust me. -There's your line of fate as clean as a string. I see -trouble in it, but only for a little while. You'll be -married, too. You must have patience and wait, that's -all. Suppose you come back and see me in a week or -so, and tell me if you've heard any news of him. -Meanwhile, I'll see what I can find out myself. There's -a cross in your hand—that's a good sign. Bill still -loves you, and he won't let you suffer long."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He felt the pitiful emptiness of his words, but he -had been too affected by her narrative to give her the -smooth banalities that were always ready to his -tongue. She got up and looked at him through her -tears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have helped me, Mr. Granthope. Somehow -I knew you could. I'll be in again sometime. How -much is it, please?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear girl, when you come again, you can thank -the young lady whom you saw here before. Don't -thank me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked at him silently, then she took his hand -and shook it very hard. "You mean that lady with -red hair who sits at the desk?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I liked her when I saw her. She was nice to me. -Is—is she Mrs. Granthope?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope shook his head and smiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl blushed at her indiscretion. "I kind of -thought—she seemed to be, well, fond of you. I mean, -the way she looked at you, I didn't know but what -you were married. I hope you'll excuse me." She -was visibly confused, and evidently had said much -more than she had intended.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear," Granthope replied, "she's far too good -for me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl shook her head slowly, as she rose to go. -A smile struggled to her face as if, for the first time, -she noted the incongruity of the palmist's costume, -then, with a grateful look she went out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As soon as he had left, Granthope sat down at the -desk and wrote a note upon a memorandum pad. It -read:</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Fancy—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To-morrow morning please go down to the ticket office at -the Ferry, and see if you can find out where a soldier, with -his nose shot off, bought a ticket to, about ten days ago.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>He rose, yawned, stared thoughtfully at the cast; -for a few moments, then snapped his fingers and -walked to the window. His cab was waiting. He went -down-stairs, got into the vehicle and drove off.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The Maxwells lived at Presidio Heights, in one of -the newer residences of the aristocratic Western -Addition, a handsome brick house decorated with -Romanesque fantasies in terra cotta, behind a bronze -rail guarded by heraldic griffins. Granthope walked -up under the lantern-hung awning five minutes before -the hour and was shown to a room up-stairs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Here there were several men waiting and adjusting -their garments. All but one were in Chinese costume; -this was a fat, red-faced man, with a white mustache. -He was in evening dress, and kept exclaiming:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I won't make a damned fool of myself for anybody. -It's all nonsense!" He was obviously embarrassed at -being the only nonconformist.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sully" Maxwell, arrayed in a magnificently -embroidered Chinese officer's summer uniform—a long, -flounced robe, with the imperial dragons and their -balls of fire, the rainbow border and the all-over -cloud-pattern—was helping the men to dress, chaffing -each of them in turn. He was middle-aged and -prosperous-looking, typically a "man's man" and -"hail-fellow-well-met," despite his immense fortune. He -greeted Granthope cordially, without hint of patronage, -and introduced him to the others.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Of two, Keith and Fernigan, Granthope had heard -much. They were the pets of a certain smartish social -circle, in virtue of their cleverness and wit. They -were of the kind who habitually do "stunts" and were -always expected to make the company merry and -informal. Keith was a tall, wiry, flap-eared, smiling -fellow, made up as a Chinese stage-comedian, with his -nose painted white. Fernigan, short, stout to rotundity, -almost bald, with spectacles, and a round, Irish -face, was dressed in woman's costume, head-dress, -earrings, green coat and pink silk trousers. He was -naturally droll, a wag at all times, and his whimsical -way constantly approached a shocking limit but never -quite reached it. He was speaking a good parody -of the Cantonese dialect to his partner, and making -eccentric gestures.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Both he and Keith greeted Granthope with mock -gravity, addressing him in pidgin English. Granthope -answered with what spirit he had, and, taking his -place at the mirror, placed upon his nose an enormous -pair of blue-glass spectacles, horn-rimmed. They -disguised him effectually.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he left the room, a man with a pointed, reddish -beard entered, dressed in long flowing robes of -plum-colored silk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope caught the greeting: "Hello, Blan!" and -turned with curiosity to see the Mr. Cayley of whom -he had heard so much. He did not, however, wait -to be introduced, but passed on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The great reception-room down-stairs presented one -of the most beautiful, as well as one of the most -original, of San Francisco interiors. It was entirely -of redwood, panels six feet in width all round the -walls extending up to a narrow shelf supported by -carved brackets. The low-studded ceiling was broken -by a row of finely adzed beams, carved tastefully at the -ends. A feature of the reception-room was a wide -fireplace of terra cotta surmounted by a mantel, -consisting of at least a dozen combined moldings, each -member of which showed a striking individuality of -detail. The place was illuminated by side brackets -in the form of copper sconces. Granthope entered, -quite at his ease, with a long, swinging, heel-and-toe -stride that comported well with his costume.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There were already some half-dozen persons sitting -about the room, most of whom seemed afraid to talk -for fear of disclosing their identity, or perhaps, a little -too self-conscious in their garish raiment. The silence, -if it had not been painful, would have been absurd. -Granthope looked in vain for any sign of his hostess' -presence, and then suspecting that she, too, was masked -to enjoy the piquancy of the situation, he saluted one of -the ladies, sat down beside her and began a conversation. -Knowing that few were acquainted with him he -had no need to disguise his voice. He sat on a straight -chair stiffly, as he had seen Chinese actors pose at the -theater, his toes turned out in opposite directions so as -to insure the proper fall of the skirt of his robe, and -disclose, through a narrow gap, the splendor of his -lavender trousers. His partner answered him in whispers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he sat talking nonsense gaily, a woman came -into the room with so perfect an imitation of the -"tottering lily" walk affected by high-caste Chinese -women, that he turned his eyes upon her in delight -at her acting.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was of a good height; and her white embroidered -shoes, whose heels were placed in the center of -the sole, gave her nearly two inches more. Her -costume was a rainbow of subdued contrasting colors. It -was evident at a glance that every garment she wore -was old, valuable and consistent with her character of -bride.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The smoothly coiled rolls of her black wig were -decorated by numerous gold ornaments and artificial -flowers. Across her forehead was a head-dress of gold -filigree-work and kingfisher feathers; its ribbon was -tied in the back of her head and fell in fanciful ends. -She wore two coats—the outer was of yellow brocaded -silk, a pastel shade, trimmed with a wide stripe of -close blue embroidery and rows of looking-glass -buttons—the inner one, shorter, was of blue and black -appliquéd work in bold, virile pattern. Below this -showed her closely-pleated skirt of old rose with a panel -of gold embroidery in the center; this, as she walked, -revealed occasional glimpses of a pair of full straight -green trousers trimmed with horizontal stripes, and -a flash of white silk stockings. Necklaces she had in -profusion, one of jade, one of purple mother-of-pearl, -one of white coral, one of sandalwood; and others in -graded sizes and colors. In her right hand she carried -a narrow gold-paper fan; on her left wrist was a jade -bracelet, and, pulled through it, a green silk -handkerchief with a purple fringe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her entry made a sensation, as she courtesied gravely -to each one in turn. So, playing her part cleverly, -she came to Granthope, who arose and greeted her with -a dignified salaam. So far they were the only ones who -had at all entered into the spirit of the occasion, and -he did his best to meet her character and play up -to her elaborate salutation. He offered his arm, then, -and escorted her, with considerable manner, to a long -settee.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In all this pantomime she had preserved a serious -expression, the repressed, almost inanely impassive, -set face of a Chinese lady of rank; but when at last -she was seated, she turned full upon him and smiled -under her mask.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The effect upon Granthope was a sudden thrill of -overpowering delight. He was deliciously weakened -by the revelation. His breath came suddenly, with a -swift intake—the blood rioted through his veins.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She wore a much wider mask than the others, so that -nothing but her mouth and chin was shown. But that -mouth was so tempting, with its ravishing, floating -smile, and that smile so concentrated in its limitation -to a single feature, that it turned his head. The lips -were narrow and bright; the blood seemed about to -ooze through the skin. The upper one was curved in -a tantalizing bow between the drops of soft shadow -at the corners. The cleft above seemed to draw her -lip a little upward to disclose a line of small, perfect, -regular teeth of a delicate, bluish white translucence, -which, parting, showed a narrow rosy tongue. The -lower lip was that delicious fraction of an inch lesser -than the upper one which, in profile, gave her a touch -of youthful, almost boyish, wistfulness. Her round, -firm chin showed, from the same point of view, a -classic right angle to her throat, where the line swept -down the proud column of her neck, there to swing -tenderly outward toward her breast.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He could not take his eyes from her, but he had not -the will to restrain his staring. The spell was -irresistible; he drank her deep and could not get enough. -For these whirling moments he was at the mercy of -the attraction of sex, impersonal, yet distilled to an -intoxicating essence. Had it not been for her mask -hiding the upper part of her face, had her eyes -corrected this almost wanton loveliness with some reserve -or with the effect of a more intellectual character, had -his glance even been given a chance to wander over -equally enchanting components of that expression, he -undoubtedly would not have been so moved by the -sight of her laughing, tempting mouth. But that, -faultlessly formed, exquisitely sexed, whimsically -provocative, had for him, with the rest of her face hidden, -an original and freshly flavored delight. In the -spectrum of her beauty the violets and blues of her spirit, -the greens and orange of her mind were for the nonce -inhibited; only the vibrant red rays of her physical -personality smote him, burning him with their radiance. -But there was, he felt, no malice behind that smile, -though it was mischievous; there was nothing wanton -there, though in this guise her lips seemed abandoned -and inviting. There was, in their flexed contour, in -the engaging mobility of their poise, no consciousness -of anything sensually appealing. It was, rather, as if -he gained some secret aspect of the woman beneath -and behind all conventions of morality, of modesty, -and of discretion. So far, indeed, she seemed, in a -way, without a personality. She was Woman smiling -at him. The vision was too much for him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She bent toward him and her lips whispered:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How do you do, Mr. Granthope? Why are you -staring so? I thought of course you knew me—but -I really believe you don't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Even then he did not recognize her, and was -profoundly embarrassed. That he should fail to -remember such a mouth as that! He took her hand which -had been concealed in her long sleeve and looked at -it. She had glued long false nails of celluloid to her -little fingers, completing the picture of a Chinese lady -of quality. At the first sight of her palm, at the first -touch of it, even, he knew her, and, with a rush, a dozen -thoughts bewildered him. This was she whom he had -been able so to influence, to cajole. He had, in a way, -a claim to this comeliness. She had favored him, had -confessed her interest in him. They were, besides, -bound by a secret tie. He might hope for more of her, -perhaps. She was already somewhat in his power; -he had, at least, the capacity to sway her. She, -alluring, delightful, might perhaps be gained, and in -some way, won. She had known him at a glance—there -was her prescience again! She had welcomed -him, in assurance of her favor. What then was -possible? What dared he not hope for? A great wave of -desire overcame him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile he answered, distracted and unready:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You knew me then? I thought I was pretty well -disguised."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you've forgotten how hard it is to deceive me. -I should never try it, if I were you. Of course I knew -you! I should know you if you had covered your -head in a sack."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stammered, and he was not often confused -enough to stammer. "I don't know how to tell you -how beautiful you are, Miss Payson."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She spoke low and slowly, with a wayward inflection, -"Oh, I'm so sorry." Then she added, "I scarcely -dared speak to you, you are so magnificent."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I would need to be, to be worthy of sitting beside -you," he replied, his wits floating, unmanageable.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you get my note?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I want to thank you for it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope you've forgiven me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course, I was only flattered by your frankness."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's so easy to be frank with you," she said. "You -see, I'm perfectly myself with you, even </span><em class="italics">en masque</em><span>. -I doubt if any of my friends would know me as I am -with you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I've seen a new 'you' that I haven't known -before."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then she owes her existence to your presence. -But how am I different? Tell me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You take my breath away. You say such charming -things to me that it deprives me of the power of -answering you—anything I could say seems ineffective -and cheap. You get ahead of me so. Really, -you'll have to be positively rude to me before I can -summon presence of mind enough to say anything -gallant."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again her lips curved daintily. Her voice was -dulcet:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I am afraid I shall never hear any nice -things from you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was reduced; baffled by her suavity. He sought -in vain for a fitting return. He had the impulse -to take advantage of her courtesy, however, and -gratify some portion of his desire to be nearer her. She -wore, suspended from the gold top-button of her -"qua," a red silk tassel with a filigree network of -silver threads, containing a gold heart-shaped scent -bottle. He reached to it and tried to remove it from -its place, covering this slight advance jocosely, with -the remark:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that your heart you have there? It seems to -be pure gold."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She did not resent what might possibly have been -considered a familiarity, but smiled when she saw that -he could not remove the bottle from the meshes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm afraid you won't be able to get at it, that -way." There was a touch of playful emphasis in her voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Their hands met as she assisted him, showing him -how to pull up the sliding ring and open the net. -At that contact he became a little giddy. The blood -surged to her cheeks. She took out the bottle and -handed it to him. That moment was tense with feeling. -Then she said, as he tried in vain to unstopper -the little jar:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can you open it, do you think?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He attempted futilely to open the little heart. -"I'm afraid I can't," he said disconsolately. "Won't -you help me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, you must do it yourself. There is a way—see!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She took it from him and, concealing it in her -hand, opened the top and reached it out for him to -smell. He whiffed a penetrating perfume, disturbingly -pungent, then she withdrew it from him and -closed the heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"May I take it?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She returned it now, saying, and her smile was -more serious than before, "Learn to open it. There -is a way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope took the heart and tried to master its -secret. The room had by this time filled up so that -a further tête-à-tête was impossible. Miss Payson -was now besieged by maskers and held court where -she sat. Fernigan, the stout young man with the -powdered face, dressed as a woman, was particularly -offensive to Granthope, and especially so because it -could not be denied that his antics and sallies were -witty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope arose therefore, and walked about the -room looking for some one whom he might recognize. -There was little likelihood of his succeeding had not -his professional capacity given him a clue to follow. -He passed from one group to another, bowing, -gesticulating and joking, as all had now begun to do, -keeping his eyes alertly on the hands of different -members of the assembly. It was not long before he -suspected Mrs. Page, and, after reassuring himself -by closer inspection, he went up to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was as expensively dressed as Clytie, but -without Clytie's taste. Mrs. Page's magnificence was -barbaric, untamed to any harmony of color, though -effective in its very violence. She had not left her -diamonds at home. She blazed in them. Tall, dark, -well-formed and deep-breasted, not even the loosely -hanging folds of a Chinese costume could hide the -luxuriance with which Nature had endowed her -figure. She was laughing with abandon, reveling in the -freedom of the moment, when Granthope touched her -on the shoulder and whispered:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Violet!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned to him and stared, puzzled by his -well-disguised face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who are you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know more about you than any one here!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good heavens!" she laughed, "what do you know -about me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shall I tell you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not here, for mercy's sake! Don't give me away -in respectable society, please. Come out in the hall -where we won't be eavesdropped."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She took his arm energetically and romped him out -to the staircase. The masks and costumes had let -loose all her folly. She effervesced in giggles.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let's go up-stairs in the library," she proposed. -"We have the run of the house to-night, and nobody'll -be there. I want to see if I can't guess who you are. -I haven't the least idea who you are, but I believe -you're going to be nice."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She tapped him on the cheek playfully with her -fan, then picked up her skirts and ran up-stairs, -giving him a glance of red silk hose, as she went. He was -still quivering with the excitement of Clytie's smile, -still warm from her nearness, still full of her, though -he would not share her wholesale glances to her -throng of admirers. He was still rapt with the -exhilaration her smile had kindled, he still held her little -perfumed heart. As he followed Mrs. Page up-stairs -he smelt again of the gold bottle. The fragrant odor -fired him anew. He grew perfervid.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Page, unmasked, was awaiting him in the -library.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>When they came down ten minutes later, he made -way to where Clytie sat, talking to the gentleman -with the reddish pointed beard and plum-colored -garments. Seeing Granthope approach, she turned to her -companion, saying:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Would you mind getting me a glass of water, -Blanchard? This mask is fearfully warm. I hope -we won't have to keep them on much longer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cayley left to obey her and Granthope took his -place by her chair. She looked up at him quickly, and -said, in a low voice:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think you had better give me back my scent-bottle, -please."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A pang smote him. He felt the shock of reproach -in her voice, knowing what she meant immediately, -though he rallied to say, faint-heartedly:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, I haven't learned how to open it yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm afraid you'll never learn." She did not look -at him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean?" he asked, summoning all his -courage. "I thought you had given it to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She kept her eyes away from him. "If I did, I must -ask it back, now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Perturbed as he was by this new proof of her -intuition, he refused to admit it. After all, it might -have been merely her quick observation. At any -rate, he would make another attempt to pit his -cleverness against her sapience.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, we only went up to see Mr. Maxwell's books. -He has a first edition of Montaigne there." He was -for a moment sure that she was only jealous.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She bent her calm eyes upon him. There was no -weakness in her mouth, though it seemed more lovely -in its tremulous distress. The upper lip quivered -uncontrolled; the lower one fell grieving, as she said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I asked nothing. I want only honesty in what you -do tell me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This time he was fairly amazed. The hit was deadly. -He dared not suspect that she had taken a chance -shot. He was too humbled to attempt any denial, -knowing how useless it would be in the face of her -discernment. Yet she had showed nothing more than -disapproval or distress. Her reproof could scarcely -be called an accusation, and her chivalry touched him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know what you will think of me," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I've heard so much worse of you than that," -she said, "and it hasn't prevented my wanting to be -friends with you. I hope only that you will never -misinterpret that friendliness. You don't think me -bold, do you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish you were bolder."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you don't know my capacity yet. But, really, -do you understand? It's that feeling, you know, that -in some way we're connected, that's all. It's -unexplainable, and I know it's silly of me. I'm not trying -to impress you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you are!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In answer, she smiled again, and again that flood -of delight came over him rendering him unable, for -a moment, to do anything but gaze at her. Luckily -just then Cayley returned with a glass of water; at -the same time, the order was given by Mrs. Maxwell -to unmask.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie drew off her visor immediately. As Granthope -watched her he felt the quality of his excitement -change, transmuted to a higher psychic level. -Somehow, with her whole face revealed, with her serene -eyes shining on him, he was less in the grip of that -craving which had held him prisoner. It fled, -leaving him more calm, but with a deepened, more vital -desire. The completed beauty of her face now thrilled -him with a demand for possession, but the single note -of passion was richened to a fuller chord of feeling. -The mole on her cheek made her human, and almost -attainable.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That feeling gave him a new and potent stimulus, as, -under his hostess' direction, he offered Clytie his arm -into the supper-room, and took a place beside her. -It buoyed him with pride when he looked about at the -gaily clad guests and noticed, with a quickened eye, -the distinction of her face and air, comparing her with -the others. That dreamy, detached aspect in which -he had seen her before had given way now to a fine -glow of excitement which stirred her blood. How far -she responded to his enthusiasm he could not tell; she -was, at least, inspired with the novelty of the scene—the -gaudy dresses, the warm red lights of monstrous -paper lanterns, the odors of burning joss-sticks, the -table, flower-bedecked and set out with strangely -decorated dishes, and the monotonous, hypnotic squeak -and clang and rattle of a Chinese orchestra half-way -up the stairs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All trace of her annoyance had gone from her now, -and that unnamable, untamed spirit, usually dormant -in her, had retaken possession of her body. She was -more jubilantly alive than he had thought it possible -for her to be. He dared not attribute her animation -to his presence, however, gladly as he would have -welcomed that compliment. It was the spell of -masquerade, no doubt, that had liberated an unusual -mood, emboldening her to show those nimble flashes -of gallantry. At any rate, that revelation of her -under-soul was a piquant subject for his mind to think -on; there was an evidence of temperament there which -tinctured her fragile beauty with an intoxicating -suggestion. It was a sign of unexpected depths in her, -a promise of entrancing surprises.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For the first time in his life he lacked the audacity -to woo a woman boldly. There had never been enough -at stake before to make him count his chances. There -had been everything to win, nothing to lose. Women -had solicited his favor, but there was something -different in Clytie's approaches toward familiarity. She -spoke as with a right-royal and secure from suspicion, -with a directness which of itself made it impossible -for him to take advantage of her complaisance. He -was put, in spite of himself, upon his honor to prove -himself worthy of her confidence. There was, besides, -a social handicap for him in her assured position—he -could see what a place she held by the treatment she -received from every one—while he was in his novitiate -at such a gathering, newly called there, his standing -still questionable. But, most of all, to make their -powers unequal, was his increasing fear of her as an -antagonist with whom he could not cope intellectually. -He, with all his clever trickery and his practical -knowledge of psychology, was like a savage with bow and -arrow; she, with her marvelous intuition, like a goddess -with a bolt mysteriously and dangerously effective.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Already his instinct accepted this relation, but his -brain was still stubborn, seeking a refuge from the -truth. He was to have, even as he sat there with -her, another manifestation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie sat at his left hand. Mrs. Page, at his right, -had been assigned to the bald, red-faced gentleman -with white mustache, who had so profanely refused -to make a fool of himself by wearing a Chinese -costume. His sprightly, flamboyant partner was -ill-pleased with her lot. She proceeded to spread an -airy conversational net for Granthope, endeavoring -to trap him into her dialogue, with such patent art -that every woman at the table noticed her tactics.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope, however, shook her off with a smile and -a joke, as if she were an annoying, buzzing fly. Still -she hummed about him, leaving her partner to -himself and his food. However clever and willing -Granthope might have been, ordinarily, at such an exchange -of persiflage, it was all he could do to parry her -thrusts and at the same time keep up with Clytie. -But she, noticing Mrs. Page's game, was mischievous -enough, or, perhaps, annoyed enough, to give the -woman her chance and submit to a trial of strength. So, -as if to give Granthope the choice between them, she -turned to her left-hand neighbor, Fernigan, who, in his -female costume, had kept that end of the table, by his -wit, from interfering with her colloquy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope was in a quandary, fearing to be inextricably -annexed. Mrs. Page at this moment increased -his dilemma by casting a languishing look at him and -pressing his foot with hers under the table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All that was flirtatiously adventurous in him boiled -up; for Mrs. Page was, in her own way, a beauty, -and, as he had reason to know, amiable.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He drew away his foot, however, and as he did so, -gave a quick inward glance at himself, wondering, and -not a little amused, at the change that had taken place -in him. Novelty is, in such dalliance, a prime factor -of temptation—it was not a lack of novelty, however, -which made her touch unwelcome, for he was, in his -relations with the woman, at what would be usually -a parlous stage. He had already been gently reproved -for his weakness—but it was not the smart of that -disapproval that withheld him. He had begun to fear -Clytie's vision—yet he was not quite ready to admit -her infallible. His self-denial, then, was indicative of -an emotional growth. He smiled to himself, a little -proud of the accompaniment of its tiny sacrifice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie, turning to him, rewarded him with a smile, -and, leaning a little, said under her breath:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm so glad that you find me more worth your while."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He could but stare at her. Mrs. Page was quick -enough to see, if not hear, what had happened; she -turned vivaciously to the gentleman in evening dress.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope exclaimed, "You knew that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, it is only with you that I can do it." She -seemed to be more confused at the incident than he. -"I know so much more than I ever dare speak of," -she added.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This did not weaken her spell.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She continued: "Do you remember what you said, -when you read my palm, about my being willing to -make an exaggerated confession of motives, rather -than seem to be hypocritical, or unable to see my own -faults?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did not remember, but he dared not say so. -He waited a fraction of a second too long before he -said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly I remember."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked hard at him and mentally he cowered -under her clear gaze. Then her brows drew slightly -together with a puzzled expression, as if she wondered -why he should take the trouble to lie about so small -a matter. But this passed, and she did not arraign his -sincerity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, what I want you to know now is that I -don't consider myself any better—than she is. Do you -know what I mean? I don't condemn her. Oh, dear, -I'm so inarticulate! I hope you understand!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think I do," he answered, but he could not help -speculating as to the definiteness of her perception. -She answered his question unasked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I get things only vaguely—that's one reason why -I could not judge a person upon the evidence of my -intuition—I couldn't tell you, for instance, exactly -what happened between you two just now. I know -only that I was disturbed, and that you, somehow, -reassured me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you were more precise about what happened -up-stairs." He was still at a loss to fix her limitations.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, there I pieced it out a little. Shall I confess? -I knew you well enough to fill in the picture. I know -something of her, too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Witch!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're a wizard to make me confess!" she replied, -brightly shining on him. "I don't often speak. It's -usually very disagreeable to know so much of -people—indeed, I often combat it and refuse to see. But -with you it's different."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's not disagreeable?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, it is disagreeable usually. It makes me feel -priggish to mention it, too, but, with you, the impulse -to speak is as strong as the revelation itself; that's -the strangest part of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This confession gave him a new sense of power, for -he saw that, sensitive as was her intuition, he -controlled and appropriated it. It had already occurred to -him what splendid use he might make of her, compelling -such assistance as she could render. Vistas -of ambition had opened to his fancy. For him, as a -mere adventurer, her clairvoyance might reinforce his -scheming most successfully. With her he could play -his game as with a new queen on the chess-board. But -he saw now how absurd was the possibility of -harnessing her to such projects. He was, in fact, a little -dazzled by the prospect she suggested. As he corrected -that mistake with a blush for his worldly innocence, he -saw what the game with her alone could be—his game -transferred from the plane of chicanery to the level -of an intimate friendship—or even love. He saw how -she would play it, how she would hold his interest, -keeping him intellectually alive with the subtlety of -her character.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So far he had not taken her seriously; he had -reveled in the possibility of a love affair, but he had -not even contemplated the possibility of a permanent -alliance. As Madam Spoll had said, he had had his -pick of women—and each had ended by boring him. -Granthope, besides, with all his delight in strategy, -was modest, and desire for social establishment had not -entered into his plans. He had accepted Clytie as one -of a different world, desirable and even tempting, but -not at all as one who would change either his theory or -his mode of life. But now, with a sudden turn, his -thoughts turned to marriage with her. Madam Spoll's -words leaped to his memory—she had said that it was -possible. This idea came as the final explosion of a -long, tumescent agitation. He looked at Clytie with -new eyes. His ambition soared.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The meal went on in a succession of bizarre courses—seaweed -soup, shark's fins, duck's eggs, fried goose -and roasted sucking pig, boiled bamboo sprouts to -bird's nests and mysterious dishes—with rice gin and -citron wine. The company was rollicking now; even -the gentleman in black evening dress was laughing, -and, goaded on by the irrepressible Mrs. Page, had -taken a large crown of gold paper, cut into rich -patterns and decorated with colored trimmings, from its -place in the center of the table and had set it upon -his bald head. The walls of the dining-room were -covered with a row of paper costumes, elaborate robes -used by the Chinese tongs in their triennial festival -of the dead. They were of all colors, decorated with -cut paper or painted in dragon designs with rainbow -borders and gold mons. Mrs. Page tore one from -the wainscot and wrapped it about her partner's -shoulders. Fernigan gibbered a fantastic allegiance -before him; Keith, he of the white nose, called for -a speech. Over all this mirth the clashing cymbals, -the rattling tom-toms and squeaking two-stringed -fiddles kept up an uncouth accompaniment. Granthope, -so far, had been a quiet observer, but when at Clytie's -request he removed his wig and false mustache, he -was recognized by Frankie Dean, who sat further -up the table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Mr. Granthope," she cried out. "Won't you -please read my hand?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Every one turned to him. Clytie watched him to -see what he would do. Mrs. Maxwell, at the head of -the table, obviously annoyed at this indelicacy, sought -to rescue him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I promised Mr. Granthope that he wouldn't be -asked," she interposed, smiling with difficulty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Office hours from ten till four," Fernigan -announced. The guests tittered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope arose calmly and walked up to the young -lady's side, taking her hand. Then he turned to his -sarcastic tormentor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This is one of the rewards of my profession," he -said, smiling graciously. "I assure you I don't often -get a chance to hold such a beautiful hand as this."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie got a glance across to him, and in it he read -her approval. He bent to the girl's palm gravely:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see by your clothes-line," he said, "that you have -much taste and dress well. Your fish-line shows that -you have extraordinary luck in catching anything you -want. There are many victories along your line of -march. There is a pronounced line of beauty here; -in fact, all your lines are cast in pleasant places. You -will have a very good hand at whatever game you -play, and whoever is fortunate enough to marry you -will surely take the palm."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He retired gracefully, followed by laughter and -applause, and was not troubled by more requests. -Clytie whispered to him:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think you saved yourself with honor. It was -a test, but I was sure of you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Maxwell, immensely relieved, almost immediately -gave the signal for the ladies to leave. After -the men had reseated themselves, heavy Chinese pipes -with small bowls were passed about. Most of the -guests tried a few puffs of the mild tobacco, and then -reached for cigarettes or cigars. As the doors to -the drawing-room were shut they drew closer together -and began to talk more freely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Blanchard Cayley came over and sat down beside -Granthope in Clytie's empty chair. He, too, had taken -off his wig. His smile was ingratiating, his voice -was suave, as he said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't want to make you talk shop if you don't -care to, Granthope, but I'd like to know if you ever -heard of reading the character by thumb-prints. I -don't know exactly what you'd call it—papilamancy, -perhaps."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't think it has ever been done, but I don't -see why it shouldn't be," said Granthope, amused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is necessary to make it a science?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope, quicker with women than with men, -was at a loss to see what Cayley was driving at, but -he suspected a trap, and foresaw that his science was -to be impugned. He countermined:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, first of all, a classification and a terminology," -he suggested. Cayley was caught neatly. He was -more ignorant than he knew.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why don't you classify the markings then? I -should think it might be considered a logical development -of chiromancy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One reason is, because they have already been -classified by Galton. I've forgotten most of it, but I -remember some of the primary divisions. Have you -a pencil?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cayley unbuttoned and threw open his plum-colored, -long-sleeved 'dun,' disclosing evening dress -underneath, and produced a pencil which he gave to the -palmist. Granthope smoothed out his paper napkin, -and, as he talked, drew illustrative diagrams upon it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You see, the identification of thumb-prints is made -by means of the characteristic involution of the -nucleus and its envelope. One needs only a few -square millimeters of area. There are three primary -nuclei—arches, whorls and loops. Each has variously -formed cores. The arch, for instance, may be tented -or forked—so. The whorls may be circular or spiral. -The loops may be nascent, invaded or crested, and -may contain either a single or several rods, as they are -called. Let me see your thumb, please. You have a -banded, duplex, spiral whorl. It was there when you -were born, it will be the same in form when you die. -Mine is an invaded loop with three rods."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He saw by Cayley's face that he had scored. Such -technical detail was, in point of fact, Cayley's penchant, -and he was interested. Granthope proceeded:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Almost every distinguishing characteristic of the -human body has been used at one time or another -for divination or interpretation, as I suppose you -know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cayley saw an opening. "But what do you think -the reading of moles, for instance, amounts to, really?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The reading of them, very little, of course. But -the location of them, a good deal."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah," said Cayley, "I thought so. Then you affirm -an esoteric basis with regard to such interpretations? -You think that a mass of absolute knowledge has been -conserved, coming down from no one knows where, -I suppose?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There are several ways of looking at it," -Granthope answered him. He threw himself back in his -chair and gathered the company in with his eyes. -"One theory, as you know, is that palmistry derives its -authority from the fact that the lines are produced by -the opening and closing of the hand—originally, at -least—the fundamental markings being inherited, as -are our fundamental mental characteristics—and that -such alteration of the tissue is directly affected by the -character. One stamps his own particular way of -doing things upon his palm. Using the right hand -most, more is shown there that is individually -characteristic. Of course this theory will not apply to the -distribution of moles upon the body. But it seems to me -that every part of an organic growth must be consistent -with the whole, and with what governs it. Everything -about a person must necessarily be characteristic of the -individual. There are really no such things as -accidents, if we except scars. We recognize that in -studying physiognomy, and, to a certain extent, in -phrenology. It is suggested less intelligibly in a -person's gait, gesture and pose. Everything that is -distinctive must be significant, if only we have the -power of interpreting it. Of course we have not that -power as yet. Palmistry, being the most obvious and -striking method, has been more fully developed. A -great amount of data has been collected upon the -subject, and every good palmist is continually adding -to that material. But I believe that, to a possible -higher intelligence, any part of a man's body would -reveal his character—since every specialized partial -manifestation of himself must be correlated with every -other part and the whole. How else could it be? -An infinite experience would draw a man's mental -and physical portrait, for instance, from a single toe, -as it is possible for a scientist to portray a whole -extinct animal from a single bone. I think that there can -be, in short, no possible divergence from type without -a reason for it; and that reason is the same one that -molded his character."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But that doesn't explain prognostication of the -future." By this time the animus of Cayley's attack -had died out. He was now impersonally interested.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No scientific palmist attempts to give more -than possibilities. He must combine with the -signs in the hands a certain amount of psychology—a -knowledge of the tendencies of human nature—in -order to predict. But, after all, his diagnosis, when -it is logical, is as accurate as that of the ordinary -physician, and the risk is less serious. How many doctors -look wise and take serious chances—or prescribe bread-pills? -There's guess-work enough in all professions."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>By this time the two had been joined by several -others who hung over them in a group, listening. -Fernigan interjected:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's right! Even Blanchard has to guess what -he's talking about most of the time!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you have to guess whether you're sober or -not!" said slim Keith with the white nose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When you talk about the probable tendencies of -human nature, you don't know what you're up -against," said Cayley, retreating. "San Francisco is -a town where people are likely to do anything. There's -no limit, no predicting for them. They were buying -air-ship stock on the street down at Lotta's fountain, -the last thing I heard."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old gentleman in evening dress, still wearing -his Chinese paper crown, took him up enthusiastically.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can be more foolish here without getting into -the insane asylum than any place on earth, but you -have to be a thoroughbred spiritualist before you can -really call yourself bug-house. Look at old man -Bennett! You couldn't make anything up he wouldn't -believe!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What about him?" said Cayley. "I would like to -have him for my collection of freaks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, he was a furniture manufacturer here. I -knew him well, but I forget the details. It was -something fierce though, the way they worked him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope smiled. "I can tell you something about -Bennett," he offered. "I happened to hear the whole -story nearly at first hand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let's have it," Cayley proposed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope leaned back in his chair and began, rather -pleased at having an audience.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, he went to investigating spiritualism and fell -into the hands of a man named Harry Wing and a -gang of mediums here. They won Bennett over to a -firm belief, step by step, till he was the dupe of every -ghost that appeared in the materializing circles, which -cost him twenty-five dollars an evening, by the way. -One man that helped Wing out, played spirit, -pretended to be his dead son, and used to ask him for -jewelry so that he could dematerialize it, and then -rematerialize it for identification. If Bennett went -down to Los Angeles he'd take the same train and -turn up at a circle there, proving he was the same spirit -by the rings that had been given him up here. Well, -Bennett got so strong for it that after a while they -didn't bother with cabinets and dark séances—the -players used to walk right in the door. Then they'd -tell him that, as partly materialized spirits, they ought -to have dinner to increase their magnetism, and he'd -send out for chicken and wine. Finally they got him -so they'd point out people on the street and assert that -they were spirits. The prettiest test was when they -materialized Cleopatra. I've never seen the Egyptian -queen, but she certainly wasn't a bit prettier than the -girl who played her part. Bennett, as an extraordinary -test of her strength, was allowed to take her out to the -Cliff House in a hack. The curtains of the carriage -had to be pulled down to keep the daylight from -burning her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Cliff House, what crimes have been committed -in thy name!" Fernigan murmured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Next, they made Bennett believe that his influence -was so valuable in accustoming spirits to earth-conditions, -that they were going to reveal a new bible to -him, with all the errors and omissions corrected, and -he would go down to posterity as its author. In -return, he was to help civilize the planet Jupiter. You -see, Jupiter being an exterior planet was behind the -earth in culture. Bennett contributed all sorts of -agricultural implements and furniture to be dematerialized -and sent to Jupiter, there to be rematerialized and used -as patterns. Wing even got him to contribute a five -hundred dollar carriage for the same purpose. It -was sold by the gang for seventy-five dollars, and even -when it was shown to Bennett by his friends, who were -trying to save him, he wouldn't believe it was the same -one. They milked him out of every cent at last, and -he died bankrupt."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope had scarcely finished his story when the -drawing-room doors were half opened and Mrs. Page -appeared on the threshold pouting.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aren't you ever coming in here?" she exclaimed -petulantly. "You might let us have Mr. Granthope, -at least."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The men rose and sauntered in, one by one.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope had but a moment in which to reflect -upon what he had done, but in that moment he regretted -his indiscretion in telling the Bennett story. He -had not been able to resist the opportunity to make -himself interesting and agreeable; now he wondered -what price he would have to pay for it. The next -moment his speculations vanished at the sight of -Clytie.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He went directly to her and sat down. Although -the party was dispersed in little groups, the -conversation had become more or less general, and he had no -chance to talk to her alone. He received her smile, -however, and she favored him with as much of her -talk as was possible.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she sat there, with relaxed grace that was almost -languor, she made the other women in the room look -either negligently lolling or awkwardly conscious. He -noticed how some of them showed the fabled western -influence of environment by the frank abandon of their -pose, how others held themselves rigidly, as if aware -of their own lack, and sought, by stern attention, to -conceal it. Clytie's head was poised proudly, her hands -fell from her slender wrists like drooping flowers. -Her whole body was faultlessly composed, unified -with harmonious lines, as if a masterly portrait were -gently roused into life.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fernigan now began, upon request, a Chinese -parody, accompanied by absurd pantomime. Granthope -could not bear it, and, seeing Clytie still busy with her -admirers, slipped out of the room and went up to the -library.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Maxwell's books were rare and carefully selected, -a treat for such an amateur as Granthope. He -went from case to case fingering the volumes, opening -and glancing through one after another. The pursuit -kept him longer than he had intended.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a smaller room off the library, used as -a study and shut off by a portière. Granthope, -standing near the entrance, suddenly heard the sound of -swishing skirts and footsteps, then the subdued, -modulated voices of two women. With no intention at first -of eavesdropping, he kept on with his perusal of the -book in his hand. The first part of the conversation he -remembered rather than listened to, but it soon -attracted his alert attention.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think it's a rather extraordinary thing, -Mrs. Maxwell's asking him, though, don't you?" one of -the ladies said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The reply was in a gentle and more sympathetic -voice: "Oh, she wanted an attraction, I suppose, and -he's really very good-looking, you know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's handsome enough, but he's too much like a -matinee hero for me; my dear, he's absolutely -impossible, really! He's not the sort of person one cares -to meet more than once. He's beyond the pale.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's rather cruel to invite him just to show him -off, I think. In a way, he had to accept."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I expect he's only too glad to come."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wonder how he feels! Do you suppose he has -any idea that he's out of his element? It must be -strange to be willing to accept an invitation when you -know you are, after all, only a sort of freak."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't worry. A charlatan has to have a pretty -thick skin—no doubt he'll make use of all of us, and -brag about his acquaintance. That's his business, you -know; he has to advertise himself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know; but every man has his own sense of -dignity, and it must be somewhat mortifying—no -self-respecting coal-heaver would accept such an -invitation—his pride would keep him from it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't see how a man like that can have much -pride. A coal-heaver has, after all, a dignified way of -earning his living. This man hasn't. His trade can't -permit him to be self-respecting. It's more undignified -than any honest labor would be. Why, he lives by -trickery and flattery, and now he's beginning to toady, -too. Just look at the way he is after Clytie Payson, -already."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I can't see why she permits it, but she seems -to be positively fascinated by him. Isn't it strange -how a fine girl like that is usually the most easily -deceived? Did you see the way she was looking at -him at supper? That told the story. Of course, you'd -expect it of Mrs. Page, but not of Cly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you believe it! Cly's no fool—she sees -through him. He's interesting, you can't deny that; -and you know that a clever man can get about -anything he wants in this town. There are too few of -them to go round, and so they're all spoiled. But -Cly's only playing him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't think she's deliberately fooling him, do -you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nonsense! I know Cly as well as you do. She -would always play fair enough, of course, but that -doesn't prevent her wanting to study a new specimen, -especially one as attractive as Granthope. But it won't -last long. Cly's too honest. It's likely that he'll go -too far and take advantage of her—then she'll call him -down and dismiss him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you think he imagines that he could really—" -began the other.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, </span><em class="italics">he's</em><span> no fool either! He knows perfectly well -where he belongs, but he's working his chances while -they last."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope had been deliberately listening and, as -the last words came to his ears, his emotion burst into -flame. This, then, was how he was regarded by the -new circle into which he had been admitted. He was a -curiosity, handsome, but beyond the pale—even Clytie, -it was probable, was willing to amuse herself with -him. The illumination it gave him as to his status was -vivid, its radiance scorched him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had never caught this point of view before. He -had been too interested in his emergence from obscurity, -he had even congratulated himself upon his increasing -success. Now he saw that the further he went -on that road the further away from Clytie he would -be—he saw the chasm that separated them. His -undignified profession appeared to him for the first time in -its true aspect. The humiliation and mortification of -that revelation was sickening. He had not believed -that it was possible for him to suffer over anything so -keenly. The insults he had received, produced, after -a poignant moment of despair, an energetic reaction. -His fighting instinct was awakened. He had achieved -a certain control of himself, he had a social poise and -assurance that kindled his mind at the prospect of -an encounter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He drew aside the portière and walked boldly into -the little room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Two ladies were sitting there, picturesque in their -costumes. Their rainbow-hued garments showed a -bizarre blotch of color in the quiet monochrome of the -place. Their faces were whitened with powder, their -eyebrows blackened to the willow-curve, their lips -lined with red—they looked, in the half-light, like -fantastic, exotic Pierrettes. As they caught sight of -him they started up with surprise, almost with fear. -Granthope bowed with a quiet smile, perfectly master -of himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want to apologize for having overheard your -conversation," he said. "I must confess that I was -eavesdropping. My business is, you know, to read -character for others, and I don't often have a chance -to hear my own so well described. I'm much obliged -to you, I'm sure."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had the whip-hand now. There was nothing for -them to say; they said nothing, staring at him, their -lips parted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He walked through to the door of the hall and there -paused like an actor making his exit from the stage. -A cynical smile still floated on his lips. He had never -looked more handsome, with his black hair, his -clean-cut head, and his fine, deep eyes that looked them -over calmly, without haste. His costume became him -and he wore it well. Now, as he raised his hand, the -long sleeve of his olive green coat fell a little away -from his fingers. Below, his lavender trousers -gleamed softly. It was a queer draping for his serious -pose. It was a strangely figured pair that he addressed -as they sat, embarrassed, immovable in their splendid -silken garments.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He added more gently, with no trace of sarcasm -in his smooth voice: "I would like to tell you, if it is -any satisfaction for you to know, that your operation -has been successful. It was rather painful, without -the anesthetic of kindness, but I shall recover. I think -I may even be better for it, perhaps restored to -health—who knows!" Then his smile became enigmatic; -he left them and went down the stairs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He made his way to Clytie with a new assurance; -inexplicably to him, some innate power, long in -reserve, had risen to meet the emergency. He was -exhilarated, as with a victory. She looked up at him -puzzled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wonder if you know what has happened this -time?" he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, if I only did! Something has—you have -changed, somehow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it an improvement?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know, it is my theory that you're going to—" She -gave up her explanation—her lips quivered. "Well, -yes! You have been embarrassed?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose it was good for my vanity."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you have heard something unpleasant."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The truth often is."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Was it true?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed it off. "It was nothing I mightn't have -known."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then it is for you to make it false, isn't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I can."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think there is nothing you couldn't do if you -tried."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is nothing I couldn't do if I had your help," -he answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For answer, she took the little gold heart-shaped -bottle from its mesh-work and handed it to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must learn—but perhaps this may help you. -Will you keep it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He took it and thanked her with his eyes. Then, -their dialogue being interrupted, he moved off. He -wandered about, speaking to one and another for a -few moments, gradually drifting toward the hall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he stood just outside the reception-room he -glanced up the broad stairs carelessly, thinking of the -two ladies to whom he had spoken. He smiled to -himself, wondering if they had yet come down. While he -was watching, he saw a woman at the top of the -stairs, looking over the rail. A second glance showed -her to be a servant. She descended slowly, and, in a -moment, beckoned stealthily. He paid no attention.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She came nearer, and, finally, seeing no one with -him, called out to him in a whisper. It was Lucie, -Mrs. Maxwell's maid. The moment Granthope recognized -her, he walked into the parlors again, as if he -had not noticed her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Soon after that he paid his farewell amenities to -his hostess and went up to where he had left his hat -and coat. Lucie was in the upper hall waiting for -him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Granthope," she whispered, "may I speak to -you a moment? I have something."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not now," he said, passing on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She plucked at his sleeve. "I've got a great story," -she insisted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He shook his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shall I come down to your office?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Be quiet!" he said under his breath, and went -in for his things.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was waiting for him when he emerged.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll come down as soon as I can get off," she -continued.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He shrugged his shoulders without looking at her, -and went down-stairs, and out.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-weaving-of-the-web"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER VII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE WEAVING OF THE WEB</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Madam Spoll was sitting in her study on Eddy -Street, awaiting her victim, when Francis Granthope, -immaculate as usual, appeared in her doorway, having -been admitted by Spoll. She was in front of the -glass, pinning on a lace collar.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hello, Frank," she said cordially, looking over her -shoulder, "you're a sight for sore eyes! We don't -see much of you, nowadays."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've been pretty busy, lately," he answered, sitting -down and looking about with an expression of -ill-concealed distaste. The stuffy, crowded room seemed -more unpleasant than ever, after his evening at the -Maxwells'. Madam Spoll seemed more gross. -Everything that had been familiar to him had somehow -changed. He seemed to have a different angle of -vision. It was close and warm, and the air smelled of -dust.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You ain't a-going to forget your old friends, now -you've got in with the four hundred, are you, Frank?" -she said earnestly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He pulled out a cigarette-case and lit a cigarette. -As he struck the match he answered:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not if they don't meddle in my affairs." He gazed -at her coolly as he inhaled a puff of smoke and sent -a ring across the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madam Spoll's face grew stern. "That's no way to -talk, Frank. I've been the same as a mother to -you, in times past, ever since you went into business, -in fact. It looks like you was getting too good for us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, what's the matter now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you're so stand-off, nowadays."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed uneasily. "You always said I was -spoiled."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, who's spoiling you now? Miss Payson?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know, well enough! Lord, why don't you -come out with it! It's all in the family, ain't it? -You've got her on the string, all right, ain't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have not." The frown grew deeper in his forehead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"H'm!" She drew a long breath. "Well, that -means we'll have to begin at the beginning, then, I -expect. I had a sort of an idea that you </span><em class="italics">had</em><span> got her -going, and wouldn't mind saying so, but if you're -going to go to work and be mysterious, why, I'll have -to talk straight business." She pointed at him with -her pudgy finger. "Now, see here, she's been writing -to you, anyways. You can't deny </span><em class="italics">that</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What makes you think so?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't think anything at all about it; I know. -What d'you take me for? A Portugee cook? It's my -business to know all about the Paysons, that's all. -Very good."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope looked more concerned, and eyed her -suspiciously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's only one way for you to have found that -out," he said. "And that reminds me. I want to -get those notes I gave you about her when you were -up at my place. I didn't keep a copy, and I've -forgotten some of the details that I need."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madam Spoll raised her eyebrows, also her shoulders, -and made an inarticulate noise in her throat. -"Funny you need them so bad all of a sudden. Not -that they done us much good—we've found out a lot -for ourselves; about all we need for the present."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I haven't interfered with your game, and -I don't see why you should interfere with mine. Only, -I'd like those memoranda back, please." His tone was -almost peremptory.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sorry, but I ain't got 'em."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where are they?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, I give 'em to Vixley."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope saw that it was no use to go further. -He had, in spite of his precautions, already aroused -her suspicions, and so he pretended to consider the -matter of no moment. Madam Spoll, however, was -now thoroughly aroused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What I want to know, Frank, is whether you're -with us or not."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought the understanding was that we were to -work separately."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Separately </span><em class="italics">and</em><span> together. Mutual exchange </span><em class="italics">and</em><span> -actual profit, for each and for all. We got a mighty -good thing in Payson, me and Vixley have, and we -propose to work it for all it's worth. It'll be for your -interest to come in and help us out. True, you have -done something, but now you're lallagagging, so to -speak, when you might be making a big haul. Payson's -easy, and we can steer the girl your way, through -him. He'll believe anything. All we got to do is -to say my guides want him to have you for a son-in-law, -and the trick is as good as turned. I agree to -get him started this afternoon. He's a ten-to-one shot. -I can see that with half an eye. It'll only be up to -you to make good with the girl, and Lord knows that'll -be easy for you. Now is that straight enough for you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope rose and began to pace the floor nervously. -He paused to straighten some magazines upon -the table, he adjusted a photograph upon the wall, he -moved back a chair; then he turned to her and said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't see how there's anything in this for me. -I'm through with all that sort of thing, and I think, -on the whole, I'll stay out. I'm going in for straight -palmistry—and—well, another kind of game altogether. -You wouldn't understand it even if I explained. I've -got a good start, now, and I don't want to queer -myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madam Spoll made a theatrical gesture of surprise. -"Lord, Frank, who would have thought of you doing -the Sunday-school superintendent act on me! A body -would think you'd never faked in your life! My Lord, -I'm trying to lead you astray, am I?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's all right. I don't pretend to be very virtuous, -but some of this is getting a little raw for me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madam Spoll opened her eyes and her mouth. -"What's got into you, anyway?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Something's got out, perhaps," he said, frowning. -"At any rate, I don't care to make use of Miss Payson -to help you rob her father."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rob her father!" Outraged innocence throbbed in -Madam Spoll's voice. "Lord, Frank, you're plumb -crazy! Why, he won't spend no money he don't want -to, will he? He can afford it well enough! He'll -never miss what we get out of him. You might think -I was going to pick his pockets, the way you -talk." She took him by the arm. "See here! You ain't -really stuck on that Payson girl, are you? Why, if -I didn't know you so well, I'd be almost ready to -suspect you of it! But land, you've had women running -after you ever since you went into business! But I -notice you don't often stay away from the office more'n -two days running."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know that my private affairs are any of -your business," he said curtly. He was rather glad, -now, of the chance for an outright quarrel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But she would not let it come to that, and continued -in a wheedling tone: "Well, this happens to be my -business, and I speak to you as a friend, Frank, for -your own good as well as mine. You can take it or -leave it, of course; I ain't a-going to try and put -coercion on to you, and there's time enough to decide -when we get Payson wired up. Then I'll talk to you -just once more. You just think it over a while, and -don't do nothing rash."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope arose to leave. He was for a more -romantic game, himself. The vulgarity here offended -him esthetically rather than ethically, and yet he -winced at the insinuations Madam Spoll had made.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think I can go it alone," he said; "as for -rashness, I won't promise."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had gone but a few minutes when Professor -Vixley entered and shook a long lean claw with -Madam Spoll, took off his coat and sat down. "Well," -he said affably, "how're they coming, Gert?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, so-so; Frank Granthope's just been here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that so! Did you get anything out of him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. And he wants his Payson notes back again. -What d'you think of that!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vixley crossed his legs, and whistled a low, astonished -note. "We're goin' to have trouble with Frank, -I expect."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madam Spoll's smooth forehead wrinkled. "Frank's -a fool! He's leary of us, and I believe he'll throw us -down if we don't look out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Most time to put the screws on, ain't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know; we'll see. We can go it alone for -a while. Wait till we really need him and I'll -guarantee to make him mind. He's got the society bug so -bad I couldn't do anything with him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The more he gets into society the more use he is -to us," said Vixley. "He's a pretty smooth article."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you know, I have an idea he's getting stuck on -that Payson girl."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vixley cackled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You never can tell," said Madam Spoll. "I believe -Frank's got good blood in him. Sooner or later it's -bound to come out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, if he's after the girl, it'll be easier for us to -bring him around. He won't care to be gave away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's right, and we'll use it. I can see that girl's -face when she hears about him crawling through the -panel at Harry Wing's to play spook for Bennett."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not to speak of Fancy," Vixley added, grinning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To them, Ringa entered. He slunk into a chair -beside Vixley, smoothed down his tow hair, stroked -his bristling mustache, and allowed his weak gray eyes -to drift about the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?" Madam Spoll queried, giving him a glance -over her fat shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I found him all right, and I've got something. I -guess it's worth a dollar, Madam Spoll."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let's hear it, first," said Vixley.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I done the insurance agent act, and I jollied him -good." Ringa grinned, showing a hole in his mouth -where two front teeth should have been.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You jollied him," Vixley showed his yellow teeth. -"Lord, you don't look it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did though," the pale youth protested. "I conned -him for near an hour."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're sure he didn't get on to you?" Madam Spoll -asked, regarding her head sidewise in the glass and -patting the blue bow on her throat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure! I was a dead ringer for the real-thing -agent, and I had the books to show for it. I worked -him for an insurance policy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well? What did he say?" Madam Spoll turned -on him like a mighty gun.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He was caught between two trains once on the -Oakland Mole, and I guess he was squeezed pretty bad. -He said it was a close call."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's all right," said Vixley; "we can trim that -up in good shape, can't we, Gert?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It'll do for a starter. Give him a dollar."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Anything more to-day?" Ringa asked, rising slowly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No; I'll let you know if I want you," said the -Madam.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ringa slouched out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd let that cool off a while till he's forgotten it," -Vixley suggested.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll make him forget it, all right," Madam Spoll -returned. "That's my business. You do your part as -well as I do mine and you'll be all right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's only this first part that makes me nervous."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, he ain't going to catch </span><em class="italics">me</em><span> in a trap. I got -sense enough to put a mouse in first to try it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stood in front of the mirror in the folding-bed, -arranging her hair, which had been wet and still -glistened with moisture, holding her comb, meanwhile, -in her mouth. Professor Vixley tilted back in his -plush chair, his head resting against the grease-spot -on the wall-paper which indicated his habitual pose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now don't you go too fast," he said, pulling out a -square of chewing-tobacco and biting off a corner. -"This here is a-goin' to be a delicate operation. -Payson ain't so easy as Bennett was. Bennett would -believe that cows was cucumbers, if we told him so, -but this chap is too much on the skeptic. We got to -go slow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You leave me alone for </span><em class="italics">that</em><span>," Madam Spoll replied -easily. "I guess I know how to jolly a good thing -along. Has he got the money? That's all I want to -know about him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's got money all right. That's a cinch. I'm -not in this thing for my health. What's more, he's -got the writin' bug, and I can see a good graft in that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I'll give it a try."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, you better keep your hands off that subject, -Gertie. I can work that game better'n you. I got it -all framed up how I can string him good. I'm goin' -to make that a truly elegant work of art. All you got -to do is to get him goin', and then steer him up against -me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The door-bell rang noisily up-stairs and Mr. Spoll's -footsteps were heard going to answer the summons.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I guess that's my cue," said Madam Spoll, smiling -affably. "I wish I had more magnetism to-day." She -shook her hands and snapped her fingers. "I can't -stand so much of this as I used to. I can remember -when I could get a name every time without fishing -for it. But what I've lost in one way I have learned -in another. I'm going to give him a run for his -money, and don't you forget it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vixley smiled and rubbed his hands. "Go in and -win, Gert. I guess I'll take a nap here on the lounge -while I'm waitin' for you, and see if the Doc doesn't -come in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right," she replied; then marched up-stairs -and went into action.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The upper parlor, where she received her patrons -for private sittings, was a large room separated from -the back part of the house by black walnut double -doors. Upon the high-studded walls were draperies -of striped oriental stuffs, caught up with tacks and -enlivened by colored casts of turbaned Turks' heads, -most of which were chipped on cheek and on chin, -showing irregular patches of white plaster. Upon the -mantel chaos reigned, embodied in a mass of minor -decorations of all sorts, such as are affected by those -who deem that space is only something to be as closely -filled as possible. The furniture was cheaply elaborate -and formally arranged, running chiefly to purple -stamped plush and heavy woolen fringe. The silk -curtains in the windows were severely arranged in -multitudinous little pleats, fan shaped, drawn in with -a pink ribbon at the center. There was scarcely a -thing in the room, from the fret-sawed walnut -whatnot in the corner to the painted tapestry Romeo upon -the double doors, that an artist would not writhe at -and turn backward. A little ineffective bamboo table -in the center was made a feature of the place, but -supported its function with triviality.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Payson had just entered, cold and blue from -the harsh air outside. He bowed to the seeress.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She began with the weather, referring to it in -obvious commonplaces, eliciting his condemnation of -the temperature. She offered to light the gas-log and -succeeded, during the conversational skirmish, in -drawing from him the fact that he suffered from -rheumatism, especially when the wind was north.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madam Spoll allowed the ghost of a smile to haunt -her face for a brief moment. "Lucky you ain't got -my weight, it gets to you something terrible when -you're fat. I ain't quite so slim as I used to be." She -looked up from the grate coquettishly, marking the -effect of her words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now let's set down and get ready," she said, going -over to the frail table and pressing her hands to her -forehead. "I ain't in proper condition to-day; I've -been working hard and my magnetism's about wore -out. But I'll see what I can do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He took a seat opposite her and waited. His attitude -was benignly judicial; his eyes were fixed upon -her, through his gold-bowed spectacles.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Funny thing how different people are," she began. -"Now, I get your condition right off. You ain't at -all like the rest of the folks that come here. I get -a condition of study, like. I see what you might call -books around you everywhere—not account-books, -but more on the literary. Books and sheep, you -understand. Not live ones! I would say they was more -on the dead sheep. Flat ones, too, with hair, -like—queer, ain't it? Sounds like nonsense I suppose, but -that's just what I get. They must be some mistake -somehow." She drew her hand across her forehead -and snapped the electricity off her finger-tips. Then -she rubbed her hands and twisted her mouth. "Do -you know what I mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, it might be wool perhaps; I have something -to do with wool," he offered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now ain't that strange? It </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> wool, as sure's you're -born! I can see what you might call skins and bales -of wool. And I get a condition of business, too—but -not what you might call a retail business. Seems like -it was more on the wholesale."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, that's right," he assented, nodding.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What did I tell you!" she exclaimed. "I do believe -I may get something after all, though very often the -first time ain't what you might call a success, and -sitters are liable to get discouraged. I can tell you -only just what my guides give me, you know, and -sometimes Luella is pernickerty. She's my chief -control. You know how it is yourself, for you'll be a -man that knows women right down to the ground, -and you've always been a favorite with the ladies, too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I never knew many women," he said modestly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It ain't the number I'm speaking of. It's the hold -you had over 'em, specially when you was a young -man. They was women who would do anything you -asked them and be glad of the chance; now, wasn't -they? Did you ever know of a party, what you might -call a young woman, though not so very young, with -the initial C?" She mumbled the letter so that it was -not quite distinguishable.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"G?" he said. "Why, yes!—was that the first name -or the last?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It seems like it was the first name, the way I get -it—would it be Grace?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This was, of course, a random "fishing test," and -she got a bite.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My wife's name was Grace."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She hooked the fact, noticing the tense, and let her -line play out to distract his attention temporarily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It don't seem quite like your wife. Seems like it -was another woman who you was fond of. Maybe it -was meant for the last name. Sometimes my control -does get things awfully mixed. Or, it might be a -middle initial. You wait a minute and maybe I'll -get it stronger."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, if it was the last name, I think I recognize it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had another line out and another bite, now, and -played to land both, coaxing the truth gently from him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, it's a last name, and she was terrible fond of -you. She was in love with you for some time, you -understand? And there was some trouble between you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There was, indeed!" Mr. Payson shook his head -solemnly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The hint now made sure of, she heightened it to -make him forget that he himself had given the clue.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I get a feeling of worry, and what you might call a -misunderstanding. You didn't quite get along with -each other and it made a good deal of trouble for you. -You was what I might call put out, you understand? -She's in the spirit now, ain't she?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes; she died a good many years ago."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madam Spoll returned to her first fish and began to -reel in. "Your wife's passed out, too, and Luella tells -me she's here now. She says Grace was worried, too. -But she's happy now and wants you to be. You was -a young man then, and yet you have never got over it. -You wasn't rightly understood, was you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Payson shook his head again. He was listening -attentively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But it wan't your fault, do you understand? It -was something that couldn't be helped. And -sometimes when you think of this other lady you say to -yourself, 'If she only knew! If she only knew!'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I wish she did. It really wasn't my fault."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madam Spoll cast more bait into the pool.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, would her given name be Mary, or something -like that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—it was an uncommon name."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The medium persisted stubbornly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's queer. I get the name of Mary very plain."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My mother's name was Mary; perhaps you mean her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It might be your mother, and yet it seems like it -was a younger woman. Now, this lady I spoke of had -dark hair, didn't she? or you might call it -medium—sort of half-way between light and dark."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No; she had white hair."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Another fish was on the hook. Madam Spoll had got -what she wanted. This admission of Mr. Payson's, -coupled with the fact Granthope had discovered, that -Clytie had visited the crazy woman, identified the old -man's first love, she thought, effectually. She kept this -for subsequent use, however. It would not do, as -Vixley had said, to go too fast.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then this Mary must be some one else," she said. -"You may not recognize her now, but you probably -will. I can't do your thinking for you, you know. It -may possibly be that you'll meet her some day; at -any rate, my guides tell me you must be careful and -don't sign no papers for Mary. I don't know whether -she's in the spirit or not. You may understand it and -you may not. All I can do is to give you what I get."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madam Spoll now became absorbed in a sort of -reverie. When at last she emerged it was with this:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see your mother and your wife now, and I get -the words, 'It's a pity Oliver couldn't marry her.' I -don't know what they mean at all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I understand. I was intending to marry another -woman, the one you spoke of just now, but something -prevented."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That must be it. My guide tells me that something -dreadful happened, and it was what you might call -hushed up and you separated from her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was not my fault."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I get a little child, too"—Mr. Payson grew still -more absorbed. The medium noticed his instant -reaction in eyes, mouth and hands. On the strength -of that evidence, she took the risk of saying:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The child was the lady's with the white hair."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What about it?" demanded Mr. Payson.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see the child standing by a lady who grew gray -very young, you understand. And now they're both -gone. Was you ever interested in Sacramento or -somewhere east of here?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stockton?" he asked. "I lived there for a while."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's it. I see a river, and steamboats coming in, -and there's the child again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A boy or a girl?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She hesitated for a moment to dart a glance at him -as swift as an arrow. Then she risked it. "A girl."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He drew a long breath. "I don't quite understand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It certainly is a little girl, and she's with the lady -with the gray hair. But wait a minute. Now I get a -little boy, and he's crying."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where is he?" came eagerly from Payson's lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's on this side. He's alive. I'll ask my guide." -She plunged into another stupor, then shook herself, -rubbed her forehead, wrung her hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't get it quite strong enough to-day, but I'll -find out later. He seems to be mixed up with you, -some way, not in what you might call business, but -more personally. You're worried about him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Payson, with a shrug of his shoulders, appeared -to disclaim this.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, you are! You may not realize it, but you -are. The time will come when you understand what -I mean. Now you're too much interested in other -things. Your mind is way off—toward New York, -like, or in that direction."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked puzzled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Maybe it ain't as far as New York, but it's -somewhere around there, and I see books and printing -presses. Do you have anything to do with printing?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This he also disclaimed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Funny!" she persisted. "I get you by a printing-press -looking at a book and then I see you at a table -writing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have done some writing, but it has never been -printed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, it will be! My guide tells me that you have -a great talent for literary writing, and it could be -developed to a great success.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now," she added, "you let me hold your hands a -while till I get the magnetism stronger. Just hold -them firm—that's right. Lord, you needn't squeeze -them </span><em class="italics">quite</em><span> so hard!" She beamed upon him with -obvious coquetry. "Now I'm going into a trance. I -don't know whether Luella will come, or maybe little -Eva. Eva's the cunningest little tot and as bright as -a dollar. She's awful cute. You mustn't mind -anything she says or does, though. Sometimes, I admit, -she mortifies me, when sitters tell me what she's been -up to. I've known her to sit on men's laps and kiss -'em and hug 'em, like she was their own daughter, -but Lord, she don't know any better. She's innocent -as a baby."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His face grew harder as she said this, but she -proceeded, nevertheless, with her experiment, closing -her eyes and sitting for a while in silence. Then her -muscles twitched violently; she squirmed and -wriggled her shoulders. Finally she spoke, in a high, -squeaky falsetto, a fair ventriloquistic imitation of a -child's voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good afternoon, Mr. Payson, I'm little Eva! I -brought you some flowers, but you can't see 'em, -'cause they're spirit flowers. You don't look very -well. Ain't you feelin' well to-day? I'm always well -here, and it's lovely on this side."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He made no response. Madam Spoll's soft hand, -obviously controlled by her spirit guide, moved up -Mr. Payson's arm and patted his cheek. He drew -back suddenly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My!" little Eva exclaimed. "You frightened me! -What a funny man you are! Won't you just let me -smoove your hair, once? I'd love to. Oh, I think -you're horrid! I'm just doin' to slap your -face—there!" Which she did quite briskly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Payson loosened his hold with some annoyance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I ain't doin' to stay if you don't love me," -the shrill voice went on. "I don't </span><em class="italics">like</em><span> men who don't -love me. Good-by, old man, I'm doin'."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was another wriggle on the part of the -medium, after which a lower-toned voice said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How do you do! I'm Luella."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He watched the medium's blank, expressionless face -as she spoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say, you ain't well, I can see that. Haven't you -got a pain in your leg? Excuse me saying it, but I -can feel it right there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She touched him gently on the thigh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, that's only a touch of rheumatism," he replied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, it ain't," she said, "it's more serious than that. -It's chronic, and it's growing worse. Sometimes it's -so painful that you almost die of it, isn't it? I know -where you got it; it come of an accident. I can see -you in a big crowded house, like, and there's railroad -trains coming and going, and you're crowded and -jammed. You got internal injuries and a complication. -You didn't realize it at the time, but it's growing -worse every day. If you don't look out you'll -pass out through it, but if you went right to work, you -could be cured of it, before it gets too bad."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What could I do about it?" he asked. "The doctors -don't help me much."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course they don't. You haven't been to the -right ones. I was an Indian doctor, and I can see -just what's the matter with you. You need a certain -kind of herb I used to use when I was on the -flesh-plane in Idaho."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can't you help me, then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I've got to go now, they're calling to me. So -good-by." Another wriggle and Madam Spoll was -herself again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, what did you get?" she asked when she -recovered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, don't you know?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No more'n a babe unborn," she said. "I was in a -dead trance, and I never remember anything that -happens. I hope little Eva didn't tease you any."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who is the other one—Luella?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, she's an Indian princess that passed out -about ten years back. She's got a great gift of -diagnosing cases. She's helped my sitters a good deal."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She told me something about my trouble."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean about the gray-haired lady or the child?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no, about my leg!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did she, now? Well, what did I tell you! Seems -to me you </span><em class="italics">do</em><span> look peaked and pale, like you was -enjoying poor health. I noticed it when you first -come in. I don't believe your blood's good. Luella -don't prescribe ordinarily, but she can diagnose cases -something wonderful. If I should tell you how many -doctors in this town send their patients to me to be -diagnosed before they dare to treat them themselves, -you'd be surprised. Why, only the other day a lady -come in here that was give up by four doctors for -cancer, and Luella found it was only a boil in her -kidney. She went to a magnetic healer and was cured -in a week. Now she's doing her own work and -taking care of her babies, keeping boarders and plans -to go camping this very month."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who was the doctor?" Mr. Payson asked, much -impressed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Doctor Masterson. He's up on Market Street -somewhere. Perhaps I've got a card of his around. -I'll see if I can find it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She walked over to the mantel and fussed among -its dusty ornaments, saying, with apparent concern, as -she rummaged:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know as I ought to send you to Doctor -Masterson, after all. You see, he ain't a man I like -very much, and few do, I find. He don't stand very -well with the Spiritual Society, nor with anybody -else that I know of. He ain't quite on the square, -do you understand what I mean? To be perfectly -frank, I think he's a rascal. He has a bad reputation -as a man, but all the same, he's a good medium, -nobody denies </span><em class="italics">that</em><span>, and he does accomplish some -marvelous cures! If Luella said your complaint was -serious, she knows, and it looks to me like you must -go to Doctor Masterson or die of it, for if he can't -cure you, nobody can. He's certainly a marvelous -healer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She found the card at last, and brought it over to -Mr. Payson.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here it is, but you better not tell him I give it -to you, for we ain't on very good terms, and I wouldn't -want him to know that I was sending him business."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As Mr. Payson rose to go, the medium stopped him -with a gesture.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wait a minute," she said, passing her hand across -her forehead. "Grace is here again and she says: Tell -him that we're doing all we can on the spirit plane -to help him and we want him to cheer up, for conditions -are going to be more favorable in a little while, -say, by the end of September.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She paused a moment and then added:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who's Clytie? Would that be the gray-haired lady?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What about Clytie?" He was instantly aroused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It don't seem to me like she's in the spirit, exactly. -She's on the material plane. Let's see if I can get -it more definite. Oh, Grace says she's your daughter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's true."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you think of that? I get it very plain -now. Grace says she's watching over Clytie and will -help her all she can."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can't she tell me anything more?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The medium became normal. "No, I guess that's -about all I can do for you to-day. I think you got -some good tests, specially when you consider it was -the first time. When you come again I expect we -can do better, and I'm sure we can find that little boy -you was interested in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Payson rose and stood before her, sedate, -dignified, and said, in his impressive platform-manner:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't mind saying that I consider this very -remarkable, Madam Spoll, very remarkable. I shall -certainly call again sometime next week. I am much -interested. Now, what is the charge, please?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, we'll only call this three dollars. My price -is generally five, but I'm sort of interested in your -case and I want you to be perfectly satisfied. You -can just ring me up any time and make an -appointment with me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She bowed him out with a calm, pleasant smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Down-stairs, Professor Vixley was awaiting her. -With him was a shrewd-eyed, bald-headed, old man, -with iron spectacles, his forehead wrinkled in -horizontal lines, as if it had been scratched with a sharp -comb. He had a three days' growth of red beard on -his chin and cheeks, and his teeth, showing in a rift -between narrow, bloodless lips, were almost black. He -wore a greasy, plaid waistcoat, a celluloid collar much -in need of the laundry and a ready-made butterfly bow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, how d'you do, Doctor Masterson?" said -Madam Spoll. "I was hoping you would get around -to-day, so's we could talk business. I suppose you -put him wise about Payson, Vixley?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly," said the Professor. "We're goin' to -share and share alike, and work him together as long -as it lasts. How did you get on with him to-day?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, elegant," was the answer, as she took a seat -on the couch and put up her feet. "I don't believe -we're going to be able to use Flora, though."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Professor Vixley's black eyes glistened and he -grinned sensuously. "Why, couldn't you get a rise out -of him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madam Spoll shook her huge head decidedly. "No, -that sort of game won't work on him. He ain't that -kind. I went as far as I dared and give him a good -chance, but he wouldn't stand for it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's all right, Gert," said Vixley, "I ain't sayin' -but what you're a fine figure of a woman, but he's -sixty and he might prefer somebody younger. You -know how they go. Now, Flora, she's a peach. She'd -catch any man, sure! She knows the ropes, too, and -she can deliver the goods all right. Look at the way -she worked Bennett. Why, he was dead stuck on her -the first time he seen her. She put it all over Fancy -at the first rattle out of the box."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again Madam Spoll's crisp, iron-gray curls shook a -denial. "See here, Vixley!" she exclaimed, "I ain't -been in this business for eighteen years without -getting to know something about men. Bennett was a -very different breed of dog. I can see a hole in a -ladder, and I know what I'm talking about. Payson -ain't up to any sort of fly game. He's straight, and -he's after something different, you take my word for -that. If there was anything in playing him that way, -I'd be the first one to steer him on to Flora Flint, -but he'd smell a mice if she got gay with him and -he'd be so leary that we couldn't do nothing more -with him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, what </span><em class="italics">did</em><span> you get, then?" Vixley asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you wire it up for me?" Doctor Masterson -added.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I fixed you all right, Doc. He'll show up at -your place, sure enough. That accident tip worked -all right and I got him going pretty good about his -leg. He's got your card and I give you a recommendation, -I don't think! You want to look out about -what you say about me. We ain't on speaking terms, -you understand, and you're a fakir, for fair. You can -get back at me all you want, only don't draw it hard -enough to scare him away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doctor Masterson grinned, showing his line of black -fangs, and stuck his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets -placidly. "Oh, I'm used to being knocked, don't mind -me. I'll charge him for it. If I'm going to be the -villain of this here drama, I'll do it up brown."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let's see now. I s'pose you can probably hold -him about two months, can't you?" said Vixley, -stroking his pointed black beard and spitting into the -fireplace.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, not so long as that," said Madam Spoll. "We -want to get to work on that book proposition. A -month's plenty long enough. They ain't much money -in it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know." Doctor Masterson shook his head. -"I've strung 'em for six months many's the time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Women, perhaps, but not men," said the Madam.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, maybe. Men are liable to be in more of -a hurry, of course."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And women ain't so much, with you, are they?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The two men laughed cynically.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, they's more ways to work women than men, -that's all," the doctor replied. "They're more -interested in their symptoms, and they like to talk about -'em. Then, again, they's a more variety of complaints -to choose from. I don't say I ain't had some -pretty cases in my day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say!" Madam Spoll interposed. "Who's having -a circle to-night—Mayhew?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let's see—it's Friday, ain't it? Yes, Mayhew and -Sadie Crum," Vixley replied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I s'pose we got to put 'em wise about -Payson," said the Madam. "He's got the bug now and -he's pretty sure to make the rounds."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can't we keep him dark?" said Vixley. "He's our -game and they might possibly ring him in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, that won't do," she answered emphatically. -"We got to play fair. They've always been square -with us, and they won't catch him, I'll see to that. -Mayhew's straight enough and if Sadie tries to get -gay with us, we can fix her and she knows it. And the -more easy tests he gets, the better for us. It'll keep -him going, and so long as they don't go too far, it'll -help us. The sooner he gets so he don't want to -impose test conditions, the better, and they can help -convert him for us. I'll ring up Mayhew now. I've -got a good hunch that Payson will show up there -to-night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She raised her bulk from the couch and went to the -telephone by the window, calling for Mayhew's -number. When she had got it, she said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is this number thirty-one? ... Yes, I'm number -fifteen.... Sure! Oh, pretty good! ... I got -a tip for you. I'm playing a six-year-old for the -handicap, named Oliver. Carries sixty pounds, colors blue -and gray, ten hands, jockey is Payson. He's a -ten-to-one shot. My wife Grace lived in Stockton. Do -what you can for me, but keep your hands off, do -you understand? Numbers forty and thirteen are with -me in this deal and we'll fix it for you if you stand -in ... yes, all right! If he shows up let me know -to-morrow morning, sure."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned to the two men. "I guess that's all -right now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's all that about Stockton?" Vixley asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He lived there once and there's something more -about his wife or something. Mayhew may fish it out -of him, and if he does I'll put you on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I ain't seen him yet," said the doctor, "but I -guess I'll recognize him. Sixty years old, Oliver -Payson, one hundred and sixty pounds, blue eyes and gray -hair, six feet tall. Are you sure he's a ten-to-one, -though? That cuts more ice than anything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, sure!" said Madam Spoll. "Why, he swallowed -the whole dose. He ain't doing no skeptic business. -He thinks he's an investigator. Wait till you -hear him talk and you'll understand. Not religious, -you know, but a good old sort. He's caught all right, -and if we jolly him along, we can polish him off good."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They ought to be some good materializin' graft in -that wife proposition. Grace, was it? We might turn -him over to Flora for that." This from Vixley.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've been thinking of that," said Madam Spoll, -"but I don't know whether he'll stand for it or not. It -won't be anywheres near the snap it was with Bennett, -in full daylight, and we'll have to have special players. -I believe I can put my hands on one or two that can -help us out, though. Miss French for one; she's got -four good voices. Then there's a young girl I got -my eye on that'll do anything I say. She's slim and -she can work an eight-inch panel as slick as soap; -and she's got a memory for names and faces that beats -the directory. Besides, I believe she's really psychic. -I've seen her do some wonderful things at mind-reading."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, can she really!" said Vixley.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I used to be clairaudient myself when I begun," -said Madam Spoll a little sadly. "I could catch a -name right out of the air, half the time. I've gave -some wonderful tests in my day, but you can't never -depend upon it, and when you work all the week, -sick or well, drunk or sober, you have to put water in -the milk and then it's bound to go from you. You -have to string 'em sooner or later. This girl's a dandy -at it, though, but that'll all wait. There's enough to -do before we get to that part of the game. I expect -I had better go out and see Sadie Crum myself. I -don't trust her telephone. She's got a ten-party line, -what do you think of that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A ten-party line don't do for business," said Vixley, -"but it's pretty good for rubberin'. I've got some -pretty good dope off my sister's wire. She spends -pretty near all her time on it and it does come in -handy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, pshaw!" Madam Spoll looked disgusted. "I -ain't got time to spend that way. What's the use -anyway? They ain't but one rule necessary to know in -this business, and that is: All men is conceited, and -all women is vain."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's right!" Vixley assented. "Only I got -another that works just as good; all women want to -think they are misunderstood, and all men want to -think they understand. Ain't that right, Doc?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Masterson grinned. "I guess likely you ought to -know, if anybody does. But I got a little one of my -own framed up, too. How's this? All men want to -be heroes and all women want to be martyrs."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The three laughed cynically together. They had -learned their practical psychology in a thorough school. -Madam Spoll chuckled for some time pleasantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're the one had ought to write a book, Masterson. -I'll bet it would beat out Payson's!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lord!" said Vixley. "If I was to write down the -things that have happened to me, just as they -occurred—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It wouldn't be fit to print," Madam Spoll added. -Vixley looked flattered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How about that pickle-girl?" he asked next.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's that?" said Doctor Masterson.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, a new graft of Gertie's. Did she come, Gert?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should say she did," Madam Spoll replied. "And -I got her on the string staking out dopes, too. Why, -she's mixed up with a fellow at the Risdon Iron Works, -and she don't dare to say her soul's her own since -she told me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothin' like a good scandal to hold on to people -by," Masterson remarked. "Where'd you get her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, she floated in. I give her a reading and found -out she worked in a pickle factory down on Sixth -Street where there are fifty or more girls. Soon as -I found out the handle to work her by, I made her -a proposition to tip off what's doing in her shop. She -makes her little report, steers the girls up here, and -then she comes round and tells me who they are and -all about 'em."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's what I call a good wholesale business," said -Vixley enviously. "I wish I could work it as slick as -that. She uses the peek-hole in the screen, I suppose?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sometimes, and sometimes she sits behind the window -curtain up-stairs."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have to give yourself away, that's the only -trouble," said Doctor Masterson.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no," Madam Spoll remarked easily, "I just tell -her that I can't always get everybody's magnetism, -though of course I can always get hers. That gives -her an idea she's important, don't you see? Then I -can always lay anything suspicious to the Diakkas. -Evil spirits are a great comfort."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And anyways, if she should want to tell anything," -Vixley suggested, "you can everlastingly blacklist her -at the factory with what you know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," Madam Spoll assented; "she's got a record -herself, only she hasn't got sense enough to realize on -it the way I do on mine. Is they any bigger fool than -a girl that's in love?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Only a man that is," Vixley offered sagely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, </span><em class="italics">men</em><span>!" she exclaimed contemptuously. "I -believe they ain't more'n but three real ones alive -to-day!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Professor's eyes snapped. "Well, they's women -enough, thank the Lord!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," said Doctor Masterson, "I got to go to -work; I'm keeping office hours in the evening now -and I have to hump. So long, Gertie, I'll be all ready -for Payson, but you and Vixley have got to keep -jollying him along. You want me to hold him about -a month? I'll see what I can do, and if I get a lead, -I'll let you know." He shook hands and left them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I ain't so sure of the Doc as I'd like to be," said -Madam Spoll after he had gone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nor me neither," Vixley replied. "We've got to -watch him, I expect, but he'll do for a starter and we -can fix him if he gets funny. There ain't nothin' like -coöperation, Gertie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As Madam Spoll sat down again to open a bottle -of beer she had taken from beneath the wash-stand, -Professor Vixley began to twirl his fingers in his lap -and snicker to himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What are you laughing at, Vixley?" she asked, -pouring out two frothing glasses.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was just a-thinkin' about Pierpont Thayer. Don't -you remember that dope who went nuts on spiritualism -and committed suicide?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I don't just recall it; what about it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, he got all wound up in the circles here—Sadie -Crum, she had him on the string for a year, till he -didn't know where he was at. He took it so hard -that one day he up and shot hisself and left a note -pinned on to his bed that said: 'I go to test the -problem.' Lord! I'd 'a' sold every one of my tricks and -all hers to him for a five-dollar bill! Why didn't -he come to </span><em class="italics">me</em><span> to test his problem? He'd 'a' found -out quick enough."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, and after you'd told him all about how it was -done, I'll guarantee that I could have converted him -again in twenty minutes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I guess that's right," said Vixley. "Them that -want to believe are goin' to, and you can't prevent -'em, no matter what you do. They're like hop -fiends—they've got to have their dope whether or no, and -just so long as they can dream it out they're happy."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="illumination"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER VIII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">ILLUMINATION</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It is easy to imagine the virtuous pride with which -the civil engineer, Jasper O'Farrell, set about the -laying out of the town of San Francisco in 1846. Here -was the ideal site for a city—a peninsula lying like -a great thumb on the hand of the mainland, between -the Pacific Ocean and a deep, land-locked bay, an area -romantically configured of hills and valleys, with -picturesque mountain and water views, the setting sun -in the west and Mount Diablo a sentinel in the east; to -the northward, the sea channel of the Golden Gate -overhung by the foot-hills of Tamalpais.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was still chance to amend and improve the -old town site of Yerba Buena, the little Spanish -settlement by the cove in the harbor, whose straight, -narrow streets had been artlessly ruled by Francisco de -Haro, alcalde of the Mission Dolores. He had marked -out upon the ground, northerly, La Calle de la -Fundacion and the adjacent squares necessary for the -little port of entry in 1835. Four years later, when -Governor Alvarado directed a new survey of the place, -Jean Vioget extended the original lines with mathematical -precision to the hills surrounding the valley; -and it would have been possible to correct that artistic -blunder of the simple-minded alcalde. But Jasper -O'Farrell had seen military service with General -Sutter; his ways were stern and severe, his esthetic -impulses, if he had any, were heroically subdued. -Market Street, indeed, he permitted to run obliquely, -though it went straight as a bullet towards the Twin -Peaks. The rest of the city he made one great -checkerboard, in defiance of its natural topography.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As one might constrict the wayward fancies of a -gipsy maiden to the cold, tight-laced ethics of a -puritanical creed, so O'Farrell bound the city that was to -be for ever to a gridiron of right-angled streets and -blocks of parallelograms. He knew no compromise. -His streets took their straight and narrow way, up -hill and down dale, without regard to grade or expense. -Unswerving was their rectitude. Their angles were -exactly ninety degrees of his compass, north and south, -east and west. Where might have been entrancingly -beautiful terraces, rising avenue above avenue to the -heights, preserving the master-view of the continent, -now the streets, committed to his plan, are hacked out -of the earth and rock, precipitous, inaccessible, -grotesque. So sprawls the fey, leaden-colored town over -its dozen hills, its roads mounting to the sky or -diving to the sea.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So the stranger beholds San Francisco, the Improbable. -Its pageantry is unrolled for all to see at first -glance. Never was a city so prodigal of its friendship -and its wealth. She salutes one on every crossing, -welcoming the visitor openly and frankly with her western -heart. In every little valley where the slack, -rattling cables of her car-lines slap and splutter over the -pulleys, some great area of the town exhibits a rising -colony of blocks stretching up and over a shoulder of -the hill to one side and to the other. Atop every crest -one is confronted with farther districts lying not only -beneath but opposite, across lower levels and hollows, -flanking one's point of vantage with rival summits. -San Francisco is agile in displaying her charms. As -you are whirled up and down on the cable-car, she -moves stealthily about you, now lagging behind in -steep declivities, now dodging to right or left in -stretches of plain or uplifted hillsides, now hurrying -ahead to surprise you with a terrifying ascent crowned -with palaces. Now she is all water-front and sailors' -lodging-houses; in a trice she turns Chinatown, then -shocks you with a Spanish, Italian or negro quarter. -Past the next rise, you find her whimsical, fantastic -with garish flats and apartment houses. She lurks -in and about thousands of little wooden houses, and -beyond, she drops a little park into your path, discloses -a stretch of shimmering bay or unveils magnificently -the green, gently-sloping expanse of the Presidio.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No other city has so many points of view, none -allures the stranger so with coquetry of originality and -fantasy. Some cities have single dominant hills; but -she is all hills, they are a vital part of herself. They -march down into the town and one can not escape -them, they stride north and west and must be climbed. -The important lines of traffic accept these conditions -and plunge boldly up and down upon their ways. And -so, going or returning from his home, the city is always -with the citizen—from Nob Hill he sees ships in the -harbor and the lights of the Mission; from Kearney -Street he keeps his view of Telegraph Hill and Twin -Peaks—the San Franciscan is always in San Francisco, -the city of extremes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Of all this topographical chaos, the most spectacular -spot is Telegraph Hill. To the eastward on the harbor -side, it rises a sheer precipice over a hundred feet -high, where a concrete company has quarried stone for -three decades despite protest, appeal, injunction and -the force of arms. To the north and west the hill falls -away into a jumble of streets, cliffed and hollowed like -the billows of the sea, crusted with queer little houses -of the Latin quarter.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Francis Granthope, after the Chinese supper, had -found himself swayed by an obsession. The -thought of Clytie Payson was insistent in his mind. -She troubled him. He recognized the symptom with -a grim sense of its ridiculousness. It was, according -to his theory, the first sign of love; but the idea of -his being in love was absurd. Certainly he desired her, -and that ardently. She stimulated him, she stirred his -fancy. But he was jealous of his freedom; he would -not be snared by a woman's eyes. Marriage, indeed, -he had contemplated, but, to his mind, marriage was -but a part of the game, a condition which would insure -for him an attractive companion, a desirable standing; -in short, a point of vantage. What had begun to chafe -him, now, was a sort of compulsion that Clytie had -put upon him. Somehow he could not be himself with -her—he was self-conscious, timid—he was sensitive to -her vibrations, he was swayed by her fine moods and -impulses. Though the strain was gentle, still she -coerced him. He felt an impulse to shake himself free.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In this temper, he decided, while he was at dinner, -to see her, and, if he could, regain possession of the -situation, master her by the use of those arts by -which he had so often won before. He would, at -least, if he could not cajole her, assert his independence. -No doubt he had been misled by her claims of intuitive -power. He would put that to the test, as well.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was already after sunset when he started across -Union Square. Kearney Street was alight with -electric lamps and humming with life. He walked north, -passing the gayer retail shopping district towards the -cheaper stores, pawnshops and quack doctors' offices -to where the old Plaza, rising in a green slope to -Chinatown, displayed the little Stevenson fountain -with its merry gilded ship. Here the waifs and the -strays of the night were already wandering, and he -responded to frequent appeals for charity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Beyond was the dance-hall district, where women of -the town were promenading, seeking their prey; -sailors and soldiers descended into subterranean halls of -light and music. Then came the Italian quarter with -its restaurants and saloons.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He paused where Montgomery Avenue diverged, -leading to the North Beach, consulted his watch, and -found that it was too early to call. He decided to -kill time by going up Telegraph Hill, and kept on up -Kearney Street.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Across Broadway, it mounted suddenly in an incline -so steep, that ladder-like frameworks flat upon the -ribbed concrete sidewalks were necessary for ascent. Two -blocks the hill rose thus, encompassed by disconsolate -and wretched little houses, with alleys plunging down -from the street into the purlieus of the quarter; then -it ran nearly level to the foot of the hill. The track -there was up steps and across hazardous platforms, -clambering up and up to a steep path gullied by the -winter rains, and at last, by a stiff climb, to the summit -of the hill.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>From here one could see almost the whole peninsula, -the town falling away in waves of hill and valley -to the west. The bay lay beneath him, the docks flat -and square, as if drawn on a map, red-funneled steamers -lying alongside. In the fairway, vessels rode at -anchor, lighted by the moon. The top of the hill was -commanded by a huge, castellated, barn-like white -structure which had once been used as a pleasure -pavilion, but was now deserted, save by a rascally herd of -tramps. At a near view its ruined, deserted grandeur -showed unkempt and dingy. By its side, a city park, -crowning the crest, scantily cultured and improved, -indicated the first rude beginning of formal arrangement. -Moldering, displaced concrete walls and seats -showed what had been done and neglected.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He skirted the eastern slope of the hill, went up -and down one-sided streets, streets that dipped and -slid longitudinally, streets tilted transversely, keeping -along a path at the top till he came to the cliff.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Here was the prime scandal of the town, naked in all -its horror. The quarrymen had, with their blasting, -robbed the hill inch by inch, foot by foot and acre by -acre. Already a whole city block had disappeared, -caving gradually away to tumble to the talus of gravel -at the foot of the steep slope. For years, the -neighborhood had been terrorized by this irresistible, -ever-approaching fate. The edge of the precipice drew -nearer and nearer the houses, bit off a corner of the -garden here, ate away a piece of fence there, till the -danger-line approached the habitations themselves. -Nor did it stop there; it crept below the floors, it -sapped the foundations till the house had to be -abandoned. Then with a crash, some afternoon, the whole -structure would fall into the hollow. House after -house had disappeared, family after family had been -ruined. The crime was rank and outrageous, but it -had not been stopped.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As Granthope walked, he saw bits of such deserted -residences. Here a flight of stone steps on the verge -of the height, there fences running giddily off into the -air or drain-pipes, broken, sticking over the edge. The -hazardous margin was now fenced off—at any moment -a huge mass might slip away and slide thundering -below. At the foot of the cliff stood the lead-colored -building housing the stone-crusher, whose insatiate -appetite had caused this sacrifice of property. It was -ready to feed again on the morrow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He walked to the edge and looked down a sharp -incline, a few rods away from the most dangerous -part of the cliff. He was outside the fence, now, with -nothing between him and the slope. As he stood there, -a dog barked suddenly behind him. He turned—his -foot slipped upon a stone, twisted under him, and he -fell outward. He clutched at the loose dirt, but could -not save himself and rolled over and over down the -slope. Forty feet down his head struck a boulder and -he lost consciousness.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>He came to himself with a blinding, splitting pain in -his head; his body was stiff and cold in the night -air. He lay half-way down the slope, his hands and -face were scratched and bleeding, his clothes were torn. -He was motionless for some time, endeavoring to -collect his senses, wondering vaguely what to do. -Then he stirred feebly, tried his limbs to see what -damage had been done and found he had broken no -bones. His ankle, however, was badly strained, and -it ached severely. As he sank back again, far down -the hill towards the crusher building, a voice came up -to him:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Francis! Francis!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It penetrated his consciousness slowly. Still a little -dazed, he rolled over and looked down to the deserted -street below. He tried to rise and his ankle crumpled -under him. He answered as loud as he could cry, then -lay there watching.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sansome Street lay bare in the moonlight. On the -near side the hill sloped up to him from the rock -crusher. On the other side was a row of gaunt -buildings—a pickle factory, a fruit-canning works, and so -on, to the dock. An electric car flashed by and, as it -passed, he saw a woman moving to and fro at the foot -of the talus.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He sat up as well as he could on the slope and -again shouted down to her. She stopped instantly. -Then, waving her hand, she started to scramble up the -slippery gravel of the hill.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she ascended, she had to zigzag this way and -that to avoid sliding back. Part of the time, she was -forced to go almost on hands and knees. The moon -was behind her, throwing her face into shadow. She -climbed steadily without calling to him again. When -she was a few yards away, he cried to her:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Miss Payson! Is that you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes! Don't try to move, I'm coming."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She reached him at last and knelt before him -anxiously. Her tawny, silken hair was loosened under -her hat and streamed down into her eyes. She had -on a red cloth opera cloak with an ermine collar; this -was partly open, showing, underneath, a white silk -evening dress cut low in the neck. Her hands were -covered with white suede gloves to the elbow—they -were grimy and torn into ribbons. Her white skirt, -too, was ripped and soiled. She put her hand to her -hair and tossed it back, then took his hands in hers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you hurt?" she asked anxiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not much. I believe I was stunned. I have no -idea how long I've been here. What time is it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is almost eleven. Oh, I'm so glad I found you! -I'm going to help you down." She stooped lower to -assist him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I don't understand," he said in astonishment. -"How in the world did you happen to come? What -does it all mean?" His bewilderment was comic -enough to draw forth her flashing smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We'll talk about that afterwards. We must get -down this hill first. Oh, I hope there are no bones -broken."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no, I'm all right," he insisted, "but it's like a -dream! Let me think—I was up on Telegraph Hill, -and I slipped and fell over—then I must have been -unconscious until you came.—How did you happen to -come? I don't understand. It's so mysterious."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must get up now. See if you can walk." She -gently urged him. "I'll explain it all when you're safe -down there where we can get help."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With her assistance he raised himself slowly, but the -pain in his ankle was too great for him to support -his own weight. He dropped limply down again and -smiled up at her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think I might make it if I had a crutch of some -kind—any stick would do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wait, I'll see if I can find one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She left him, to go down, slipping dangerously at -times, using her hands to save herself. Part-way down -she found an old broom—the straw was worn to a mere -stub, and this she brought back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With its aid and that of her steady arm, he hobbled -down foot by foot. He slid and fell with a suppressed -groan more than once, but she was always ready to lift -him and support his weight in the steeper descents. -The lower part of the hill fanned out to a more -gradual slope, where it was easier going. They reached -the sidewalk at last and he sat down upon a large rock -almost exhausted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Just then an electric car came humming down Sansome -Street. In an instant she was out on the track -signaling for it to stop.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you pass a cab or a policeman, please send them -down here!" she commanded. "This gentleman has -met with an accident and we must have help to take -him home."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The conductor nodded, staring at her, as she stood -in her disheveled finery, splendidly bold in the -moonlight, like a dismounted Valkyr. The car plowed on -and left them. Calmly she stripped off her slashed -gloves and repaired the disorder of her hair. A long -double necklace of pearls caught the moonlight, and in -the front breadth of her gown, a rent showed a pale -blue silken skirt beneath. Granthope, bedraggled and -smeared with blood and dust, was as grotesque a figure. -The humor of the picture struck them at once, and -they burst into laughter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then, "How did you know?" he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She became serious immediately. "It was very -strange. I was at a reception with Mr. Cayley. I -happened to be sitting on a couch by myself, when—I -don't know how to describe the sensation—but I saw -you, or felt you, lying somewhere, on your back. I -was so frightened I didn't know what to do. I knew -something had happened, yet I didn't know where to -find you. I gave it up and tried to forget about it, -but I couldn't—it was like a steady pain—then I knew -I had to come. It seemed so foolish and vague that I -didn't want to ask Mr. Cayley to go on such a -wild-goose chase with me. Father understands me better -and if he'd been there I would have brought him along. -So I slipped out alone, put on my things and took a -car down-town. I seemed to know by instinct where to -get off—you should have seen the way the conductors -stared at me!—and I turned right down this way, -trusting to my intuitions. I seemed to be led directly -to the foot of the cliff here where I first called you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, you called 'Francis,' didn't you?" he said, -looking up at her in wonder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did I? I don't know what I said—if I did it was -as instinctively done as all the rest. We'll have to go -into business together." Her laugh was nervous and -excited.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He frowned. "Miss Payson, I don't know how to -thank you—it was a splendid thing to do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, it has been a real adventure—almost my first. -But it's not over yet. I must take you home now. -What a sight I am! You, too! Wait—let me clean -you off a little."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stooped over him and, with a lace handkerchief, -lightly brushed his face free of the dust, wiped the -blood away, then, with gentle fingers, smoothed his -black hair. Both trembled slightly at the contact. She -stopped, embarrassed at her own boldness, then stood -more constrained and self-conscious, till the rattling -wheels of a carriage were heard. A hack came clattering -up over the cobble-stones and drew up at the curb. -The driver jumped down from his seat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There were a few words of explanation and direction, -then the man and Clytie, one on either side, helped -Granthope into the vehicle. She followed and the -cab drove off up-town. For a few moments the two -sat in silence, side by side. An electric lamp illuminated -her face for an instant as the carriage whirled -past a corner. Her eyes were shining, her lips half -open, as she looked at him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The sight of her, and the excitement of her romantic -intervention, made him forget his pain. He felt -her spell again, and now with this appearance how -much more strongly! There was no denying her magic -after such a bewildering manifestation. The event had, -also, brought her humanly more near to him—he had -felt the strong touch of her hand, her breath on his -face—the very disorder of her attire seemed to increase -their intimacy. He leaned back to enjoy the full flavor -of her charm. He was suddenly aroused by her -placid, even voice:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Granthope, there's one thing you didn't tell me -the other day, when you described that scene at Madam -Grant's."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He caught the name with surprise, remembering that -he had never spoken it to her. In her mention of it -he felt a vague alarm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What?" He heard his voice betray him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That there was a little boy with her, that -day." Clytie turned to him, and for the first time he felt -a sudden fear that she would find him out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Was there a little boy there? How do you know?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She kept looking at him, and away, as she spoke. In -the drifting of her glances, however, her eyes seemed -to seek his continuously, rather than continually to -escape. "Quite by accident—never mind now. But -this is what is most strange of all—I didn't tell you, -before—while I was there, that time, so many years -ago—you know what strange fancies children have—you -know how, if one is at all sensitive to psychic -influence, how much stronger and how natural it seems -when one is young—well, all the while, I seemed to -feel there was some one else there—some one I couldn't -see!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was too much for him, with such intuition. His -one hope was, now, that she would not plumb the -whole depth of his deceit. He managed his expression, -drawing back into the shadow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you know who it was, there?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—only that I was drawn secretly to some one -who was there, near me, out of sight. Of course, I've -forgotten much of the impression, but now, as I remember -it, it almost seems to me as if this little boy—whoever -he was—must be related to me in some vague -way—as if we had something in common. I wish I -could find out about it. You know better the rationale -of these things—they come to me only in flashes of -intuition, suddenly, when I least expect them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He sought desperately to divert her from the -subject, summoning to his aid the tricks experience had -taught him. First to his hand came the ruse of -personality.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You called me 'Francis' before—that was strange, -for few people call me that or Frank nowadays—only -one or two who have known me a long time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, I didn't know what I was saying. It was -strange, wasn't it? But you won't accuse me of -coquetry at such a time, will you? You were in -danger—I thought only of that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I don't mind," he said playfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nor do I."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll call me Francis?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled. "Every time I rescue you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was evidently no lead for him there. He had -to laugh, and give it up. Clytie's mood grew more -serious.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Cayley was telling me how interesting you -were after the ladies had left; really, he was quite -complimentary. He told me all about that absurd -Bennett affair you talked about."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, it was an extraordinary case." He wondered -what was coming.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I mean the story was absurd to hear, but I can't -help wondering what sort of people they were who -would deceive an old man like that. It seems pitiful -to me that any one could have the heart to do it—and -for money, too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope cursed his indiscretion. Must she find -this out, too? Was no part of his life, past or present, -safe from her? If so, he might as well give her up -now. It seemed impossible to conceal anything from -her clear vision. But he still strove to put her off.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, these people were weak and ignorant—we -haven't all the same advantages or the same sensitiveness -to honor and truth. They were used to this sort -of thing, hardened to it, and perhaps unconscious of -their baseness by a constant association with such -deceptions."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But didn't Mr. Bennett have any friends to warn -him—to show these people up in their true light?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, that was no use. It was tried, yes; that is, -he was shown his carriage, for instance, after it was -sold, but he refused to believe it was the same one. -He confessed that it was just like it, but he knew -that his was then on the planet Jupiter. I don't think -the mediums themselves could have convinced him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Think of it! It makes their swindling even worse. -If he had doubted, if he had tried to trap them, it -wouldn't be quite so bad, it would have been a battle -of brains—but to impose on such credulity, to make -a living by it—oh, it's unthinkable!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, after all, they made him happy. In a way, -they were telling him only pleasant lies, as a parent -might tell a child about Santa Claus and the fairies."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He could not keep it up much longer. It was too -perilous; and he played for her sympathy. "After all, -I suppose my business is about as undignified."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But it's really a science, isn't it? Mr. Cayley gave -me to understand that you had a convincing theory to -explain all personal physical characteristics."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's a little more to palmistry than that, I -think—an instinctive feeling for character."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course. You must have felt my personality -intuitively, or you would never have been able to get -it so well. But it was most extraordinary of all, I -think, the way you got my name. How do you account -for that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He felt the net closing about him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I'm sometimes clairaudient."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She took it up with animation. "Are you? I must -try to send you a message!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Haven't you?" he said, still attempting to keep -the talk less serious. "All day I have heard you -saying, 'You must learn.' But learn what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It seems so queer to me that you shouldn't know, -yourself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then tell me. Explain."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, you'll find out, I think."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He waited a while, for a twinge of pain gave him all -he could do to control himself. Somehow it sobered -him. "I wish I dared to be friends with you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She gave him her hand simply and he returned its -cordial pressure. He was sincere enough, now. He -was not afraid of mere generalities.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not worthy of your friendship," he said. "I'd -hate to have you know how little I am worth it. If -you knew how I have lived—what few chances I have -had to know any one really worth while. I've never -yet had a friend who was able to understand me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have given you my hand," she replied, "and I -shall not withdraw it. It is my intuition, you see, and -not my reason, that makes me trust you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They relapsed for a while into silence. Then, as the -cab turned up into Geary Street, past the electric -lights, she went on as if she had been thinking it out -to herself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know what I said the other day about its -being easier to say real things at the first meeting. I -am afraid I said too much then. But I was impatient. -I felt that I might never see you again and I wanted -to give you the message. Now, when I feel sure that -we're going to be friends, I am quite willing to wait -and let it all come about naturally. The only thing -I demand is honesty."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that all?" he asked, with a touch of sarcasm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed unaffectedly. "Are you finding it so -hard?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The cab drew up to the curb at the door of his -rooms. Immediately she became solicitous, helping -him to alight. He used the broom for a crutch, and, -scratched and torn, his clothes still stained with clay, -she in her harlequin of dirt and rags, they presented -an extraordinary spectacle under the electric light, to -a man on the sidewalk who was approaching leisurely, -swinging his stick. As they reached the entrance he -drew nearer, making as if to speak to them; instead, -he lifted his hat, stared at them and passed on. It -was Blanchard Cayley.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie's face went red. Cayley turned for an instant -to look at them again and then proceeded on his way. -Granthope did not notice him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie disregarded his protest, and, saying that she -would see him safely to his room, at least, accompanied -him up-stairs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he fumbled for his key in his pocket, the office -door was suddenly opened and Fancy Gray appeared -upon the threshold.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her eyebrows went up and Granthope's went down. -Her eyes had flown past him to stare at Clytie. The -two women confronted each other for a tense moment -without a word.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy had taken off her jacket; her hair was braided -down her back. She wore an embroidered linen blouse -turned away at the neck, and pinned over her heart -was a little silver chatelaine watch with a blue dial. -It rose and fell as she drew breath suddenly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Granthope has met with an accident," Clytie -announced, the first to recover from the shock of -surprise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should say he had," was her comment, "and you, -too?" Then she laughed nervously. "It must have -been a draw."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie did not catch the allusion. "I happened to -find him and brought him back," she explained. "He -had fallen down the cliff on Telegraph Hill."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As Granthope limped in, Fancy put a few more -wondering inquiries, which he answered in monosyllables. -Seeing Fancy so disconcerted, Clytie left Granthope in -a chair and turned directly to her with a conciliatory -gesture.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We always seem to meet in queer circumstances, -Miss Gray, don't we?" she said kindly. "It's really -most fortunate that you happened to be here at work. -I don't quite know what I should have done, all alone, -but I'm sure you will do all that's necessary for -Mr. Granthope, better than I. I must hurry home; father -will be expecting me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>During this speech, Fancy's eyes had filled, and now -they shone soft with gratitude.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," she said, "I can fix him up all right. It's only -a bad strain, I guess."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope watched the two women in silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, then, I'll go." Clytie walked to the mirror, -smiled with Fancy at the image she saw there, touched -her hat and rubbed her face with her handkerchief. -Then she held out her hand with a charming simplicity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do wish you'd come and see me sometime, Miss -Gray!" she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy choked down something in her throat before -she replied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will—sometime—sure. If you </span><em class="italics">really</em><span> want to see me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I really do." Clytie smiled again. Then she -went up to Granthope. "Good night, Mr. Granthope, -I'm sure I'm leaving you in kind hands. I hope it -won't prove a serious injury. And—remember!" Then, -bowing to both, she left the room and went -down to her cab.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Two vertical lines were furrowed in Granthope's -brow. He turned to Fancy with a look that barely -escaped being angry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God! I'm sorry you were here!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes? That's easily remedied; you only have to say -the word."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Too late, now!" His tone was sad rather than cruel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hardly expected you to bring home company—" -she began.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sure it was as much a surprise to me—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sorry, Frank, but I had to see you—Vixley was -here after you left."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He groaned with the pain his ankle gave him and -she flew to him and knelt before his chair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Frank, I'm so sorry. What can I do for you? -First, let me take off your shoe and attend to your foot. -I can run out and get something to put on it. It was -awkward, my being here—but I don't mind on my -own account, so much. If it embarrassed you, forgive me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's worse than that," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean—that you </span><em class="italics">care</em><span> for her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know what I do mean—but you'll have to go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked up at him for a moment, searching his -drawn face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will, just as soon as I've bound up your ankle and -got your couch ready. It won't take long."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I can attend to that myself. I'll telephone for -a doctor and have him fix me up. You must go now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right. Just wait till I put on my jacket and do -up my hair."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Walking off, proudly, she opened the door of the -closet and stood before the mirror there, while he, a -limp, relaxed figure in the arm-chair, watched her as -she unbraided her hair and combed it out in a magnificent -coppery cascade to her waist. Tossing her head, -she said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Vixley's laying for you, Frank! You'd better watch -out for him. It's something shady about the old man's -past, I believe. Anyway, I hope you'll fool 'em, -Frank!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With this complication of his position, he bent his -head on his hand as if he were weary. "I don't know -what I'm going to do," he said. "It's too much for -me, I'm afraid."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's the matter?" said Fancy solicitously. -"Didn't I work it right? Honest, Frank, I didn't give -you away a bit—I didn't tell him a word. You know -my work isn't lumpy—I just pumped him. I beat him -at his own game, and it didn't taste so good, either. -Oh, I'm so sorry if I did anything to hurt you. I'd -die first!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he did not answer her she came over to him and -knelt on the floor, seizing his hand. Her tears fell -upon it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You've been mighty good to me, Frank, you sure -have! You took me off the streets when I was -starving. I don't know whatever would have become of -me. I suppose I'd gone right down the line, if it hadn't -been for you. You're the only friend I've got, and I -only wish I could do something to prove how grateful -I am. Honest, I thought I was helping you out when -I kept Vixley here. You don't think—you don't -think I </span><em class="italics">like</em><span> him—do you? Don't say </span><em class="italics">that</em><span>, Frank!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was speaking in gasps now; her tears were -unrestrained. Her hand clutched his so fiercely that he -could scarcely bear the pain. He did not dare to look -at her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've always been square with you, Frank, haven't I?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He patted her hand softly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We've kept to the compact, haven't we? The -compact we made at Alma? You trust me, don't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course! You're all right—you're true blue. -I couldn't distrust you. You'll always be the -Maid of Alma. It was a game thing you did for me. -Nobody else would have done it. You have helped me, -but I can't tell you what a corner I'm in." He paused -and looked at her intensely. "Fancy—you haven't -forgotten—have you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She forced a trembling smile, as she said bravely:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'No fair falling in love'?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shook out a laugh and stroked his hand, looking -up at him through her tears. "Oh, no danger of that, -Frank. You don't know me. I'm all right, sure! -Only—and I owe you so much! You've taught me -everything. If I could only do something to prove -that I'm worth it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can—that's the trouble. I believe I'm almost -cur enough to ask it of you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it? Tell me, quick! You know I'd black -your boots for you. I'd do anything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you notice Miss Payson's face when she saw you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes." Fancy dropped her head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd hate to have her suspect—if she thought—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" She sprang to her feet and stood as proud -as a lioness. "Is that it? You want me to go for -good?" Even now there was no anger in her look or -tone. The little silver watch heaved up and down -on her breast.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He sought for a kind phrase. "I'm afraid it would -be better—it makes me feel like a beast—of course, -you understand—" his eyes went to her, pleading.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then it </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> Miss Payson? Oh, Frank, why didn't -you tell me! You might have trusted me! You ought -to have known better! Haven't I always said that -when the woman who could make you happy did come, -how glad I'd be for you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're really not hurt, then? I was afraid—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Poor old Frank! You goose! Of course not—it -makes me sorry to think of leaving you, that's all. -Never mind—there's nothing in the race but the finish! -I'm all right." She had become a little hysterical in -her actions, but he was too distracted to notice it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll let you have all the money you want—I'll get -you a good place——" he began.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shook her head decidedly. "Cut that out, please, -Frank; but thanks, all the same. If I ever want any -money, I'll come to you. Why shouldn't I? But not -now. Don't pay me to go away—that sounds rotten. -I'll get a position all right. Didn't I turn down that -secretary's place only last week? But I guess I'll travel -on my looks for a while. I'm flush."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope I can tell her all about this, sometime," he -said wearily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bosh! What's the use? Thank God some women -know that some women are square without being told. -Men seem to think we're all cats. Even women talk -of each other as if they were a different sort of human -animal. But not Miss Payson—she's a thoroughbred. -I can see </span><em class="italics">that</em><span> all right. You can't fool Fancy Gray -about petticoats. I take off my hat to her. She's got -every woman </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> ever had running after you beaten -a mile. Don't you worry—she'll never be surprised -to find that a woman can be square. Well, I'll fade -away then."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she talked she buttoned up her jacket and stuck -the hat pin in her hair. Now her eyes grew dreamier -and she went over and sat on the arm of his chair and -put her hand on his hair affectionately, saying:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say, Frank, I don't know—after all, perhaps -sometime you might just tell her this—sometime when the -thing's all going straight, when she's got over—well, -what I saw in her eyes to-night—when she finds out -what you're worth—when she really knows how good -you are—you just tell her this—say: 'There's one thing -about Fancy Gray, she always played fair!' She'll -know then; but just now, you can be careful of -her—watch out what you do with her, she's going to suffer -a whole lot if you don't. You know something about -women, but you'll find out that when you're sure -enough in love you'll need it all, and what you know -isn't a drop in the bucket to what you've got to learn. -I hope you'll get it good and hard. It'll do you good. -You only know one side now. You'll learn the rest -from her. She's not the sort to do things half-way. -When she begins to go she'll go the limit."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She leaned over him. "You might give me one kiss -just to brace me up, will you? It may take the taste of -Vixley off my lips. Well, so long. Don't take any -Mexican money! If there's anything I can do, let me -know." She rose and tossed a smile at him with her -old jaunty grace. Then she patted him on the cheek -and went swiftly out.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="coming-on"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER IX</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">COMING ON</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>By artful questions, and apparently innocent remarks -to lure his confidence, by a little guess-work, more -observation, and a profound knowledge of the -frailties of human nature, Madam Spoll had plied Oliver -Payson to good advantage.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She got a fact here, a suggestion there, and, one at -a time, she arranged these items in order, and with -them wove a psychological web strong enough to work -upon. It was partly hypothetical, partly proved, but, -slender and shadowy as it was, upon it was portrayed -a faint image of her victim—a pattern sufficient for -her use. Every new piece of information was deftly -used to strengthen the fabric, until at last it was -serviceable as a working theory of his life and could -be used to astonish and interest him. Of this whole -process he was, of course, unaware, so cleverly -disguised was her method, so skilful was her tact. She -never frightened her quarry, never permitted him to -suspect her. Her errors she frankly acknowledged -and set down to the ignorance of her guides. She -had, indeed, many holes by which she could escape—set -formulæ for covering her petty failures.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After two or three interviews, she had filled up -almost all the weak spots in her web, and was prepared -to encompass her victim by wiles with which to bleed -him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Payson had gone away from his first interview -limping slightly more than usual, and had talked -considerably about his ailment to his daughter. Clytie, -not knowing what had increased his hypochondria, -was inclined to laugh at his fears and complaints. He -found a more sympathetic listener in Blanchard -Cayley, who took him quite seriously and discoursed for -an hour in Payson's office upon the possibilities of -internal disorders, such as the medium had mentioned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The result was a visit to Doctor Masterson.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The healer's quarters were two flights up in one -of the many gloomy buildings on Market Street, half -lodging-rooms, half offices, inhabited by chiropodists, -cheap tailors, "painless" dentists and such riffraff. -The stair was steep and the halls were narrow. The -doctor's place was filled with a sad half-light that -made the rows of bottles on the shelves, the skull in -the corner and the stuffed owl seem even more -mysterious. The room was dusty and ill-kept; the floor -was covered with cold linoleum.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The magnetic healer's shrewd eyes glistened and -shifted behind his spectacles; the horizontal wrinkles -in his forehead, under his bald pate, drew gloomily -together as Mr. Payson poured out the story of his -trouble. For a time the doctor said nothing. Then he -took a vial full of yellow liquid from his table, -carried it to the window, held it to the light, examined -it solemnly and put it back. He sat down again and -looked Mr. Payson over. Then he tilted back in his -chair, stuck a pair of dirty thumbs in the armholes of -his plaid waistcoat, and said, "H'm!" Finally, his -thin lips parted in a grisly smile showing his blackened -teeth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His victim watched, anxiously waiting, with his two -hands on the head of his cane. The gloom appeared -to affect his spirits; he seemed ready to expect the -worst.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doctor Masterson took off his spectacles and wiped -them on a yellow silk handkerchief. "It looks pretty -serious to me," he said, "but I calculate I can fix you -up. It'll cost some money, though. Ye see, it's this -way: I'm controlled by an Indian medicine-man named -Hasandoka and his band o' sperits. Now, in order to -bring this here psychic force to bear on your case, -it's bound to take considerable o' my time and their -time, and I'll have to go to work and neglect my reg'lar -patients. It takes it out o' me, and I can't do but -just so much or I peter out. I'll go into a trance and -see what Hasandoka has to say, and then you'll be -in a condition to know what to decide. O' course, you -understand, I ain't no doctor and don't claim to be, -but I got control of a powerful psychic force that -guides me in my treatment, and I never knew it to -fail yet. If my band o' sperits can't help you, nobody -can, and you better go to work and make your will -right away. See?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Payson saw the argument and manifested a -desire to proceed with the investigation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The doctor loosened his celluloid collar and closed -his eyes. In a minute or two he appeared to fall -asleep, breathing heavily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then, through him, the great Hasandoka spoke, in -the guttural dialect such as is supposed to be affected -by the American Indian, using flowery metaphors -punctuated by grunts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The tenor of his communication was that Mr. Payson -was undoubtedly afflicted with something which -was termed a "complication." He went into fearsome -prophecies as to its probable progress downward to -the feet, upward to the brain and forward to the -kidney, with minor excursions to the liver and lights. -The patient's spine was preparing itself for paralysis; -it seemed that death was imminent at any moment. -Hasandoka expressed his willingness to accept the -case, however, and promised to effect a radical cure -in a month at most, if treatment were begun immediately, -before it was too late. The cure would be -accomplished by massage, used in connection with a -potent herb, known only to the primitive Indian tribes. -After this message Hasandoka squirmed out of the -medium's body and the soul of Doctor Masterson -squirmed in again. There were the customary -spasmodic gestures of awakening before he opened his -eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, what did he tell you?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Payson repeated the communication in a -dispirited tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bad as that, is it?" said Masterson. "One foot in -the grave, so to speak. Well, I tell you what I'll do. -I'm interested in your case, for if I can go to work -and cure you it'll be more or less of a feather in my -cap. See here; I won't charge you but fifty dollars a -week till you're cured, and if you ain't a well man in -thirty days, I'll hand your money back. That's a -fair business proposition, ain't it? I guarantee to put -all my time on your case."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Payson gratefully accepted the terms. A meeting -for a treatment was appointed for the next day.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This time Doctor Masterson was prepared for his -victim.</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 64%" id="figure-94"> -<span id="doctor-masterson-was-prepared-for-his-victim"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="Doctor Masterson was prepared for his victim" src="images/img-272.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">Doctor Masterson was prepared for his victim</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've been in direct communication with Hasandoka," -he said, "and I'm posted on your case now, and -have full directions what to do. The first thing is a -good course of massage. Now, which would you -prefer to have, a man or a woman? I got a girl I -sometimes employ who's pretty slick at massage. She's -good and strong and willing and as pretty as a peach, -if I do say it—she's got a figger like a waxwork—I -think p'raps Flora would help you more'n any one—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Payson shook his head coldly, saying that he -preferred a man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, o' course," Doctor Masterson said apologetically, -shrugging his shoulders, "if you don't want her -I guess I better go to work and do the rubbing myself, -if you'd be better satisfied."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Indian herb prescribed by Hasandoka was, it -appeared, a rare, secret and expensive drug. The -doctor's price was ten dollars a bottle, in addition to -his weekly charge for treatment. He presented -Mr. Payson with a bottle of dark brown fluid of -abominable odor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The treatment went on thrice a week, the massage -being alternated with trances in which the doctor, -under the cogent spell of the medicine man, uttered -many strange things. The whole effect of this was to -reassure Mr. Payson upon the fact that powerful -influences were at work for his especial benefit.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Whether induced by Hasandoka's aid or by Doctor -Masterson's suggestion, an improvement in the patient's -mind, at least, did come. He was met, the following -week, by the magnetic healer in his rooms with a -congratulatory smile. Doctor Masterson inaugurated the -second stage of his campaign.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say, you certainly are looking better, ain't you? -How's the pain, disappearing, eh? I thought we could -bring you around. Yesterday I was in a trance four -hours on your case and it took the life out o' me -something terrible. I knew then that I was drawing -the disease out o' you. You just go to work and walk -acrost the room, and see if you ain't improved. We -got you started now, and all we got to do is to keep -it up till you're absolutely well."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Blanchard Cayley also seemed interested when -Mr. Payson told him of the improvement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You certainly are growing younger every day," -said Cayley. "I don't know how you manage it at -your age, in this vile weather, too, but I notice you've -got more color and more spring in you. You're a -wonder!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One afternoon, during the third week of his treatment, -as Mr. Payson was seated in his own office, the -door opened and a chubby, roly-poly figure of a -woman, with soft brown eyes and hair, came in timidly -and looked about, seemingly perplexed and -embarrassed. She walked up to his desk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I beg your pardon," she said, "but could you tell -me where Mr. Bigelow's office is, in this building? -I thought it was on this floor, but I can't find his -name on any door."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He replied, scarcely glancing at her: "Down at the -end of the corridor, on the left."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stood watching him for a moment as he -continued his writing, and then ventured to say:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I beg your pardon, sir, but ain't you the gentleman -that come to me some time ago to have your life read?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked up now and recognized her as the one -who had initiated him into the occult world, through -the medium of the "Egyptian egg."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, yes." He smiled benevolently. "You're -Miss Ellis, aren't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She seemed pleased. "Yes," she answered; "I hope -you don't mind my reminding you of it, but I took an -interest in your case more than usual, on account of -your reading being so different, and I was surprised to -see you here. You're looking much better than you -did then. When you come into my place, I said to -myself, 'There's a man that'll pass out pretty soon -if he don't take care of himself.' You seemed so -miserable. Why, I wouldn't know you now, you're -so much improved. You must have gained flesh, too. -Well, I congratulate you. If you ever want another -reading, come around—here's my card, but perhaps -you've tried Madam Spoll since. She's the best in -the business. I go to her myself sometimes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He walked to the door with her and bowed her -out politely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A week after he made another visit to Madam Spoll. -The medium was gracious and congratulatory.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, you look like a new man, that's a fact!" she -said. "Between you and me, I never really expected -that you could recover, but I knew if anybody could -help you it would be Masterson. I suppose he come -pretty high, didn't he? Two hundred! For the land -sake! I'm sorry you had to fall into the hands of that -shark, but, after all, it's cheaper than being dead, -ain't it? A desperate disease requires a desperate -remedy, they say. I wouldn't take you for more than -forty years old now, in spite of your gray hairs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now," she continued, "you've had experience and -you're in a position to know whether there's any -truth in spiritualism or not. No matter what anybody -tells you about fakes or tricks and all that nonsense—I -don't say some so-called mediums ain't collusions—you've -demonstrated the truth of it for yourself, and -you've found out that we can do what we say. You -can afford to laugh at the skeptics and these -smart-Alecs who pretend to know it all. What we claim can -be proved and you've proved it. Lord, I'd like to know -where you'd be now if you hadn't. I've always said: -'Investigate it for yourself, and if you don't get -satisfaction, leave it alone for them that do. Go at it in a -frank and honest spirit and try to find out the truth, -and you'll generally come out convinced.' I don't -believe in no underhanded ways of going to work at it -neither. If you was going to study up Christian -Science, or Mo-homedism, we'll say, you wouldn't be -trying to deceive them and giving false names and all, -and why should you when you want to find out about -the spirit world? What you want to do is to depend -upon the character of the information you get, to test -the truth of what we claim. You treat us square and -we'll treat you square. We ain't infalliable, but we -can help. Whatever is to be had from the spirit plane -we can generally get it for you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm very much interested," Mr. Payson said. -"There does seem to be something in it, and I want -to get to the bottom of it. There are several things -I'd like to get help on, too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you know, I knew they was something worrying -you," she replied, smiling placidly. She laid her -fingers to her silken thorax. "I felt your magnetism -right here when you came in, and I got a feeling of -unpleasantness or worry. It ain't about a little thing -either; it's an important matter, now, ain't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Payson, affected by her sympathy, admitted -that it was. Under his shaggy eyebrows, his cold eyes -watched her anxiously, as if gazing at one who might -wrest secrets from him. His belief in her had -increased with every sitting, so that now the old man, -gray and bald, in his judicial frock-coat, lost -something of his influential manner and became more like -a child before his teacher, swayed by every word that -fell from her lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her manner was half patronizing, half domineering. -"What did I tell you? You feel as if, well, -you don't quite know </span><em class="italics">what</em><span> to do, and you're saying to -yourself all the time, 'Now, what </span><em class="italics">shall</em><span> I do?' That's -just the condition I get."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you think you could help me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know; I'll try. I ain't feeling very -receptive to spirit influence to-day; I guess I overeat -myself some; but then, again, I might be very successful; -there's no telling. You just let me hold your hands -a few minutes and I can see right off whether -conditions are favorable or not."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did so. Suddenly she turned her head to one -side and spoke as if to an invisible person beside her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, she's here, is she? What is it? She says she -can't find him? Well, what about him? What? -Shall I tell him that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She opened her eyes and drew a long breath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Luella is here and she says to tell you that Felicia -wants to give you a message. Do you understand who -I mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I know. She's the lady you spoke to me -about before, with the white hair."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Would her name be Felicia Grant?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He assented timidly, as if fearing to acknowledge it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Felicia says she has found the child—child, -the one that was lost. Do you understand?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes. Go on!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really, I don't like to tell you this, Mr. Payson—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell anything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madam Spoll dropped her voice, as if fearful of -being overheard. "You was in love with her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes." He eyed her glassily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you was the father of the child?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He nodded, still staring.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madam Spoll smiled complacently. "Well, Felicia -says she has found the boy, and she's going to bring -him to you as soon as conditions are favorable. She -can't do it yet; the time ain't come for it. That's all -I can get from her. But Luella says you're worried -about a book, and she wants to help you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How can she help?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wait a minute." Madam Spoll smoothed her forehead -with both hands for a while, then went on: "It -seems that she can't work through me so well, it being -what you might call a business affair, and she -recommends that you try some one else, while I'll try -to get the boy. I think a physical medium could help -you more. There's Professor Vixley; he's something -wonderful in a business way. I confess I can't -comprehend it. Are you selling books?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not exactly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, whatever it is, Vixley's the one to go to. -He'll do well by you and you can trust him. I'll just -write down his address; you go to see him and tell -him I sent you, and I guarantee he'll give satisfaction. -About the child, now, we'll have to wait. I shouldn't -wonder if you could be developed so you could handle -the thing alone. You've got strong mediumistic -powers, only they're what you might call asleep and -dormant. If you could come to me oftener we might -be able to produce phenomena, for you're sensitive, -only you don't know how to put your powers to the -right use. You could join a circle, I suppose, but -the quickest way is to have sittings with me, private."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old man took off his spectacles and wiped off -a mist. His hand was trembling. "I might want to -try it later," he said at last, "but I'm not quite ready -to, yet—I want to think it over. If you really think -that this Vixley can help about the book, I'll look him -up first. I want it to be a success, and I am a bit -worried about it."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>When he reached home he went into the living-room, -to find Blanchard Cayley sitting there at ease, -bland, suave and nonchalant. Clytie had not yet -returned for dinner. Mr. Payson shook his hand -cordially.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm glad to see you, Blanchard. Been looking over -that last chapter of mine? What do you think of it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I haven't had time to read it yet. I've been -expecting Cly home any minute."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How are you getting on with her? Is she still -skittish?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, it'll come out all right, I expect," the young -man said carelessly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope so! She's a good girl. I know she'll see -it my way in the end—you just hold on and be nice -to her. You know I'm on your side. I'd give a good -deal to see Cly married to a good man like you. -Strange, she doesn't seem to take any interest in my -work at all. If I didn't have you to talk to, I don't -know what I'd do. Suppose I read you that last -chapter while we're waiting for her. I'd like to get your -criticism of it. That trade dollar material has -helped me immensely."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For half an hour, while Mr. Payson read the driest -of dry manuscripts, Blanchard Cayley yawned behind -his hand or nodded wisely, with an approving word -or two. The old man had pushed up his spectacles -over his forehead and held the sheets close to his eyes. -He read in a mellow, deep voice, but it was the voice -of a pedant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There," he said at last, stacking up the scattered -papers. "I guess that will open their eyes, won't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's great; that book will make a sensation."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, it isn't finished yet, and what's to come will -be better than what I've done. I'm on the track of -something that may help it a good deal."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's that?" said Cayley perfunctorily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"See here," Mr. Payson drew his chair nearer and -shook his pencil at the young man. "I've had some -wonderful experiences lately. You may not believe it, -but I tell you there's something in this spiritualistic -business. I've been investigating it for a month now -all alone, and I'm thoroughly convinced that these -mediums do have some sort of power that we don't -understand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really?" Cayley was beginning to be interested. -"I knew you had always been an agnostic, but I had -no idea that you had gone into this sort of thing. -Have you struck anything interesting?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I certainly have. I went into it in a scientific spirit, -as a skeptic, pure and simple, but I've received some -wonderful tests. Why, they told me my name the -very first thing and a lot about my life that they had -no possible way of finding out. The trouble is, they -know too much."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cayley laughed. "Found out about your wild oats, -I suppose?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Payson frowned at this frivolity. "There are -things they've told me that no one living could -possibly know. Whether it's done through spirits or not, -it's mysterious business. You ought to go to a séance -and see what they can do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd hate to have them tell my past," Cayley said -jocosely, "but I don't take much stock in them. -They're a gang of fakirs."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They're pretty sharp, if they are. I haven't lived -fifty years in the West to be taken in as easily as that. -I ought to know something about men by this time. -Why, see here! You know what trouble I had with -my leg? It was something pretty serious. Well, look -at me now. You've noticed the change yourself. I -went to a medium and now I'm completely cured. -That's enough to give any one confidence, isn't it? -It's genuine evidence."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cayley agreed with a solemn nod. "But what about -the book?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, if they can influence the right forces so that -it'll be a success, why shouldn't I give them a trial? -Look at hypnotism! Look at wireless telegraphy! -For that matter, look at the telephone! Fifty years -ago no one would believe that such things were -possible. It may be the same with this power, whatever -it is, spirits or not. I'm an old man, but I keep up with -the times. I'm not going to set myself up for an -authority and say, because a thing hasn't seemed -probable to me, that I know all about the mysterious -forces of nature. I've come to believe that there are -powers inherent in us that may be developed successfully."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The incipient smile, the attitude of bantering -protest had faded from Cayley's face, as the old man -spoke. He listened sedately. Oliver Payson was a -rich man. He had an attractive, marriageable -daughter. Blanchard Cayley was poor, single and without -prospects.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course, there's much we don't yet understand," -he said gravely. "One hears all sorts of tales—there -must be some foundation to them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's so—why, just look at Cly! She's had -queer things happen to her ever since she was a child."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I suppose that's why she's so interested in -this palmist person; though I confess I don't take -much stock in him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean?" Mr. Payson demanded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, I thought of course you knew. Granthope, -the palmist—you know, the fellow everybody's taking -up now—he has been here, hasn't he? I had an idea -that Cly had taken rather a fancy to him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He was here?" Mr. Payson seemed much surprised.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, I wouldn't have spoken of it for the world -if I had known you didn't know—but I've seen her -with him several times, and I thought, of course—" -Cayley threw it out apologetically in apparent -confusion at his indiscretion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Payson stared. "Granthope, did you say? I -believe I have heard of him. Cly and a common -palmist? I can't believe it. What can she want of a -charlatan like that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was sorry to see it myself," Cayley admitted, -"but I suppose she knows what she's doing. The -man's notorious enough. Only, she ought to be careful."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I won't have it!" Mr. Payson began to storm. -"Reading palms for a lot of silly women is a very -different thing from spiritualism. I don't mind her -going to see him once for the curiosity of the thing, -but I won't have him in the house. I'll put a stop to -that in a hurry. You say you've seen them together? -Where?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I think it was probably an accidental meeting," -he said. "I wish you wouldn't say anything about it, -Mr. Payson. Very likely it doesn't mean anything -at all. Tell me about this fellow you spoke of going -to. Do you think he's all right?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll soon find out if he isn't—trust me!" Mr. Payson -wagged his head wisely. "His name is Professor -Vixley, and I've heard he's a very remarkable man. -I'm going to see him next week and see what he can -do for me. I'm not one to be fooled by any claptrap; -I intend to sift this thing to the bottom."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How do you intend to go about it?" Cayley asked. -"I'll tell you what I'd do. I'd ask him to answer a -few definite questions. If he can do that, it'll be a -pretty good test, even if it is only thought-reading."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If there's anything in thought transference there -may be something in spiritualism, too. One's as -unexplainable as the other. See here! Suppose I ask -him something that I don't know the answer to -myself—wouldn't that prove it is not telepathy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should say so; but what could you ask?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Payson had arisen, and was walking up and -down the room with his hands behind his back. He -stopped to deliberate beside the bookcase, then he -took down a volume at random. "Suppose I ask him -what the first word is on page one hundred of this -book."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked over at Cayley, then down at the title of -the book.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">The Astrology of the Old Testament</em><span>—queer I -should put my hand on that! I'll try it. I won't -look at the page at all." He put the book back on the -shelf. "Can't you suggest something? Suppose you -give me a question that you know the answer of and -I don't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Blanchard Cayley sought for an idea, his eyes fixed -on the ceiling. Then he said slowly: "I used to know -a girl once in Sacramento who lived next door to me. -Try Vixley on her name, why don't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good! I'll do it. Now one more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You might ask him the number of your watch."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's a good idea; then I can corroborate that -on the spot."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'd better let me see if there's one there, -though," Cayley suggested. "I believe sometimes they -are not numbered. Just let me look."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Payson took out his watch and handed it to the -young man, who opened the back cover and inspected -the works. He noted the number, took a second -glance at it and then snapped the cover shut. "All -right, if he can tell that number, he's clever." He -handed it back to Mr. Payson. "When did you say -you were going to see him?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Next Tuesday or Wednesday, I expect," was the -reply. "I've got to go up to Stockton to-morrow, -and I may be gone two or three days attending to -some business. By the by, Cayley, I heard rather a -queer story last week when I was up there. You're -interested in these romantic yarns of California; -perhaps you'd like to hear this."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly, I should. It may do for my collection -of Improbabilities."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I met the cashier of the Savings Bank up -there—he's been with the bank nearly thirty years and -he told me the story. It seems one noon, about twenty -years ago, while he was alone in the bank, a little boy -of seven or eight years of age came in, and said he -wanted to deposit some money. The cashier asked -him how much he had, thinking, of course, that he'd -hand out a dollar or two. The boy put a packet -wrapped in newspaper on the counter, and by Jove! if -there wasn't something over five thousand dollars, -in hundred-dollar greenbacks! What do you think -of that? The cashier asked the boy where he got so -much money, suspecting that it must have been stolen. -The boy wouldn't tell him. The cashier started round -the counter to hold the boy till he could investigate, -and, if necessary, hand him over to the police. The -little fellow saw him coming, got frightened, and ran -out the door, leaving the money on the counter. He -has never been heard from since."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, what became of the money, then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, it had to be entered as deposited, of course. -The boy had written a name—the cashier doesn't -know whether it was the boy's own name or not—on -the margin of the newspaper, and the account stands -in that name, awaiting a claimant."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What was the name?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The cashier wouldn't tell me, naturally. It has -been kept a secret. With the compound interest, the -money now amounts to something like double the -original deposit."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's a pity I don't know the name; I might prove -an alibi."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I forgot—and it really is the point of the -whole story. The package was wrapped in a copy of -</span><em class="italics">Harper's Weekly</em><span>, and the boy, whose hands were -probably dirty, had happened to press a perfect -thumb-print on the smooth paper. Of course, that would -identify him, and if any one could prove he was in -Stockton at that time, give the name and show that -his thumb was marked like that impression, the bank -would have to permit him to draw that account."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That lets me out," said Cayley, "unless that -particular thumb-print happens to show a banded, duplex, -spiral whorl."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What in the world do you mean?" Payson asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, you know thumb-prints have all been classified -by Gallon, and every possible variation in the form -of the nucleal involution and its envelope has been -named and arranged."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't know that," said Payson. "But I did know -there were no two thumbs alike. That's the way they -identified my partner when he was drowned. He was -interested in the subject, having read of the Chinese -method, and he happened to have a collection of -thumb-prints, including his own, of course, done in -India ink. His body was so disfigured and eaten by -fishes that he couldn't be recognized until, suspecting -it might be he, we proved it by his own marks."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't know you ever had a partner."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, that was years ago, soon after Cly was born. -His name was Ichabod Riley. That was a queer story, -too. His wife was a regular Jezebel, Madge Riley -was, and there's no doubt she poisoned her first two -husbands. She was arrested and tried for the murder -of the second, but the jury was hung, and she wasn't. -Ichabod was supposed to have been accidentally -drowned off Black Point, but I have good reason to -believe that he committed suicide on account of her. -He was afraid of being poisoned as well. She is -supposed to have killed her own baby, too.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," Mr. Payson added, rising, "I've got to go -up-stairs and get ready for dinner. You'll stay, won't -you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll wait till Cly gets home, at any rate, but I'll not -promise to dine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old man went up-stairs, leaving Cayley alone -beside the bookcase.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When he returned he found Cayley, cool and suave -as ever. Clytie was with him, standing proudly erect -on the other side of the room, a red, angry spot on -either cheek. She held no dreamy, listless pose now; -something had evidently fully awakened her, stinging -her into an unaccustomed fervor. Her slender white -hands were clasped in front of her, her bosom rose -and fell. Her lips were tightly closed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Payson, near-sighted and egoistic, was oblivious -of these stormy signs, and remarked genially: "You're -going to stay to dinner, aren't you, Blanchard?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Blanchard Cayley drawled, "I think not, Mr. Payson; -I'll be going on, if you'll excuse me," smiling, -"and if Cly will."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't let us keep you if you have another -appointment," she said, without looking at him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He left after a few more words with the old man, -who began at last to smell something wrong.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's the matter, Cly?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had sat down and was pretending to read. Now -she looked up casually:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, nothing much, father, except that he was -impertinent enough to question me about something that -didn't concern him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"H'm!" Mr. Payson took a seat with a grunt and -unfolded his newspaper. "I'm sorry you two don't -get on any better."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We'd get on well enough if he'd only believe that -when I say 'no' I mean it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stared at her, suddenly possessed by a new -thought. "Is there anybody else in the field, Cly?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There are many other men that I prefer to -Blanchard Cayley."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is this about your being with this palmist -chap?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did Blanchard tell you that?" she asked with -exquisite scorn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you seen much of this Granthope?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've seen him four times."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you have invited him to my house?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He has been here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Payson rose and shook his eye-glasses at her. -"I must positively forbid that!" he exclaimed. "I -won't have you receiving that fellow here. From what -I hear of him he's a fakir, and I won't encourage him -in his attempts to get into society at my expense."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you mean to say that you forbid him the house, -father? Isn't that a bit melodramatic? I wouldn't -make a scene about it. I am twenty-seven and I'm -not absolutely a fool. I think you can trust me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then what have you been doing with him? What -does it all mean, anyway?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As soon as I know what it means, I'll tell you. -At present, I think we had better not discuss -Mr. Granthope."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He blustered for a while longer, iterating his -reproaches, then simmered down into a morose -condition, which lasted through dinner. Clytie knew -better than to discuss the subject with him. Her -calmness had returned, though she kept her color and -did not talk. The two went into the library and read.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shortly after eight o'clock the door-bell rang. As -it was not answered promptly, Mr. Payson, still -nervous, irascible and impatient, went out into the hall, -growling at the servant's delay.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He opened the door, to see Francis Granthope, -rather white-faced under his black hair, supporting -himself on crutches.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is Miss Payson at home?" he asked, taking off -his hat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, she is. Won't you step in? What name shall -I give her, please?" Mr. Payson spoke hospitably.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you. Mr. Granthope," was the answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old man turned suddenly and returned his -visitor's hat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I beg your pardon," he said sternly, "but Miss -Payson is not at home—for you—and I don't intend that -she ever shall be. I have heard enough about you, -Mr. Granthope, and I desire to say that I can not -consent to your being received in my house. You're -a charlatan and a fakir, sir, and I do not consider you -either my daughter's social equal nor one with a -character respectable enough to associate with her. I -must ask you to leave this house, sir, and not to come -again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope's eyes glowed, and his jaws came -together with determination. But he said only:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well, Mr. Payson, I'm sure that I do not -care to call if I'm not welcome. This is, of course, -no place to discuss the subject, but I shall not come -here again without your consent. As to my meeting -her again, that lies wholly with her. You may be sure -that I shall not annoy her with my attentions if she -doesn't care to see me. But I ask you, as a matter of -courtesy, to let Miss Payson know that I have called."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"See that you keep your word, sir—that's all I have -to say," was Mr. Payson's reply, and he stood in the -doorway to watch his visitor down the garden walk. -He remained there until Granthope had descended -the steps, then walked down after him and watched -him to the corner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Payson returned to the library sullenly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That palmist of yours had the impertinence to -come here and ask for you," he informed Clytie, "but -I sent him about his business, and I expect he won't -be back in a hurry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie looked up with a white face. "Mr. Granthope, -father?" She rose proudly and faced him. "Do -you mean to say that you were rude enough to turn -him away? It's impossible!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Payson walked up and down the room in a -dudgeon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I certainly did send him away, and what's more, I -told him not to come back."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie, without another word, ran out into the hall. -The front door was flung open and her footsteps could -be heard on the gravel walk. Mr. Payson seated -himself sulkily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In five minutes more she had returned, slowly, her -hair blown into a fine disorder, the color flaming in -her cheeks, her eyes quickened.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What in the world have you been doing?" her -father demanded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wanted to apologize for your rudeness," she -answered, "but I was too late."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-look-into-the-mirror"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER X</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">A LOOK INTO THE MIRROR</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"He gives exact and truthful revelations of all -love affairs, settles lovers' quarrels, enables you to -win the affection and esteem of any one you desire, -causes speedy and happy marriages—"</span></p> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Granthope put down the paper with a look of -disgust. It was his own advertisement, and it had -appeared daily for months. He took up his desk -telephone with a jerk, and called up the </span><em class="italics">Chronicle</em><span> -business office.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This is Granthope, the palmist. Please take out -my displayed ad., and insert only this: 'Francis -Granthope, Palmist. 141 Geary St., Readings, Ten Dollars. -Only by Appointment. Ten till Four.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was now a red-headed office boy in the -corner where Fancy Gray used to sit. Granthope missed -her jaunty spirit and unfailing comradeship. Not -even his endeavor to give his profession a scientific -aspect amused him any longer. He had lost interest -in his work. He was uneasy, dissatisfied, blue. He -went into his studio listlessly, with a frown printed -on his brow. Until his first client appeared he lay -upon the big couch, his eyes fixed upon the light.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had been there a few moments when his office -boy knocked, and opening the door, injected his red -head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say, dere's a lady in here to see you, Mr. Granthope!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who is she?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The boy grinned. "By de name of Lucie. Says -you know her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell her I can't see her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope turned away, and the boy left.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The room was as quiet as a padded cell, full of a -soft, velvety blackness, except where the single -drop-lamp lighted up the couch. Ordinarily the place was, -in its strange dark emptiness, a restful, comforting -retreat. Now it imprisoned him. Above his head -the great ring of embroidered zodiacal signs shone -with a golden luster. They were the symbols of the -mysterious dignity of the past, of the dark ages of -thought, of priestcraft and secret wisdom of the blind -centuries that had gone. But, a modern, incongruously -set about with such medieval relics, he felt for -the first time, undignified. In their time these -emblems had represented all that existed of knowledge. -Now, to him they stood for all that was left of -ignorance and superstition; and it was upon such -instruments he played.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He read palms perfunctorily that Saturday. He -seemed to hear his own voice all the while, and some -dissociated function of his mind scoffed continually at -his chicanery. It was the same old formula: "You are -not understood by those about you. You crave -sympathy, and it is refused. You are extraordinarily -sensitive, but when you are most hurt you often say -nothing. You have an intuitive knowledge of people. -You have a wonderful power of appreciation and -criticism. People confide in you. You are impulsive, -but your instinct is usually sure"—the same professional, -easy rigamarole, colored with what hints his -quick eyes gave him or his flagging imagination suggested.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Women listened avidly, drinking in every word. -How could he help telling them what they loved so to -hear? They asked questions so suggestive that a child -might have answered. They prolonged the discussion -of themselves, obviously enjoying his apparent interest. -He caught himself again and again playing with their -credulity, their susceptibility, and hated himself for it. -They lingered, smiling self-consciously, and he delayed -them with a look. In very perversity, he began -deliberately to flatter their vanity in order to see to what -inordinate pitch of conceit their minds would rise. -He affected indifference, and even scorn—they -followed after him still more eagerly. He grew, at last, -almost savagely critical, an instinct of cruelty aroused -by such complacent, egregious egoism. They fawned -on him, like spaniels under the lash.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After a solitary dinner he returned to his rooms. -For an hour or two he tried to lose himself in the -study of a medical book. Medicine had long been his -passion and his library was well equipped. Had he -been reading to prepare himself for practice he could -not have been more thorough. To-night, however, -he found it hard to fix his attention, and in despair he -took up a volume of Casanova's </span><em class="italics">Memoirs</em><span>. There was -an indefatigable charlatan! The fascinating Chevalier -had never wearied in ill-doing; he kept his zest -to the last. He skipped to another volume to follow -the pursuit of Henriette, of "C.V.," of Thérèse. -The perusal amused him, and he got back something -of his cynical indifference.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was after eleven o'clock when he laid down the -book and rose to look, abstractedly, out of the office -window. He longed for an adventure that should -reinstate him as his old careless self.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He left his rooms, went up to Powell Street and -finally wandered into the noisy gaiety of the Techau -Tavern. The place was running full with after-theater -gatherings, and he had hard work to find a table. All -about him was a confusion of excited talk, the clatter -of dishes, the riotous music of an insistent orchestra. -Parties were entering all the while, beckoned to places -by the head waiter. The place was garish with lights -and mirrors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope had sat there ten minutes or so, sipping -his glass, noticing, here and there, clients whom he -had served, when, between the heads of two women, -far across the room, he recognized Mrs. Page. It was -not long before she saw him, caught his eye, and -signaled with vivacity. The diversion was agreeable; -he rose and went over. A glance at her table showed -him a company most of whose members he had met -before, but with whom, only a few months since, he -would have counted it a social success to be considered -intimate. While not being quite of the elect, they held -the key of admission to many high places in virtue of -their wit and ingenious powers to please. They were -such as insured amusement. Granthope himself was -this evening desirous of being amused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With Mrs. Page was Frankie Dean, the irrepressible, -voluble, sarcastic, a devil in her black, snapping eyes, -as cold-blooded as a snake. It was she who had so -nearly embarrassed him at the Chinese supper at the -Maxwells'. She eyed him now, dark, feline, -whimsically watching her chance to make sport of him. -With them was a young girl from Santa Rosa, newly -come to San Francisco, an alien in such a company. -She was slight and dewy, vivid with sudden color, -with soft, fervent eyes that had not yet learned to -face such audacity as her companions practised. Keith -and Fernigan were there, also, like a vaudeville team, -rollicking with fun, playing into each other's hands, -charging the company with abandon. Lastly, "Sully" -Maxwell sat, silent, happy, indulgent, with his pockets -filled with twenty dollar gold-pieces, which he got rid -of at every opportunity. He spoke about once every -fifteen minutes, and then usually to the waiter. "A -good spender" was Sully—that quality and his -unfailing good-nature carried him into the gayest circles -and kept him there unnoticed, until the bills were to -be paid.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To Granthope, tired with his day's work, in conflict -with himself, morbidly self-conscious, the scene was -stimulating. There was an atmosphere of inconsequent -mirth in the group, which dissolved his mood -immediately. The women, smartly dressed, bubbling -with spirit, quick with repartee—Keith and Fernigan, -their sparkling dialogue interrupted, waiting for -another auditor—even Sully, prosperous, good-natured, -hospitably making him welcome—the group attracted -him, rejuvenated him, enveloped him with their -frivolity. The party was in the first effervescence of its -enthusiasm. Mrs. Page was at her sprightly best, -impellent, a gorgeous animal. Even Frankie Dean, -whom he did not like, was temptingly piquant and -brisk. The little girl had a novelty and virginal charm. -He had been out of his element all day. Here, he -could be himself. He could take things easily and -jocosely, and have no thought of consequences. His -mood disappeared like a shattered soap-bubble, and he -was caught into their jubilant atmosphere.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was introduced to the girl from Santa Rosa, -who looked up at him timidly but with evident -curiosity, as at a celebrity, and sat down between her and -Mrs. Page. Sully Maxwell took advantage of the -new arrival to order another round of drinks—club -sandwiches, golden bucks—till he was stopped by -Frankie Dean. Keith and Fernigan recommenced -their wit. Mrs. Page looked at him with all kinds of -messages in her eyes, as if she were quite sure that -he could interpret them. The girl from Santa Rosa -said nothing, but, from time to time, gave him a shy, -curious glance from her big brown eyes. Granthope's -spirits rose steadily, but his excitement had in it -something hectic. In a sudden pause he seemed to -remember that he had been speaking rather too loudly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After the party had refused, unanimously, further -refreshment, Sully proposed that they should all drive -out to the Cliff House, and they left the restaurant -forthwith to set out on this absurd expedition. It was -already long past midnight; the adventure was a -characteristic San Francisco pastime for the giddier spirits -of the town.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sully was for hiring two hacks; Mrs. Page, -giggling, vetoed the proposition, and Frankie Dean -supported her. Decidedly that would be commonplace; -why break up the party? The girl from Santa Rosa -looked alarmed at the prospect. Granthope smiled -at her ingenuousness, and liked her for it. The result -of the sidewalk discussion was that Sully obligingly -mounted beside the driver, and the six others squeezed -into the carriage, the door banged, and they proceeded -on their hilarious way toward the "Panhandle" of the -Park. On the rear seat Granthope sat with -Mrs. Page and Frankie Dean on either hand, protesting -that they were perfectly comfortable. Opposite him -the girl from Santa Rosa leaned forward on the edge -of the cushion, shrinking away from the two men -beside her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Page made an ineffectual search in the dark -for Granthope's hand. Not finding it, she began to -sing, under her breath:</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"It was not like this in the olden time,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>It was not like this, at all!"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>and Frankie Dean, quick-witted enough to understand -the situation, remarked, "Oh, Mr. Granthope doesn't -read palms free, Violet; you ought to know that!" She -darted a look at him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So it went on frothily, with chattering, laughter, -snatches of song, jests and stories, punctuated -occasionally by the rapping of Sully's cane on the window -of the carriage, as he leaned over in a jovial attempt -to participate in the fun. Granthope, for a while, -led the spirit of gaiety that prevailed, told a story -or two, "jollied" Mrs. Page, laughed at Keith's -inconsequence, accepted Frankie Dean's challenges. -But the frank, bewildered eyes of the little girl from -Santa Rosa, fixed upon him, disconcerted him more -than once.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The carriage soon entered Golden Gate Park. The -night was warm and still, the dusk pervaded with -perfumes. Under the slope of Strawberry Hill -Maxwell stopped the carriage and ordered them all out to -invade the shadowy stillness with revelry. The night -air was that of belated summer, full of a languor that -comes seldom to San Francisco which has neither real -summer nor real winter, and the wildness of the place, -remote, unvisited, was exhilarating. A mock minuet -was started, races run, even trees climbed by Frankie -Dean the audacious, with shrieks and laughter, all -childishly with the sheer joy of living. Granthope and -the girl from Santa Rosa, after watching the sport -with amusement for a while, left the rest and walked on -past a turn of the road, to stand there, discussing the -stars, while the cries of the two women came softened -along the sluggish breeze. The girl took off her hat -and breathed deeply of the night air. They walked on -farther through the gloom, till only an occasional -faint shout reached them from the party. Granthope -put the girl at her ease, pointed out the planets and the -constellations and explained the principles of ancient -astrology. They had begun to forget the rest when -they were overtaken and captured again and the -crowded carriage took its way towards the sea.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Upon a high ledge of rock jutting out into the -Pacific, at the very entrance to the Bay of San -Francisco, stands the Cliff House, a white, wooden, -many-windowed monstrosity with glazed verandas, -cupolas, frivolous dormers, cheap, garish, bulky, gay, -seemingly almost toppling into the water. Here come -not only such innocently holidaying folk as Fancy -Gray and Gay P. Summer, not only jaded tourists and -the Sunday-outing citizens who lie upon the warm -beach below and doze away a morning in the sun and -wind. It was patronized of old by the buggy-riding -fraternity, the smokers, the spenders, with their -lights-o'-love, as the most popular of road-houses. The -cable-cars and the two "dummy" railroad lines have changed -its character somewhat, but it is still a show-place of -the town. There is good eating, a gorgeous view of -the Pacific, and the sea-lions on the rocks below.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Here Mrs. Page's party alighted, near three o'clock -in the morning. The bar only was open, its -white-frocked attendant sleeping behind the counter. This -they entered, yawning from their ride. The barkeeper -was awakened, peremptorily, and was ordered to -prepare what he had for refreshment. With hot beans -from the heater, tamales, potato salad, cold cuts, -crackers and cheese, he laid a table in a small -dining-room. Sully Maxwell undertook all the arrangements, -fraternized with the barkeeper, selected beverages, -not forgetting ginger ale for the girl from Santa Rosa. -Mrs. Page and Frankie Dean, somewhat disheveled, -retired, to appear trig and trim and glossy in the -gaslight, ready for more gaiety. Granthope, meanwhile, -had wandered out upon the veranda to watch the surf -dashing on the rocks, to note the yellow gleam from -the Point Bonita light, and smell the salt air; to get -his courage up, in short, for another round of animation. -The instant he returned Mrs. Page went at him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, Frank," she said, "it won't do to sulk or to -flirt with Santa Rosa. What's got into you, anyway? -You must positively do something to amuse us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Office hours from ten till four," Keith murmured -audibly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Frankie Dean turned on him: "They never let you -out of your cage at all!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fernigan, thereat, began an absurd pantomime that -half terrified the girl from Santa Rosa. He pretended -to be a monkey behind the bars of a cage, eating -peanuts—and worse. It was shockingly funny. The -company roared, all but Granthope. He was at the -point of impatience, but replied with what sounded -like ennui:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm a bit stale, Violet; you'll have to excuse me if -I'm stupid to-night. I came to be entertained."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Frankie Dean looked at him mischievously. "Never -mind, Mr. Granthope, she'll come back."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was obviously no more than a cant phrase, -intended for a witticism. Mrs. Page, however, took it -up with mock seriousness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who's '</span><em class="italics">she</em><span>', now? </span><em class="italics">I'm</em><span> back in the chorus again! -There </span><em class="italics">was</em><span> a time, Frank—" Her voice was sentimental; -she tilted her head and looked at him, under -half-closed eyelids, across the table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I say, Granthope, you ought to publish an -illustrated catalogue of 'em. There's nothing doing for -amateurs, nowadays. When women pay five dollars to -have their hands held what chance is there for -us?" This from Keith, with burlesque emphasis.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Page would not be diverted. "No, but really, -Frank; who </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> she? I've quite lost track of your -conquests."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you know I'm wedded to my art," he said -lightly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, and it's the art of making love, isn't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'No further seek his merits to disclose,'" said -Keith, and Fernigan added, "'Nor draw his frailties -from their dread abode.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl from Santa Rosa looked suddenly bursting -with intelligence, recognizing the quotation. She -started to finish it, then stopped; her lips moved -silently. Granthope smiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Frankie Dean had been watching her chance for -another at his expense. Now she asked, with apparent -frankness: "Mr. Granthope, can you tell character by -the lines on the soles of the feet?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Science of Solistry," murmured Keith to the Santa -Rosa girl.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let's try it!" Mrs. Page exclaimed. "I will, for -one! Do you know my second toe's longer than my -great toe? I'm awfully proud of it. I can prove it, -too!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go on!" Frankie Dean dared her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl from Santa Rosa stared, her lips apart. -"Why, every one's is, aren't they?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No such thing!" Mrs. Page stopped and almost -blushed. A chorus of laughter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, there are a good many better ways of telling -character than that," said Granthope.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," Keith put in. "Indiscreet remarks, for instance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Page bit her lip and shrugged her shoulders. -"Oh, if I were going in for indiscreet remarks I might -make a few about </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Here Sully interposed. "Isn't this conversation -getting rather personal? I move we discard all these -low cards. This is no woman's club. The quiet life -for mine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The hint was taken by Keith, who began an English -music-hall song, to the effect that "John was a nice -good 'usband, 'e never cared to roam, 'e only wanted -a quiet life, 'e only wanted a quiet wife; there 'e would -sit by the fireside, such a chilly man was John—" -where he was joined in the chorus by Fernigan—"Oh, -I 'opes and trusts there's a nice 'ot fire, where my old -man's gone!" Maxwell pounded in time upon the -table. The girl from Santa Rosa hazarded a laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope looked on listlessly, ever more detached -and introspective. This was what he had been used to, -since he could remember, but now, in the stuffy little -room, with its ghastly yellow gas-light, the smell of -eatables and wine, the pallor of the women's faces, the -flush of Maxwell's, the desperate frivolity, the -artificiality of it all bored him. He wondered, whimsically, -why he had ever looked forward to being the companion -of such a society as this. It was all harmless -enough, unconventional as it was, but he tasted the -ashes in his mouth. Perhaps, after all, he was only -not in the mood for it. He tried to smile again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fernigan seized a small Turkish rug from the floor -and hung it in front of him, like a chasuble. Standing -before the company he intoned a sacrilegious parody, -like everything he did, funny, like everything he did, -atrocious:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">O, sanctissimus nabisco in colorado maduro domino -te deum, e pluribus unum vice versa et circus -hippocriticam, mephisto apollinaris nux vomica dolores -intimidad mores; O rara avis per diem cum magnum -vino et sappho modus vivendi felicitas,</em><span>" to the droned -"</span><em class="italics">A—men</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Keith then enlivened the company with what quaint -parlor tricks he knew, or dared, from making of a -napkin a ballet dancer pirouetting upon one toe, to -limericks that were suppressed by Sully Maxwell, -Mrs. Page laughed prodigiously, showing all her -teeth, staring with her great eyes, vivid in her every -expression, flamboyant, sleek and glossy, abounding -in temperament. Frankie Dean smiled maliciously -and plied the performers with her acrid wit. The -girl from Santa Rosa listened, her cheeks burning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At six they went outside for fresh air and promenaded -the glazed veranda until the sun rose. In front -of them was the broad Pacific, stretching out to the -Farralones, even to Japan. To the north, across the -bar, yellowed with alluvium from the San Joaquin and -Sacramento Rivers, a mountainous coast stretched to -far, misty Bolinas. Southward ran the broad, wide -beach exposed by the ebb tide. It was damp and cool; -the last spasm of summer had given way to the brisk, -stimulating weather that was San Francisco's usual -habit. Granthope buttoned his light overcoat tightly -over his rumpled evening dress and walked with the -girl from Santa Rosa, enjoying the scene quietly, -speaking in monosyllables. The others had a new -burst of effervescence, still more desperate than ever; -their hilarity was indefatigable. Keith walked along -the tops of the tables, leading Mrs. Page. Frankie -Dean and Fernigan two-stepped the length and -breadth of the wide platform, joking incessantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A walk up the beach was then suggested, and, after -a preliminary furbishing of faces and hair, they went -down the steep rocky road to the wide strand, and -proceeded along the shore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope, falling behind, saw that the girl from -Santa Rosa alone had waited for him. She gazed at -him steadily with grave eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," he said kindly, "what d'you think of San -Francisco?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked down at the sand and drew a circle -with her toe before she answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's pretty gay here, isn't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, well, if you call this sort of thing gay!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl looked immensely relieved, gave him a -quick, searching glance, and said shyly: "Do you know, -Mr. Granthope, I have an idea that you didn't enjoy -it any more than I did!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled at her, then silently grasped her hand. -She blushed and turned away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought it was going to be great fun," she said, -as they walked on. "I never was up all night before. -It's awfully exciting. But people do look awful in the -morning, don't they?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She herself was like a blossom wet with dew, but -Granthope knew what she meant, well enough. He -had watched the lines come into Mrs. Page's face and -her mouth droop at the corners; he had noticed the -glitter fade from Frankie Dean's black eyes, and her -lids grow heavy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You ought never to have come," he said. "I think -you'd better go home and get to bed. Suppose we -leave them and walk across to the almshouse and take -the Haight Street cars?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, d'you think they'd mind, if we did?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They'd never notice that we were gone, I'm sure."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm afraid you'll find me awfully stupid. Miss -Dean is very witty, isn't she?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd rather be stupid."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're sure I won't bore you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't feel much like talking, myself. I have -plenty to think about. Suppose we don't say anything, -unless we have something to say."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I didn't know you could do that—in San Francisco!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed sincerely for the first time that night.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As they came to the place where the beach road -turned off for Ingleside, the rest of the party was some -distance ahead. They were sitting upon some rocks, -and, as Granthope looked, he saw Mrs. Page rise, lift -her skirts and walk barefooted across the sands, down -to the water's edge. She turned and waved her hand -to him. He took off his hat to her and pointed inland -in reply. Then he climbed the low sand-hills with his -companion and struck off southward, along the road. -The girl had colored again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her confidence in him was soothing. She was so -serious and innocent, so quick with a country girl's -delicate observation of nature, that he fell into a more -placid state of mind. She became more friendly all -the while, till, despite her confession of shyness, she -fairly prattled. He let her run on, scarcely listening, -busy with his own thoughts. And so, up the long -road to the almshouse, resting in the pale sunshine -occasionally, through the Park to the end of the Haight -Street cable-line they walked, and talked ingenuously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She lived in "The Mission," and there, having -nothing better to do, he escorted her, and at last, in -that jumble of wooden buildings so multitudinously -prosaic, between the Twin Peaks and the Old Mission, -he left her. She bade him good-by apparently with -regret. Widely different as they were in mind and -temperament, they had, for their hour, come closely -together. Now they were to recede, never again, -perhaps, to meet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He walked in town along Valencia Street, through -that curious "hot belt" which defies the town's normal -state of weather, turned up Van Ness Avenue, still -too busy with his reflections to shut himself up in his -studio. It was Sunday morning—he had almost -forgotten the day—and he turned up his collar, to -conceal what he could of his evening attire and its wilted, -rumpled linen, somewhat uncomfortable in the presence -of the church-going throngs which pervaded the -avenue.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had reached the top of the long slope leading -to the Black Point military reservation, and was -pausing upon the corner of Lombard Street, when, looking -up the hill, he saw Clytie Payson coming down the -steep, irregular pathway that did service for a -sidewalk. He stepped behind a lamp-post and watched -her, uncertain whether or not to let her see him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She came tripping down, picking her way along -the cleated double plank, too intent upon her footsteps -to look far ahead. The sight of her made him a little -trepid with excitement; it focused his dissatisfaction -with himself. He knew, now, what had disturbed him. -It was the thought of her. She had forced him to -look at himself from a new point of view, with a -new, critical vision. He longed for her approval. Her -gentle coercion was drawing him into new channels -of life, and he felt a sudden need for her help. He -was losing his whilom comrades, his old familiar -associations repelled him. He had nothing to sustain him -now, but the thought of her friendship.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But, in his present state, he had not the courage to -address her. As a child plays with circumstances and -makes his own omens, he left the decision to chance. -If she turned and saw him, he would greet her and -throw himself on her grace. If not, he would pass on -without speaking, much as he longed to speak.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She came down to the corner diagonally opposite -and paused for a moment, looking off at the mountains -and the waters of the Golden Gate. He saw her make -a sudden movement, as if waking from her abstraction, -then she walked over in his direction. He came out -from his cover and went to meet her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good morning, Mr. Granthope!" She was smiling, -holding out her hand. "I thought I recognized you! -Something told me to stop a moment, and wait. Then -suddenly I saw you. You see, you can't escape me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was visibly embarrassed, conscious of his significantly -unkempt appearance. She, however, did not -show that she noticed it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How is your ankle?" was her first inquiry. He -assured her that it had given him no trouble for a -week, and he expressed his thanks to her for her help.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've been hoping I might see you," she said, "to -apologize for the reception you received the last time -you called. I can't tell you how unhappy it made me, -nor how I regret it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mayn't I see you a while now?" He felt at -such a disadvantage in his present condition that -it was embarrassing to be with her, and yet he longed -for another hour of companionship.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let's walk down to the Point," she said. "I can -get in the reservation, and it will be beautiful."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As they walked down across the empty space at -the foot of the avenue and along the board-walk over -the sand, she talked inconsequently of the day and the -scene, evidently attempting to put him at his ease. -The little girl from Santa Rosa had given him a -passive comfort. Clytie's companionship was an -active and inspiring joy. His depression ceased; a sane, -wholesome content filled him. He watched her graceful, -leopard-like swing and the evidences of vitality -that impelled her movements.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They passed the sentry who nodded to her at the -gate, went past the officers' quarters, down a little -path lined with piled cannon-balls, out to a small -promontory that overlooked the harbor. Here there -was an old Spanish brass cannon in its wooden -mortar-carriage, and a seat on the very edge of the bluff. -The harbor extended wide to the southeast. Inshore -was a covey of white-sailed yachts in regatta, just -tacking, to beat across to Lime Point, opposite.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As they sat down, Clytie said, "Now do tell me -about Miss Gray. How is she?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She's not with me any more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She lifted her brows. "Where is she?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know, quite."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You haven't seen her since she left?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, not for two weeks."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie frowned and bit her lip, then shook her head -silently. Then she remarked, as if to herself, "I like -her. I'm sure she's fine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She likes you, too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish I might see her," she went on, her eyes -fixed on the mountains. "I'd like to do something -for her. I might get her a position in my father's -office, I'm sure, if she'd take it. I have a curious -feeling, though, that it is she who will be more likely -to do something for me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If she ever can, you may be sure she will. Fancy -is true blue."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You didn't—have any misunderstanding with her, -did you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She seemed to notice his reluctance to explain, and -did not pursue the subject.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned and her eyes fell upon his hand, which -lay carelessly upon his knee. "Let me see your palm," -she said impulsively. "I've never looked at it -carefully. I suppose you've told your own fortune often -enough."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He gave his left hand to her. She barely touched -it, holding it lightly, but he felt the magnetism of the -contact almost as a caress. "You'll find my line of -fate shows that I'm to change my career," he -remarked. "It's broken at the head line, you see, and -begins over again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, let me look at your right hand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked at it, and her expression changed subtly. -It was as if she had found some secret satisfaction -in his palm, some answer to her desires.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What d'you see?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The heart line."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In his left hand it began near the root of the second -finger, at the mount of Saturn, not, as he would have -preferred, farther toward the index finger, at the -mount of Jupiter. He wondered if that meant to her -what it did, in his professional capacity, to him—an -indication of more sensual tastes. Half its length -was cobwebbed with tiny branches, and punctuated -with islands; then it ran, deep and clear to the edge -of the palm, almost straight. In his right palm the -line was cleaner, simpler, undivided.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had begun to color, faintly; she had turned her -eyes from him. Into her loveliness had come a new -element of charm. There was something special in it, -something for him alone; it was as if she had been -signaling to him, and he had not, till now, understood. -Instantly every line in her body seemed to be imbued -with a new grace, a new meaning, translating her -spirit. He was too full of the inspiration to speak; -he could only look at her, irradiated, as if he had -never seen her before. To his admiration for her -beauty, his respect for her character, his interest in her -mind, there was added something more; the total was -not to be accounted for by the sum of these. And -the wonderful whole satisfied the divine fastidiousness -of his nature. She was for him the supreme choice. -Her mind worked like his. Her very size pleased him. -He seemed to know her for the first time. He had -desired her, before, for her beauty and her -intelligence; he had thought calmly of love and marriage. -But now he felt the supreme demand for possession, -because——only because he </span><em class="italics">must</em><span> have her—because -nothing else in his life mattered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A secret ray of thought seemed to carry the message -back to her, for, apparently embarrassed by the -intensity of his silence, she rose and walked a few paces, -with her hands behind her back, gazing off at the -harbor. It was not thought that he sent, however, -for he could not think; it was a new function of his -soul aroused, excited, thrilling him with the power -of its vibration.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When that wave broke, he was at a loss for words. -How could he say how much he wanted her? How -could he ask if she, too, felt that same thrill, while -he winced under this new, mortifying sense of the -cheapness and falsity of his life? He could not yet -bring himself to confess the miserable truths; it was -not the larger, more obvious things he was afraid of, -for she knew well enough of these—but one or two -shameful details came into his mind and made him -shrink from himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned to him again, composed, though still she -showed elation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sorry Fancy had to go," she said earnestly. -Her eyes were steady, though her lips were still -quivering.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was too bad. But it was necessary."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She gave him a swift, searching look.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh! Then you are—finding out?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm being pushed on, somehow. It's really queer, -as if the force came from outside of myself—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no! I'm sure not!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Something is working out in me—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie smiled rarely, her face illuminated. "Oh, fate -deals the cards, but we have to play them ourselves. -And—I think—you've taken several tricks already."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean—about Fancy Gray?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—that I can't judge—I never have judged. -Your advertisement in the papers."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was immensely surprised, pleased. "You have -noticed that already? Why, this is only the very first -day—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have watched for it every day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was another pause. Her remark was revealing—yet -he dared not hope too far. He felt so near -to her, so intimate in that revelation that he feared -to deceive himself. Oh, he was for her, now! His -heart clamored for possession, yet he could not declare -himself. They were upon different spiritual altitudes. -Women, before, had come at his whistle. Now he -was awkward, timid, excited with expectancy, his -heart going hard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is a reason why I was glad to see that -change, Mr. Granthope," she continued. He waited -for her words eagerly. She looked away, her eyes -following the sails in mid-channel. "I'm thinking of -leaving town."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The announcement fell upon him like a blow. "You -are going away!" he exclaimed, his voice betraying -him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not for a week or two, perhaps."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A week!" The words stung him. "Don't go—yet!" -he exclaimed faintly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't want to go—yet. My aunt in the East -has invited me to visit her for six months." She -spoke calmly, but did not look at him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll have to hurry, won't I?" he said with a -desperate, whimsical inflection.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. You'll have to hurry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a while he was too agitated to speak. If there -had needed anything more to convince him of his state -of mind, this sufficed. He was aware, by the sense -of shock, how much he cared.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Before I go, I'd like to ask a favor of you, -Mr. Granthope."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It almost comforted him. "What is it—of course, -I'll do anything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you see if you can find out something about -that little boy who lived with Madam Grant?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There it was again! This blow turned his mind -black. She was gazing at him earnestly—he could -hardly bear her look, so placid, so sincere. "You -mean—clairvoyantly?" he stammered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. I think we might do it, together."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He rose to walk up and down the top of the bank -for a few minutes. Once he stopped and gazed at -her fiercely, under tensely set brows. Finally he -returned hopelessly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sorry, but I can't do that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He hesitated. "I know I couldn't get anything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you did before?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He longed desperately to confess everything, but -he could not speak. He felt her recede from him; -their delightful intimacy was broken. She did -not insist further, and self-contempt kept him silent, -till he broke out, "Oh, it's you who must help </span><em class="italics">me</em><span>!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've done all I can for you. You must find out -the rest for yourself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't dare to think how much you have to find -out about me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I haven't the courage."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She let her hand fall lightly upon his for an instant. -"Well, that only proves, doesn't it, that, so long as -there's anything insurmountable in the way of directness -and simplicity, you haven't gone all the way. -I'll wait."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm so afraid of losing your sympathy and your -respect."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you can't stop still!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm afraid of losing </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He saw the tears come into her eyes. "Ah, there's -only one way you can lose me," she said deliberately.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How?" He was eager.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She did not answer, but arose slowly. "I think I -must be going."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He followed her, thoroughly dissatisfied with -himself at having let his moment pass. He understood -her well enough. It was only by stopping still, as she -had said, that he could lose her. She had started a -change in him, and it must go on. Something which -tied his hands, his mind, must be cut; he must be -free of that before he could speak.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They retraced their steps, she talking, as when they -had come, inconsequently; he, moody, troubled -inwardly, self-conscious. She was to give him one more -hope, however. As she left him, on the avenue, she -offered her hand, and smiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't give it up," she said, and turned away, leaving -him standing alone, still fighting his battle with -himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had enough to think of, as he strode home, -ill-satisfied with himself and in a turmoil of thought -in regard to her. There was no question of mastery, -now; she had beaten him at his own game. It was -only a question of surrender.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He went up into his office and stood, looking about. -The row of plaster casts confronted him. He took -one from the row and examined it. There, too, was -a heart line split up with divergent branches, -punctuated with little islands, beginning at the Mount of -Saturn, herring-boned to the end, at the double crease -which signified two marriages. The fingers were short -and fat, the thumb being far too small. Small joints, -broad lines, deep cushions at the Mounts of Venus and -Mercury, deep bracelets at the wrist—Granthope's -eyes read the signs as if the hand were a face, or a -whole body.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he turned the cast over thoughtfully, to look -at the back, it dropped from his grasp and fell to the -floor, breaking into a dozen pieces. Bits of wire -projected humorously from the stump. He smiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Kismet!" he said to himself. "Adieu, Violet!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was stooping to clear away the fragments when -he heard a knock upon the door. Going to answer it, -he found Professor Vixley waiting.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hello, Frank," said the slate-writer. "Can I see -you for a few minutes?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come in." Granthope drew up a chair, but stood -himself with his hands in his pockets while his visitor -made himself comfortable.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vixley's shrewd eyes roved about the room and -rested upon the broken cast. "Hello," he said, "cat -got into the statuary?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Accident," said the palmist.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Plenty more where they come from, I s'pose. Say, -Frank, let's see the Payson girl's hand, will you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I haven't it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean a cast, of course, eh? I expect you've -pretty near got the original, ain't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not yet." Granthope frowned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But soon—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope shrugged his shoulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was about Payson I wanted to see you," the -Professor went on. "Seems to me you ain't standin' -in like you agreed to. Gert claims you got cold feet -on the proposition. I thought I'd drop in and chew -it over."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope did not answer, and the frown on his -forehead persisted. Vixley took out a cigar and lighted -it, threw his match on to the desk, looked about again, -and grinned. "Then you </span><em class="italics">have</em><span> got cold feet, eh?" he -remarked, crossing his legs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope looked the Professor squarely in the eye -for a moment. Then he said deliberately: "Vixley, -what will you take to leave town?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vixley showed his astonishment in the stare with -which he replied. His lip drew away from his yellow -fangs, and a keen light came into his black eyes. -"Oho! That's the game, is it? Somethin' doin', -after all, eh? Well, well!" He mouthed his cigar -meditatively and twirled his thumbs in his lap.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come, name your price," said Granthope sharply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd like a few details first."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's the figure?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vixley was in no hurry, and enjoyed his advantage. -"I thought you was up to something, Frank. Gert's -pretty sharp, but Lord, she's only a woman. You -fooled </span><em class="italics">her</em><span> a bunch. She really thought you'd got a -change of heart. So you want to cut up the money -all by your lonely, eh? Well, now, what'll you give -to have me pull out of it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll give you five hundred dollars," said Granthope.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothin' doin'," said Vixley decidedly. "Why, it's -worth more than that to me just as it stands, and I -ain't but just begun. If you can't do better than that, -why, it's no use talkin'."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I asked you what you wanted. Let's have it, and -I'll talk business."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Payson's pretty well fixed," said Vixley. "I -s'pose if you marry the girl you'll get a good wad of -his money."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never mind the girl. I want to buy you out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I'd have to think it over. You know we got -a great scheme, and if it works it'll mean a steady -income. But I don't mind turnin' over money quick. -You make it a thousand dollars and I'll agree to leave -you alone, and pull off Gert into the bargain. You'll -have to fix Masterson yourself. I don't trust him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope began to walk the room again, thinking. -He returned finally, to say: "It won't do merely for -you to agree to keep out of it. I know you too well. -This is a business agreement. If I give you a -thousand, will you leave town? That's my offer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vixley reflected. "That ain't so much. I dunno as -I could afford to spoil my whole business for that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pshaw. You don't make that in a year!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not last year, perhaps, but I expect to this."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you refuse?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wait a minute. Have you got the money on hand?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I haven't." Granthope's face clouded. "But -I have an idea I might raise it. I could pay you in -instalments. But you'd have to be outside of -California to get it. That's understood."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vixley rose. "Well, when you've got the money -you can begin to talk. If you can raise it, as you -say, I may agree. After all, I could use a thou' just at -present, and I s'pose I could operate in Chicago till -you let me come back. Say I accept."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right. As soon as I can raise five hundred, -I'll see you, and buy your ticket. Until then, I expect -you to leave Payson alone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> leave him alone? That's the question! -I don't propose to have no interference until you make -good with the money."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll make good, all right," said Granthope.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well, then." Vixley rose and buttoned what -buttons were left on his coat. "When you're ready to -do business, I'm ready. But you see here!" He -shook a long, bony finger at the palmist. "If you go -to work and try any gum-games with the old man -before then, Frank, I'll break you—like that there -hand." He pointed down to the cast on the floor. Then he -added easily: "Not that it would do you any good if -you did, though. I'll attend to </span><em class="italics">that</em><span>. I got to protect -myself. It'll be easy enough to fix it so the old man -won't take much stock in what you tell him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I expect that's so," Granthope shrugged his shoulders. -"I don't mind saying that if I thought I could -do anything that way, I would."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So long, then. The sooner you make your bid, -the cheaper it'll be." He turned from the door and -looked the palmist over. "You're a good one, Frank. -I don't deny you got brains. I wouldn't mind knowin' -just what you was up to. It must be something -elegant." He came up to Granthope and gestured with -both hands. "Say—why don't you let me in? We -could work it together, and I'll lose Gertie. I ain't -no fool, myself, when it comes right down to business."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope laughed sarcastically. "I hardly think -you can help much in this. It's a rather delicate -proposition, and I'll have to go it alone. Just as soon as I -get the cash I'll let you know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For an hour after that Granthope sat in his office -thinking it over. His offer to Vixley had come on the -spur of the moment, and, although he did not regret -it, he was at a loss to know how he could make it good. -He went over his accounts carefully, inspected his -bank-book, made a valuation of his property. He -could see no way, at present, to raise sufficient money -to buy Vixley off, and yet to sit still and let him go on -with Clytie's father was intolerable. He had seen men -ruined by such wiles, and his own conscience was not -clean in this matter. There seemed no way of escape.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Late that afternoon he decided to call on Fancy -Gray. He had hardly seen her since the night she -left, and he was troubled in her regard, also. He. -dreaded to know just what she was doing, and how -she stood it. He had long attempted to deny to -himself that she cared too much for him, and always -their fiction had been maintained—that fiction which, -during their pretty idyl at Alma, so long ago, had -crystallized itself into their whimsical motto: "No -fair falling in love!" He had kept their pact well -enough. He dared not answer for her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy lived in a three-story house on O'Farrell, -Street, near Jones Street, a place back from the -sidewalk, with a garden in front and on one side. Fancy -had a room on the attic floor, with two dormer -windows giving upon the front yard. As Granthope -turned in the gate and looked up at her windows, he -was surprised to see one of them raised. Fancy's arm -appeared, a straw hat in her hand. The next instant -the hat sailed gracefully out into the air, curving like -an aeroplane. It dropped nearly at his feet. He -picked it up, thinking that she would look out after it, -but instead, the sash was lowered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A minute afterward a young man, bareheaded, and -apparently violently enraged, appeared at the front -door. Granthope walked up and presented the hat to -Mr. Gay P. Summer, who took it, staring, without a -word of thanks, and stalked sulkily away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The door being left open, Granthope walked up -three flights of stairs and knocked at Fancy's room. -There was no reply. He called to her. The door was -instantly flung open.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, hello, Frank! Excuse me. I thought it -was my meal-ticket coming back to bore me to death -again." Fancy began to laugh. "You ought to have -seen him. He simply wouldn't go, after I'd given -him twenty-three gilt-edged tips, and so I had to -throw his hat out of the window to get rid of him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I saw him. I think he won't come back. He -looked rather uncomfortable."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy sat down on the bed unconcernedly, clasping -her hands on her crossed knees, while Granthope -took a seat upon a trunk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say, Frank, these people who expect to annex all -your time and pay for it in fifty cent </span><em class="italics">table d'hotes</em><span> are -beginning to make me tired. There's nothing so -expensive as free dinners, I've found! The minute you -let a man buy you a couple of eggs, he thinks he's in -a position to dictate to you for the rest of eternity. -Why, one dinner means he's hired you till eleven -o'clock, and I run out of excuses long before that. -No, you don't get anything free in this world, and -many a girl's found </span><em class="italics">that</em><span> out!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope smiled. Fancy was at her prettiest, with -a whimsical animation that he knew of old. Nothing -delighted him so much as Fancy in her semi-philosophic -vein.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She ran on: "Gay has just proposed to me again—I've -lost tally, now. The one good thing about him -is that he's always ready to make good with the ring -whenever I say the word. He takes me seriously just -because I never explain. But all the encouragement -I've ever given him is to accept. Gay's the kind that -always calls you 'Little girl,' no matter how high you -are, and tells you you're 'brave'! There's no one -quite like you, Frank—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she spoke, her gaiety slowly oozed away, till she -sat almost plaintively watching him. Then she smiled -and shook her head slowly. "Don't get frightened, -I won't do anything foolish." She sprang up and -tossed her head. Then, turning to him, she said: "Say, -Frank, do you know Blanchard Cayley?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, I've just heard of him, that's all. He's a -friend of Miss Payson's."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She isn't—fond of him, is she?" Fancy demanded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I hope not! Why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing. Only, I met him, one night, at -Carminetti's. Gay had just thrown me down hard. He -came round, afterward, and apologized." Fancy -looked across the room abstractedly as she talked. -Upon the wall were strung a collection of empty chianti -bottles in their basket-work shells, a caricature by -Maxim, a circus poster and other evidence of her -recent conversion to the artistic life. She spoke with -a queer introspective manner. "I had a queer feeling -about Mr. Cayley. You know, for all I'm such a -scatterbrain, I do like a man with a mind. I like to -look up to a man. He's awfully well-read. Of -course, he isn't as clever as you, but he sort of -fascinates me—I don't know why. He interests me, -although I can't understand half he says. I suppose -he makes me forget. There's nothing like knowing -how to forget. But you're sure Miss Payson isn't too -fond of him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd like to be surer," said Granthope. He, too, -was looking fixedly across the room—at the mottoes -and texts upon the wall, on the mantel, and over her -bed—"Do it Now!" "Nothing Succeeds like -Success"—and such platitudes as, printed in red and -black, are sold at bookshops for the moral education of -those unable to think for themselves.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy slid gently off the bed, and dropped to the -floor in front of him. Her hand stole fondly for his, -and clasped it, petting it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How is she, Frank?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He put his hand on her hair and smoothed it -affectionately. "Fine, Fancy, fine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh—I hope it's all right, Frank."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know, Fancy. You'd hardly recognize me, -these days. I'm losing my sense of humor. I'm -becoming a prig, I think."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy laughed. "Well, there's plenty of room in -that direction. But I don't think she'd mind your -being a devil occasionally. Women don't have to be -saints to be thoroughbreds. And there's many a saint -that would like to take a day off, once in a while!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you seen Vixley, lately?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy grew serious. "No. Is he still working the -old man?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I suppose so. I saw him to-day. I offered -him a thousand dollars to leave town, Fancy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy looked up at him with wonder in her eyes. -"Why, Frank! What do you mean? A thousand -dollars? Why, you haven't got that much, have you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. Not yet. But I'll get it, somehow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean—that you're trying—to save Payson—on -her account, Frank?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He avoided her glance. "On her account—and perhaps -my own."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy rose impulsively and put her arms about him. -"Do let me hug you, Frank, just once!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He saw her eyes grow soft. She released herself -quickly, as if the embrace, simple as it was, hurt her. -She stood in front of him and watched him soberly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Frank, </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> never could make you—" She stopped, -the tears welling in her eyes. Then she turned and -ran out of the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He rose, too, and paced up and down, wondering at -her mood. His track was short, for the roof sloped on -one side, and the place was encumbered with Fancy's -paraphernalia and furniture. His eyes fell, after a -while, upon a cigar box on her bureau. It stood -upright, under the mirror, and had little doors, glued -on with paper hinges, so that the two opened, like the -front of a Japanese shrine of Buddha. He went to -it and looked at it. Thoughtlessly, with no idea of -committing an indiscretion, little suspecting that it -could hold anything private or sacred, he swung the -little doors open. Then he shut them hastily and -walked to the window with a clutch at his heart. -Inside he had seen his own photograph. Before it was -a little glass jar with a few violets. They were fresh, -fragrant. Lettered upon a strip of paper pasted on -the inside was the inscription:</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>No Fair Falling In Love.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>He walked away hurriedly to stare hard out of -the window.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She came into the room again as he composed himself, -and her face, newly washed, was radiant. She -reseated herself upon the bed, and, taking up a pair of -stockings, proceeded to darn a small hole in the heel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you got a position, Fancy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed. "Vixley wrote me a note and told -me he had a job for me if I wanted it, but I turned -him down. You couldn't guess what I </span><em class="italics">am</em><span> doing, Frank."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Detective." She looked up innocently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't mean—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No! Just little jobs for the chief of police, that's -all. I'm investigating doctors who practise without -a license, that's all. I say, Masterson had better look -out or he'll get pulled."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sorry you haven't anything better, Fancy. -Miss Payson said she'd get you a place in her father's -office if you'd go. Would you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No." Fancy's eyes were upon her needle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Frank," she said, "do you remember asking me -to inquire about that soldier the little girl with freckles -wanted to find?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. I thought you said that the ticket agent at -the ferry had left, and so you couldn't get anything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He was only off on a vacation. He's come back, -and I saw him yesterday. He remembered that soldier -perfectly—I don't see how anybody could fail to—he -must look awful. He said he bought a ticket for -Santa Barbara."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's good. I hope she'll come in again," said -Granthope. "She was a nice little thing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She was real, Frank, and that's what few people -are, nowadays."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked at her for a minute. "There's no doubt -that you are, Fancy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish I were. I'm only a drifter, Frank." She -kept on with her darning, not looking up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fancy, I want to do something for you. Won't -you let me help you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm all right, Frank. I told you I wanted to have -some fun before I settled down again. But if I ever -do need anything, I'll let you know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Promise me that—that whenever you want me, -you'll send for me, or come to me, Fancy!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked up into his eyes frankly. "I promise, -Frank. When I need you, I'll come."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was a blither spirit after that, till he took his -leave. It had been an eventful day for Francis -Granthope. He had swung round almost the whole circle of -emotions. But not quite.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-first-turning-to-the-left"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE FIRST TURNING TO THE LEFT</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>At five o'clock the next afternoon Blanchard Cayley -sitting at a window of his club, opening the letters -which he had just taken from his box in the office. -He had his hat on, a trait which always aroused the -ire of the older members. Beside him, upon a small -table, was a glass of "orange squeeze," which he -sipped at intervals.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At this hour there were some twenty members in the -large room reading, talking or playing dominoes. -Others came in and went out occasionally, and of these -more than half approached Cayley to say effusively: -"Hello, old man, how goes it?" or some such similarly -luminous remark. This was as offensive to Cayley -as the wearing of his hat in the club was to the old -men. Nothing annoyed him so much as to be interrupted -while reading his letters. Yet he always -looked up with a smile, and replied:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, so-so—what's the news?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To be sure, Cayley's mail to-day was not so -important that these hindrances much mattered. The -study of Esperanto was his latest fad. With several -Misses, Frauleins and Mademoiselles on the official list -of the "Esperantistoj," and whom he suspected of -being young and beautiful, he had begun a systematic -correspondence. The greater part of the answers he -received were dull and innocuous, written on -picture post-cards. From Odessa, from Siberia, Rio de -Janeiro, Cambodia, Moldavia and New Zealand such -missives came. Those which were merely perfunctory, -or showed but a desire to obtain a San Francisco -post-card for a growing collection, he threw into the -waste-basket. Others, whose originality promised a -flirtation more affording, he answered ingeniously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A man suddenly slapped him on the shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hello, Blanchard, have a game of dominoes?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, thanks."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come and have a drink, then."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, thanks, I'm on the wagon now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go to the devil."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Same to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man grinned and dropped into a big chair -opposite Cayley and lighted a cigar. Then his glance -wandered out of the window. Cayley put the bunch of -letters in his pocket and yawned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By Jove, there's a peach over there," said the man. -Cayley turned and looked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In front of the shoe store. See?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was standing, looking idly into the show -window—a figure in gray and red. Scarlet cuffs, scarlet -collar, scarlet silk gloves. Her form was trim and -her carriage jaunty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was Fancy Gray—drifting. She stood, hesitating, -and shot a glance up to the second story of -the club house where the men sat. She caught -Cayley's eye and smiled, showing her white teeth. Her -eyebrows went up. Then she turned down the street -and walked slowly away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say," said the man, "was that for you or for me, Blan?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I expect it must have been for me. Good day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Something doing? Well, good luck!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cayley walked briskly out of the room, got his hat, -and ran down the front steps. Fancy was already -half a block ahead of him, nearing Kearney Street. -He caught up with her before she turned the corner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've been looking for you for three weeks," he -began.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She paused and gave him a saucy smile. "You -ought to be treated for it," was her somewhat -elliptical reply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm afraid I am pretty slow, but I've got you now. -It seems to me you're looking pretty nimble."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really? I hope I'll do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fancy Gray, you'll indubitably do. Won't you -come to dinner with me somewhere, where we can talk?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I accept," said Fancy Gray.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you still with Granthope?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She hesitated for a second before replying. "No, -I left last week."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's the row?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, nothing, I got tired of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's not true," he said, looking into her eyes, -which had dimmed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cut it out then, I don't care to talk about it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I bet he didn't treat you square. He's too much -of a bounder."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At this her face flamed and she stopped suddenly on -the sidewalk, drawing herself away from him. -"Don't," she pleaded, "don't, please, or I can't go -with you—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He saw now what was in her eyes and put his hand -into her arm again. "Come along, little girl, I won't -worry you," he said gently. And they walked on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She recovered her spirits in a few moments, but the -sparkling of her talk was like the waves on the -surface of an invisible current sweeping her toward him. -It was too evident for him, used as he was to women, -not to notice it. She was a little embarrassed, and such -self-consciousness sat strangely on her face. Behind -that flashing smile and the quick glances of her eye -something slumbered, an emotion alien to such -debonair moods as was her wont to express, and as foreign -to the deeper secret feelings she concealed. Her -eyes had darkened to a deeper brown, the iris almost -as dark as the pupils. Cayley did, as she had said, -fascinate her. Whether the charm was most physical -or mental it would be hard to say, but her demeanor -showed that it partook of both elements. She gave -herself up to it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He began to play upon her. He took her arm -affectionately, and the tips of his fingers rested upon the -little, cool circle of her wrist above her gloves. She -did not remove his hand. His eyes sought hers again -and again, vanquishing them with his meaning glances. -Her pulse beat faster. She talked excitedly. A soft -wave of color swept up from her neck.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Suppose we dine at the 'Poodle Dog'?" he suggested.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm game," she replied; "I like a quiet place where -there's no music."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We can get a room up-stairs where we won't be -interrupted."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Anywhere for mine. I've got a blue bean and I'd -like to be cheered up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was cheered up to an unwonted pitch by the -time the dinner was over. As she sat, flushed, mettlesome -with wine, thrilling to his advances, he plied her -artfully, and she responded with less and less -discretion. She could not conceal her impulse towards -him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you think I'm pretty?" she asked, her eyes -burning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed you are—you're beautiful!" he said, his -hand resting on hers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I don't want to be beautiful—that's what you -are when you're queer and woozly—like the girls -Maxim paints," she pouted. "They're awful frights—they're -never pretty. I want to be just pretty, not -handsome or good-looking or anything apologetic -like that—that's what men call a girl when she can't -make good with her profile. You've got to tell me I'm -pretty, Blan, or I won't be satisfied."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You certainly are pretty," he laughed, as he filled -her glass.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That makes me almost happy again," she mused. -"Let's forget everything and everybody else in the -world. It's funny how I've been thinking about you -and wondering if I'd ever see you again. I had a good -mind to put a personal in the </span><em class="italics">Chronicle</em><span>. It seemed -to me as if I simply had to see you, all this week. -Wasn't it funny at Carminetti's? I guess I was -struck by lightning that time. You certainly did -wireless me. It's fierce to own up to it, Blan, but I -like you. I've stood men off ever since I was old -enough to know what they wanted, but you've got me -hypnotized. How did you do it?" She laughed -restlessly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, if I hadn't thought you were a little too thick -with Granthope, I would have looked you up before."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I haven't been there for a week. The wide, wide -world for mine, now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's pretty tough, to fire you after you'd been -with him for two years, isn't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't want to talk about that, really, Blan; it's -all right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He poured out another glass of champagne for her -and she drank it excitedly. Cayley still caressed her -free hand, but his eyes were not upon her; he was -thinking intently. She took his head in her two hands -and turned it gently in her direction.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There! </span><em class="italics">That's</em><span> where you want to look. Here is -Fancy, Blan, right here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see you. I was only thinking—do you know, you -look like the pictures of Cleopatra?" he suggested. -"Did you ever hear of Cleopatra, Fancy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed. "I guess I ought to—I played -Cleopatra once."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you really—where?—comic opera or vaudeville?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, never mind where—I made a hit all right." She -leaned back in her chair, clasping her hands behind -her head, smiling to herself. A tress of hair had -fallen across her ear; it did not mar her beauty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll bet you got every hand in the house, too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy became suddenly convulsed with giggles. She -sipped her glass and choked as she tried to swallow -the wine.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cayley passed this mysterious mirth without comment. -"Granthope looks as if he had been an actor, too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, we played together—but only as -amateurs." She smiled mischievously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cayley followed her up. "He has a fine presence; I -should think he'd be good at it. He has lots of women -running after him, hasn't he?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, he did have—women to throw at the birds—women -to warm up for supper—women to burn, and -he burned 'em, too. But he won't stand for them -now," said Fancy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's the matter? Is he stung?" He filled her -glass again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yep. He's cut 'em all out—even me. That's why -I'm here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But he works them, though?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no, Blan, Frank's straight, sure he is. He -doesn't graft any more. He hasn't for—some time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't believe that," said Cayley.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, of course, he investigates cases sometimes, but -he don't work with cappers the way he did. He's -going in for high society now, and he doesn't need to -do anything but wear a swallow-tail and get up on -his hind legs and drink tea."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Blanchard took a chance shot. "I hear he's trying -to marry a rich girl."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy, for the first time, seemed to come to herself. -She looked hard at Cayley.' "What are you driving -at, Blan? What do you want to talk about that for? -It's all off between me and Frank, but I'm not going -to knock him. He's all right, Frank is. I'd rather -talk about Me, please! Talk about Fancy, Blan, won't -you? Fancy's so tired of talking shop."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her elbow was upon the table and her little round -chin in her palm, as she looked at him under drooping, -languorous lids. "How pretty am I, Blan? Tell me! -There's nothing quite so satisfactory, after a good -dinner, as to hear how pretty you are."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked quizzically at her, and quoted: "'</span><em class="italics">Tout -repas est exquis qui a un baiser pour dessert</em><span>.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What does that mean, Blan? I don't understand -Dago talk."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It means that you're pretty enough to eat, and -I'm going to eat you," he replied, making a motion -toward her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She put him off gaily, but only as if to delay the -situation. "Oh, pshaw! haven't you had enough to -eat yet? That won't go with me, Blan; I've got to -have real eighteen carat flattery put on with a knife. -I can stand any amount of it. I love it! Whether you -mean it or not—I don't care, so long as it sounds -nice, I'll believe it. I'll believe anything to-night. -Now, how do you like my eyes, Blan?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He took a long, close look at them, then with an -amused smile he said: "Mountain lakes at sunset shot -with refracted fires. Or, electric light on -champagne—will that do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy pouted. "I knew a fellow once who told me -they were just like the color of stones in the bed of the -brook ... When I was up at Piedra Pinta, I looked -in a shallow part of the creek—where I could see my -reflection and the bottom at the same time..." Her -voice died off in a dreamy monotone; then she -looked up at him again sleepily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How about my nose?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Thy nose is as the tower of Lebanon which looketh -toward Damascus</em><span>," he quoted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Whatever does that mean?" She opened her eyes -as wide as she could. "Is my poor old nose as big as -that?" She felt of it solemnly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is straight and strong and full of character. -And </span><em class="italics">Thy lips are like a thread of scarlet, ... thy -teeth are like a flock of sheep ... which come up -from the washing; whereof every one bear twins</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's </span><em class="italics">very</em><span> swell, indeed," said Fancy, "is it -original?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed. "No. It's from one of the oldest -poems in the world."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd like to read that book." Fancy was getting -drowsy. "Tell me some more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Thine head upon thee is like Carmel...</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm glad we're getting into California at last."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">And the hair of thine head like purple;—</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shook her head, "Oh, no, don't call it purple, -please. Frank says it's Romanesque."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Thy neck is as a tower of ivory.</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's the </span><em class="italics">second</em><span> tower," said Fancy, closing her -eyes, "I guess that'll be about all for the towers. I -think I'd rather have you make it up as you go along. -It's more complimentary." She laid her head upon -her arms on the table. "My ears are really something -fierce, aren't they?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cayley touched them in investigation. "They're a -bit too small, of course, and they're very pink, but -they're like rosy sea-shells touched by the dawn."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy murmured softly: "'She sells sea-shells. She -shells sea-shells—She shells she shells'—say, I'm -getting woozly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She roused herself to laugh softly; her head drooped -again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I'll let you kiss them—once!" she whispered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm afraid I talked too much last night," she said -to him the next evening. "I hope I didn't say -anything, did if I didn't quite know what I was doing. -Funny how the red stuff throws you down!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no, you didn't give anything away. You're -pretty safe, for a woman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Coffee's what makes </span><em class="italics">me</em><span> talk," she said, "if you -ever want to make me loosen up, try about four small -blacks and I'll use up the dictionary."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He saw her nearly every day after that, but, even -with the aid of coffee, he was unsuccessful in his -attempts to make her more communicative. At the -mention of Granthope's name she froze into silence -or changed the subject.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A few days after the dinner he invited her across -the bay to Tiburon where Sully Maxwell had given -him the use of one of the dozen or more house-boats -anchored in the little harbor. Fancy was delighted at -the prospect of a day with him, and early on Sunday -morning she was ready at the ferry. As she waited -with her basket of provisions, saucily and picturesquely -dressed in a cheap outing costume of linen, Dougal -and Elsie came up to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hello, Queen," Dougal cried, and he shook both -her hands heartily, his round gargoyle face illuminated -with cordiality. "Where have you been all this time? -We'll have to try you for desertion. You haven't -abdicated, have you? We've been wanting to find you -and have you go up to Piedra Pinta with us. The -bunch is all up there now; Elsie and I were only just -able to get off. Can't you come along with us?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, do!" Elsie pleaded, putting her arm about -Fancy's slender waist.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I'm sorry, but I can't, really; I'm going to -Tiburon with Blanchard Cayley."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dougal's face clouded. "Say, what do you want to -run with that lobster for? You're altogether too -good for him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I guess I'm in love with him," said Fancy, still -holding Dougal's hand and looking up into his face -with a quaint expression.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You </span><em class="italics">aren't</em><span>!" they chorused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I am, I am; I'm sure I am!" she repeated -insistently. "I've liked him ever since the first time -I saw him. What's the use of pretending? Don't say -anything against him, please. I'm so happy—I'm -</span><em class="italics">perfectly</em><span> happy, Dougal." The tears came to her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know what'll happen," Dougal said, his pale -eyebrows drawn together. "He'll play with you for a -while, and then he'll throw you down hard as soon as -he's through with you, or another girl comes along."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I hope she won't show up for a good while," -said Fancy cavalierly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And when it's over?" said Elsie.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy dropped her eyes. "When it's over—I don't -know." She looked up. "When it's over I suppose -I'll sell apples on Market Street. What else will there -be for me to do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, don't; you frighten me," Elsie cried; "we're -all so fond of you, Fancy. Remember, we're your -friends, and we'd do anything to help you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy stooped down and kissed her. "Don't worry. -Elsie, I'm pretty lively yet. Only you know I don't -do things by halves. I suppose I take it rather -seriously."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Elsie stared at her. "You're so different."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Fancy'll get over this. She got over -Granthope all right, and she got over Gay Summer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The tears surged into Fancy's eyes again. "Don't -say that, Dougal. I'm no quitter. I don't get over -things. I may bury them and cake-walk over their -graves, but I don't forget my friends."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He grinned jovially and wrung her hand till she -winced, then he slapped her on the back. "Well, you -know where we are when you want us. We're with -you for keeps; you can't lose us, Fancy, remember -that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy squeezed his big hairy hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Elsie added, "But you'll be awfully talked about. -Fancy, do be careful."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will I?" said Fancy. "I don't care. If I like Blan -and he likes me, I don't care who knows it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you going to marry him?" Elsie ventured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He hasn't said anything about it—yet—but I'm -not thinking of that. All I want is for somebody -to love me. I'll be satisfied with that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're all right, Fancy; only I hope you're not in -for a broken heart," said Dougal.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just imagine Fancy with a broken heart!" Elsie -laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you don't believe me, but you will sometime."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy's eyes were not for them all this while. She -was watching the passengers approaching the ferry, -her glance darting from one to the other, scanning the -cable-cars which drew up at the terminus, questing up -toward Market Street, and along the sidewalks and -crossings.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you left Granthope?" Dougal inquired.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yep." Fancy, as usual, did not explain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why didn't you let us know where you were, -then?" he complained. "I was up to the place the -other day looking for you, and no one seemed to know -where you were."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy, still watching for Cayley, did not answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you got any money, Fancy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure!" she answered eagerly. "I have two -dollars here—do you want it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no!" he laughed. "I was going to offer you -some. If you're out of a job you must need it. I can -let you have twenty or so easy." He put his hand into -his pocket.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She hesitated for a moment, then she said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know but I could use it, Dougal, if you can -spare it as well as not."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm flush this week." He handed her a gold double -eagle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Granthope will lend me all I want, or I could get -it from Blanchard, but somehow I hate to take it from -them. Of course, it's all right, and they have plenty, -but I'd feel better borrowing of you, you know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's the best thing you've said yet," he said, -beaming on her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Dougal, tell her about the séance," said Elsie, -as Fancy put the money in her purse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes! I wanted to see you about a materializing -séance, Fancy. Do you know of a good one? We -want to go some night and see the spooks. The bunch -is going to have some fun with them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You want to look out for yourself, then. They -always have two or three bouncers, and they'll throw -you out if there's any row, you know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dougal grinned happily. "That's just what we -want. I haven't had a good scrap for months. Maxim -can handle three or four of them alone, while Benton, -Starr and I raise a rough house. We're going to go -early and get front seats."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was Fancy's turn to laugh. "You can't do it, -Dougal. You don't know the first rules of the game. -They always have their own crowd on the first two -rows, and they won't let you get near the spirits. They -only want believers, anyway. If you aren't careful, -they won't let you in at all; they'll say all the seats are -taken. You'd better go separately and sit in different -parts of the room, and spot the bouncers if you can."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, we'll handle them all right. Where's a good one?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy reflected a minute. "I think, perhaps, Flora -Flint is the best. She's a clever actress, and she always -has a crowd. It's fifty cents. Her place is on Van -Ness Avenue—I think her séances are on Wednesday -evenings—you'll find the notice in the papers. But -they're pretty smooth; they've had people try to break -up the show before. If you try to turn on the light or -grab any ghost, look out you don't get beaten up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you can trust us; we've got a new game," he -answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then, as the Sausalito boat was about to leave, they -bade Fancy a hurried farewell and ran for the -entrance to the slip. A few minutes after this -Blanchard Cayley appeared, put his arm through hers, and -they went on board the ferry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The harbor of Tiburon, in the northern part of San -Francisco Bay, is sheltered on the west by the -promontory of Belvedere, where pretty cottages climb the -wooded slopes, and on the south by Angel Island, with -its army barracks, hospital and prison. Here was huddled -a little fleet of house-boats or "arks," the farthest -outshore of which belonged to Sully Maxwell.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a queer collection of architectural amphibia, -these nautical houses floating in the bay. They were -of all sizes, some seemingly too small to stretch one's -legs in without kicking down a wall, others more -ambitious in size, with double decks and roof-gardens. -There were all grades and quality as well; some even -had electric lights and telephone wires laid to the shore. -Here, free from rent, taxes or insurance, the little -summer colony dwelt, and the rowboats of butcher, -baker and grocer plied from one to another. It was late -in the season now, however, and only a few were -occupied. A little later, when the rains had set in, they -would all be towed into their winter quarters to -hibernate till spring.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cayley conducted Fancy Gray down to the end of -a wharf where the skiff was moored, in the care of a -boatman, and after loading the provisions and supplies -he had purchased at the little French restaurant by the -station, he rowed her out to the </span><em class="italics">Edyth</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The bay was cloudless and without fog. The -September sun poured over the water and sparkled from -every tiny wave-top, the breeze was a gentle, easterly -zephyr. Cayley seemed younger in the open air, and -all that was best in him came to the surface. He was -almost enthusiastic. Fancy was in high feather. As -she sat in the stern of the skiff and trailed her hand -in the salt water, he watched her with almost as much -pride as had Gay P. Summer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She climbed rapturously aboard, unlocked the front -room and filled it with her gleeful exclamations of -delight. Then she popped into the tiny kitchen and -gazed curiously at the neat, shining collection of -cooking-utensils and the gasoline stove. She danced out -again, to circle round the narrow railed deck. Finally -she pulled a steamer chair to the front porch and -flopped into it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm never going to leave this place," she cried. "It's -just like having a deserted island all to yourself. I -feel like a new-laid bride. Let's hoist a white flag."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cayley, meanwhile, put the provisions on the kitchen -table and came out to be deliciously idle with her—but -she could not rest. She was up and about like a -bee, humming a gay tune. She went into the square, -white sitting-room to inspect everything that was there, -commenting on each object. She sat in every chair and -upon the table as well. She tried a little wheezy -melodeon with a snatch of rag-time. She criticized every -picture, she cleaned the mirror with her handkerchief, -then went out to wash it in salt water and hang it on a -line to dry. She read aloud the titles of all the -books, she opened and shut drawers, and peeped into a -little state-room with bunks and was lost there for five -minutes. When she came out again, her copper hair -was braided down her back and she had on a white -ruffled apron.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm going to cook dinner," she announced.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cayley smiled at her enthusiasm. "I don't believe -you can do it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She insisted, and he followed her into the kitchen to -watch her struggles. She succeeded in setting the -table without breaking more than one plate, and then -she filled the tea-kettle with fresh water from the -demi-john. After that she looked helplessly at Cayley.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How do you shell these tins?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"With a can-opener."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She tried for a few moments, biting her lip and -pinching her finger in the attempt. Then she turned -to him coaxingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You do it, Blan, please."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had it open in a minute. She unwrapped the -steak, put it into a frying-pan, unbuttered, and began -to struggle with the stove. After she had lighted a -match timidly, she said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm awfully afraid it'll explode."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He took her in his arms and lifted her to the table, -where she sat swinging her legs, her hands in her -apron pockets.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Confess you don't know a blessed thing about -housework or cooking!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course I don't. What do you take me for? I've -lived in restaurants and boarding-houses all my -life—how should I know? But I thought it was easier than -it seems to be. I suppose you have to have a knack -for it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll show you." He took the apron from her, -tying it about his own waist. With the grace of a -chef he set about the preparations for dinner. He -lighted the stove, he put potatoes in the oven to roast, -he heated a tin of soup, washed the lettuce, broiled the -steak, cut the cranberry pie and made a pot full of -coffee.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They sat down at the table with gusto and made -short work of the refreshments. Fancy was a little -disappointed that they couldn't drop a line over the -side of the boat and fry fish while they were fresh and -wriggling, but she ate her share, nevertheless. She -drank cup after cup of coffee and took a cigarette or -two, sitting in blissful content, listening to the -</span><em class="italics">cluck-cluck</em><span> of water plashing lazily against the sides of the -boat. While they were there still lingering at the table, -the ferry-boat passed them. The ark careened on the -swell of the wake, rising and falling, till the water -was spilled from the glasses, and the dishes lurched -this way and that. Fancy screamed with delight at the -motion. For some minutes the hanging lamp above -their heads swung slowly to and fro.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All that sunny, breezy afternoon she sat happily, -chattering on the front platform, watching the yachts -that passed out into the lower bay, the heavily laden -ferry-boat that rocked them deliciously in its heaving -wake, and the rowboats full of Sunday excursionists, -who hailed them with slangy banter. She watched -the little red-tiled cottages at Belvedere. She watched -the holiday couples walk the Tiburon beach, past the -wreck of the </span><em class="italics">Tropic Bird</em><span>, now transformed into a -summer home. She watched the mauve shadow -deepen over Mount Tamalpais and the gray city of San -Francisco looming to the south in a pearly haze. She -was drenched by the salt air and burned by the -sunshine; a permanent glow came to her cheeks, her -brown eyes grew wistful. She talked incessantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cayley amused her all day with his jests and stories. -That he was too subtle for her did not matter. She -listened as attentively to his explanations of the set -forms of Japanese verse as she did to his mechanical -love-making. Cayley was not of the impetuous, -hot-blooded type—he preferred the snare to the arrow—his -was the wile of the serpent that charms the bird and -makes it approach, falteringly, step by step, to fall into -his power; but his system, if mathematically accurate, -was also artistic. Fancy's devotion to him was -undisguised—he did not need his art. It was she who -was spontaneous, frank and affectionate. He only -added a few flourishes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you love me, Blan?" she asked, warming to him -as the sun went down.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, of course I do; haven't I been apodictically -adoring you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked at him, bewildered. "I thought there -was something queer about it; perhaps that's it. But -you haven't called me 'dear' once."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I've called you 'Nepenthe' and 'Chloe'." He -looked down at her patronizingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Darling' is good enough for me—I guess I like -the old-fashioned words best, dear," she whispered -shyly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He quoted:</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Some to the fascination of a name</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Surrender judgment hoodwinked,"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>and laughed to himself at the appositeness of -Cowper's lines.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, you know some lovely poetry, Blan, but -I'm afraid I'm not poetical. I like the things they say -in songs,—things I can understand. I'd rather hear -slang—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'The illegitimate sister of poetry—'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked up at him blankly. Then she sighed and -turned her eyes off to the darkling water.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No one ever made love to suit me, somehow—men -are queer—they're so blind—they seem to know so -little about the things that mean a lot to a woman." She -shivered. "It's getting chilly, isn't it. I'm cold."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shall I get you a wrap?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She took his arm and placed it about her shoulder. -"That'll do," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fancy, you are adorable—you're absolutely -complete. You're unique—you're a nonpareille!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd rather be a peach," she confessed, snuggling -closer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are, Fancy—a clingstone! I'd like to kiss you -to death."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, </span><em class="italics">that's</em><span> the stuff!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sorry you don't appreciate my compliments," -he remarked, after this little episode.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm afraid I don't. I'm sorry I'm not intellectual, -Blan, but I'd rather have you call me a 'damn fool' -if you said it lovingly, than have you say pretty things -I can't understand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right, then, you're a damn fool!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed happily. "Thank you, Blan, dear, that -was nice! I believe you're improving."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, if you prefer Anglo-Saxon, I'll call you a piece, -a jade, baggage, harridan, hussy, minx—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, but you must put 'dear' at the end, you know, -to show that you're not in earnest."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll try to remember."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy went on:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's wonderful to be out here, all alone with you on -the water, cut off from everything. It satisfies me -gorgeously—it's like the taste of ice-cream to a hungry -little kid. I remember how I used to long for it. I -was awfully poor and lonely once. I believe I'm happy -now. What do you think it is, Blan, you or the -coffee? Don't you want to hold my hand? Let's just -sit here and forget things—but I haven't very much -to forget, have I? I'd like to read books and know -some of the things you do—but it's too late now—I -guess I'll always be ign'ant."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I'll teach you all the things you want to know," -he said condescendingly. "You're good material and -you'd learn quickly. I could make a wonder out of you -with a little training. I'll give you lessons if you -like."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I accept," said Fancy Gray.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then she added:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't expect you'll love me very long, Blan, but -you must make up for it by loving me as much as you -can. That's where I can teach you. Men aren't -faithful like women are—I'm glad I'm a woman, Blan."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm glad you are," he echoed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The night fell, and they began reluctantly to make -preparations for their departure. While Cayley was -busy in the kitchen, packing up a basket to be -returned, Fancy went into the little white state-room to -do her hair and put on her wrap.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she came out she noticed a little card-tray in -the corner of the living-room, and idly turned the -names over, one by one. Of a sudden her hand fell, -and her eyes were fixed intently upon a card that had -just come into sight. It bore the legend:</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>MR. FRANCIS GRANTHOPE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>She threw herself upon the couch by the window and -broke into sobs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say, Fancy! It's after seven o'clock," Cayley -called to her from the kitchen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stumbled to her feet and went out on deck, -dipped her handkerchief in the salt water and bathed -her eyes. Cayley came out just as she finished. It -was too dark, now, to notice her expression.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They took the rowboat which had been nuzzling -alongside the flank of the ark all day, made for the -shore and went aboard the steamer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was crowded with Sunday picnickers, who came -trooping on in groups, singing, the girls flushed and -sunburned with hair distraught and dusty shoes; the -men in jovial, uncouth disarray in canvas and in -corduroy, like tramps and vagabonds, laden with ferns -and flowers. Hunters, with guns and dogs, tramped -aboard; fishermen, with rods and baskets; tired -families, lagging, whining, came in weary procession. -Both decks of the boat were crowded. A brass band -struck up a popular air. The restaurant, the bar and -the bootblack stand all did a great business.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cayley and Fancy Gray went to the upper deck for a -last draft of the summer breeze. As they sat there, -talking little, watching the throng of uneasy passengers, -Fancy called his attention to a couple sitting opposite.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a strangely assorted pair, the girl and the -man. She was about twenty years of age, with a -pretty, earnest, freckled face and a modest air. She -was talking happily, with undisguised fondness, to the -young man beside her. His face was hideous, without -a nose. In its place was a livid scar and a depression -perforated by nostrils that made his appearance -malign. He wore nothing to conceal the mutilation, -shocking as it was. His manner toward the girl was -that of a lover, devoted and tender.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you ever see anything so awful?" said Fancy. -"And isn't she terribly in love with him though! I -know who she is; her name is Fleurette Heller. She -came into Granthope's studio once and I took a -great liking to her. Frank told her that her love affair -would come out all right, and she'd be happier than she -ever was in her life before."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't see how she can endure that object," said -Cayley.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you?" said Fancy, "that's because you don't -know women. She's in love with him. I understand -it perfectly. I wouldn't care a bit how he looked."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She nodded, as she spoke, to a man who passed -just then. He was dark-skinned, with a pointed beard. -He gave her a quick jerk of the head and grinned, -showing a line of yellow teeth, and his glance jumped -with the rapidity of machinery from her face to -Cayley's, and away again. He walked on, his hands -behind his back against a coat so faded and shiny as to -glow purple as a plum.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy's eyes followed him. "That's Vixley," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cayley's look turned from a pretty blonde across the -way and he became immediately attentive. "Who's -Vixley?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Professor Vixley, the slate-writer, you know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes—he's a medium, is he? What sort is he?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shook her head. "Wolf! He makes me sick. -I'm afraid of him, too. He's out after Granthope with -a knife, and I'm afraid he'll do for him some day. -Frank ought never to have stood in with him, but you -know he used to live with a friend of this man's when -he was little, and they've got a hold on him he can't -break very well."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They know things about him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, in a way. Before he braced up. He's square -now, and he's trying to shake that bunch. Poor old -Frank!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cayley pulled at his mustache. "I wish I had -noticed Vixley."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I'd like to see him, that's all. He must be a -pretty clever fakir. Of course he isn't straight?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As a bow-knot," said Fancy, "but if he amuses -you, I'll introduce you to him. I've got a pretty good -stand-in with him, yet." She smiled sadly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Suppose you do. I'd like to hear him talk."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right," said Fancy. They rose and walked in -the medium's direction, encountering him on the -foreward deck. He was holding his hat against the fresh -breeze and gazing at the approaching lights of the -city. The meeting was somewhat constrained at first. -Vixley seemed to be embarrassed at Cayley's -aristocratic appearance, and evidently wondered what his -motive was in being introduced. Cayley, however, was -sufficiently a man of the world to be able to put the -medium at his ease. He told stories, he made jokes, -and gradually drew Vixley out. The wolf talked -gingerly, making sure of his ground, his little black eyes -shifting from one to the other, whether he spoke or -listened. Cayley held him cleverly until the crowd -began to descend, making ready for the disembarkation. -They went down to the lower deck. Here the -crowd had begun to pack together into a close mass, -jostling, joking, singing—all sorts and conditions of -men in a common holiday mood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cayley managed so that Fancy went ahead, and, -with some dexterous manoeuvering, allowed two or -three persons to pass between himself and her. -Vixley was just behind him, when Cayley turned and said -quickly:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can you meet me at the Hospital Saloon at ten -o'clock to-night?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What for?" the Professor demanded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Important—something about Payson. It is -decidedly to your advantage to see me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll be there!" A light gleamed behind Vixley's -shrewd black eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The two squirmed their way to where Fancy was -standing, and accompanied her off the boat. At the -entrance to the ferry building the medium took his leave. -Cayley and Fancy had dinner together, after which, -urging an engagement, he put her aboard her car -and walked down Market Street to the "Hospital."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vixley was there, waiting for him, sitting at a side -table, regarding an enormous painting of a nude over -the bar. His quick eye caught Cayley as he entered -and drew him on. For the rest of the interview they -did not leave the young man's face.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-first-turning-to-the-right"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE FIRST TURNING TO THE RIGHT</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"All I got to say is this," said Madam Spoll, "if you -know what's best for yourself, you won't make no -enemies."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I scarcely think you can hurt me much," said Granthope, -losing interest in the discussion, as he saw he -could make no way with her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We can't, can't we? We know a whole lot more -about you than you'd care to have told, Frank Granthope. -Since I seen you last, things have developed with -Payson, and now we're in a position to say to you, -look out for yourself. Payson's stock has went up -some. We've got inside information that's valuable."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you don't need me, surely."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We need you to keep your mouth shut, if nothing -else."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean not to tell Mr. Payson anything? I -would if I thought I could make him listen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell </span><em class="italics">him</em><span>? Lord, you can tell him till you're black -in the face, and he wouldn't believe it—not till you tell -him where we got our information. Why, if he -caught me at the keyhole of his room, he wouldn't -suspect anything. We've got the goods to deliver this -time, don't you fool yourself. Payson's a ten-to-one -shot all right. All we want to be sure of now is the -girl you're trying to marry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not trying to marry her," said Granthope bitterly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's lucky for you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?" he demanded suspiciously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madam Spoll spoke very slowly and deliberately -without asperity, "Because if you </span><em class="italics">should</em><span> be fool -enough to try it on your own hook without helping -us out in our game, why, we'd have to show you up -to her. I know a little too much about you, Frank -Granthope, for you to throw me down as easy as that. -You can't exactly set yourself up for a saint, you -know; there's the Bennett affair and one or two more -like it. Then, again, there's Fancy Gray and several -others like </span><em class="italics">that</em><span>. It'll add up to a pretty tidy scandal, -if the Payson girl should happen to hear about it all; -and if not her, there's others that it won't do you any -good to have know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, -looking calmly at the medium. Her face was as placid -and unwrinkled as his. She showed not the slightest -trace of vindictiveness, talking as though discussing -some impersonal business arrangement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I am to understand that you threaten me -with blackmail?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Black, white or yellow, any color you like." She -made a deprecatory gesture, "But I don't -put it that way myself; all I do say is, that it's -for your interest to leave us alone. You know as well -as I do that we can put the kibosh on your business, -if we want to. We've got a pretty good gang to work -with, and when we pass the word round and hand you -the double-cross, you won't read many more palms at -five per, not in this town you won't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled. "That's all a bluff. You can't expose -me without giving yourself away as well."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What have we got to lose? We could get the old -man back any time we gave him a jolly. You can't -bust up our business—too many suckers in town for -that. Lord, I've been exposed till I grew fat on it. -But we can break </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>, Frank Granthope; we can bust -your business and queer you with this swell push, -easy, not to speak of Clytie Payson."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, then," said Granthope, rising and taking his -hat, "go ahead and do it! We might just as well -settle this thing now. Smash my business—I don't -care; I wish you would! Ruin any social ambition -I may be fool enough to have—it'll serve me right for -caring for such nonsense. Tell Miss Payson all you -know—it'll save me the shame of telling her myself. -God knows I wish she did know it! I'm getting sick -of the whole dirty game."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madam Spoll, completely taken aback by his unexpected -change of base, stood with a sneer on her face, -watching him. "You ought to go on the stage, Frank -Granthope—you almost fooled me for a minute," she -said with an ironic smile. "I fully expected you to say -you had joined the Salvation Army next, and had come -around here to save me from hell. So you've got -religion, have you? You'd look well in a white -necktie, you would! And your inside pocket full of mash -notes!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," he said, walking to the door, "you've had -your say and I've had mine. You can believe what you -please, but when you do think it over, you may -recall the fact that I usually mean what I say."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This was the end of the interview. Madam Spoll, -at Vixley's instigation, had sent for Granthope and -had "put on the screws." Granthope walked back to -his rooms in a brown study. He was at bay now, and -there seemed to be no escape for him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The red-headed office boy was whistling and whittling -a pencil lazily at Fancy's desk as the palmist -entered. There was no one else in the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Has anybody been here, Jim?" Granthope asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim looked up carelessly and replied, "Dere was a -lady what blew in about a half an hour ago and she -told me she might float back."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who was she?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She wouldn't leave no name, but she was a kissamaroot -from Peachville Center all right. She looked -like she was just graduated from a French laundry. -She left dese gloves here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He handed over a pair of long, immaculately white -gloves, which were lying on a chair. Granthope -looked at them carefully, blew one out till it took the -form of a hand and then inspected the wrinkles.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," he said. "Tell Miss Payson to come into my -studio when she comes back."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say, Mr. Granthope, who's Miss Gray? De lady -wanted to know where was Miss Gray, and I told -her she could search me, for I wasn't on. She looked -like she took me for a shine to be holdin' down de desk -here; dat's right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope walked quickly into his studio without -answering.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He seated himself thoughtfully and looked about -him, still holding the white glove caressingly in his -hand. His eye traveled from the electric-lighted table, -round the black velvet arras, to the panel where the -signs of the zodiac were embroidered in gold: then -his eyes closed. He sat silent for ten minutes or so, -then he drew his hand through his heavy black hair -and across his brow. His eyes opened; he arose; a -faint whimsical smile shone on his face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then, still smiling, he strode deliberately across the -room, grasped the black velvet hanging and gave it a -violent tug, wrenching it from the cornice. It fell -in a soft, dark mass upon the floor. He seized the next -breadth of drapery, and the next, tearing them from -the wall. So he went calmly round the room in his -work of destruction, disclosing a widening space of -horribly-patterned wall-paper—pink and yellow roses -writhing up a violently blue background. On the -last side of the room two windows appeared, the glass -almost opaque with dust.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He threw up a sash; a shaft of sunshine shot in, -and, falling upon the velvet waves upon the floor, -changed them to dull purple. In that ray a universe of -tiny motes danced radiantly. A current of air set -them in motion and swept them from the room through -the window into the world outside.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And, as he stood there, his face like that of a child -who had released a toy balloon, watching that beam of -yellow light, Clytie Payson opened the door of the -studio and looked in at him. She appeared suddenly, -like a picture thrown vividly upon a screen. She saw -Granthope before he saw her, and, for a moment, she -stood gazing. His pose was eloquent; he was, in his -setting, almost symbolistic—she needed no explanation -of what had happened. Then, it was as if some -tense cord snapped in her mind, and she threw herself -forward, no longer the dreamer, but the actor, giving -free rein to her emotion.</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 70%" id="figure-95"> -<span id="his-pose-was-eloquent"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="His pose was eloquent" src="images/img-360.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">His pose was eloquent</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned and caught sight of her. Her hands were -outstretched, her eyes were burning with a new fire, -as if her smoldering had burst into flame.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh! You have done it! I knew you would!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He gave her his two hands in hers, nodding his -head slowly; his smile was that of one who viewed -himself impersonally, looking on at his own actions. -He did not speak. A quaint humor struggled in his -mind with the intensity of the situation. Something -in him, also, had snapped, and he was self-conscious in -his new rôle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She clutched his hands excitedly, and lifted her eyes -up to his, with a new, unabashed fondness burning in -them. She had thrown away all her reserves.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's magnificent!" she said. "Oh, how I have -longed for this! How I have waited for it! And -now, how I admire—and love you for it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her face was so near his that, like an electric spark, -the flash of eagerness darted from one to the other. -He felt the shock of emotion tingling his blood. It -swept his mind from control and flooded his will with -an irresistible desire for her. He saw that she was -ready for him, willing to be won. He took her in his -arms and kissed her softly, but gripping her almost -savagely in his embrace.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you mean it?" he cried. "Do you love me, -really? I can't believe it! It's too much for me. -Tell me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She released herself gently, still looking up at him -and smiling frankly. "Didn't you know? You, who -know so much of women? I thought you understood -me as I have understood you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He still held her, as if he feared he could never get -her again so close, and she went on:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I would never have told you, if you had gone -on as you were going, though I should always have -loved you—I could never have helped that. But now, -after this crisis, this victory—I know what it all -means—I </span><em class="italics">must</em><span> tell you! Why shouldn't I? It is true, and -I am not ashamed to be the first to speak. Yes, I love -you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The reaction came, his sight grew dark at the -thought of his unworthiness, and he freed her, putting -her away slowly. Then, as if to resist any temptation, -he clasped his hands behind his back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't stand it!" he exclaimed. "It isn't fair for -me to let you say that. Don't say it yet. Wait till -I have told you what I am. Then you will despise -me, and hate me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never!" she said firmly. "Do you think I don't -know you? I am sure. It is impossible for you to -surprise me. Whatever you have been or done, it will -make no difference—for better or for worse. Of -course, I can't know all the circumstances of your life, -but I feel that I am sure of your motives—I may know -an ideal 'you,' but, if that is not what you are now, it is -what you are to be. It is that 'you' that I love—all -the rest is dead, I hope." She swept her eyes about -the barren room, and her hand went out in comprehensive -gesture. "Surely all this can't mean anything less -than that? You are not one for compromise or -half-measures. You have burned your bridges, haven't -you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes," he said. "I don't intend to do things -half-way. But it's not a pretty story I have to tell. It's -selfish, sordid, vulgar."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I know something of it, already. Mr. Cayley -has told me about that Bennett affair, for he -suspected, somehow, that you were implicated in it. And -I have guessed more. You needn't be afraid. But -you had better tell me as much as you can—not for -my sake, but for your own. Then it will all be over, -and we can begin fresh."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She dropped to a seat on the couch and leaned -languidly against the cushions, clasping her hands in her -lap. He scarcely dared look at her, and walked -nervously up and down the room, dreading the inevitable -ordeal. For a while he did not speak, then he turned -swiftly to say:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Positively, I don't know where to begin!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You would better begin at the beginning, then—with -Madam Grant."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You suspected that, then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was that suspicion that has drawn me to you. I -should never have begun to love you without that, -perhaps. It seemed to justify my growing feeling for -you. Haven't I hinted at that often enough? I mean -that in some way we had been connected before. You -</span><em class="italics">were</em><span> the little boy who disappeared when she died, -weren't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, of course."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I can't make it out! There was never any -child there when I went, though I was conscious of -some secret presence—some one invisible."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was locked in the closet—I watched you through -a crack in the door."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" Her eyes widened with a full direct stare; -her breath came quickly at the revelation. He watched -her, as her expression was transmuted from bewilderment -to the beginning of an agonized disillusion. He -could not bear it, as he saw that her mind was -hastening to the explanation, and he forestalled her next -question by his ruthless confession.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course, that's the way I was able to give you that -very wonderful clairvoyant reading—the picture of you -in Madam Grant's room."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She took the blow bravely, but it was evident that -she had not been quite ready for it. "Then you are -really not clairvoyant at all? You were simply -imposing on my credulity? I want to know the exact -truth, so that we can straighten matters out." She -spoke slowly, hesitatingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I told you it was a ghastly story—this is the least -of it," he said, wincing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The smile fluttered back to her quivering lips, and -with a quick impulse she rose, went to him again and -clasped his hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I'm not making it easy for you!" she cried. -"Forgive me, please. I can bear anything you -say—be sure of that, won't you? Come here!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She drew him down to the couch beside her, still -keeping his hand in hers. "This is better," she said -softly. "Don't think of me as an inquisitor, but as a -friend. What you have been can not matter any -longer. But let us have no more deceit or reserve -between us. You see, I don't quite understand yet -about that day. How did you know who I was? -How did you get my name?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He summoned his courage as for an operation -desperately necessary, and looked her straight in the eye.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That was a trick. I read 'Clytie' inside your ring."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She took it without flinching. "But my last -name—that wasn't there!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, that was inspiration; I can't explain it. You -see, I had happened to hear the name 'Payson' that -morning, and it recalled the fact that I had seen it -before upon a picture in Madam Grant's bedroom. Your -father's name, 'Oliver Payson,' it was."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In Madam Grant's room? How strange! I don't -understand that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nor I, either. Yet you say he knew her?" queried -Granthope.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Only slightly, so he gave me to understand, at -least—still, that may not be true. He may have his -reasons for not telling more." She turned to him -with a strange, deliberate, questing expression, and -said, "Who </span><em class="italics">are</em><span> you, anyway?" Then, "Was Madam -Grant your mother?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know. I've often suspected that it might -be so, but somehow I don't quite believe it. I don't, -at least, </span><em class="italics">feel</em><span> it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why did you run away?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just before she died she asked me to take some -money she had and to keep it safe. I hid it and ran -away because I was afraid that they'd find it and take -it away from me. I went to Stockton and carried -the package to a bank, but they frightened me with -their questions and I ran away without any explanations. -Of course it's lost, and it was, as I remember it, -a big sum, some thousands. I could never prove that -I left it there, for my name wasn't on the package of -bills. I had written some false name—I forget what. -I never let any one know that I had lived with -Madam Grant, after that, for fear that I should be -accused of having stolen the money. My story would -never have been believed, of course."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see." Clytie's eyes half closed in thought. "I'm -sure it was meant for you, Francis."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The sound of his name stirred him and his hand -tightened on hers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps so. But I've always thought that she -intended it for some of her kin. It has been -impossible for me to trace any of her family, though. -All I know about her is that she was at Vassar -College, but I can't possibly identify her, because Grant -was undoubtedly a name she assumed here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We must try to see what we can do, you and I. -Perhaps I may be able to help you, somehow. What -happened after that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I worked at odd jobs in the country for a number -of years, then came back to San Francisco. There I -did anything I could get to do till I met Madam Spoll. -She was a medium, and is yet. I lived with her -several years."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he had torn down the draperies of that dark, -mysterious room, he went on, now, to tear down the -curtain of shams and hypocrisies that had hidden his -true self from her and from her kind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That was the beginning of a long education in -trickery. I was surrounded by charlatans and impostors, -I was taught that the public was gullible and that -it liked to be fooled—that it would be fooled, whether -we did it or not; and that we might benefit by its -credulity as well as any one else. There was sophistry -enough, God knows, in their miserable philosophy, but -I was young and was for a while taken in by it. I -had no other teachers; I had only the example of the -colony of fakirs about me. I saw our victims comforted -and encouraged by the mental bread-pills we fed -them. So we played on their weakness and vanity -without scruple. I learned rapidly. I was cleverer -than my teachers; I went far ahead of them. I -invented new tricks and methods. But it was too easy. -There was scarcely any need of subtlety or finesse. -The most primitive methods sufficed. You have no -idea how easily seemingly intelligent persons can be -led once they are past the first turning. That was -finally why I got out of it and went into palmistry. -That had, at least, a basis of science, and a dignified -history."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He arose again and walked to the open window. -His self-consciousness was a little relieved by his -interest in the analysis. He looked out, and turned back -to her with a grim smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's in the air, here—the gambling instinct is -paramount!" he said. "Almost everybody gambles in -San Francisco. You know that well enough. You -can almost hear the rattle of the slot-machines on the -cigar-stand at the corner, down there. It's that way -all over town. The gold-fever has never died out. -Every one speculates or plays the races or bets on ball -games or on the prize-fights, or plays faro or poker or -bridge—or, at least, makes love. They're all -superstitious, all credulous, all willing to take risks and -chances, and so the mediums thrive. Tips are sought -for and paid for. Every one wants to get rich quickly -and not always scrupulously. It's not a city of healthy -growth; it's a town of surprises, of magic and -madness and rank enthusiasms. We pretended to show -them the short cuts to success, that's all. You know, -perhaps, how the money-getting ability can eclipse -all other faculties, and you won't be surprised when I -tell you that we made large sums from men of wealth -and prominence—they were the easiest of the lot, -usually."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She brought him back to his story. "Of course I -understood from what I heard, that you had been an -accomplice of these mediums. I don't think you need -to go into that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you don't know all! It will sicken you to have -me go into the actual details, but I want you to know -the worst. I think I must tell you, lest others may. -One picture will be enough to make you see how vulgar -and despicable I had become in that epoch. You'd -never get to the sordidness of it unless I told you in -so many words. Do you think you can stand it? You -may not want ever to know me again. God! I don't -know whether I </span><em class="italics">can</em><span> tell you or not! It's terrible to -have to sully you with the description of it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment she faltered, gazing at him, trembling. -Her eyes sought his and left them, often, as she spoke. -"You don't mean—I've heard that some of these -mediums—the vilest of them—don't hesitate to—take -advantage of the sensual weakness of their patrons—that -they—Oh, don't tell me that you ever had any -part in </span><em class="italics">that</em><span>!" She covered her face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He walked over to her and pulled her hands away, -looking down into her eyes. "Do you think I would -ever have kissed you if I had?" he said. "No, there -were depths I didn't fall to, after all. Oh, I've had my -way with women often enough; but not that way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She threw off her fears with a gesture of relief, -and her mood changed. "I believe you. But don't -tell me any more, please. I think I know, in a way, -just about what you were capable of, and some things -I couldn't bear to think about. But my reason has -always fought against my intuition whenever I suspected -you of any real dishonor. Thank Heaven I shall never -have to do so again! I think I was wise enough to -see how, in all this, you had the inclinations without -the opportunities for better things. You were a -victim of your environment. Spare me any more. I -can't bear to see you abase yourself so. I am so sure -you have outlived all this. It's all over. I have told -you that I love you. I shall always love you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He yearned for her—for the peace and support that -she could give him at this crisis, but his pride was too -hot, yet, for him to accept it; he had not finished his -confession. She was still on a pedestal—he admired -and respected her, but she was above his reach. He -could not quite believe that hint in her eyes, for her -halo blinded him. She was still princess, seeress, -goddess—not yet a woman he could take fearlessly to his -arms. His hesitation at her advances, therefore, was -reluctant, almost coy. He did not wish to take her -from her niche; he must first receive absolution. -After that—he dared not think. She had allured him in -the first stages of his acquaintance, she still allured -him; but her spiritual attributes dominated him. "I -think I am another man, now," he said, "but my -repentance is scarcely an hour old. It is too young; it -has not yet proved itself. It's not fair for me to -accept all you can give for the little I can return. I -must meet you as an equal."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked at him calmly. "It is more than a few -hours old," she said. "Do you think I don't know? -What I first saw in you I have watched grow ever -since. I told you all I could; it was not for me to help -you more. It was for you to help yourself—to -develop from within. I think you were all ready for -me, and I came at the psychological moment." She -looked around the room from which the sunlight had -now retreated, leaving it shadowy and dim. The hangings -of black velvet were scattered about the floor, the -little table and its two chairs were like a group of -skeletons, empty, satiric, suggestive of past vanities. -"'What is to come is real; it was a dream that -passed,'" she quoted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He found a new courage and a new hope. It shone -in his eyes, it tingled in his body; something of his -old audacity returned. He stood dark and strong -before her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you have helped, indeed!" he said. "I think -this would never have come alone, for I was sunk in -an apathy—and yet, I'm not sure. The old life was -no longer possible. I confess that I was in a trap, -threatened with exposure—I feared your discovery of -what I had been—I smarted under the shame of your -disapproval—but it was not that that influenced me. -It was like a chemical reaction, as all human -intercourse is; you precipitated all this deceit and -hypocrisy at one stroke and left my mind clear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm so glad you feel it that way," Clytie said. "It -brings us together, doesn't it? It lessens the debt you -would owe me." Her eyelids crinkled in a delicious -expression of humor, as she added, "And it makes this -place seem a little less like a Sunday-school room!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I suppose many a man has refused to reform -for fear of being considered a prig!" he laughed. "But -I haven't swept out all the corners yet. I must finish -cleaning house before I invite you in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why should we talk about it any more?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But it isn't all over!" he exclaimed. "I haven't -told everything. It's all over, so far as I am -concerned—I shall not go back—but now you are involved -in it. Could anything drag me lower than that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Only that, because of my fault in not warning -you before, your father has already become the latest -dupe for this gang of fakirs. I'm afraid he's in their -power. Hasn't he told you anything about it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A little. What is there to fear from them?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course, it's only his money they're after. They -have got hold of considerable information about -him—I don't know just how or what—and they have -succeeded in hoodwinking him into a belief that they -have supernatural powers. I'm afraid it's no use for -me to attempt to expose them. He'd never believe -anything I could say."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, that's useless. He has taken a violent -prejudice against you, for some reason."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, the reason is easy to find. I've made enemies -of Madam Spoll and Vixley, and they have probably -done their best to hurt my reputation. They made -me a proposition to join them; in fact, their scheme -was for me to work you for information—make love -to you, in order to help them rob your father."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie looked at him trustfully. "You can never -convince me that that was the reason why you were -attracted to me, for I shall not believe you!" She -patted his hand affectionately, as he sat at her feet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He shook his head. "I don't know—I wouldn't be -sure it wasn't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, I know you better!" She grew blithe, and a -mischievous smile appeared on her lips. Her eyes -twinkled as she said archly: "Perhaps I may say -that I know myself better, too. I'm vainer than you -seem to think, and you're not at all complimentary. -Don't you think—don't you think that—perhaps—I -myself had something to do with your attentions to -me?" She put her head on one side and looked at him -with mock coquetry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His eyes feasted upon her beauty. "I won't be -banal enough to say that you are different from every -woman I have ever known, or that you're the only -woman I ever loved, though both of those things -are true enough. If I had ever loved any other -woman, probably I should feel just the same about -you as I do now. But no woman has ever stirred me -mentally before. You have given me myself—nobody -else could ever have done that. I have nothing to -give you in return—nothing but twenty-odd mistaken, -misspent years."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And how many more to be wonderfully filled, I -wonder? You're only a child, and I must teach -you. Can you trust me? Remember that I knew you -when you were a little boy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wonder what will become of me? I suppose I -shall get on somehow. It doesn't interest me much -yet, but I suppose it will have to be considered. I'll -fight it out alone." He looked up suddenly. "When -do you go East?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled. "I came down here to tell you that I -should leave on Saturday."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He jumped up with a bitter look and walked to -the window.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked over to him with her eyes half shut and -a delectable expression upon her lips. "But I've -decided not to go—at all!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She almost drawled it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In an instant he was back at her side, borne on -a flood of happiness. For a moment he looked at her -hard. His eyes went from feature to feature, to her -hands, her hair in silent approval. Then he exclaimed -decidedly:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you can't link yourself with me in any way. -I'm a social outcast—why, now, I haven't even the -advantage of being a picturesque adventurer! You will -compromise yourself fearfully—you'll be ostracized—oh, -it's impossible—I can't permit it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You need not fear for yourself—or for me," she -said, clasping his hand. "If I love you, what do I -care—what should you care? I have come to you like -Porphyria—but I am no Porphyria—you'll have no -need to strangle me in my hair—my 'darling one wish' -will be easier found than that!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was something in the unrestrained fondness -of her look, now, that made him jump to a place -beside her. What might have followed was interrupted -by the sound of a familiar voice in the anteroom, -demanding Mr. Granthope. Clytie sprang up, her cheeks -burning. Granthope turned coolly to the door, with -his eyebrows lifted. Mr. Payson appeared at the -entrance. He was scowling under his bushy eyebrows, -the muscles of his face were twitching. A cane was -firmly clenched in his right hand. He bent a harsh -look at his daughter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What does this mean, Clytie?" he demanded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had recovered on the instant and faced him -splendidly, in neither defiance nor supplication. "It -means," she said in her low, steady voice, "that as you -won't permit me to receive Mr. Granthope in your -house, I must see him in his."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Leave this room instantly!" he thundered bombastically.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Please don't make a scene, father. I'm quite old -enough to take care of myself, and to judge for -myself. You needn't humiliate me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Humiliate you! If you're not humiliated at being -found here with a cheap impostor, I don't think I can -shame you! This man is a rank scoundrel and a -cheat—I won't have you compromise yourself with -such a mountebank!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope stood watching her unruffled, fearless -pose, confident in her power to control the situation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Granthope is my friend, father. Don't say -anything that you may regret. I don't intend to leave -you alone with him till you are master of yourself, and -can say what you have come to say without anger. He -has respected your request not to call on me at the -house, and I came here of my own accord, without -his invitation. And he has always treated me as a -gentleman should."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A gentleman!" Mr. Payson sneered. "I know what -he is—he's a damned trickster. I've always suspected -it, but since I kicked him out of my house I've had -proof of it. I know his record"—he turned to -Granthope—"from persons who know you well, sir!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose you mean Vixley or Madam Spoll."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can't deny that they know you pretty well?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your daughter knows more, I think. I have just -taken the liberty of informing her as to just how much -of a scoundrel I am."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you have the impertinence to consider -yourself her social equal!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think Miss Payson's position is sufficiently assured -for her to be in no danger."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, yours certainly is not. I've heard of your -lady-killing. I suppose you want to add my daughter's -scalp to your belt. Haven't you women enough -running after you yet? So you wheedled her with a -mock-confession—tried the cry-baby on her. Well, it -won't work with me. I'll tell her all about you, don't -be afraid!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie went to him and laid a hand gently upon -his arm. "Father, we'll go, now, please. I can't -bear this. You need only to look about you to -see that, whatever Mr. Granthope has been, he is no -longer a palmist. You see this room is already -dismantled—if you'll only listen, I'll explain everything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It does look rather theatrical here." Mr. Payson -looked at the piles of velvet on the floor, then -turned again to the young man. "It seems that you -have the audacity to want to marry my daughter. No -doubt this little scene is a part of the game. It's very -pretty, very effective. But let me tell you that this -sensational tomfoolery won't be of any use. You are a -charlatan, sir! You've always been one, and you -always will be."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Payson," Granthope said, with no trace of -anger, "I can't deny that something of what you say is -true, but your daughter knows that much already, and -she has it from a better authority than yours. I can't -blame you for your feeling in this matter; it's quite -natural, for you don't know me. But I hope in time -to induce you to believe in me. I wish you would let -me begin by doing what should have done when I -first met your daughter—warn you that you are in -the hands of a dangerous set of swindlers who are -deceiving you systematically. I can tell you a good deal -that it will be greatly to your advantage to know about -them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old man broke into ironic laughter. "That's -just what they told me you'd say," he sneered. "They -warned me that you'd try to libel them and accuse -them of all sorts of impossible tricks. Set a thief to -catch a thief, eh? No, that won't work, Mr. Granthope. -I happen to know too much for that!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Won't you listen to what he has to say, father? It -can do no harm. What do you know about those -persons, after all? They are undoubtedly trying to -deceive you," Clytie said earnestly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope added: "I can tell you of tricks they -habitually practise."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's that to me? Haven't I got eyes? Haven't -I common sense? Can you tell me how they -find out things about my own life that no one living -knows but me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can tell you how it was done in other cases—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aha, I thought so—you can tell me, for instance, -how to crawl through a trap in the mopboard, can't -you? I'd rather hear how you impose on silly women, -if you're going in for your confessions. What do you -expect me to believe? I am quite satisfied with my -own ability to investigate. I haven't lived for fifty -years in the West to be imposed upon by flimflam. -I'm not suffering from senile decay quite yet!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He took Clytie to the door; there he paused -dramatically, to deliver his parting shot.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I notice you've hidden away that young woman -you're living with. You might as well send for -her—my daughter is not likely to be back again in a -hurry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As they left, Clytie gave him a look which denied -her father's words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope waited till the hall door had slammed, -then went into the office, where the red-haired boy was -lolling out of the window.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jim," he said, laying his hand on the boy's shoulder, -"I shall not need you any more. Here's your pay -for the week. You needn't come back."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim shuffled into his coat, whistling, pulled on his -cap, and left without a trace of regret. Granthope -pulled a chair up to the grate. The dusk fell, and he -still remained, watching the fire.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It was after six o'clock when a knock awoke him -from his reverie. He called out a moody, annoyed, -"Come in!" without rising.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Page rustled in, bringing an odor of sandalwood. -She was dressed in a squirrel-coat and a -Cossack cap, from which a long veil floated. Her -cheeks were rosy with the wind, her glossy hair -coquetted over her forehead in dark, springy curls. She -stopped, her head on one side, her arms saucily akimbo, -as Granthope sprang up and snapped on the electric -light.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I'm </span><em class="italics">so</em><span> glad I found you!" she bubbled. -"You're run after so much now that I knew it was only -a chance, my finding you in. I hope I didn't disturb -you at silent prayer, or anything, did I? You looked -terribly serious. Were you thinking of home and -mother? If you don't look out, some day you'll be -framed and labeled </span><em class="italics">Pictures in the Fire</em><span>. Now, you're -angry with me! What's the matter? Don't frown, -please; it isn't at all becoming!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She walked up to him, her hand outstretched. -Lightly he evaded her and forced a smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What an iceberg you are, nowadays, Frank!" she -laughed. "Don't be afraid; I'm not going to kiss you! -It's only little Violet, the Pride of the Presidio. Please -laugh! You used to think that was funny."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do have a seat, won't you?" he said, in a -half-hearted attempt to conceal his distaste.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks, awfully, but really I can't wait. I just -simply tore to get here, and I must go right off. You -must come along with me; so get on your hat and -coat." She looked about the room for them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it?" he asked without curiosity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, a dinner, of course! What else could it be at -this time of day? It's Mr. Summer's affair, and I -promised to get you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Summer is the latest, I suppose?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She came back to him and took his coat by the two -lapels, smiling up at him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's mean, Frank! You know I never went back -on you. But you as much as gave me notice, as if I -was a servant-girl. Gay's a nice boy, and I like -him—that's all. I'm educating him. Of course, he doesn't -know what's what, yet, but he's rather fun. Do -come—we're going to have dinner at the Poodle Dog, and -the Orpheum afterward perhaps—Heaven knows -where it'll end. There's an awfully swell New York -girl coming, a Miss Cavendish, and she's simply </span><em class="italics">dying</em><span> -to meet you. You'll like her. She's a sport—you can't -feaze her—and she's pretty enough to suit even you. -You can have her all to yourself. Come on!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sorry, but I can't go to-night," he said wearily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Frank, please! Not if I beg you?" She -looked at him languishingly, and tried for his hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really, no! I'm sorry, but I'm too busy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Page pouted and turned slowly toward the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose you're afraid Gay'll bore you. I'll -manage him. I've got him trained. Or, if you say -so—we'll go alone? Just you and me. I can get rid of -them, some way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He shook his head decidedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you have such a dull time the last time over -at the Hermitage?" she tempted. "We might go there. -I don't know </span><em class="italics">when</em><span> I'll have another chance. Edgar -will be back soon." She raised her brows meaningly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's awfully good of you—but I can't, possibly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You might say you'd </span><em class="italics">like</em><span> to!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't really care to, if you must have it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She bridled and tossed her head. "</span><em class="italics">Oh</em><span>, very well!" -she sniffed, and was off in a huff.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope went to the desk, and, taking a bunch of -keys from his pocket, unlocked the two lower drawers. -The first contained a collection of photographs of -women. He drew them out in handfuls, stopping at -one occasionally, or turning it over to see what was -written upon it. The most were inscribed, on the back, -or scrawled across the face, "To Mr. Granthope"—several -"To Francis"—one or two "To Frank, with -love." All types of beauty were represented, all sorts -of costumes, all ages, all phases of pretty women's -vanity. He looked at some with a puzzled expression, -searching his memory for a clue to their identity. -At a few he smiled sarcastically, at some he frowned. -Once or twice his face softened to tenderness or pity. -There was one of Fancy amongst them, showing her -in costume. It had been taken years ago, while she -was acting. He looked at it with a sort of wonder, -she seemed so young, so girlish. On the back was -written, "N.F.F.I.L." He put it back into the -drawer and gathered up the others.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He made a heap of them and threw them upon the -fire, then dropped into the arm-chair to watch them -burn. The flames passed from face to face, licking -up the features. It was like a mimic death.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The other drawer was filled with letters, tied into -bunches. They were all addressed in feminine -handwriting, mostly of the fashionable, angular sort. The -envelopes were postmarked chiefly from San Francisco, -but there were not a few from Eastern cities and -abroad. One out of five bore special delivery stamps. -A scent of mingled perfumes came from them. He -cut the packages open and threw them into the -wastebasket without stopping to read a word.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He poked up the fire, and, carrying the basket over, -fed in the letters, a handful at a time. The flames -roared up the chimney, sending out a fierce heat. It -took an hour to destroy the whole collection. A mass -of distorted, blackened, filmy sheets remained.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he looked, a sudden draft made one leaf of -charcoal glow to a red heat, and the writing showed -plain—black on a cherry-colored ground. He stooped -curiously to read it, and saw that it was the remains of a -card, filled with Fancy Gray's handwriting. He -remembered abstracting her notes upon Clytie, made -after that first day's reading. He had placed it in the -letter-drawer for safe keeping, and had forgotten to -remove it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Only the lower part was legible:</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"... intuitive powers (?!) Play her Mysticism. -<br />..... Easy. Sympathetic fool ...."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The glow suddenly faded, the charred paper writhed -again, black and impotent. He gave it a vicious jab -with the poker, and scattered it to ashes.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-bloodsucker"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XIII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE BLOODSUCKER</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Professor Vixley's place was on Turk Street, the -lower flat of three, whose separate doors made a triplet -at the top of a tri-divided flight of wooden steps up -from the sidewalk. The door had a plate-glass -window, behind which was a cheap lace curtain. At the -side, nailed over the letter slip, was a card bearing the -written inscription,</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<pre class="literal-block"> -<span>+--------------------------+ -| | -| PROF. P. VIXLEY. | -| | -+--------------------------+</span> -</pre> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Inside, a narrow hall ran down into the house, doors -leading at intervals on the right hand, to small -box-like rooms. The first one was the Professor's sitting- -and reception-room, the shearing place for his lambs. -The small type-writer on a stand and his roll-top desk -attempted to give the room a businesslike aspect, while -the homelier needs of comfort were satisfied by the -machine-carved Morris chair, a padded, quilted couch -with "hand-painted" sofa cushions and a macramé -fringe along the mantel. Art was represented by the -lincrusta-walton dado below the blank white plastered -walls, partly covered with "spirit photographs," and a -small parlor organ in the corner. A canary in a gilded -cage gave a touch of gaiety to the apartment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Here Professor Vixley sat smoking a terrible cigar. -Beside him, upon a small draped table, was a pile of -small school slates, a tumbler of water and a sad towel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Opposite him, in a patent rocking-chair, was a young -woman of some twenty-four or five years. She was -a blonde, with pompadoured citron-yellow hair. Her -eyes were deep violet, her nose slightly retroussé, -giving her a whimsical, almost petulantly juvenile look -that was decidedly engaging. She was dressed in -black, so fittingly that no man would remember what -she wore five minutes after he left her. This attractive -creature, for she was indubitably winsome, was Flora -Flint, by profession a materializing medium. Her -past was prolific in adventure; by her alluring person -and the dashing spirit shown in her eyes, her future -promised as much as her past.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you busy to-day, Vixley?" she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's what," said Vixley. "I've got a good graft -doped out, and it's liable to be a big thing. First time -to-day. One of Gertie Spoll's strikes, and we're -working him together. Old man Payson it is."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, that's the one Doc Masterson expected me to -help him with, isn't it?" Flora asked. "I wish you'd -let me in on that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He ain't in your line, Flo, I expect. Ain't you -doin' anything now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Only the regular set, the same old stand-bys, and -there's nothing in it at four bits apiece. I've got so -many people to pay that even if I get forty or fifty in -a circle my expenses eat it all up. Then I have to -keep thinking up new stunts and buy props."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't have to spend much on gas," Vixley -laughed, as he began washing off his slates.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Flora smiled. "No, but it comes to about the same -thing in luminous paint."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why don't you make it yourself? It ain't nothin' -but ground oyster-shells and sulphur."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, it ain't only that. I only use the best silk -gauze that'll fold up small—that's expensive; then -there's a lot of work on the forms."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you get your forms from Chicago now?" -Vixley asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, they're no good. I can make better ones -myself. Oh, occasionally I send for a rubber face or -two or some cabinet attachments and extensions. I -wish I was clever enough to do the slates." She -watched the Professor sharply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, they ain't nothin' in slates nowadays—it don't -seem to take, somehow. They mostly prefer the -psychics. I s'pose slate-writin' has been wrote up too -much—I know a dozen books describin' the tricks, and -here's this Drexel chap teachin' 'em at a dollar -apiece, even. He's a queer guy. When he can get a -bookin' he travels as a magician; durin' his off-times -he sells his tricks to amachures, and then when he's -down on his uppers he does the medium. I'm sorry -I went into physical mediumship; the graft's about -played out—people is gettin' too intelligent. I've -a good mind to try the developin' stunt again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say, do you think Madam Spoll has any real -power?" Flora asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vixley stopped in his work to become epigrammatic. -"Some mediums are 'on' and some are honest—them -that's honest are fools and them that's 'on' are foolin'. -Gertie's 'on' all right, and she does considerable fishin'. -I don't say that when she started she didn't have some -faculty—she used to scare me good, sometimes, and -she could catch a name occasional. But Lord, it's so -much easier to fake it; you can generally depend on -human nature, and you can't on psychometry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can tell things sometimes," Flora ventured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can you?" said Vixley. "Say, I wish you'd give -me a readin'; they's somethin' I want to know about -pretty bad; p'raps you could get it for me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I know you too well. I can't do it much, -except the first time I see a party; but sometimes, when -I'm materializing, I can go right down and say 'I'm -Henry,' or whatever the name is."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I guess they're more likely to say, 'Are you Henry?' They're -so crazy to be fooled that it's a crime to take -their money."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Women are. They're easy. They simply won't go -away without a wonderful story to tell to their friends, -but men are more skeptical, as a rule."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's right. But, Lord, when they do -swallow it, they take the hook, bait and sinker. -Why, look here, I had a party what used to come -regular about a girl he was stuck on, a Swede he was. -Well, one day he went up to this Drexel and he showed -him one or two easy ways o' workin' the slates, provin' -it was all tricks. The Swede comes back to me and -says, 'Oh,' says he, 'I know it's all a fake now; you -can't fool </span><em class="italics">me</em><span> no more.' I looked him straight in the -eye and I says: 'Don't you know that fellow is really -one of the best mediums in the business, and he's -controlled by Martin Luther? He was just tryin' to test -your belief by denyin' the truth o' spiritualism, and -seein' if you'd have the courage to stand up for what -you believed. If your faith ain't no stronger than that, -after the tests I gave you, you'd better go into -Mormonism and be done with it.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did that hold him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've got that fellow yet; twice a month, regular, I -get his little old two dollars; Lord, he swears by me -now. No, them that want to believe </span><em class="italics">will</em><span> believe, and -you can't pry 'em off with a crowbar. Ain't that -right?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I guess yes!" said Flora. "But what gets my -game is the widow that used to quarrel like cats and -dogs when her husband was alive and leaks on his -shoulder when he comes to her in the spirit! They're -the limit! When a woman once gets it into her head -that the dear departed can take possession of a living -body, there ain't anything she won't stand for. My -brother had a lovely case once. It was a woman whose -husband hadn't passed out more than two months and -she was all broke up. Well, Harry got her to believe -that her husband could get control of his body and -talk to her. At first the woman wasn't quite sure, so -Harry, talking to her as her husband, claimed that he -himself was in a dead trance. 'Why,' he said, 'if you -should stick a pin into this medium's leg here, he -wouldn't feel it at all!' That was where he was -foolish, for the woman said, 'Is that so? I guess I'll -just try it and see.' So Harry had to stand for it while -she jabbed a hat pin into him, but he was game and -didn't whimper. Of course that convinced the woman -that she was really communicating with her lawful -husband, and she begun to kiss and hug Harry to beat -the cars, she was so glad to get hubby back."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, it's all in a day's work!" Vixley showed -his sharp yellow fangs in a grin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you have to make it pleasant for sitters, -sometimes," Flora yawned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I guess it's no trouble for you," Vixley said, -looking at her with admiration.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Flora yawned. "Well, I guess we earn our money, -what with skeptics and all. Now, if you have any of -these reporters come in you can get rid of them -easy—but we can't. We've got to make good for the sake -of the rest of the crowd, unless they get so gay with -us that we can fire 'em out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's right. I never bother with skeptics; what's -the use? I don't want their money enough to risk -their jumpin' up and gettin' on to the game. No, sir! -When any of these slick chaps that look like newspaper -men or sports, come in, I just do a few lines and then -tell 'em conditions ain't satisfactory and let 'em go. -It ain't no use takin' chances."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're in luck, Vixley, I tell you! I've had no -end of trouble. Why, last week a couple o' fresh guys -come in and scattered a package of tacks all over the -floor. When I come out in my stocking feet I thought -I'd die, it hurt so. But I had to just grin and bear -it! My feet are so sore yet I can hardly walk. I have -to sweep the carpet now, just as soon as it's dark, -every time, unless Lulu's there to watch out!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vixley laughed for almost five minutes. He had to -dry his eyes with a silk handkerchief.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Professor," said Flora, "I almost forgot what -I came for. You know Harry's doing the Middle -West now with Mademoiselle Laflamme, the -Inspirational Contralto, and he wanted me to ask you if -you had anything on Missouri and Iowa. Would -you mind lending him your test-book? You was out -there a few years ago, wasn't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure. I'll look and see if I can find it," and Vixley -arose and left the room. He was gone a few minutes, -and returned with a small, blue-covered note-book.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here's my test-book," he said, handing it over. -"It's rather behind the times. It was five years ago -that I was out there, but maybe Harry can get -something out of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How did you get the dope, swapping?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no, I done it all myself, and it's O.K. I -went through the country first as a book-agent, and -I kep' my eyes and ears open. I took a look or two -through the cemeteries, when I had time, and I read -up the local papers pretty good. Of course I wouldn't -go back till a year after I got a town planted, but -then it was easy graft."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose these abbreviations are all plain?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Harry will read that all right, he knows the -regular cipher. The name after the first one is the -party's control. I've writ in a few messages that'll -work, and all the tests I know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She opened the book and ran through the pages -which ran something like this:</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Jefferson City, Mo. -<br />Mrs. Henry Field "Mayflower" hb John died -<br />pneumonia 1870 good wishes from little -<br />Emily broken leg.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cameron, Mo. -<br />Mrs. Osborne "Pauline" hub James calls him Jimmie -<br />da disappeared July 1897 found drowned in Red -<br />River August Aunt Molly is happy Love to Belle -<br />and Joe.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Flora put the book in her bag, and then reached -over and took up one of the slates. The one on top was -marked diagonally with two chalk-lines, and over this -was written in slate-pencil the following inscription:</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>801,101 -<br />Chapter -<br />Marigold.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Beside this, was a thin sheet of slate. She placed it -over the marked surface. It fitted the frame exactly -and looked, at a cursory glance, precisely like the other -slates, its dark surface being clean.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She took up another slate. On this was written:</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Unforeseen difficulties will prevent your -<br />book being successful, if you do not take -<br />care. Felicia.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The Professor grinned. "That's the dope for old -Payson," he explained. "He ought to be here any time, -now." He went to the window and looked out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What game are you going to work with him?" -Flora asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, only a few of the old stunts. He's so easy -that it won't be nothin' but child's play. I got a lot -of the old-fashioned slab-slates for a starter, and I can -change 'em on him whenever I want. He won't insist -on test conditions. Anyways, if he does, I got -my little spirit friend here handy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He reached up his sleeve, and pulled down a thimble -attached to an elastic cord. To the end of the thimble -a small piece of slate-pencil was affixed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The only hard part about it is learnin' to write -backwards and upside down," he commented, as he let -the instrument snap back out of sight. "Say, I wish't -I had a double-jointed leg like Slade! I tell you I'd -give some sittin's in this town that would paralyze -the Psychical Research!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But what's this stuff on the slates mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, them is the answers I've prepared. You see, -I happened to get hold of some questions he's goin' -to ask, from a young fellow who goes to his house; and -so havin' inside information, it saves considerable -trouble. Funny thing—this chap wants to marry the -daughter, who'll have money, I suppose, and he's -standin' in with me on account o' what I can do for -him through the old man."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, I heard that Granthope was setting his traps -for her!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vixley scowled. "That's right, too. Frank's got -something up his sleeve that I can't fathom. He's -been trying to buy me off, in fact, but he'll never do it. -This fellow Cayley naturally has got it in for him, -Frank bein' pretty thick with the girl. So I got to -play both ends and work the old man for Cayley and -against Frank. But I can do it all right. The old -man's a cinch!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Flora walked up to him. "You're in luck," she -said. She permitted him to put his arm about her -small trim waist and looked at him good-naturedly. -"Say, Vixley, if he's as easy as that, why can't you fix -it for some good materializing? We could do all sorts -of things for him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd thought of that. It might be a good idea later, -and we may talk business with you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, when you're ready, I'll do anything you say. -You know me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At that moment the front door-bell rang.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here he is now!" Vixley exclaimed. "Say, Flora, -you go out the back door through the kitchen, will -you? It won't do for him to see you here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure! I'll spare him. The Doc says he's scared to -death of a pretty woman," and she disappeared down -the hall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Professor Vixley went to the front door, welcomed -Mr. Payson with an oily smile, took his hat and coat -and then let him into a small chamber next to the -front room. There were two straight chairs here on -either side of a table which was draped with an -embroidered cloth. Behind was a high bookcase.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I'm all ready for you, Mr. Payson," said the -medium. "We'll see what we can do. If we don't get -anything I won't charge you a cent. Have you ever -seen any slate-writin' done before?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I haven't," said Mr. Payson, "but I've heard -a good deal about it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's a very interestin' phenomena. Now, before we -begin, p'raps you'd like to examine this table; it's been -examined so often, that it's pretty well used to it by -this time, but I want to have you satisfied that there's -no possibility of trickery or deceit."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he spoke, he took off the cover, and turned the -table upside down. Mr. Payson looked it over gravely -and knocked on the top to see if it were hollow. The -investigation finished, Professor Vixley said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"May I ask who recommended you to me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madam Spoll—I suppose you know her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, and I admire her, too. Madam Spoll is a -wonderful woman. I don't know how this community -could get on without her. She's brought more satisfaction -to them desirin' communication with their dear -departed than all the rest of us mediums put together. -She's doin' a great work, Mr. Payson. But she has -more success with what you might call affairs of the -heart, while I find my control prefers generally to -help out in the way of business. We're all specialists, -nowadays, you know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should think that the spirits could help in one way -as well as another."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now would you?" said Vixley, fixing the old man -with his glittering eyes. "Spirits ain't so much -different from people on this side. Some o' them is -interested in one thing, and some in another, same as -we are. Some is nearer what I might call the material -plane and some has progressed so they don't take -much interest in earthly affairs."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It seems to me that I'd always have an interest in -my friends," said Mr. Payson.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Does it?" Vixley replied. "Where was you raised?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In Vermont. I lived there till I was ten years -old."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, are you much interested in the kids you knew -when you went to school there?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps not."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, then, that's the way it is with spirits who -have got progression. Their life on earth seems like -childhood's days to them. Lord, they have their own -business to attend to. I expect it keeps 'em pretty -busy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I don't know." Mr. Payson shook his head -and seated himself. "It's all very strange and mysterious. -But I'm only an investigator, and what I want -is the truth, no matter what it may be."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's the right frame o' mind to come in," said -Vixley; "you treat me right and I'll treat you right. -Have a cigar?" He took one from his pocket and -put it unlighted into his mouth, offering another to -Mr. Payson.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, thanks, I don't smoke."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, if you don't mind, I will. It's a bad habit, -I'm told, but it sorts o' helps me when I'm nervous."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Payson placed the tips of his fingers together, -palm to palm, and gestured with them. "Now, -Professor Vixley, seeing that I know nothing about you, -would you mind letting me see what you can do first -in the way of a test, before we go to the main object -of my visit?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, certainly, though I can't promise to do anything -conclusive the first time. I want you to feel at -liberty to try me in any way you wish."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I've got three questions I'd like to have you -answer. I happen to know that you couldn't possibly -know what they are. If you can answer them, I'll be -satisfied that you can help me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll try," said Vixley modestly. "It all depends -upon my guides, and we can't tell till we begin." He -arose, walked to the mantel and brought back a small -pad of paper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here's what I generally use. This paper is magnetized -in order to make it easier. Examine it all you -please—you won't find no carbon transfer paper nor -nothin' like that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why can't I use my own paper?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I ain't got no more idea than you have," the -medium confessed candidly. "Why can't a -photographer take a picture on common glass? I don't -know. I ain't a photographer. All I do know is, that -we can get results from this paper that my control -has magnetized, when we can't from yours. The spirits -may be able to explain it—I can't. Now you write -down the name of your control and your three questions, -one on each piece and fold it over twice. Then -I'll pull down the shades and see what I can do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Payson brought his hand down on the table -querulously. "That's another thing I don't like," he -said. "Why can't spirits work in the light as well as in -the dark, I'd like to know? It looks suspicious to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vixley took the cigar from his teeth and sat down -patiently before his dupe. He rapped with his -forefinger upon the table. "See here, it's this way, -Mr. Payson; every science has its own condition -that has got to be fulfilled before any experiment can -be a success, hasn't it? You can't go against nature. -If you want an electric light or telephone, you have to -run wires, don't you? Why? I don't know—I'm not -an electrician. If you want to develop a photograph, -you have to do it in the dark. Why? I don't know—go -ask a photographer. If you want to make a seed -grow, you put it down into the dirt and water it. -Why? I don't know. Nobody knows. It's one o' the -mysteries o' life. In the same way, if you want to get -results in spiritualism, you have to submit to the -conditions that are imposed by my guide. Why? I -don't know. And what's more, I don't care. If I can -get the results, it makes no difference to me how they -come. All I do know is that fifty years' experience -has shown us mediums the proper conditions necessary -for the physical manifestation of phenomena. Full -daylight is all right for psychic influences, but it don't -do for slate-writin'. The question is whether you -want to accept the conditions I give you, or do you -expect the spirits to work in a way that's impossible?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Payson, overcome with this profound logic, -submitted without further protest to having the shades -drawn down. The Professor reseated himself and -waited till the three slips were written and folded -according to direction. In his own lap were three blank -slips folded in exactly the same manner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vixley now pressed his brow and smoothed it with -both hands. "Some fakirs will palm a blank slip and -exchange it for your written one, but you see I ain't -got nothin' in my hands," he said, showing them empty. -Even as he spoke he dropped his hands into his lap, -and secreted one of his folded slips in his palm. Then -he reached for one of Payson's written questions and -seemed to place it on the old man's forehead, but -quick as was the motion, he had made the substitution.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You hold this paper there while I go and get the -slates. And keep your mind on the question as hard -as you can."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He returned in a moment, having glanced meanwhile -at Mr. Payson's first question, while he was -outside, bringing back a dozen or more slates which -he put on the book-shelf. He took off the top one -and handed it to Mr. Payson.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just look at it, examine it all you want to, and -then take this wet towel, wash it off clean and dry it -with the other end, please."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As the old man did so, the Professor went to the -pile and took down the next slate. This was the first -one which Flora had read, the writing being now -concealed by the thin slab which fitted neatly into the -frame. As Mr. Payson handed back the first slate, -Professor Vixley, looking him intently in the eye, said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, can you tell me about how many years ago -it was that your control passed out? Was it five -years, twenty, or how long?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The question was accurately timed so as to be put -just as Mr. Payson extended his hand. Vixley's eyes -held the old man's in a direct gaze. During this -psychological moment while his victim was intently -trying to answer the question, the Professor, with a -facile movement, put the two slates together and -handed back the same one that had been washed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should say it would be nearly thirty -years—twenty-seven."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right," said Vixley. "Now, take this slate -and wash it off like you did the other." The old man -did so without noticing that it was the same one he had -had before.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vixley took back the slate when he had finished, and, -with a piece of chalk, drew diagonal lines from corner -to corner upon each of the faces of both slates.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That will show you that the writin' hasn't been -prepared beforehand, for you'll see that the pencil will -write through the chalk, showin' it's been done after I -made these lines."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he held the two slates together in his hand, the -false sheet from the upper one fell into the frame of -the lower. He laid the two upon the table and took -off the top one. The lower surface upon which the -writing was now exposed he took care to hold so that -it could not be seen. Next, he took the slip of paper -which Mr. Payson had been holding, substituted for it -with a deft motion the written question which he had -previously palmed, and, throwing the blank into his -lap, dropped the real one, with a small fragment of -slate-pencil, upon the slate. He put the written slate -on top of the other, writing down, then asked the old -man to hold it in position, laying his own fingers upon -it as well. A faint scratching was heard. It was too -dark for the old man to notice the slight motions of -Vixley's finger-nail upon the surface. After a moment -he removed the top slate and showed the writing, then, -unfolded the slip.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Payson looked at the inscription with curiosity -and surprise. "Marvelous!" he exclaimed. "Why, -it's incredible. I didn't know it could be done as -simply as that. Why, all three of my questions are -answered and they haven't left my possession."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You seem to have a very strong control. Are the -answers correct?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll soon find out," said Mr. Payson, "if you'll -raise the shades while I look at this book." He cut -the strings of a package he had brought into the room, -showed his copy of the </span><em class="italics">Astrology of the New -Testament</em><span> and turned to page one hundred.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here it is, 'Chapter IX.' It's most extraordinary, -indeed! Now for the number of my watch. Do you -know, I didn't even know these answers myself. That -would tend to prove it's not mere telepathy, wouldn't -it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He took out his watch and opened the back covers. -Upon the frame were engraved the figures "801,101."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's correct, too. Now for the last one—have -you a telephone?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Right down at the end of the hall."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you'll excuse me a moment I'll ring up a friend -of mine who will know whether this is the right name -or not."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In five minutes he returned with an expression of -wonder upon his face. "I wanted to make sure that -this couldn't be got from my mind, so I asked a friend -of mine to select a name for me. It seems that -Marigold was the name. This is a most wonderful and -convincing test, Mr. Vixley; I must say that I'm -amazed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Professor took his praise modestly. "Oh, I -hope to do much better for you than this after a while, -Mr. Payson. The main point is, that now we can get -to work in such a way as to help you practically, -without wastin' your time on mere experiments. These -test conditions is very apt to deteriorate mediumship -and I don't like to do no more of it than is absolutely -necessary to convince you of the genuineness of my -manifestations.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now," he added, "before we draw down the shades -again, you write down some important question you -want answered and we'll get down to business."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When Mr. Payson had finished writing, the medium, -taking a slip of paper from his vest pocket unobserved, -held it under the table, saying:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now you fold it twice, each time in half." As -Payson did so, Vixley folded his own slip in a similar -manner and held it palmed in his left hand. After -drawing the shades, he said: "Now, then, will you -please hold that paper to your forehead? Not like -that—here, let me show you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He took the slip from Mr. Payson and dexterously -substituting for it his own duplicate, held it to his own -forehead. "This way, so that it will be in plain sight -all the time." He gave the blank slip to his sitter, who -obeyed the directions.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think we'll do better if there's less light," Vixley -said, as he arose to draw the shades. "You keep hold -of that paper. I don't want it to go out of your -possession for a moment. You see I couldn't read it -even if I had it, it's so dark. But if you'll excuse me, -I'll light this cigar; I haven't had a smoke all day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he spoke, he went to the bookcase, and standing, -facing Mr. Payson, he took a match from a box on the -top and lighted the cigar which was between his teeth. -His left hand, which had already secretly unfolded the -ballot, covered the paper. He put it up with a natural -gesture to keep the match from being blown out as he -lighted his cigar. The operation took only a few -seconds, but in that time, illuminated by the match, he -was able to read the words: "Will my book be a -success?" He dropped his hand, refolded the ballot with -his fingers and held it hidden. Then he took two slates -from the pile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There are many well-known ways of slate-writing, -and the sleight-of-hand necessary in obtaining the -ballots and writing the answers is simple compared with -the sort of psychological juggling in which the -medium must be an adept. Professor Vixley, however, -had no need of any special craft with the old man. -Mr. Payson was by no means a skilled observer, and, -credulous and desirous of a marvel, was easily -hoodwinked by Vixley's talk. The simplest methods -sufficed, and he worked with increasing confidence, -preparing his sitter's mind, till it would be possible for the -medium merely to sit at the table and write openly -under the supposititious influence of his control.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The second experiment terminated with the appearance -of the message that Flora Flint had read in the -front room, the message signed "Felicia."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Payson read the communication with a frown. -"That's bad," he said, "I'm very sorry to find that this -answer isn't favorable."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's the matter?" the Professor asked sympathetically.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, you see, I may as well tell you that I'm -writing a book, Professor," said Mr. Payson, wiping -his spectacles, "and, of course, I am anxious that it -should be a success. It seems from this that there is -likely to be some trouble about it—I don't quite -understand how."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vixley tipped back in his chair with his hands in his -pockets. "I thought you looked like an intellectual-minded -man. O' course, it wan't my place to ask -no questions, but when you come in I sized you up -as a party who wan't entirely devoted to a pure -business life. So you've written a book, eh? Well, -I'm sure my control could help you. I'll ask him, and -see what's to be done. But for that, I think we'll -be more liable to be successful at automatic writin' -than by independent slate-writin'. It's more quicker -and satisfactory all round."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How do you suppose the spirits can help?" said Mr. Payson.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why," said Vixley, "all sorts o' ways. It's like this: -I don't know nothing about your book, but I do know -what's happened before. Take Gibbon's </span><em class="italics">Decline and -Fall of the Roman Empire</em><span>, for instance. He predicted -that there wouldn't never be no more wars—he -claimed we'd outlived the possibility of it, and -everything would be settled peaceably. What -happened? Why, Napoleon arose inside o' fifty years -and they was wars like never had been seen on earth. -Now, if Gibbon had only been able to put himself -in communication with the spirit intelligence, he -wouldn't have made that mistake—the spirits would -have told him what was goin' to happen. Look at -Voltaire! He went on record by sayin' that in fifty -years they wouldn't be no more churches. Now he's -a ridicule and a by-word amongst Christian people. -If he'd only consulted the spirit-plane he wouldn't have -made a fool of hisself. But, o' course, spiritualism -wan't heard of then no more than Voltaire's heard -of now. Now let's say, for example, you was writin' -a book on evolution ten years ago, thoroughly believin' -in Darwin's theory o' the origin of species. Up to that -time nobody believed that a new specie had been -evolved since man. But look at this here Burbank up -to Santa Rosa—he has gone to work and produced -some absolutely new species, and what's more, I -predicted his success in this very room ten years ago. -If you'd written on evolution then, you might have -taken advantage o' what I could have gave you. -Now, for all I know, some man may come along and -breed two different animals together, p'raps through -vivisection or what not, and develop a bran' new kind -of specie in the animal world. Heart disease and -cancer and consumption are supposed by modern -science to be incurable, but I wouldn't venture to -write that down in a book till I had taken the means -at my disposal o' findin' out whether they was or -wasn't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He arose and let up the window-shades; the level -rays of the sunshine illuminated his figure and -burnished his purpling coat. He shook his finger at -Mr. Payson, who was listening open-mouthed, impressed -with the glib argument.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, my control is Theodore Parker. You've -heard of him—p'raps you knew him. You wouldn't -hesitate to ask his advice if he was still on the flesh -plane, for he was a brainy man; how much more, -now he's passed out and gone beyond, into a fuller -development and comprehension of the universe! I -don't know what your subject is, but whatever it is, -he can help and he will help. I'm sure o' that. It's -for you to say whether you'll avail yourself of his -guidance or not. I can give you all the tests you -want, but I tell you, you're only wastin' your time, -while you might be in daily communication with one -of the grandest minds this country and this century -has produced. I can get into communication with him -and give you his messages by means of automatic -writin', or I can develop you so's you can do it -yourself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Professor Vixley's victim had ceased to struggle, -and, caught inextricably in the web so artfully woven, -gazed, fascinated, into the eyes of the spider who -was preparing to suck his golden blood.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-fore-honeymoon"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XIV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE FORE-HONEYMOON</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Outward, across the narrow, mile-long mole, the -Oakland Local, a train of twelve coaches, swept on -from block to block, beckoned by semaphores, till -it threw itself with a roar into the great train-shed -upon the Oakland pier. The locomotive stopped, -throbbing and panting rhythmically, spouting a cloud -of steam that eddied among the iron trusses of the -roof. The air-brakes settled back with a long, relieved -hiss. The cars emptied streams of passengers; the -ferry-station became as populous and busy as a disturbed -ant-hill. Up the broad stairs and into the huge -waiting-room the commuters poured, there to await -the boat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was half-past nine in the morning. The earlier -trains, laden with clerks and stenographers and the -masses of early workers, had already relieved the -traffic across the bay. The present contingent -consisted chiefly of the more well-to-do business men, -ladies bent on shopping in the city, and a scattering of -sorts. Some clustered in a dense group by the door -of the gangway, the better to rush on board and -capture the favorite seats; the rest took to the settees -and unfolded their morning papers, conversed, or -watched the gathering throng.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Overland from Chicago was already in, two -hours late, and it had contributed to the assembly its -delegation of dusty, tired tourists, laden with baggage, -commercial travelers, curious and bold, with a few -emigrants in outlandish costumes, prolific in children -and impedimenta. Another roar, and the Alameda -Local thundered into the shed and emptied its lesser -load. The Berkeley train had arrived also, and the -waiting-room was now well filled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Through the glazed front of the hall the steamer -</span><em class="italics">Piedmont</em><span> came into view, entering the slip. It slid -in quietly and was deftly tied up. The gang-plank -was lowered and its passengers disembarked, filing -through a passageway separated from the waiting -throng by a fence. Then the heavy door slipped -upward, the crowd made for the entrance and passed -on board the boat. As each party stepped off the -gang-plank some one would say, "Do you want to sit -outside or inside?" The continual repetition of this -question kept the after part of the deck echoing with -the murmur.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie Payson, finding all the best outside seats -occupied, went into the great open cabin and sat -down. The saloon soon filled. In a moment there -was the creaking of the gang-plank drawbridge, a -deep, hoarse whistle overhead, the jangle of a bell in -the engine room, and the boat started, gathered way, -and shot out into the bay. An Italian band started -playing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was not long before her eyes, roving from one -to another passenger, rested upon a couple across the -way. Both looked jaded and distrait. They talked -but little. The lady was crisp and fresh and glossy, -in her blue serge suit and smart hat; her form was -molded almost sumptuously—but there were soft, -violet circles beneath her roaming eyes. She leaned -back in her seat; her attitude had lost, in its -California tendency to abandon, an imperceptible -something of that erect, well-held poise that such -corset-modeled, white-gloved creatures of fashion usually -maintain. Clytie recognized her; it was Mrs. Page.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The young man Clytie did not know. He was a -dapper, immaculate, pink-cheeked person, who leaned -slightly nearer his companion than custom sanctions -when he spoke an occasional playful word to her. In -his gestures he often touched her arm, where, for a -second his gloved hand seemed to linger affectionately. -Mrs. Page gave him in return a flashing, ardent smile, -then her eyes wandered listlessly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Before Mrs. Page had a chance to notice her, Clytie -arose and walked forward. Just outside the door she -stopped upon the wind-swept deck for a moment to -look about her. Above Goat Island, melting into the -perfect bow of its profile, lay the crest of Tamalpais. -The mountains surrounding the bay of San Francisco -were wild and terrible, with naked brown slopes void -of trees or grass. To the northwest they came down -to the very edge of the water, tumbling precipitately, -seamed with gulleys, forming the wall of the Golden -Gate. Southward was smoke and haze; forward the -peninsula loomed through murk. The whole aspect -of the harbor was barren, chill, desolate. One felt -that one was thousands of miles from civilization—in -a land unique, grim, isolate, sufficient unto itself, -shut off by sea and mountain from the great world. -Yet it had its own strange beauty, and that charm -which, once felt, endures for ever, the immortal lure -of bigness, wideness, freedom of air and sky and -water.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie stood, holding her hat against the nimble -breeze for a while, gazing at a flock of gulls that -sailed alongside the boat, circling and screaming, then -she turned and moved to the right and walked aft.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a young woman sitting in an angle of -the seats, by the paddle-box. Her arm was resting on -the rail and she was gazing down at the swirling rush -of water. From her chic shepherd's plaid frock, so -cunningly trimmed with red, so perfectly moulding -her svelte form, it should have been Fancy Gray, -Queen of Piedra Pinta. But it was a poor, tired -Majesty, whose face was filled with infinite longing, -whose traitor mouth was lax, whose head, bent sidewise, -seemed too heavy to be held in its whilom spirited -pose. She was off her guard; she had dropped the -mask she was learning so painfully to bear.</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 69%" id="figure-96"> -<span id="it-was-a-poor-tired-majesty"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="It was a poor tired Majesty" src="images/img-400.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">It was a poor tired Majesty</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie stepped in front of her. Fancy suddenly -looked up. There was a moment when her face was -like that of a child awakened from sleep, then, in a -flash Fancy was alive again. First, confusion, then -a look of pain, lastly an expectant, almost a suspicious -expression passed over her face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Miss Payson!" Fancy sat erect, and, by her -tone, was immediately upon the defensive, waiting to -find out what her welcome might be. "Won't you -sit down?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good morning, Miss Gray!" Clytie's voice was -low and sympathetic.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy took the proffered hand, grasped it for a -brief moment and let it drop. Then she waited for -Clytie to give her her cue. The eyes of the two -women, having met, lingered without conflict. The -serenity in Clytie's face melted Fancy's into a smile. -A faint glow of pink began to creep up Clytie's neck -and mantle her cheek. She took a seat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm so glad I found you," she began. "I had a -queer feeling that I should meet some one pleasant, -though I didn't know who it would be."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What was it that reassured Fancy? No man could -have told. But that whatever fears she had entertained -were dispelled was evident by the way her face -softened, by the way her dimples came, by the way a -saucy, amiable sprite looked from her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sorry I'm just out of blushes," she said, rallying -swiftly, "but I'm as delighted as if I had as pretty -a one as yours. Did you really want to see me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've been wanting to see you for some time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've been thinking about you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Think of your wasting your time on me! Why, -any one with your brains could think me to a finish in -five minutes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wanted to tell you something."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I </span><em class="italics">hope</em><span> it's something sacred," said Fancy with a -twinkle in her eyes. "I love to have people tell me -their most sacred thoughts." She smiled like a -spoiled child.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This was too much for Clytie, who laughed aloud. -But she persisted. "I hope you won't think I'm -trying to patronize you—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You look awfully pretty when you're patronizing; -I don't mind it a bit."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm afraid it's no use, you're incorrigible."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's a dandy word. I never thought of that. -May I use it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Will</em><span> you be serious?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mustn't mind me," Fancy said. "I never could -do that running throb in my voice. I've lost lots of -things by not being able to cry to order. But I'll -listen. What is it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know you've left Mr. Granthope's office."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes. I got tired of the routine there. It's -awful to sit and watch women who come to hear -themselves talked about. It got on my nerves. So I -told Frank I'd have to quit or tell them the straight -truth about themselves."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie looked at her curiously for a moment. Fancy -turned away from her glance. Clytie went on: "I -wanted to see if I couldn't get you a position—perhaps -with my father."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you, but I guess not." Fancy cast her eyes -down. "I don't care to go to work just yet—I'm -going to drift a while—it's awfully kind of you, -though."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can't you come and stay with me a while? I -thought I might teach you bookbinding and we could -work together." Clytie herself was getting somewhat -embarrassed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy shook her head. "Sometime I'll come and -see you—but not now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, since Mr. Granthope has given up his business—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy changed in an instant; her frivolous manner -fell off. She stared at Clytie in surprise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh! I didn't know that. </span><em class="italics">Has</em><span> he?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, he stopped last week."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy's gaze drifted off to seaward. She was -fighting something mentally. She turned her head -away also. Finally she said, "I think I understand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think not, quite," Clytie answered softly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy's eyes flashed back at her, brimming. "He -gave it up on account of </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>, Miss Payson, I'm sure."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He did, in a way, but it was not altogether my -doing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know!" Fancy leaned her head on her hand -wearily. "You did for him what I never could do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm glad you wanted it." Clytie touched Fancy's -hand, as it lay limp in her lap.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Instead of taking it, Fancy moved hers gently away. -Then she roused herself. "Oh, I </span><em class="italics">am</em><span> glad! I'm </span><em class="italics">so</em><span> -glad, Miss Payson. He was too good for that—I -always told him so. But you are the only woman who -could have done that for him!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed, you mustn't think that I did it. He did -it for himself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy smiled wistfully. "I know Frank Granthope. -And I know the sort of women he knew. I -was one of them. And I could do nothing—nothing -to help him!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, I don't believe it! You </span><em class="italics">have</em><span> helped him, I'm -sure. I know by the way you speak now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I know what you think!" Fancy retorted -impetuously. "You think that I am—that I was—in -love with him. That's not true, Miss Payson, really -it isn't. I never was. We were good friends, that's -all. I'm not suffering from a broken heart or pining -away, or anything like that. No secret sorrow for -mine! But what's the use of trying to explain! It -never does any good. I'm glad he's found a woman -who's square and who's a thoroughbred like you! -Why, Miss Payson, you can </span><em class="italics">make</em><span> him! I saw that -long ago!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She spoke in a hurried frenzy of denial. She -seemed to feel the inadequacy of it in Clytie's eyes, -however, and nerved herself again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't believe it, Miss Payson, but it's true! -I give you my word that he's perfectly free. Of -course, there was a sort of flirtation at first, there -always is, you know, but I wasn't in earnest at all! -I'm too afraid of Frank—I'm not in his class. And -I know he's in love with you—I saw it from the first."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How </span><em class="italics">could</em><span> he ever help loving such a frank, -courageous, irresistible girl as you!" Clytie wondered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Miss Payson," Fancy said, avoiding her eyes, -"there's a man I'm simply crazy about—I wish I -could tell you more, but I can't explain. I never -explain. But you can be sure that there's nothing doing -with Frank, at any rate. I didn't intend to breathe -it to a soul, but I know I can trust you—I'm really—" -she drew a quick breath and her eyelids -fluttered—"I'm—engaged, Miss Payson!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie was wearing, that day, a little gold chain -from which hung a tiny swastika. As she listened, -she unfastened it and took it off and threw it about -Fancy's neck. Fancy stopped in surprise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Won't you let me give you this?" Clytie said -eagerly. "Don't ask me why—I want you to have it -and keep it for my sake. You know I have more -jewelry than I can wear, but I have always been very -fond of this little chain. It belonged to my mother."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy's eyes filled suddenly and her lips parted. -Her hand flew up to caress the chain affectionately. -Then she cast down her eyes and a timid smile -trembled on her lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I accept!" said Fancy Gray.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she looked off at the water she lifted the -chain softly to her lips and kissed it. Then, loosening -the collar of her waist, she allowed the chain to drop -inside to hang touching her warm pink breast.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then slowly she turned her head and showed Clytie -a new expression, childlike, demure, embarrassed. -Her eyes, fluttering, went from Clytie's eyes to Clytie's -hair, to her slender, gracile hands. Then, with a -wistful emphasis, she said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Miss Payson, do you think I'm pretty?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was no need, this time, for her to define -the adjective.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you want me to tell you exactly?" Clytie -answered. "I never saw a woman yet to whom I -couldn't tell her best points better than she could -herself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy nestled a little nearer, warming herself at -Clytie's smile. "I guess I can stand it. I'll try to be -brave," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie looked her over critically.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"First, I'd say that your ears are the most -deliciously shaped, cream-white, and the lobes are pure -pink with a dab of carmine laid on as if with a brush. -The hair behind them has curls like little claws -clutching at your neck—and I don't blame them! Your -cheeks look as if a rose-leaf had just been pressed -against them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I believe I'm going to get the truth at last," Fancy -murmured. "Oh, it takes a woman, don't it!" In -spite of this jaunty speech the pink had grown to -scarlet in her cheeks, and she turned her eyes away in -a delighted, flattered embarrassment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then, your mouth has a charming little dent at each -corner, and your lips curve in a perfect bow, and -the nick above is just deep and strong enough for a -baby to want to put his little finger into. Your nose -is fine and straight and delicate—I can see the light -through the bridge of it, the skin is so transparent—like -mother-o'-pearl. Your eyes are clear and child-like -and the rarest, deepest, pellucid brown. There's -a moist purple shadow above them, and a warmer -brown tone below. Your lids crinkle and narrow your -eyes like a kitten's. Your hands are as dewy-delicate -as flowers—white above, faint rose in the palm, -deepening almost to strawberry in the finger-tips."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy had laid her head on her arm, upon the railing. -When she at last lifted her eyes the tears trickled -comically down her cheeks. "That's the first time a -woman ever feazed me!" she said, snuffing, and feeling -for her handkerchief. "I'll have to appoint you -Court Flatterer!" She explained the sovereignty that -she enjoyed amongst the Pintos. Clytie, amused, -accepted the distinction conferred upon her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Their talk ran on till the boat passed under the lee -of Goat Island. It rose, a bare, bleak slope of -hillside on the starboard side. Fancy watched the waters -curdling below.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ugh!" she exclaimed. "It looks cold, don't it! -I'd hate to be down there; it's so wet. Isn't it funny -that suicides always jump overboard right opposite -Goat Island? There seems to be some fascination -about this place. And the bodies are never found. -I suppose they drift out through the Gate. The tide -runs awfully strong here, they say."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She removed her gaze with an effort, adding, "I -hate to think of it! Let's come forward."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They rose and went to the space of deck below -the pilot-house and stood by the rail. Already the -tourists and emigrants were there, eager for a first -glimpse of the city. San Francisco stretched before -them, a long, pearl-gray peninsula, its profile -undulating in a continuous series of hills. Along the water -front was a mêlée of shipping; behind, the houses -rose to the heaving, irregular sky-line where the blue -was deep and cloudless. The streets showed as -gashes, blocking the town off into parallel divisions. -A few tall towers broke the monotony of the huddled, -colorless buildings. They passed a ferry-boat bound -for Oakland, and a foreign man-of-war lying at -anchor, nosed by busy launches. The </span><em class="italics">Piedmont</em><span> rang -down to half-speed, then the vibrations of the paddle -wheels stopped as she shot into the slip. There was a -surge of back-water, a rattling of chains and ratchets, -the cables were fastened and the apron lowered. -The crowd surged forward and poured off the boat. -At the front of the Ferry Building Fancy stopped, -offering her hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-by," she said genially. "You've done me -more good than a Picon punch. I'm going home to -wear my looking-glass out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll never see half I do," Clytie replied, shaking -her head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's because I haven't got such fine eyes," -countered Fancy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think mine are never so pretty as when they -have a little image of you in them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy gave up the duel. "Well, I guess I'd better -go quick before you raise that! You play nothing but -blue chips, and I can't keep up!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie walked up Market Street alone. She turned -into Geary Street at the group of tall newspaper -buildings by Lotta's fountain, and in ten minutes was -knocking at Granthope's office door. There being no -response she descended the stairs, crossed the street -and went into the square to wait for him upon a bench -beside the soldiers' monument.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There were two young women at the other end -of the seat. One, scarcely more than a girl, was -pretty, in a demure, timid way; she was freckled and -tanned, her clothes were simple and neat. The other -was of a coarser grain, full-lipped, large-handed, -painted and powdered, with hard eyes and large -features. She wore several cheap rings, and her finery -made her soiled and wrinkled garments look still more -vulgar. Clytie gave the two a glance and took no -further interest in them until she caught the mention -of Granthope's name.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned, astonished, to see the younger woman -looking seriously at the other. There was a charming -earnestness in her face, and, though her lower lip -drooped tremulously, it was not weak; nor was her -chin, nor her nose, nor the gracefully reliant poise -of her head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You ought to go see him, Kate!" she was saying. -"I tell you he's a wonder! Why, if I hadn't gone -there I don't know where I'd be now. I know one -thing, I wouldn't be married. Why, when Bill was out -in the Philippines and didn't write, I thought I'd lay -down and die! I waited about two months, and then -I took five dollars I saved up for one of them -automobile coats they was all wearing, and I went to see -Granthope. What d'you think?—he wouldn't take a -cent off me! That's the kind of a man Granthope is! -He said it would be all right and Bill would come -back and marry me. But I tell you, I had to do most -of the courting!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You did, did you? Do you mean to say you -run after a man like that—without any nose? I never -see such a face in my life! If he'd only wear a -patch or something it wouldn't be so bad," commented -her companion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bill wouldn't do it; he's too proud. Nobody's -ashamed of having only one leg or one arm, why -should they be of having a nose gone?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What did you think when you first see him, -though? Wan't it disgusting, kind of?" her -companion asked, making a sour face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, I was so proud of him that I didn't see -anything but a man who loved me and who had -fought for his country! But it was some time before -I </span><em class="italics">did</em><span> see him, though. He did his best not to let me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How did you ever find him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, finally Mr. Granthope located Bill down at -Santa Barbara. He was working as a gardener on a -place a little ways out of town. Bill's captain give me -the money to get down there. I guess I cried pretty -near all the way, thinking of Bill hiding out like a -yellow dog without any friends. Finally I found the -place. Bill was living up in a room over the stable."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She paused. "Go on!" said her companion. The -woman's voice had changed somewhat. There was -something more than curiosity in its tone. Fleurette -was looking down, now, fingering her jacket. -Suddenly she began to breathe heavily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bill had a little dog named Dot. A fox terrier, it -was. Bill says he thought it was the only living -thing that didn't despise him on account of his looks. -He was awful fond of Dot. So was I, you bet. -Dot's dead, now." She put a handkerchief to her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I was dead tired. I'd walked all the way -from the station. I was pretty hungry, too. I couldn't -afford to get dinner on the train, and I couldn't wait -to stop to eat in Santa Barbara. And I was good and -trembly—because—well, I hadn't seen Bill for over -a year. I stumbled up the stairs and knocked on the -door, and when Bill heard my voice he wouldn't let -me in. I heard him groan—O, God! it almost broke -my heart! He called through the door for me to go -away. He said he didn't love me any more. Of -course I knew he was lying. I didn't know what to -do. Bill's got an awful strong will. I didn't know -how to make him believe I didn't care how he looked. -I just sat down on the stairs and begun to cry. -Then Dot begun to whine and scratch on the door. -Bill couldn't stand </span><em class="italics">that</em><span>. He swore at him and kicked -him. It was the only time he ever struck him, but Dot -</span><em class="italics">wouldn't</em><span> budge and kept scratching on the door. It -was terrible. So Bill wrapped a towel round his -face and opened the door. I just fell in his arms. -But he put me away from him and said he wouldn't -curse my life, and that I must go away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The other girl was staring at her, awed. "What -did you do?" she whispered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I ran up to him again, and pulled off the -towel and I kissed him." She spoke almost impersonally.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Kate kindled, now. "Oh, Fleurette, did you? Gee, -you were game!" She giggled somewhat hysterically. -"Lucky his mouth wasn't shot off, wasn't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fleurette gazed off across the green and spoke as -to one who knew not of life's realities, saying, simply:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I didn't kiss him on the mouth, Kate—there -was plenty of time for that! I kissed him right -where that Moro bullet had wounded him!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Kate shook her head slowly. "I guess you done -right!" she said. Then, "Say, I'd like to see Bill -again, Fleurette."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie arose, gave the girl one swift glance as -she left, and walked away. She had met two -heroines that day, and her nerves were vibrating like -tense strings. She walked up and down the square, -keeping her eyes on Granthope's doorway.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In half an hour she saw him striding up Geary -Street. She followed him rapidly, ran up the stairs -and knocked again at his door. He opened it and -took her instantly into his arms. She lay there -without speaking, and there was a blessed interval of -silence after his kiss.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The stimulating newness of possession thrilled him. -She was still strange, mysterious, of a different caste, -and there was something deliriously fearful in this -familiarity as she lay captive, unresisting, trembling -in his embrace. He had set his trap for a sparrow -and caught a bird of paradise. He knew his power -over her, now, though he dared not test it. He -dreaded to break the spell of her wonderful -condescension, her royal grace and favor. He was in no -hurry to remove her crown and scepter; the piquancy -of his romance fascinated him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She broke away from him with a gentle insistence, -and looked at him, rosy and smiling. "I'm afraid -I'm just like all other women, after all—and I'm glad -of it!" she confessed, as she readjusted her hat and -sank into the arm-chair to look up at him fondly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't suppose you realize how strange it seems -for me to act this way?" she said. "No man has ever -held me in his arms before. I have never thought -of the possibility of it—even with you. All that -sort of demonstration has been inhibited—I have -always wondered if I had any passion in me. Of -course, when I kissed you the other time it was -different—it was the seal of a compact. But this -time it seemed so natural that I didn't think. This -is the end of my virginal serenity for ever. I think -you have awakened me at last!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She broke into happy laughter. "Did I do it well, -dear? I'm ashamed to think how inexperienced I -am—and you have known so many cleverer women. -If you call me amateurish, I'll slay you! But I think -I shall be an apt pupil, though. Francis, stop -laughing at me, or I'll go home!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her naïveté was breaking up that glorified seraphic -vision he had held of her and put her more nearly -on his level, or, perhaps, raised him to her. He let -his wonder fade slowly. However, with all his -customary audacity he could not yet match her mood. -She saw his reserve and took a woman's delight -in wooing him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Must I convince you that I am flesh and blood?" -she exclaimed with spirit. "And you—the lady-killer—the -hero of a hundred victories—you don't seem -to know that you have me at your feet! Nor how -proud I am of it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then she jumped up and took his hands in hers -softly. "You must be very good to me, Francis, dear, -for I'm simple and ignorant compared to the women -you've known, I suppose. But I'm a woman, after -all. I don't want to be worshiped. I want the -tenderness of an honest man's love, such as other women -have. I want my divine birthright. I've been aloof -from men all my life. That doesn't make me -any less desirable, does it? I've never met a man -who answered my demands. You do, or you will -before I'm through with you. Don't think I'm going -to be all moonshine and vapors. I'm going to love -you till stars dance in the heavens! That's what you -get for wakening me, my friend! I've been asleep, -floating in dreams. I want a man's strength and -chivalry and audacity and vigor and romance, instead -of the painted shadows I've known. Aren't you -afraid of me?" She dropped her head to his shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He needed no further hint. He put away her halo -and her crown, he drew the ermine from her, and -the vision in her eyes was made manifest. But it -was still too new for her to more than sip at the -cup of delight; she would take her happiness by -epicurean inches. So she slid away and evaded him, -putting the chair half-mockingly between them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My father has forbidden me to come down here -to see you," she said. "It's really quite romantic. -But of course I told him I should come, nevertheless, -so we can't quite call it clandestine. He'll never -dare ask me if I've been here. He's quite afraid -of me, when I insist upon having my own way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you said anything about Madam Spoll and -Vixley to him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, but that's no use. They certainly seem to -have given him some wonderful tests—I don't see -how they could have done so well—and he's absolutely -convinced. I don't see what we can do, unless -we wait for them to go too far and arouse his -suspicions. I can't think he's feeble-minded. They're -making him pay, though that's the least of the matter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have had an idea that I might get hold of one -of the gang—a Doctor Masterson—and induce him -to sell them out. He's a turncoat, and if he only -knows enough about their game he could be bribed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I must leave it to you, Francis. I don't like -that method, exactly, but we must do what we can. -Perhaps it will settle itself. We can do nothing yet, -at any rate. To-day I've come down to ask you to -invite me to lunch, please!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"With pleasure—only, if I must confess—I don't -know that I can offer you a very good one. Wait -I'll see how much money I have left." He felt doubtfully -in his pocket, and added, "Oh, that's all right, -we can go to the Palace."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie was instantly suspicious. "How much have you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite enough."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Answer me, sir!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"About twelve dollars."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She gasped. "Do you mean to say that's </span><em class="italics">all</em><span> you -have left?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Everything. But my rent is paid for a month in -advance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you any debts?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Naturally. Two hundred dollars or so, that's all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She came up to him and worked her finger into his -buttonhole. "Francis Granthope," she said solemnly, -"are you really—ruined?" Her eyes danced.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I've got enough junk in my chamber to pay -that off, I expect, but it won't leave me exactly -affluent."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She burst into a delicious chime of laughter. "Why, -it's positively melodramatic, isn't it? I never -happened to know any one who was actually bankrupt -before. Of course it must happen, sometimes, but -somehow I thought people could always raise some -money, even if they had to scrimp. How exciting -it is—aren't you nervous about it? Why, I'd be -frightened to death! And yet it seems terribly amusing!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed with her. "I can't seem to take it -very seriously, while you're with me, at any rate. -To tell the truth, I haven't begun to think about -it yet. Of course my fees have always been in cash, -and consequently there's nothing coming in. And -I've always spent every cent I made, and a little more. -But I've been broke before, and it doesn't alarm me, -except that, of course, I can't depend upon living -by my wits in quite the same way as I would have, -if I hadn't chucked that sort of thing. If I didn't -care how I did it, I suppose I could make a hundred -or so a week easily enough."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She listened and grew more serious. "Of course -that's all over. But you've got to have money! -Let's see what I have with me." She took her purse -from her bag and emptied it upon the desk. Several -ten- and twenty-dollar gold pieces rolled out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope shook his head sharply. "No, don't do -that, please! I can't take anything, even as a -loan, you know. I can't spend a cent I haven't -honestly earned—I never shall again, if I have to -starve, which I don't intend to do, either. You must -know that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But from me—isn't that different?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not even from you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course you mustn't. I see. It's better -not to, yet somehow I could have forgiven you -if you had let me help a little at first. I don't -exactly see how you're going to live. Why, it's -awful, when you come to think of it, isn't it? It really -is serious. What a goose I've been! I'm afraid I -shall worry about you now. Well, you'll have to have -lunch with </span><em class="italics">me</em><span> to-day, anyway. That's only fair, if -I invite you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"On the contrary, I'm going to invite you to share -my humble meal."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right; let's be reckless then, if you </span><em class="italics">must</em><span> be -proud and show off. It will be fun. I never -economized in my life, but now I'm going to show you -how. Hand over all your wealth, please."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She counted it out upon the desk, a five dollar -piece, six silver dollars and two halves and a few -nickels. "Now," she said, "how long can we make -this last—a week?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've lived for three weeks on that much, often, -and paid for my room."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Something's bound to happen within ten days, I'm -sure. If you see nothing ahead at the end of a week, -I'll put you on half-rations, and till then I'll allow -you a dollar a day. Shall I keep it for you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was delighted to have a treasurer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now we'll take fifty cents and go to some nice -dairy place and sit on a stool."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But, as he insisted upon a place where they could -talk in quiet, they went, instead, to a shady little -restaurant around the corner, and there they seriously -discussed his prospects.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did so whimsically. It was really absurd that -he, in full health, six feet high and a hundred and -seventy pounds in weight, at twenty-eight, could do -nothing, so far as he knew, to support himself honestly. -He had been a parasite upon the vanity of fools. -After much casting about for ideas, she sent for an -</span><em class="italics">Examiner</em><span> and began to search through the "Help -Wanted; Male" column.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Barber's College she rejected first, although -he pointed out the advantageous fact that it offered -"wages while learning." Canvassing for books or -watches they both agreed was not interesting enough. -Boot-black—he raised his eyebrows in consideration, -she shook her head energetically; it was too -conspicuous, with these open-air sidewalk stands. She -turned up her nose, also, at the idea of his distributing -circulars. The Marine Corps tempted him next—but -no, she couldn't think of sparing him for three -years, not to speak of a girl in every port. She -asked him what a job-press feeder was; he didn't -know, but he was sure he couldn't do it—it would be -all he could do to feed himself. Profiler—if he could -make as good a profile as Clytie's now, he might -get that job. But it appeared to be something -connected with a machine-shop. He looked at his white -hands and smiled. Weavers, warpers and winders—equally -mysterious and impossible. The rest of the -wants were for mechanics and tradesmen. Clytie -dropped the paper, disappointed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He declined to let the matter disturb him, as yet. -He had no fear of the future, and the present was too -charming not to be enjoyed to the full.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What I've always wanted to do," he said, "is -to study medicine. If I could get money enough -ahead to put myself through a medical school, I -wouldn't mind beginning even at my age. I think -I'm fitted for that, for I've cultivated my powers -of observation and I know a good deal about human -nature, and I've read everything I could lay my -hands on. Some day I shall try that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well, Doctor Granthope, I shall make up -my mind to being a doctor's wife, and being rung up -at all hours, and being alone half the time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wasn't aware that I had proposed yet," he -answered jocosely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, people don't propose, now, do they? Not -real people. What a Bromide you are!" she laughed -joyously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll have to disprove that. Let's spend the rest -of the afternoon out of doors and get acquainted! -Then when I have a good chance I'll ask if you'll -be my wife. Do you realize how little we know of -one another? It's ridiculous. Why, you may have -a middle name for all I know! You may eat sugar -on canteloupe or vinegar on your oysters; you may -be an extraordinary mimic; you may have escaped -sudden death; you may have been engaged when you -were seventeen; you may sulk; you may mispronounce -my favorite words! How do I know but you like -magenta and Germans and canary birds, and wear -Jaegers; and object to profanity and nicknames, and -say 'well-read' and read the </span><em class="italics">Philistine</em><span>!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good Lord, deliver us! That's a devil's -liturgy!" In denial of his categories she held him -out her palm. "Oh, you should know me by that -right hand! You're supposed to be a trained observer -of symptoms and stigmata. </span><em class="italics">You're</em><span> the one who needs -investigation! Do you realize what a risk I am -running? Why, I haven't yet heard you speak to a -dog, or answer a beggar, or seen you eat a banana, -or watch a vaudeville show—and all four are -necessary before I really know you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She bent her head in mock humility and looked up -at him from beneath her golden lashes. "You needn't -be afraid, Francis; if you tell me what your rules -are, I'll obey them. If you </span><em class="italics">really</em><span> want me to wear -magenta, I shall be terribly fond of it, and I shall -only think I've been stupid all my life to loathe it, -and be so glad to learn. But I hope you don't!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you'll allow me five cents for dessert," he said -as seriously, "I'll order bananas, at the risk of losing -you for ever."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They had begun now to revel in the piquancy of -the situation. Their meetings had, up to this time, -seemed fatal in their dramatic sequence, fraught with -meaning, working steadily up to the climax in the -studio. There had been few scenes between them, -but those scenes had been cumulative in feeling. -They had played their parts like actors in a play of -destiny, a play whose plot had been closely knit and -esthetically economical in incident and dialogue, each -act developing logically the previous situation. Now -that the tension was released, and the reaction had -come after an histrionic catastrophe, each looked at -the other with new eyes, seeking the living person -under the tragic mask.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In this delightful pursuit they came upon such -fantastic surprises, such rare coincidences, such lovely -similarities of whim and taste and prejudice, and, -above all, such a rare harmony in their points of view -on life, that their talk was as exciting as if they -had just met for the first time. The talk ran on, -back and forth, lively with continual revelation. It -came out, not in dominating trends of thought, or -principled opinions, but in many charming lesser -exemplifications of their mutual fastidiousness. She -reached for a plate, and his hand was outstretched to -give it to her at precisely the same instant—their -fingers touched, and their eyes spoke in delighted -surprise. He discovered that she, like himself, took no -sugar in her coffee, and on that consanguinity of -taste an imaginative structure arose, to be destroyed -with equal delight when he found that she was resisting -a temptation to use cream. She quoted spontaneously -a line from Stevenson that, for no reason whatever, -he had always loved: "For to my mind one thing -is as good as another in this world, and a shoe -of a horse will do." She knew his language, he -fulfilled her test. Such were their tiny psychological -romances at table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They had reversed the usual order of progression in -their friendship, or rather Fate had reversed it for -them. Had they become betrothed in the ancient -manner without previous knowledge of one another, their -position could have been no more alluring and -delicate, for, strangers physically and, to an extent, -mentally, their intimacy of spirit was as certain and -irrevocable as a blood relationship. They played with a -series of little embarrassments.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To-day they had changed their characteristic parts; -he was timid, as he had never been timid with women. -She was bold, as she had never been bold with men. -The primitive woman had come to life in her. They -were, however, both of that caste which can notice, -analyze and discuss the subtleties of such a condition -while still enjoying it to the full. It delighted -them to glean the nuances and overtones of that -harmony. It was a new experience to Granthope to be -with one who understood and was sensitive to the -secondary and tertiary thrills of delight without -having become hyper-refined out of vibration with the -primal note of passion. That sharing of the wonderful -first fruits with her, mentally as well as physically and -spiritually, kept his appetite for her whetted to a -keen edge. He could not get enough of her from sight -or hearing, and each touch of her hand became a -perilously exciting event, a little voyage of poetic -adventure.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They were both learning swiftly the art of loving, -but, though one goes far in the first sensational -lessons, one can not go all the way, no matter how -reckless is the attempt. Passion has to be adjusted to -tenderness, and affection to experience, or there is -discord. For her, perhaps, that love held more of -faery, more freshness and delicious abandon, more -mystery, for her nerves had never been dulled by -contact; but for him there were newer and truer -wonders as well. He had taken another degree in -sentiment, and the initiation was as marvelous for -him, an apprentice, as for her, a neophyte. And, in -that sacred, secret lodge, when the time came, she -would jump in a single intuitive moment to his level -and surpass him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Already she was tuned to the emotional pitch; she -would notice every false move, every mistake in his -devotion, as well as if she had been with him -past-master in the rites of love. She could already teach -him, and already she began to hold him back sensitively, -to linger over every transient mood of feeling, -every minor phase which women, in that stage between -wooing and winning, so care to taste to the last sweet -drop. Every reflex, every echo, she would bid him -answer to, indefinitely prolonging, now that she was -sure of him, the fineness of the reward of her moment, -delaying the definite end. He had taught her the -rapture of a caress—she would teach him the -excitement of a smile, a tone, a gesture.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They lingered long at the table and then went -forth into the sun. The cable-car carried them, still -bantering, to the gate of the Presidio, and they set -out rollicking across the golf-links. The open downs -stretched in front of them in long, sweeping lines, -like the ground swells of the sea, skirted to the north -by groves of cypress and eucalyptus trees. Beyond, -to the west, the ground grew sandy as it approached -the ocean, and from that direction a sea-breeze sailed, -salt and strong. Behind them was Lone Mountain, -with its huge cross on top, and from there in a -scattering quadrant a multitude of little houses, the -outskirts of the city, skirmished towards the park. The -turf was hard and smooth as a carpet, burned, here -and there, in patches of black, but elsewhere of a -pastel green, colored by the hardier weeds that had -sustained the drought and fought their way through -the matted, sunburned stalks of dry grass.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dipping down through a wide, sandy hollow, -tangled with fuzzy undergrowth, they climbed up again, -making for a shoulder of the hill where the road -curved sharply round the summit. They were alone -in the world, now; no one was in sight, at least, and -the glory of this free space of earth and air brought -them as near to one another as if they had regained -childhood. Clytie's hat was off, and her hair -wantoned over her forehead and neck. She gave him -her joyous laughter unrestrained, and he listened as -to a song, and attempted by every wile he knew to -provoke it again and again. If she had been -high-priestess before, now she was pixie, and he was, at -first, almost as afraid of her in this new guise. He -explored a new world with her, as Adam did with Eve. -As Adam did with Eve, he marveled at her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It came to him, as they walked, that what had kept -them apart, mentally, was an odd lack of humor. -He saw how his whole life had been a pose towards -himself as well as towards the world, repressing what -now, the costume and custom gone, would come forth -bubbling without care. He had kept a straight face -so long! What mirth he had felt, in presence of his -dupes, had been strained fine, escaping in the corner -of a smile, while he fashioned his glib phrases. It -had been a preacher's sobriety, the sedateness of -priest-craft, aging him prematurely. She held him her hands -now down the years, back to decent, cleanly fun. To -his surprise he found that he could give full vent to -it. He could laugh aloud, and need not study effects -and poses; he need not impress her. His wit was -clumsy; it even approached silliness, in its first -runaway impulse, but he at least lost his self-consciousness. -He followed her merriment, and they discovered -nonsense together.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So, jollying, they tramped up to the road and came -suddenly upon the sea, flaming, peacock blue, at the -foot of the cliff which fell almost vertically at their -feet. Across the dancing waves, from a coast like -Norway's, Point Bonita arose, guarding the Golden -Gate. At the end of a semicircular cove to their -left a ragged cliff jutted into the channel; behind its -promontory the hills rolled back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She gave a cry of joy and happiness and sat down -on the verge of the bluff to feast upon the view. He -dropped beside her and took her hand. An automobile -whirred past them and she did not flinch. There -he underwent a revulsion of feeling.</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 71%" id="figure-97"> -<span id="he-dropped-beside-her-and-took-her-hand"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="He dropped beside her and took her hand" src="images/img-424.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">He dropped beside her and took her hand</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How can you love me?" he said bitterly. "What -good am I? I have no capacity, no prospects, no -purpose, even! I am a mere negative, and if I -loved you I should free you from the incubus."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you recall reading the palm of a girl whose -lover in the Philippines refused to write to her?" she -asked. "It happened about the time I first knew you, -I think."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He nodded, watching a tug towing a bark out -through the Gate, and she told him what she had -heard of Fleurette's story that morning. It was no -slight relief to him to think that he had helped some -one, though his assistance had been based upon deceit.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you see?" she said. "Don't you understand -how women love? It makes no difference how poor -or how dishonored a man may be, if she loves him her -happiness must be with him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, a physical deformity is easy enough to forget. -But how about a moral one? You'll be the wife of an -outcast."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you refused to accept my love, if you left me, -now, you would be inflicting a far greater pain than -any gossip could ever give me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The mere problem of living appals me," he -went on gloomily. "I would never think twice of it, -if I were alone. But you know what a coward -marriage makes of one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed in his face. "I'll be your first patient, -Doctor Granthope, and I'll pay you well!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If there was some way of getting that money of -Madam Grant's. I've never even thought of trying -to claim it, but perhaps I might go up to Stockton and -inquire about it. Of course, there's no fear of being -accused of stealing it, now. But even if I had it, I -don't know whether or not it would be right to use it -myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You might at least borrow it for a while, but for -my own part I'm convinced that it's yours. There's -no reason why the bank should have the use of it for -nothing. I wish we could clear up that matter of -Madam Grant."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They set out again, she with a buoyant tread, willowy -and strong. It was not till her muscles relaxed -that her characteristic, dreamy languor was apparent, -and this trait was slowly disappearing under the -influence of the new interest in her life. It was as if -she had found, now, what she, in her former quiescent -moods, had been watching and waiting for, and -Granthope's presence stimulated her with energy. She -was almost coquettish with him at times, now, the -mood alternating with a noble frankness, the -boldness of a gambler who has cast all hardily upon a -single stroke. She was not afraid of being seen with -him. She gave him herself in every word and glance. -A casual observer could have read her fondness for him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They went along the road, skirting the water, past -the battery emplacements and disappearing guns, over -a low hill toward the Fort. From this side the Bay -opened to them, and beyond lay line on line of -mountains, growing hazier in the distance, to the north -and east. They had regained their spirits with this -exercise, and talked again freely as boy and girl. He -noticed with amusement and delight how she edged, -unconsciously, nearer and nearer him. If he crossed -the road, she came to him, without perceiving the -regularity of it, as the armature comes to the -magnet. She nearly forced him into the wall, or off the -walk, in her unthinking pursuit of him, so strongly -he attracted her. She blushed furiously when he spoke -of it—it was so droll that he could not help mentioning -it—but that comment did not cure her. She was -over by his side, rubbing elbows as unaffectedly the -next instant. How could she help it, when he kept -his eyes on her as he did? she said. So, along the -shore by the Life Saving Station, up to the parade -ground and the barracks, then by a climb up the steep, -narrow, tree-grown path to the corner gate of the -reservation they sported.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That was the first of a series of outings they had -together that week. The Golden Gate Park, Sutro's -forest and the beach were each explored in turn, -and while still within the limits of the city they tasted -of country, mountain and shore, and let the days fly -by. Clytie brought the luncheon, and they ate it, picnic -fashion, under the blue sky. She kept strict account -of his finances, and as his small capital dwindled they -came back to his plans for the future. He met her, -one day, with news.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think I shall have to go to work, after all," he -said. "I've got a position."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She congratulated him, not without a shade of -sorrow that their holidays were to end.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's too much like my old work to be very proud -of, but it's a step up. It's founded on vanity, but this -time I shall exploit my own instead of others'. I'm -going on the stage. I've found my name is worth -something."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was a little disappointed and he was not -surprised. "Oh, I'll soon become unbearable, I suppose. -Most of the time I don't spend in front of the make-up -glass looking at myself, I'll spend being looked at, -trying to propitiate an audience. It's a school of -egoism. But at least my pose will be honest. I saw the -stage manager of the </span><em class="italics">Alcazar</em><span>, and I'm going to begin -to rehearse next Monday."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He spoke banteringly, but she felt the truth of his -jests. Still, it would provide for the present. It -would make him more than ever notorious—but it was -better than idleness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The next day at ten o'clock she appeared at the -studio to spend the day with him. It was Wednesday, -and they were anxious to make the most of what -time remained.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Except for his bed, table and bureau, his chamber -was empty now, all his effects having been sold at -auction. The sum received barely sufficed to pay off -his debts. The studio, too, was bare, and placards -hung outside both doors indicating that the premises -were to let. The little office, however, was left as -usual, except for the casts of hands, put away in the -closet, and in this room they stayed by the open fire.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was looking over his card catalogue as she -entered. He had conceived the plan of writing a book -on palmistry along new lines, in which he might -embody his observations and theories. His aim was -to attempt to correlate chirography, chiromancy, -phrenology, physiognomy and all those sciences and -pseudo-sciences which seek to interpret character through -specialized individual characteristics, and to trace the -evidences from one to another, showing how each -element or indication would recur in every manifestation -of a person's individuality, and how one symptom -might be inferred and corroborated by another. It -would take time and trouble, but he could spend -his leisure upon it. The plan was tentative and -hypothetical, but so suggestive that he was becoming -interested in proving its verification. Clytie was -enthusiastic about the book and desirous of helping him. -He was becoming less afraid of her, and more sure -of himself, after their days together, and he greeted -her boldly enough, now. Yet there was still a -fascinating novelty in his possession of her that made his -familiarity seem like recklessness. Not for her, -however. Once having given him her lips she could never -refuse them again, nor could she longer think the -action strange.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She took off her coat and hat, tucked in an errant -curl or two over her ears and seated herself -luxuriously in the arm-chair. As she had played with him, -so now she worked with him, arranging his notes, -dictating for him to write, or stopping to discuss the -subject. She was too adorable in all this assumption -of importance and seriousness for him not to -interrupt her occupation more than once, for which -diversion of her attention he was sent back promptly to his -desk. The business kept them so employed for two -hours, when she opened her package, brought forth -their luncheon and brewed a pot of tea on the hearth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Francis," she said, after that was over, "do you -know we are actually becoming acquainted? Isn't -it too bad!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you enjoy the process?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Decidedly I do. That's why I regret that it must -soon be over."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I doubt if we'll ever finish—if we do, it will be -still more delightful to know you. And this process -brings us toward that beautiful consummation."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, but this part is so pleasant. I hate to see -it go. I want to roll it over on my tongue. Now, -every word you say is a revelation and a surprise—a -surprise that I have been anticipating all my life, -if you'll pardon the bull. It's like unwrapping a -mummy—I get excitedly nearer and nearer my ideal -of you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But there's no satisfaction in opening doors if -one can't go in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, there's the immortal difference between a man -and a woman! Most men want a marvel, patent and -notorious. They want to come to the end of the -rainbow and find the pot of gold; that's all, whether that -means a kiss or a marriage. Women enjoy every step -of the journey. Men think of nothing but fulfilment, -women of achievement. Men care only for the black -art of the Indian fakir who makes a grain of wheat -grow to full maturity in a few minutes. Women -appreciate the wonder of the natural development of -that same little seed in the warm bosom of the earth, -with its slow evolution of sprout and stalk and leaf -and blossom—the glory of every step on the way!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, can't you see that progress in affection needn't -be a limited journey to a finite end, even the end of the -flower, but, no matter how fast one travels, if one -is really in love, the goal is always infinitely distant? -There are enough things to be understood and enjoyed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I'm sure enough that I'll never get enough of -you, and never know enough about you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's almost too true to be funny. You'll never -know even who I am, I'm afraid. Think what a risk -you run, my dear!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I know who you are well enough. You're the -son of Casanova and Little Dorrit."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He grew reflective. "Isn't it strange," he said, -"that you, with all your wonderful intuitions, shouldn't -be able, somehow, to solve that riddle? Do you think -I am Madam Grant's son? Sometimes that seems to -be the inevitable conclusion."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't quite think you are, Francis. Everything -you have told me about her has brought her very -near to me, somehow, and I feel as if I knew her, but -you don't affect me in the same way. I think you're -a changeling, myself! It is strange that I can't quite -'get' you now, though, not nearly as well as I used to. -My power seems to have waned ever since—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Since what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Since that first kiss! You see, I've exchanged that -elusive power for something tangible." She put him -away with a gesture. "No, not now! I want to -be serious! And oh, here's what I found in my father's -scrap-book. It seemed to have been cut from a very -old paper. Somehow it seems to point to her. I want -to know what you think about it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had copied it out and read it to him:</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Miss Felicia Gerard, who spoke immediately after -Mrs. Woodhull's address, is one of that lady's most devoted -adherents and helpers, having been connected with the cause -for nearly a year. Although only twenty years of age, -Miss Gerard has brought into action talents of no mean -order. She was graduated at Vassar College, and is -endowed both physically and mentally with the rarest and -most lovable qualities. She was first presented to -Mrs. Woodhull in Toledo, where the remarkable clairvoyant -powers shared by the two women drew them naturally -together. Miss Gerard is a regular contributor to </span><em class="italics">Woodhull -and Claflin's Weekly</em><span> where her spirited articles have -attracted wide notice and flattering praise."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"That must be Mamsy," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sure of it. I shall ask my father as soon as -I get the opportunity."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For the rest of the afternoon they talked as if they -were never to meet again. Once or twice there came -a knock, and the door was tried, but Granthope did -not answer, and they were left alone in peace. She -rose to go at six, and, as she was to be busy all the -next day, the parting was long delayed. They were, -indeed, getting rapidly acquainted.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-re-entrant-angle"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE REËNTRANT ANGLE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Blanchard Cayley strolled into the Mercantile -Library, one afternoon, and, nodding to the clerk at the -desk, walked to an alcove in the corner of the main -hall. He stopped at a shelf and sat down on a stool. -He had done this several afternoons a week for years, -going through the library as a business man takes -account of stock, examining every book in order. Of -some he read only the titles, glancing perhaps also -at the date of the edition; of some he looked over the -table of contents. Others he read, nibbling here and -there. A few he took home. He had, by this time, -almost exhausted the list. He read, not like a -bookworm, with relish and zest, nor like a student desirous -of a mastery of his subject; he read, as he did everything, -even to his love-making, deliberately, accurately, -with an elaborate scientific method that was, in its -intricacy, something of a game, whose rules he alone -knew. He had, indeed, specialized, taking up such -subjects as jade, Japanese poetry, Esperanto, higher -space, Bahiism, and devil-worship, and in such -subjects he had what is termed "lore," but his main object -was the conquest of the whole library in itself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This afternoon he did not read long. Looking -over the top of his book, as was his custom from time -to time, to discover what women were present, he -caught sight of Clytie Payson in the alcove containing -the government reports. He replaced his volume and -went over to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was in high spirits, and welcomed him cordially, -as if she had but just come from something interesting -and stimulating; another man's smile seemed still to -linger with her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, how d'you do, Blanchard?" she said. "I -haven't seen you here for a long time. What has -happened? Have you finished the library yet?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no, not quite. I've still a few more shelves -to do, but I've been studying psychology on the side."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked at him with an indulgence that was new -to him. "In petticoats, I presume, then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He shrugged his shoulders. "No, I've been studying -a man," he said. "What are you doing?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She overlooked the purport of his question and -answered lightly, "Oh, only looking up some statistics -for father. I've been coming here quite often, lately, -but I'm almost finished, now. Is there anything in the -world duller than a statistic? I always think of the -man who went for information to a statistician at -Washington and was asked, 'What d'you want to prove?'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How is your father getting on with the book?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie grew a little more serious. "Why, father's -queer lately. I can't understand him at all. He's -taken up with some spiritualists, and I'm rather -worried about it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's talked to me about them. But I should hardly -think you'd be surprised at it. You're as much interested -in palmistry as he is in the spooks, aren't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie flashed a glance at him. "Didn't you know -that Mr. Granthope had given up palmistry?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cayley smiled and smoothed his pointed beard. -"Oh, yes. I've heard considerable about it. Nobody -seems to understand it but me. Very clever of him, -I think."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What d'you mean?" Clytie was instantly upon the -defense.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I like his system. It's subtle."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"His system?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. You don't mean to say you still think he's -sincere, do you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't think it's necessary to discuss Mr. Granthope," -said Clytie carelessly. "Of course I do believe -he's sincere, or I wouldn't call myself a friend of his. -He has given up a good paying business because he -was sick of that way of earning a living."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And also in order to make more money by quitting."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By marrying you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She winced. "Blanchard," she said, "if you weren't -an old friend, I couldn't forgive you that. But because -you are, I can't permit you to think it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was because we are old friends that I permitted -myself to speak so plainly. You'll count it, I suppose, -merely as jealousy. But I hate to see you taken in so -easily."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie looked up at him calmly, folding her hands -in her lap. "Now, Blanchard, please tell me exactly -what you mean, without any more insinuations."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Granthope has been for two months -trying to marry you. He's after your money."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you for the implied compliment," she retorted dryly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, well, you know perfectly well what </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> think -of you, Cly. I was thinking of what I know of him, -not what I know of you. He's made a deliberate -attempt to get you, and this reform business is only -a part of the game."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled and turned away, as if she were so sure -of Granthope that it was hardly worth her while even -to defend him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's not pleasant to say it," he went on; "but you -spoke of being distrustful of these mediums your father -knows, and my point is that Granthope's tarred with -the same brush. He has worked with them and -plotted with them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was as yet unruffled; the spell of her happiness -was still upon her, and she answered mildly. "I can -hardly blame you for thinking that, perhaps. I -suppose I might myself, if I didn't know him so well. -But I do happen to know something about his life, and -I'm sure you're mistaken. He's told me a good deal, -and I have my own intuitions besides."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cayley was as serene. "Do your intuitions tell you, -for instance, that he has a definite understanding with -these mediums—in regard to you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, they do not!" she answered calmly, looking -him fair in the face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's true, nevertheless." Cayley, with sharp eyes, -noted her flush. Her eyes were well schooled, but her -quivering mouth betrayed her trouble.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She took up her book as if to dismiss the subject.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cayley watched her with impassive eyes. "You may -be his friend, as you say, but there are a lot of things -about Granthope that you don't know yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No doubt," she replied without looking up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And there are things which you ought to know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked at him now, to say: "Do you fancy -that you are helping your own chances any by -attacking him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will it help his chances any if you find that he -has given away particular facts that he's discovered -about you and your father?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had begun to be aroused, now, and she showed -fight. "I don't believe it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Still unperturbed, he went on in his mechanically -precise way. "I've made it my business to find out -about Granthope, Cly. It shouldn't surprise you—you -know I'm in earnest about wanting you. I'm as -earnest, too, in wanting to protect you. I don't -propose to hold my tongue when I find that you're -trusting in a man that's knifing you behind your back."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her voice rang with pride and scorn as she rose, -saying, "I don't care to discuss the matter further, -Blanchard."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not when I say that I have seen notes in Granthope's -own handwriting that were given to a medium -as a part of a deliberate scheme? These notes were on -definite things he had learned, I'm sure, from his -conversations with you. Some of them are personal -matters that I'm sure you wouldn't at all care to have -made public. You could easily prove it if you saw them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had lost courage again, and hesitated, staring -at him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then she said, freezing, "Let me see them, then. If -you're determined to have a scene, you may as well -follow the rules of melodrama."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't show them, because this medium wouldn't -let them out of his possession. But I can get him to -let you see them, if you like."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You say they are about things we—that I talked -about?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Things—about—</span><em class="italics">me</em><span>?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. I forget all of them. I had only a moment's -glance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For some moments she stood silent. Then she -spoke swiftly. "I don't believe it. He couldn't do -such a thing!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear Cly, you must remember that one's whole -mental evolution is merely the history of the conflict -between reason and instinct, and reason is bound to -win in the end. That's the way we develop. The -fact is, he </span><em class="italics">could</em><span> do it and </span><em class="italics">did</em><span> do it. He's a charlatan -and he has used a charlatan's methods. I said he was -clever. This giving up his studio was merely a kind -of gambit. But he made a mistake when he tried to -use a lot of cheap fakirs to help him out with you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" She clenched her fists. "Don't! I won't -stand it!" Her head dropped as if she were weary. -Her eyes burned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, there's good in everybody, the copy-books say," -he returned. "But the fact is, Cly, he isn't in your -class, and never was. You should have seen that!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked at him without seeing him, her eyes -caught meaninglessly by the garnet in his tie, clinging -to it, as if it were the only real thing in the world. -Her lips parted, the color was leaving her cheeks, -she looked as frail as a ghost. Suddenly she threw -off her reverie, and placing her hand on his arm, said, -"Let me see them—the notes—Blanchard. There -must be some horrid mistake. I want to clear it up -immediately."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well, I'll take you now, if you like. It isn't far."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She followed him out of the library as if hypnotized. -They spoke little on the way. Cayley tried his best to -arouse her, but finally gave it up as impossible. He -watched her, preserving his usual phlegmatic calm. -She walked with head erect, her chin forward, with her -long, graceful gait, beside him, but never seemed two -human beings further apart in spirit.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Flora Flint opened the door to Vixley's flat. She -acted quite as if she belonged there and invited them -in cordially, with an up-and-down scrutiny of Clytie -as they passed in. Then she disappeared down the -long, tunnel-like hall. Cayley took Clytie into the -office where, refusing a chair, she stood like a statue, -her eyes fixed on the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vixley entered, currying his beard with his long -fingers. "Well, Mr. Cayley," he said, "what can we -do for you? Like a sitting?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Professor, you recall telling me something about -some memoranda Granthope gave you, don't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I been thinkin' about that, Mr. Cayley, and I don't -know as I ought to have said anything. I'm rather -inclined to regret it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You </span><em class="italics">have</em><span> said something, and I've brought this -lady down to show the memoranda to her," said Cayley.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"H'm!" Vixley looked her over. "It ain't exactly -customary to show things like that, you know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We've had all that out before. I'm here to see -those cards."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vixley drew up a rocking-chair for Clytie, and -seated himself on the edge of the revolving chair in -front of his desk, putting the tips of his long fingers -together. "Francis Granthope is a bright young man," -he said, "a very bright young man. Very painstaking, -and very thorough. I won't say he ain't a </span><em class="italics">leetle</em><span> -bit unscrupulous, however. A man who ain't got no -psychic influence behind him has got to do some pretty -good guessin'. Now you go to work and take me, with -my control, Theodore Parker, and his band o' spirits, -I don't need to bother much. I can get all I want out -of the other plane. I ain't sayin' nothin' against -Granthope, except maybe that he uses methods, sometimes, -that ain't </span><em class="italics">exactly</em><span> legitimate, such as what I was -tellin' you about."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How did he happen to give you these notes?" Clytie asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, I s'pose he expected me to give him an -equivalent in return. I will say I have helped him out, -at times, feelin' rather predisposed toward him, and -him bein' a likely chap. But Lord, </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> don't need his -help! And so I told him. In this case I didn't feel -called upon to give away none of my client's affairs. -Naturally he got a little huffy about it, and he's acted -so that I'm inclined to resent it. I can't bear anything -like ingratitude."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He opened his desk and took from a pigeonhole two -cards. He handed them to Clytie.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was tellin' Mr. Cayley, here, I knew about -Granthope and his methods. It'll show you what a poor -business this palm-readin' reely is. Lord, they ain't -nothin' in it at all! If anybody wants to know anything -about the future the only way to do is to establish -communications with the spirit-plane through the -well-known and well-tried methods of spiritualism."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie was not listening. Her eyes were upon the -cards. She looked and looked, reading and re-reading, -her face set in tense lines, the notes in Granthope's -fine, closely written hand. There it was, as he had set -it down:</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Oliver Payson, b. Oct. 2nd, 1842. b. d. present from dau., -bound copy of 'Montaigne' 1900. Tattoo mark anchor on -right arm, near shoulder. Writing a book. Economics (?) -Knew Mad. Grant (?) Wife visited Mad. G. x. v. p.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie Payson. Engaged to Blanchard Cayley (?) Mole, -left cheek. Ring with "Clytie" inside. Turquoises. Claims -psychic power. Clairv. Goes to Merc. Lib. afternoons at 3. -Buried doll under sun-dial in garden.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>As she came to the last line she dropped the card -from her fingers. She had become a woman of ice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vixley picked up the card and smiled, showing -his yellow teeth. "Kind of a give-away, ain't it? </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> -call his work lumpy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope you're convinced now," Cayley added.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned her head slowly, deliberately, to the -Professor. "When did Mr. Granthope give you this -card?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I dunno, exactly, he's gave me so much, one -time or another. About two weeks ago, I should -judge. Why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm very much obliged to you." Her voice came -as if from an immense distance. Then she nodded -to Cayley, who rose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothin' more I could do, is they? Wouldn't you -like to try a sittin', Miss?" Vixley asked with urbanity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you, no." Clytie walked out slowly, -without another look at him, like a somnambulist. -Vixley hastened to escort her to the front door, -and opened it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cayley gave him a look. It was returned. Vixley -bowed. Clytie went out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you going over to North Beach?" Cayley -inquired. "I'll walk up to the car with you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll go alone, I think."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, very well—but—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good afternoon. You'll have to excuse me, Blanchard."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right. Good day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She strode off, leaving him there.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She walked all the way home, and walked fast, her -head held high, looking straight ahead of her. She -took the steep hills with hardly a slackening of her -speed, breasting the upward inclines energetically, -leaning forward with grace. Up Nob Hill and -down she went, along the saddle, up Russian Hill and -over, without her customary pause to enjoy the glorious -outlooks. Under her arm she still carried the book -from the library which she had forgotten to put down -when first Blanchard Cayley spoke to her. She held -it automatically, apparently not knowing that it was -there. With it she gripped her glove; her right hand -was still bare, clenching her skirt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned into her street at last, and climbed the -wooden steps, into the garden. As she went up the -path, her eyes lighted upon the sun-dial. She stopped -and looked at it for a moment fixedly. Then into the -house, up-stairs to her room, to throw herself upon -the bed...</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The wind had risen and blew gustily about the -house. Her shutter banged at intervals. The noise -kept up till she rose, opened the window and -fastened back the blind, and went back to her bed. There -she lay, staring, with her eyes wide open...</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Her father did not come home that evening. At -half-past seven she got up again, washed her face, -arranged her hair, and went down-stairs to eat dinner -alone. Afterward she stepped out into the garden. -The wind billowed her skirts, fretted her hair into a -swirl of tawny brown, cooled her cheeks. For an -hour she walked up and down in the dark. The -harbor was thick with mist. The siren on Lime Point -sobbed across the Gate intermittently ...</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Later, she went into the library and sat down with -a book beside the fire. For a half-hour she did not -turn a page, but remained quiescent, gazing at the -flames...</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>At ten she went up to her workroom, lighted the -gas, and took out her tools. For two hours she -sewed leaves on her frame, working as if automatically. -Her gaze was intent; one would have said that -she was completely absorbed in her task. Slowly the -sheets piled, one on another, each stitched to the back -with deft strokes. Finally the whole volume was -completed. She bound up the loose threads and put the -book away. Then she heated her irons, got out her -gold-leaf and spent an hour tooling a calf cover, pressing -in roses and circles and stipples while her lips were -sternly set. She arose, then, and looked out into -the night...</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>She undressed at last and went to bed. Long after -midnight there was a sound below of her father -coming in. His footsteps went to and fro for a -time, then they came up-stairs. His door was closed -softly. There was no sound, now, but the ticking of -her little clock, and, occasionally, the far-away echo of -a steamer's whistle, and the dreary note of the siren. -She tossed uneasily. The clock struck one, two, three, -four. Then the wind began to sing round the corner -of the house as the gale rose. The noise was -soothingly monotonous, hypnotic, anesthetic...</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>At breakfast she was cool, serene, quiet, showing no -traces of her emotion. She talked with her father, -laughed with him, as usual, flying from one topic to -another, never serious. As he got up to go, she -remarked:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Father, I think I'll go up to Sacramento to visit -Mrs. Maxwell at Lonely a few days. I've put it off -so long, and she's been after me again to come. She's -up there all alone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right, Cly. I saw her down-town, day before -yesterday, and she told me she was going to ask you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie frowned. "You did? Why didn't you tell -me?" She looked at him for a moment curiously. He -seemed to wish to evade her question. Then she asked, -with emphasis, "Did you ask her to invite me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Payson hesitated. "Why, I told her that you -would probably accept—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She bit her lip, still frowning. "I understand. On -account of Mr. Granthope, I presume?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I thought it would be just as well for you -to take a little vacation."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie said nothing. Mr. Payson lingered, ill at ease -in the face of her implications. At last he looked at -her over his spectacles and said petulantly: "I've -been surprised at you, Cly, really. I have been -considerably worried, as well. I'm afraid you've -compromised yourself seriously by having been seen -so much with Granthope. I haven't spoken of it, -before, because I had already said all I could to you. -You knew very well what my wishes were in the -matter and it seems you've seen fit to disregard them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie still kept silent, listening to him calmly. He -had worked himself up by his own words to an irascible -pitch, but her non-resistance balked his temper, -and it oozed away, as he continued.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope this trip will give you a chance to think -it well over, Cly, and I have no doubt that you'll come -to see it as I do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I'll think it over," she replied listlessly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Payson, having won his point in getting her out -of town, shook his head without replying, and -prepared to leave the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Clytie continued. "At least, I am sure he was -sincere in warning you against those mediums you -are going to, father."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned to her, his irritability rekindled by her -remark. "That's exactly what I most dislike about -the man," he exclaimed. "If he hadn't attempted to -prejudice me against them I might believe in his own -change of heart, or whatever it was. But he went -back on the very people with whom he's been -associated for years. Isn't that suspicious?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Didn't he do that to save you from their tricks?" Her -voice was low and evidently troubled; she seemed -to be attempting to convince herself, rather than her -father.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I notice he didn't explain how they managed to -give me my tests," Mr. Payson retorted, shaking his -head emphatically. "He seemed to consider me the -most simple and credulous person in the world. His -statements, at least those he dared to make, were all -general ones, and they implied that I was not old -enough, or else, perhaps, too old to sift the evidence -for myself. They were positively insulting. These -mediums have given me proof enough to convince -any one. They've told me things that couldn't -possibly have been found out by any tricks. Take that -about your giving me a copy of </span><em class="italics">Montaigne</em><span> for my -birthday, for instance. How could they have found -that out? You hadn't told any one about it, had you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said Clytie faintly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There you are, then!" Mr. Payson wagged his -head solemnly. "What did I tell you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What else did they say?" Clytie asked anxiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Plenty of things. Things I myself didn't know the -truth about till I investigated. Things about my -personal affairs, about my past life—oh, so much that -I can't help feeling that there's something in this -business that we don't understand. Oh!"—he paused -for a moment, looking at her—"there was one thing -I wanted to ask you about—I forgot to speak of it. -It sounded like nonsense, at the time—you know that -even spirits are sometimes frivolous and inconsequent—and -there were so many other more important -communications at the time that it slipped my mind. -Vixley's control said something once about a doll that was -buried underneath—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I forgot to ring up Mrs. Maxwell," Clytie -interrupted, springing up. "I </span><em class="italics">must</em><span> tell her I'm -coming. If I don't do it right away now I may not catch -her—it takes so long to get a long distance connection."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She went up to him and putting her arms round -his neck, kissed him. "Don't wait, father, if you're -in a hurry. Good-by!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She walked to the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, then, I'll go along down-town," he said. "Be -sure and write when you get up there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She left him hurriedly and ran up-stairs.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>At ten she was at the ferry, waiting for the boat -which connected with the Sacramento train. There -was a crowd going, coming and waiting in the long -arcade outside. As she approached the ticket office a man -was at the window. He was tall, dark-haired, -distinguished. At sight of him, Clytie withdrew out of -sight, and let him finish his business and leave. Then -she approached, bought her ticket, and, watching -sharply, dodging behind groups here and there, she -succeeded in passing the ticket collector and losing -herself in the assembly in the waiting-room without -being observed. She wormed her way forward near -the gate, and with the first rush of passengers, after -the gate was raised, hurried on to the boat and went, -immediately into the ladies' room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the other side she acted as cautiously. She -remained till almost the last passenger had left the -boat, then walked swiftly through the train-shed to -her car. For an hour, as the train sped on, she -scarcely looked to the right or the left.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The train slowed up at Stockton, and stopped. Clytie -looked carelessly out of the window. Just as the -train started again, Granthope appeared on the -platform. He went up to a cab-driver and began talking. -Clytie, flushing deeply, watched him so intensely that -at last, as if attracted by some mental telepathy, he -looked round and caught sight of her. His hat came -off to her immediately. He gave a quick glance at the -now rapidly moving train, as if intending to board it, -then he gave it up as impossible. Clytie's eyes lost -him, and she was carried on. It was a long time -before the color faded from her cheeks.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="tit-for-tat"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XVI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">TIT FOR TAT</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Professor Vixley had prepared his campaign with -Mr. Payson with the scientific delight of an engineer. -His cunning was not too low to prevent his love of -the sport for the sport's sake, and his elaborations -and by-plays were undertaken with relish and enthusiasm. -The pleasure was vastly heightened for him by -the character of his dupe. Mr. Payson was a figure -in the community, a man of weight and influence. He -had an established position and an assured wealth. -Heavy and slow, mentally, he had the dignified -respectability that is usually associated with business success.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the mental manipulation of such a personage -Vixley felt a sense of power as enjoyable as the -pecuniary reward. The dwarf, socially, led the giant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had his charge, by this time, well in hand. The -old gentleman's ponderous mentality had been -managed like an ocean steamship lying at the dock. One -by one the lines of doubt and distrust and prejudice -had been released. It was now time to fire his -intellectual boilers. By means of their tricks, -eavesdropping methods and clever guess-work, and with -Cayley's help, they had fed him fuel for the imagination -until now he was roused to a dynamic, enthusiastic -belief in spiritualism, or that version of it which best -suited their ends. Captain and pilot were aboard and -in command. It remained but to ring up the engines, -turn over the wheel and get under way for the voyage. -Many another such argosy had been fitted out and had -sailed forth from their brains, to return laden with -treasure. There was hazard of collision or shipwreck, -but the only obstacle now in view was Granthope, -and Vixley felt sure that he could be blown out of -the way with the explosion of a few scandals.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Payson's mind had an inertia which, once -successfully overcome, was transformed to momentum. -He was as credulous, as responsive, as influenced by -the specious logic of the medium as if he had never -been a skeptic. Vixley's next move was to realize -financially on Payson's vanity and literary aspirations.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The ensuing series of communications from "Felicia," -automatically transcribed by Vixley, developed -the fact Mr. Payson's book would meet with -disastrous competition from an unknown author who was -working upon the same subject in Chicago. Such a -publication would, in the eyes of any publisher, -materially affect the value of a San Francisco book. -Something must be done to prevent the rival work from -being printed. The first step necessary, Vixley -asserted, was to send a man to Chicago and investigate -the case and report upon it. This preliminary -reconnaissance cost a considerable sum. Payson did not see -the emissary, for Vixley had warned him of the possibility -of blackmail. "Felicia" now informed the sitter -that the aid of the spirit world could be invoked to -forestall the competing writer's efforts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a band of spirits on the "third sphere," -it seemed, who, though usually maleficent, could be -placated. These "Diakkas" could, and possibly would, -exert certain magnetic or psychic powers so as to -prevent competition. It was difficult, however, to win -over spirits so fantastic as these, even when one had -established communication with them—itself an -intricate and dangerous process. The only safe way, -Mr. Payson was assured, was to create an atmosphere -pleasing to them, one which absorbed antagonistic -vibrations, and facilitated communication by intensifying -the sitter's aura and rendering their acceptance -of earthly conditions easy. And so forth, through an -elaborate exposition.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The thing was accomplished by means of charging -the room with the perfume of ambergris. Ambergris, -however, was expensive. Mr. Payson had to pay fifty -dollars an ounce for his; moreover, a fresh supply was -necessary for each séance as the material quickly -absorbed the deleterious psycho-physical elements of -the atmosphere, and became inert to vibration. -Professor Vixley divided this revenue with Madam Spoll, -but he could not divide his pleasure in his artful -fiction. Madam Spoll was only a woman; the artistic -niceties of the harlequinade were lost on her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This could not, however, go on for ever, nor were -the two conspirators content to do business in so small -a way. Both were convinced that the only chance for -a large and permanent income lay in the production -of Payson's and Felicia's child, and they set about the -plan by which this should become remunerative.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ringa was settled upon for the impersonation. He -was simple, easily taught and led; he was willing. -He would be as easily managed when the time came -for a division of the profits of the enterprise. And -so, one day, Madam Spoll waddled out to Turk Street -to complete the negotiations.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Professor Vixley was bending over a small machine -with horizontal arms in the form of a cross, decorated -with mirrors, when she rang; before opening the door -he covered the instrument with a black cloth and put -it on his roll-top desk by the type-writer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madam Spoll came in smiling, unruffled as if her -face had been freshly ironed out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I been walking lately, to reduce my flesh, but, Lord, -I get such an appetite I eat more'n enough to balance," -she panted, as she lowered herself carefully upon the -quilted couch and crushed back into a sofa pillow, -whereon was painted a fencing girl with a heart on -her plastron. She loosened her beaded cape, and -breathed heavily in relief.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I managed to get here, after all! What -d'you think? Mrs. Riley has been to me for a private -setting. Do you recall her, Vixley? She's that -woman who was tried for murdering her husband some -years back and was acquitted; or rather the jury was -hung. Anyways, </span><em class="italics">she</em><span> wasn't. But I believe she done -it. She's as nervous as a cat, and can't look you in -the face to save her soul. It seems that she knew -Madam Grant in the old days, and used to get readings -off her. I don't know but we could use her, someway."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Has she got any money?" said the slate-writer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She keeps a boarding-house, I believe. It wouldn't -be much, but 'every little helps,' as the old lady said -when she spit into the harbor. I might work her for -five a week, I s'pose, but now I think of it, -Masterson's doctoring her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then they won't be much meat left on her bones!" -Vixley grinned. "But I ain't botherin' with landladies -till we finish with Payson. Did you see him yesterday?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did, and he said he'd give a thousand dollars if -we'd find the boy. I shouldn't wonder if he'd pay -more if we work it right, not to speak of what we get -from Ringa when he's fixed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lord! A thousand dollars for Ringa! Wouldn't -that make you seasick?" Vixley cackled, slapping his -claw-like hand on his knee. "I say, Gertie, we ought -to get a couple of good crockery teeth put in his -jaw first, or the old man will want to return him for -shop-worn. Ringa as Mr. Max Payson, Esquire! Gee -whizz! I want to be there when the old gent falls on -his neck and kills the fatted calf!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've known a heap of worse boys than Max Ringa -to have for a son," Madam Spoll said, a little irritated. -"You go to work and wash him and dress him up in -a Prince Albert and I don't know why he won't do as -well as anybody."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, he'll do—he'll do elegant! He'll do Payson, -anyways, and that's all we want."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I'm going to teach him to jump through the -hoop all right. He'll be doing the papa's darling act -so natural you'll think he'd always slep' in a bed!" She -chuckled now till she shook like a jelly-fish. -"He's just crazy about it. Says he'll come down and -take me to ride in his automobile car. Why, Payson -will be good for all sorts of money if Ringa works him -right. He ought to get an allowance of two or three -hundred a month if the old man's got any proper -feelings as a father."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's more'n likely he'll pay Ringa to stay away," -Vixley remarked cynically. "I've seen these here fond -parents before. I don't seem to see Ringa doin' -society somehow. He'd be tryin' to blow the foam off -his champagne and chewin' tobacco in the ball-room -the first thing. But he'll do for a starter. If worse -comes to worst we can hold the old man up to keep the -story dark—and then there's the weeklies, they -wouldn't mind gettin' hold of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say!" Madam Spoll suddenly exclaimed, "what's -become of Fancy Gray, now that Frank has thrown -her down?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, ain't you heard? She's took up with this -fellow Cayley."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No!" Madam Spoll's eyes were opened wide at -the bit of gossip. "What's he up to with her, -anyway?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, I expect he's trying to use her someway, so's -to queer Frank's game with Miss Payson. Fancy -knows all about Frank, if she can be induced to tell. -If Cayley can show Frank up, he stands a better show -to catch Miss Payson himself. At least, that's the -way I figure it. I ain't got no idea that Cayley cares -a rap for Fancy, but he's smooth, and as long as he can -use her he'll keep her jollied along."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Madam had been thinking hard. "Fancy ought -to be pretty sore on Frank," she offered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't blame her. He's treated her bad."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And there's no doubt about her being stuck on Cayley?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It certainly looks like it; she's with him all the time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, then, what's the matter with getting Cayley -to work her so she can help us out with Payson? I -believe we could use her good. She's a saucy chit, and -she makes me tired with her fly-up-the-creek -impudence; but all the same, she's clever, and if Cayley -could only induce her to go into it, I can see lots -of ways she could help."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vixley thought over the matter for a few minutes in -silence. "All right, Gertie, I'll speak to him about it. -I guess he'll do it; he'll be afraid not to. We got -him pretty well tied up, now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can promise him that Felicia will recommend -that he marries the girl. That'll be an inducement."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm afraid the Payson girl has got something to -say about that herself, from all I hear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, at any rate, we've queered Frank Granthope, -and that's what Cayley wanted most."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I guess so; at least, that's what I make out from -what he says. He's pretty close-mouthed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, if he ain't close-mouthed about Payson, he -can tend to his own affairs alone, for all I care. Has -he gave you any more dope?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Has he! Why, he's been a-ringin' of me up every -day, tippin' me off to everything the old man's up to!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You ain't let on anything about this child business -to Cayley, have you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"D'you think I want to queer the whole game? -Of course not. Why, Cayley would be scared that -the daughter wouldn't get any of the money if he -knew they was another heir. All the same, we got to -be careful of Cayley, for he certainly has helped -considerable. The old man wouldn't be where we got -him now if Cayley hadn't shown up. What d'you -think he told me this mornin'? Payson's been round -to a lot of printers, gettin' estimates on the book, so's -he can publish it hisself! Ain't that a gall? He -never asked my advice about it! I'm going to give -him a dig about that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, well, let's get down to business, I ain't got -any too much time," Madam Spoll interrupted. -"About the materializing, now. We got to have a -private séance, of course?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vixley rose, clasped his hands behind his back, and -lifted himself up and down on his toes as he gazed -at her. "I been a-thinkin' it over, Gert, and I come -to the conclusion that it ain't best. Payson ain't -prepared for it yet, and we got to go easy. He ain't -actually convinced of physical mediumship yet, as it is. -I think we better spring it on him at a public. Flora -can pack the room with believers and cappers, and -then, after Payson's seen a lot of other folks recognizin' -spirits and gettin' messages, why, he'll be more -inclined to swallow his test. I've made a study of -him, and that's my opinion."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Has Flora got plenty of help?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She wants one more girl to play spirit, for she's -just lost a dandy she had—she was arrested for shopliftin', -I believe. We can fix her up, though. There's -your Miss French, for one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't trust her much, but she'll do on a pinch. -But Perry we must have. It's better to use our own -people. Who's Flora's cabinet control?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Little Starlight. Flora does her with a telescope -rod. Oh, Flora's slick! She's a cracker jack of a -ventriloquist—she's got at least six good voices!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How does she work, now? From the front seats?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, mostly through the foldin' doors. As soon -as the room is dark and the singin' has commenced -she has the door rolled back the wrong way about a -foot, and her players come in that way. They don't -show against the black cloth, and they's no danger at -all, for if anybody wants to examine the cabinet they -ain't no panels nor nothing to be exposed. Flora's -just got up a grand disappearance act, she tells me. -She wears a white petticoat and her overskirt is lined -with white. When she comes out of the cabinet her -skirt is lifted up and wrapped round her head inside-out, -as natural as life. Then she gradually lowers it -and the whole form slowly disappears down to the -ground like a snow-man meltin' in the sun. No, sir, -you can't beat that girl, not in this town!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Vixley, I don't see no end to this graft. Why, -after we've materialized we can etherealize, can't we?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, and then we'll develop him till he don't know -where he's at."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And spirit-pictures, too. Felicia'll take a grand -photograph!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You bet. I'm going to try them big cloth ones -that you spray with prussiate o' potash. You can get -blue, yeller, and brown fine. I been workin' on it -already."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A ring at the front door-bell interrupted her -colloquy. Vixley tiptoed to the window and peeped -out; then he turned with a scowl.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's Doc Masterson. What the devil does </span><em class="italics">he</em><span> -want, anyway?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No good, I'll bet," she replied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I got to let him in, I s'pose. It won't do to send -him away, the old snake-in-the-grass. He's too -smooth!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I ain't afraid of him. I wan't born yesterday," -was her contemptuous reply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All the same, you be careful what you say to him, -Gert," Vixley cautioned, as he went out into the hall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He reappeared with the doctor. Madam Spoll -smiled sweetly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doctor Masterson greeted her with a sour -expression, and shook hands limply. He sat down -deliberately, and, pulling out a soiled silk handkerchief, -wiped his creased forehead and his bald pate. Then -he cleaned his iron-bowed spectacles, blinking his -red eyes as he breathed on the lenses.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vixley, from the organ bench, watched him -shrewdly, and offered him a cigar.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, thanks, I don't smoke," said the doctor -peevishly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Since when?" Vixley asked in surprise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Since you give me that last 'Flor de Chinatown,' -or whatever it was. When I want to smoke rag -carpets again I'll try another." He showed his black -teeth in a vicious grin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vixley tittered. "What's wrong, Doc? Looks like -you had a grouch. Been takin' too much of Hasandoka's -medicine lately? You didn't come round here -to look a gift-horse in the mouth, did you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The doctor cleared his throat and pulled down his -plaid waistcoat. "No, I didn't. But I didn't come -round for to give you any hot air, neither! I'm glad -I struck Madam Spoll here, for what I got to say may -interest her, too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Spit it out and get rid of it, then," said Vixley; -"don't mind us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The fact is," said Masterson, "you ain't neither of -you treated me square. I fully expected to be in on -this Payson game, from what you led me to believe, -and you not only let me out with only a month's work, -but you've shut me off from the main graft."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madam Spoll fired up. "We never told you we was -going to whack up with you, at all! Seems to me -you got considerable nerve to try and butt in! Who's -running this thing, anyway? You got all that's -coming to you. We ain't never took him into partnership, -Vixley, have we?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I ain't seen no contrack to that effect. You -ain't got no call to complain, Doc; they ain't enough -in it for three. Payson ain't loosened up enough for -us to retire on it, yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Masterson's thin lips drew back like a hound's, to -show his fangs. His Adam's apple rose and fell above -his celluloid collar, as he swallowed his irritation. -"</span><em class="italics">Oh</em><span>, very well," he said quickly. "Of course, if you -want to freeze me out, you can. But I don't call it a -square deal. I was the one what got him going, -wan't I? Didn't I do my part all right? I -understand you're going to materialize him and develop -him, and the Lord knows what-all. I don't see why -you can't find room for me, somewhere."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You ought to be thankful for what you got out -of it!" Madam Spoll exclaimed. "Lord, we didn't -have to take you on at all! They's plenty of others -we could have used. You're three hundred ahead of the -game as it stands, and that's more than you've ever -made in six months, before. Don't be a hog!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's a nice thing for </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> to say," he sneered. -"When I get up to two hundred pounds I'll begin to -worry about </span><em class="italics">that</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vixley interfered craftily. "We'll think it over and -let you know, Doc; we may be able to use you, perhaps, -but we can't tell yet a while—not till we see -how this thing turns out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madam Spoll broke in again, shaking her fat finger -at him. "Don't you believe it, Masterson! Me and -Vixley can work this thing alone, and you better keep -your nose out of our business! If you come here -looking for trouble, you can find it, fast enough!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vixley winked at her, but she was too angry to -notice it. Masterson rose stiffly and faced her, his -thumbs caught in the armholes of his plaid waistcoat. -"All right," he said. "I ain't going to get down -on to my knees to </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>. But the next time I'm asked -for a good clairvoyant, it won't be you. I only ask -what's fair, and I didn't come here for to be insulted."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, get on to yourself!" Vixley said, taking him -by the arm. "Nobody ain't insulted you. You can't -blame us if we want to do this our own way, can you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The doctor shrugged his shoulders and took a few -steps toward the door. "You may think better of it -when you talk it over," he hinted darkly. "You may -see my side of it. Good afternoon, Madam Spoll, I -won't take no more of your valuable time." He -walked out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You was a fool, Gert," said Vixley, after the -door slammed. "It won't do to let him get down on -us. He knows too much."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pooh!" she flouted, bridling. "I ain't afraid of -Masterson, nor anybody like him. He ain't got -enough blood in his neck to do anything. He just -came round here like a pan-handler to see if we -wouldn't give him a poke-out. I'll see him further!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I ain't so sure," Vixley replied, rubbing his beard -thoughtfully. "My rule is, don't make no enemies if -you can help it. But of course we got to cut him out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madam Spoll subsided and changed the subject. -"Have you got that developing machine yet?" she -asked, her eyes, roving about the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He walked to the desk and carried the machine to -the small table in front of her. Taking off the cloth -he disclosed the revolving mirrors actuated by clockwork. -It was much like the instrument first used by -Braid in his experiments with mesmerism. He wound -the spring and set the mirrors in motion. They -whirled madly in their circle, casting flashes of light.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's the way it works—you just stare at it -hard. I guess that will hold Payson a while. He's -got the scientific bug enough to like this sort of -thing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madam Spoll put her elbow on the table and rested -her head on her hand, gazing, fascinated, at the flash -of the revolving mirrors. As the machine began to -whir, the canary in the cage by the window began -warbling in an ecstasy of song. Vixley swore at the -bird, and then, as it refused to stop, took down the -cage and walked to the door with it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I guess that'll bring Felicia, all right, won't it?" -he said as he went out of the room, leaving Madam -Spoll transfixed, lulled and charmed by the flying -mirrors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was gone longer than he intended; it was seven -or eight minutes before he returned, whistling through -his teeth. He turned into the front room and stopped -in astonishment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madam Spoll was standing beside the machine, -which had now run down. Her eyes stared blankly -at the desk, one hand clutched her breast, the other -was raised, as if to put something away from her. -Her little low-crowned Derby hat had fallen partly -off and hung on one side of her head. She stared, -without speaking, her face set with an expression of -terror.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For Heaven's sake, Gert, what's the matter?" he -cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned her eyes slowly toward him, shuddered, -sighed, and her hands fell together. Then her face -lighted up in a frenzy. "My God, Vixley, I got it! -I got it! After all these years!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Got what, you crazy fool? The jimjams?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I got materializing—I got a spirit! She was -right over there by the desk—a woman with white -hair, it was, and she give me a message!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rats!" Vixley was contemptuous. He took her -hand and gave her a little shake. "Is </span><em class="italics">that</em><span> all? I -guess you was hypnotized, Gert, that's all. That's -what I got this jigger for, only I never thought </span><em class="italics">you'd</em><span> -be one to go off half-cock like that!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Vixley," she said emphatically, "don't you be a -fool! I see a spirit for the first time in my life, and -you can't make me believe I didn't. And I know who -it was, now. It was Felicia Grant, as I'm a sinner, -and she came to warn me about Payson. Oh, you -can laugh; I s'pose I would if I was you, but this -was the real thing, sure!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She reseated herself on the sofa and put her hands -to her eyes. Vixley sat on the arm of the Morris -chair and laughed loudly. "Well, well!" he -exclaimed, "if that ain't a good one! Spirit, was it? -Well, I guess if it'll work on Gertie Spoll it'll work on -Payson, all right. Oh, Lord!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shook both hands wildly, almost hysterical with -excitement, the tears flowing. "My God! We can't -go on with Payson now. I don't dare to. I'm frightened."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you just got an attack of nerves, that's all. -You'll get over it and laugh at it. You keep still and -cool off."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She wagged her head solemnly, unconscious of her -hanging hat. "See here, Vixley, you know me! -I'm too old a bird to be fooled with fakes—I've done -too much of that myself. I've always claimed that I -had clairvoyance, but I lied. I never got that nor -clairaudience, no matter how I tried for it, and I've -had to fake. I've had a gift o' guessing, perhaps, -but that's all. But I swear to God, I got materializing -just now. I've scoffed at it all my life, but I believe it -now. I see her just as soon as you left, standing -right over there by the desk, she was, and she turned -to me and she says, 'If you persist you will come to -harm. Take my advice and don't you do it!' and then -she faded away. What d'you s'pose it means?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It means you need a drink," he said, and, walking -to the desk, he took out a whisky bottle and poured -out a stiff dose. "Them's the spirits that'll help you -most. You put this down and see how you feel!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She put it away with an impatient gesture. "Oh, -you don't believe it," she cried, "but I see her just as -plain as I see you this minute, and I heard her, too. -What'll I do, Vixley? I can't give up my business, -can I? I got to live."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's the matter with you? I don't see as they's -anything to worry about, granted it was a spirit, which -it wasn't one, o' course."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She said, 'If you persist you will come to harm!' -What else could that mean but Payson? Let's call -it all off, before anything happens."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bosh! It ain't likely it meant Payson any more -than it did anything else. Why, the thing is as -simple as a rattle. Spirits be damned! You leave that to -the suckers—with money."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Although his incredulity and sneers prevented her -from actually withdrawing from the projected séance, -she was by no means restored to calmness. She gave -but a reluctant, distracted attention to his plans, and -talked little herself. She went home oppressed by -the sinister suggestions of her vision, muttering her -dread for the future.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-materializing-seance"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XVII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE MATERIALIZING SÉANCE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>FLORA FLINT'S Marvelous Spirit Messages -and Grand Materializing Test Séance To-night. -50c. 5203 Van Ness Ave. Come, Skeptics.</span></p> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Dougal pointed to this notice in the </span><em class="italics">Call</em><span> one night -at Fulda's. There were six at table; he and Mabel -and Elsie, Maxim, Starr and Benton.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Benton took up the paper, with a gleam in his eyes, -as one who smelled the battle from afar. Starr was -for going, most enthusiastically for it; he wanted -another chance of seeing Benton in action. Maxim -was always to be depended upon; he never refused -to go with the others. Elsie smiled and did not -commit herself to an opinion. She was a fatalist. If -things went well, she smiled. If they went wrong, -she was equally, perhaps even a little more, amused, -and smiled as enigmatically. Mabel giggled -hysterically; her eyes shone; she held up two fingers, -the sign of acquiescence. No project was too mad for -her to accept and welcome; the madder it was, the -more enthusiastic she grew. In her the spirit of -adventure still breathed. She was one to whom -things always happened, for she never refused Fate's -invitations. Fate, having invited her, usually saw -her through the affair with gallantry. She always -escaped unscathed, preserving all the freshness of her -enthusiasm and ingenuousness. No one credited her -with a history.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Their plan had been talked over and perfected for -some time. Mindful of Fancy's warning, it had been -decided to enter the place in two groups and find -seats near together, being careful to hold no -communication with each other.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dougal was captain of the proposed exposure. He -carried an electric torch and was to choose the -proper moment for attack. When he flashed the light -upon the spirit form and rushed forward to seize the -actor, Maxim was to follow at his heels and help, -while Starr and Benton "interfered" for him as in a -foot-ball game. The girls were to take care of -themselves and watch everything that went on so as to -report the affair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was no adjournment to Champoreau's that -night, for it was necessary to be at Flora Flint's early -and attempt to get front seats. Half-past seven found -them at the house on Van Ness Avenue, where they -divided, Mabel going in with Dougal and Maxim, -Elsie with Starr and Benton.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They went up a narrow staircase covered with -yellow oil-cloth and encountered, at the top, a long, -pale, tow-headed youth with two front teeth missing. -He was slouching in the hall, by a little table, as if -attempting to hide the tallness and awkwardness of -his figure. Collecting the entrance fees without a -word, he pointed to a door and the seats inside.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The room was square, and had two windows upon -the street; it was lighted dimly from a chandelier in -the center, and was crowded with chairs arranged -on each side of a central aisle. There were already a -score of visitors, and prominent in the second -row was Mr. Payson, solemnly calm, impassive, his -hands upon the top of his cane. Vixley sat in front -and was conversing over the back of his chair with -Lulu Ellis. Dougal and his companions found seats -on the end of the fourth row; the others had to go -farther back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hung about were the usual mottoes, worked in -colored yarn on perforated cardboard, and, in addition, -a notice warning visitors against disorder. It -was evident that the materializing business was not -unattended with risks. The air was stuffy and smelt -of kerosene oil. A curtain of black cambric was -stretched across one corner of the room, between -the folding doors and the mantelpiece, opposite the -windows. The hangings parted in the center, and -were now draped up to each side, revealing the -interior of the "cabinet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Professor Vixley rose to announce that any one -wishing to examine the cabinet might do so, but -nobody seemed to think the investigation worth while. -He then went on with an audible conversation with -the plump Miss Ellis. He described, first, the -wonderful willingness of Little Starlight, who was -frequently sent by Flora with astral messages to her -mother in Alaska. Lulu played up to him. She saw -spirits in the room already—an old man was standing -by the door, looking for some one. Another spirit -was sitting down beside that young lady in green. -Vixley regretted that he couldn't "get" materializing -himself, though he had tried all his life. He had -occasionally "got" clairvoyance, but it couldn't be -depended upon. Clairaudience, of course, was easier. -It could be developed in any one who had patience. -With his revolving mirrors he could guarantee it in -a month. He handed one of his business cards to a -woman in black who seemed interested.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Flora Flint, pretty, dressed all in black, came in -and joined the conversation. She complained of being -tired and headachey, she had worked so hard that -day. She stroked her forehead and rubbed her hands, -but her eyes were busy with her audience.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She hoped that Stella wouldn't come to-night; -Stella always "took it out of her." That was always -the way with spirits who had lately "passed out," -and who were not yet reconciled to their condition. -Stella insisted upon coming back all the time to -communicate with her mother—she was not only hindering -her own "progression" but worrying her mother by -so doing. Stella, moreover, had not yet learned the -Laws of Being on the spirit-plane, and had not -accustomed herself to the principles of control. Why, it -was sometimes positive agony to be taken possession -of by Stella. She came in with a bounce like, and it -racked the medium all over; and she didn't know how -to withdraw her force gradually and easily the way -older spirits did. If Wampum, Flora's Indian control, -weren't always ready to assist her it would be -something terrible. Indians had special power over -physical conditions. They were Children of Nature, -nearer to earth conditions than others. They had more -magnetism, and knew the secrets of natural medicine. -Being simple creatures, they were more easily -summoned from the spirit sphere—they hadn't -"progressed" so far, and they were apt to be still actuated -by the motives and desires of the flesh-plane. Oh, yes, -they were often coarse and vulgar, but they meant -well, indeed they did. Wampum was a great help.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As Flora Flint talked, her eyes ran over the room, -looking carefully at her audience. Some she bowed -to smilingly; on others her glance rested with more -deliberation. She came back again and again to -Dougal and Maxim, and to Starr and Benton, in the -rear of the room. She whispered to Vixley, after -this scrutiny, and he went out to hold a colloquy with -Ringa in the hall. Soon after, Mr. Spoll came in and -took a seat between the two groups of Pintos. He -sat rigidly erect, his thin, bony face impassive, with -only his wild eyes moving.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Pintos listened with delight to Flora's jargon. -Starr, placing his note-book under his hat, on his -knees, made copious notes. Maxim was most -impressed, almost persuaded by the seriousness of the -dialogue. Mabel was all ready to believe at the -first promise of a marvel. Elsie smiled, Benton -yawned, Dougal hugged his electric torch fondly -inside his coat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madam Spoll soon came in and seated herself -between the two windows, under a box containing a -lighted kerosene lamp. Her face, usually so -complacent, was showing signs of perturbation. She -was nervous, looking round every little while -suddenly, running her fingers through her short cropped -curly hair, throwing her head back as if she found it -hard to breathe. She was without a hat, and wore, -instead of her professional costume of silk and beads, -a black cotton crape gown.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shortly after eight o'clock, Flora took a chair in -front of the cabinet. Vixley rose, fastened black -shutters in front of the windows, closed the door, put -out the gas and turned down the lamp in the box, -shading it with a cloth curtain. The room was now -so dark that one could scarcely distinguish anything, -until, when eyes became somewhat accustomed to it, -figures indistinct and shadowy could be vaguely -recognized. Flora Flint spoke:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I must ask you all to keep perfect silence, please. -The spirits won't manifest themselves unless the -conditions are favorable and the circle is in a receptive -state. We can't do anything unless there's harmony, -and if there's any antagonistic vibrations present -there's no use attempting anything in the way of -demonstration."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After this prologue, she began, accompanied by the -faithful, the dreariest tune in the world:</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"We are </span><em class="italics">waiting</em><span>, we are </span><em class="italics">waiting</em><span>, we are </span><em class="italics">waiting</em><span>, just now,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Just now we are </span><em class="italics">waiting</em><span>, we are </span><em class="italics">waiting</em><span> just now;</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>To </span><em class="italics">receive</em><span> you, to </span><em class="italics">receive</em><span> you, to </span><em class="italics">receive</em><span> you just now,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Just now to </span><em class="italics">receive</em><span> you, to </span><em class="italics">receive</em><span> you just now.</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>Show your </span><em class="italics">faces</em><span>, show your </span><em class="italics">faces</em><span>, show your </span><em class="italics">faces</em><span>, just now,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Just now show your </span><em class="italics">faces</em><span>, show your </span><em class="italics">faces</em><span> just now!</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>Come and </span><em class="italics">bless</em><span> us, come and </span><em class="italics">bless</em><span> us, come——"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The fourth stanza was here interrupted by three -sharp knocks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that you, Starlight?" the medium asked. Two -raps signified assent. "Are you happy, -to-night?" Two more knocks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Starlight's always happy!" Vixley remarked aloud.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, she </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> a bright little thing," the medium -assented. "She passed out when she was only twelve; -they say she's very pretty. Are there any spirits with -you, Starlight?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Two more raps.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who's there—Wampum?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Two raps were given with terrific force. Everybody -laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wampum's feeling pretty good, to-night," said Vixley.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Anybody else?" Flora asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yes, some one else.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who? Is it Mr. Torkins?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The voice of a little old dried-up lady on the front -row was heard, saying, "Oh, that's Willie! I'm </span><em class="italics">so</em><span> -glad he's come. Are you happy, Willie?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yes, Willie was happy. Had he seen Nelly? Yes, -he had seen Nelly, and Nelly was also happy. And so, -for a time, it went on, like an Ollendorf lesson.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Starlight was then asked if she could not control -the medium, orally. She consented, and soon, in a -chirping voice the medium twittered forth:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hello! Good evenin', folkses! Oh, I'se so glad -to see you all, I is! Hello, Mis' Brickett, you's got a -new bonnet, isn't you? It's awfully nice! Oh, I'se -so happy. I got some candy, too. It's </span><em class="italics">spirit</em><span> candy; -it's lots better'n yours." Here she laughed shrilly -and the company snickered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mabel could scarcely hold herself in check and -had to be pinched. Starlight resumed her artless -prattle, with Vixley as interlocutor. The two -exchanged homely badinage and pretended to flirt -desperately. But she refused this time to sit upon -his knee. Finally an old man asked if Walter were -there.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I just </span><em class="italics">guess</em><span>!" said Starlight. "He's my -beau, he is! He giv'd me this candy. Want some?" A -chocolate drop flew into the middle of the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's real materialized candy!" Vixley explained. -"We're liable to have a good séance, to-night!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Starlight, after giving a few messages, announced -that the spirits had consented to materialize, and -requested the company to sing. Flora went into the -cabinet, Madam Spoll turned the light still lower, and -Vixley, stating that the medium would now go into -a dead trance, took the chair in front of the cabinet. -A doleful air was started by the believers on the -front seats:</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"I have a father in the spirit land,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>I have a father in the spirit land,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>My father calls me, I must go</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>To meet him in the spirit land!"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>then,</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"I have a mother in the spirit land,"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>and so on, through the whole family, brother, sister -and friend.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The darkness was now thick and velvety. The -sitters could not see what they touched, and, gazing -intently into the void, their eyes filled it with shifting -colors and spots of light conjured up by the reflex -action of the retina, as if their eyes were shut. As -the song ended, there came an awed silence to add to -the stifling darkness as they waited for the first -manifestation from the cabinet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then the hush was broken by excited whispers, and -a tall form, dimly luminous, was seen in the opening -of the curtains.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, here's the Professor!" said Vixley, shattering -the solemnity, and making of this advent a friendly -visitation. "Good evening, Professor, we're glad to -see you. It's good to have you here again!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A deep, slow voice replied, articulating its words -painfully, "Good eve-ning, friends, I'm ver-y glad to -be here to-night!" Every word was chopped into -distinct syllables. The figure moved forward a little. -It was a typical ghost, a vague, unearthly, draped -figure, wavering, indistinct. The face melted into -amorphous shadows. It glided here and there -noiselessly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Professor was an affable celebrity, but -somewhat verbose. He spoke to several of the company -by name, and interspersed his greetings with jocular -remarks to Little Starlight who was supposed to be -flitting invisibly about the room. "She's a lit-tul -darlink, ev-ery-bod-y loves lit-tul Star-light," he said, in -answer to Vixley's comment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He retreated silently to the cabinet, and the -curtains closed upon him. Some one asked if they -couldn't see the "Egyptian Hand" and Starlight's -voice from the cabinet gave assent. Forthwith it -appeared and made a hurried circle of the front part -of the room, shedding a ghostly, phosphorescent glow, -and, on its way, patting the heads of the faithful.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I feel something so nice and soft!" cried -Mrs. Brickett. "It's perfectly 'eavenly—right on top of my -head—what is it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's </span><em class="italics">hair</em><span>!" Starlight called out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Professor bellowed from the cabinet, "Oh, ho, -ho, ho! You must-unt mind lit-tul Star-light! She's -so love-ly we don't mind her, do we?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vixley gave the cue for another song to cover the -next entrance. This time it was </span><em class="italics">My Bonnie Lies -Over The Ocean</em><span>, its special appositeness seeming -to lie in the line, "Oh, bring back my Bonnie to me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Another shorter form appeared and stood wavering -in front of the curtains, then, without a word, withdrew.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's Stella," said Vixley. "She's only come to -get progression. She ain't very strong yet, so she -can't stay but a minute, but we're always glad to see -her and help her along all we can with our thought."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A woman, with a sob, rose to go forward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, not to-night, Mrs. Seeley; the medium ain't -strong enough!" said Vixley.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>How he recognized these spectral visitors nobody -asked. They looked just alike, except, perhaps, for -height; all were wavering, white and mysterious, -without distinguishable faces. At the entrance of another, -like all the rest, Professor Vixley startled the -company by saying, suavely and patronizingly:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This is Mr. McKinley, friends. It's good to see -you, Mr. McKinley. I'm glad you come. We're -</span><em class="italics">always</em><span> glad to see you. Come again, come any time -you feel like it." He explained, after the spirit -vanished, that Mr. McKinley had had great difficulty in -finding any medium sympathetic enough for him to -control, and he wandered from circle to circle, hoping -to establish communication with the earth-plane.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The next visitor was no less than Queen Victoria. -"That's good!" said Vixley, "we're awful glad to -see you, sure!" It now transpired that the spirits -whispered their names to him in entering. His -conversation became a bit dreary and monotonous and he -failed to rise to his obvious opportunities.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A few forms, after this, came farther from the -cabinet, and their friends were permitted to embrace -them. These favored few sat on the front seats. -Whispered dialogues took place—innocuous talk of -troubles and happiness, perturbed commonplaces that, -had they not been sometimes accompanied with -genuine tears, would have been nothing but ridiculous. -The spirits were all optimistic and willing to help. -Their advice, usually, consisted of the statement that -"conditions would soon be more favorable." At -intervals the singers broke out into new songs, There's a -Land that is Fairer than Day—</span><em class="italics">Nearer, My God, to -Thee!</em><span>—and so on. The air became oppressively close. -The audience began to whisper, cough and shuffle. -Mabel, desirous of excitement, had nudged Dougal -again and again, but he had muttered "Not yet!" at -each hint.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The song </span><em class="italics">Over There</em><span> had just ended, and the hush -of expectancy had fallen over the company when -another form appeared and took a step towards Vixley.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She says her name is Felicia," he announced. -"Does anybody recognize her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do!" an unctuously mellow voice replied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She says she has a message for you," said Vixley, -"but she don't want to give it out loud before all these -people. Will you come up here?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Payson made his way with difficulty, in the -dark, past those on his row and came forward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can touch her, if you want to; she's completely -materialized. Very strong indeed for one -outside Flora's band. She ain't got much vitality, -though, and you mustn't tax her too much."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old man reached forward and touched a cold hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it you, Felicia?" he asked tremulously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, dear!" was the answer, in a thick, hoarse -whisper. "I'm glad to see you here. You must come -often. I've tried so hard to get you. I want to help -you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have a message for me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She whispered, "Yes; it's about the child."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it?" His voice was eager.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've found him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I'm so glad! I've longed so to find him and -do what was right by him. You know, don't you?" All -this was spoken so low that but few could make -out the words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I know. I know you love him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where is he, Felicia?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's in this city. I shall bring him to you. Then -we'll be so happy, all three of us—you and I and our -dear son!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Payson's voice rang out sharply in an angry exclamation:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's all a damned fraud!" he cried. "This is not -a spirit at all!" He took a step forward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the instant, before even Vixley could move, -Dougal had jumped up and run forward. As he -dashed up the aisle he pressed the key of his electric -torch and cast a bright light upon the group by the -cabinet. The draped form had started back, Payson -faced her, Vixley had risen from his chair fiercely, -Flora Flint's startled face peered through the curtains.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come on, Max!" Dougal shouted, and threw himself -bodily upon the person wrapped in the sheet. -Maxim grappled at almost the same time, but before -him Vixley sprang in and rained blow after blow -upon Dougal, who fell, dropping his torch. Vixley -then locked with Maxim. Starr and Benton had run -up, hurtling past Spoll, who had risen to block the -way. They were just too late to save Dougal, who -had fallen, still holding his captive fast. It was too -dark to see what was happening, but Vixley's oaths -led them on, crashing over chairs, creeping and -fighting through the now terrified crowd. A match was -struck somewhere behind them, and, before it flared -out, Starr and Benton fell on Vixley together and -bore him to the floor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The room was now horrid with confusion. A -racket of moving chairs told that every one had arisen -in panic. Women screamed, and there was a rush -for the door. It seemed hours before there was a -light, then Madam Spoll reached up and turned up -the light. At that moment Ringa flew past her—she -was thrown down and the lamp fell crashing upon -the seat of a chair beside her. There was an explosion -on the instant. She was drenched with blazing oil, -and the flames enveloped her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her screams rose over the tumult so piercingly -that every one turned, saw her, and fell back in fear -and terror. She clambered to her feet clumsily, -shrieking in agony, ran for the door, tore it open and -fled down-stairs, to fall heavily at the bottom, writhing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Benton was that moment free, and the only man -to keep his senses. He burst right through the room, -throwing men and women to right and left and broke -out the door after her, and down the stairs, tearing a -table-cloth from a table as he ran through the hall. -He wrapped it about her, the flames scorching his -face and hands as he did so. The woman was -struggling so in her blind terror and torture that it -was for a moment impossible to help her. Then, in a -few heroic moments he conquered the fire. At last he -called to the crowd above for help, and they carried -her up into a small side room and laid her upon a bed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Starr, meanwhile, still clung to Vixley while Maxim -had held Ringa off. Spoll was busy extinguishing -the fire on the carpet. Then some one at last lighted -the chandelier, showing a score of white, frenzied -faces, men and women in wild disarray, chairs broken -and strewn upon the floor, a smoking, blackened place -on the carpet where the remains of the lamp had -fallen. The room smelled horribly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vixley lay in a welter of ornaments that had been -swept from the mantel in his struggle. He was still -cursing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dougal had held his captive fast through all that -turmoil, yelling continuously for a light. Now -Mabel and Elsie, who had flattened themselves against -the wall, joining their screams to the din, crept -trembling up to him to see what he had caught. He -turned the limp figure in his arms and sought amongst -the folds of the sheet, and turned them away at the -face. Elsie gave a little cry.</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 64%" id="figure-98"> -<span id="he-sought-amongst-the-folds-of-the-sheet"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="He sought amongst the folds of the sheet" src="images/img-480.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">He sought amongst the folds of the sheet</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was Fancy Gray.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-return-to-instinct"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XVIII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">A RETURN TO INSTINCT</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Clytie Payson had come home after a two weeks' -stay at Lonely with Mrs. Maxwell, poised, resolute, -calm. She seemed sustained by some inward faith -manifesting itself only in a higher degree of -self-consciousness, as of one inspired by a purpose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At breakfast, on the morning after the materializing -séance, Mr. Payson read the morning journal -interestedly, so intensely absorbed in its columns that he -scarcely spoke to his daughter. But he did not -mention the evening's event, and was moody and morose. -The affair had received an extensive notice. Madam -Spoll, it seemed, still lingered at the point of death. -Although Mr. Payson's name was not mentioned, -he was much disturbed and apprehensive of publicity. -Clytie, noticing his abstraction, did not disturb him -with questions.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After her father had left the house she went up to -her workroom, put on her pink pinafore and -commenced her bookbinding. She worked at the bench -near the window where she could occasionally look -out upon the shadows that swept over Mount Tamalpais. -The day was alternately bright and lowering; -it promised rain before night.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At ten, as she was pausing from her work, with a -lingering look out into her garden, she saw a young -woman coming up the path. It was Fancy Gray, -looking about her as if uncertain whether or not she -had found the right place. Fancy wore a black-and-white -shepherd's plaid suit, bright and tightly-fitted, -which picked her out, in an errant glance of sunshine, -against the dull green shrubbery. She stopped for a -moment to look at the sun-dial, raising her white-gloved -hand to her red and white hat, then passed on -toward the house, out of sight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie went down-stairs herself to answer the bell, -and opened the door with a look of pleasure on her face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy hesitated. "Are you busy, Miss Payson?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course not!" Clytie held out both her hands. -"If I were, I'd be so glad to have you interrupt me, -Miss Gray. Do come in! How charming you look! -I'm so glad to see you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy accepted the welcome, looking long into -Clytie's eyes, as if she expected to find in them -something of special significance. Her own were steady, -and had in them an evidence of resolve.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've been hoping you'd come to see me, Miss -Gray," Clytie began.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy stopped on the threshold.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fancy Gray, please!" she corrected, with an -elusive smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fancy Gray—I'm glad to be permitted to use -such a lovely name."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Make it Fancy, straight. Then I'll be more -natural. I'm always stiff and stupid when people call -me Miss Gray. I always feel as if they were talking -about me behind my back." Fancy's smile broke out -now, as if in spite of herself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd love to call you Fancy! It's good of you to let -me!" Clytie answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her smile was as delicious, in this gallant -interchange. Fancy's smile seemed as much a part of -her natural expression as the brightness of her open -eyes; it was embracing, like a baby's. Clytie's had the -effect of a particularly gracious favor, almost a -condescension, a special gift of the moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy stopped again at the entrance to the library.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say, this is awfully orderly," she said, "haven't -you got some place that isn't so tidy and clean? I'm -afraid I wouldn't be comfortable here, and I want to -talk to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie looked at her amusedly. "So you're one of -those persons who think dust is artistic? Come up -into my workroom, then. You'll find that untidy -enough."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Up-stairs they went, to the workroom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My!" said Fancy. "If you call this place untidy, -you ought to see my room! Why, it's as neat as a -pin!" She entered, nevertheless, and looked about -her with curiosity at everything.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Haven't you a looking-glass here?" she asked in -astonishment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, but I'll get you one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy laughed. "I couldn't live an hour without a -mirror," she confessed. "You're really queer, aren't -you! And you don't even wear jewelry! I'm afraid -modesty isn't my favorite stunt. It's very becoming -to you, though. I suppose it doesn't go with painted -hair." She sighed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't believe that even you could improve on -nature, Fancy!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sure nature intended me for a blonde, and got -careless. Did you ever know a brunette who didn't -want to be a blonde?" She looked at Clytie's tawny -hair with evident admiration.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie shook her head, smiling. "I'd give you my -hair for your complexion."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Done!" Fancy rubbed her handkerchief across her -pink cheeks, and handed the bit of cambric to Clytie. -After this comedy pantomime, she took the little silver -watch from her chatelaine pin, opened the back door, -where, inside, was a bright and shiny surface, and -regarded her face, pouting. Then she looked across -at Clytie.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're so pretty, Miss Payson! You're four -times and a half as pretty as I am!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie ventured to touch her little finger to the dent -in Fancy's upper lip. Fancy retreated a step. "My -dear," Clytie asserted, "if I had </span><em class="italics">that</em><span>, I'd be sure that -men would be crazy for me till I was seventy years old!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy shook her head. "I guess I can't beat that. -That's what Gay calls 'the pink penultimate.' And -the worst of it is, I suppose it's true! But I'll never -be seventy if I can help it." She turned away, -suddenly grown serious. The room grew dark. It was -as if Fancy's mood had turned off the sunshine.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What are you doing, now?" Clytie asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, just drifting." Fancy's voice was not hopeful.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie took her hand. "Why don't you come here -and stay with me for a while? I'd love to have you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy gently released her fingers in Clytie's and did -not look at her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I wish you wouldn't be quite so kind to me, -Miss Payson; I can't stand it!" Her mouth trembled; -her gaze was serious.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But it would be so kind of you to come!" Clytie -urged.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy smiled wanly. "I can't do it, Miss Payson, -I won't explain. I never explain. It bores me. But -I simply can't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, you know, if you ever do want to come—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll come, sure!" Fancy looked at her now, with -fire in her eyes, not flaming, but burning deep. -"Whenever I forget what a thoroughbred is like, I'll -come! Whenever I need a teaspoonful of flattery to -last me over night, I'll come! Whenever I want to -know how much finer and kinder women are than -men, I'll come! Whenever—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She would have gone on, but Clytie interrupted her. -"Whenever you want to make me very happy, whenever -you want to do me the greatest favor in your -power, you'll come!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy's eyes narrowed and twinkled. "I'm all out -of breath trying to keep up with you! I give it up. -Take the pot!" She turned to the bench and -examined the tools in a box.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ugh!" she commented. "They look like dentists' -instruments!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't believe </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> ever had to suffer from them! -It doesn't seem possible!" said Clytie.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In response, Fancy engagingly showed her double -row of small, white, zigzag teeth. Then, with a -sudden access of frivolity, she favored Clytie with an -exhibition of her little, pointed tongue, which she -erected and waved sidewise. This done, she dropped -into a chair again. The sun had returned and visited -the room, making a brilliant object of her jaunty -figure as she sat under the window. She wore the -fine gold chain with the swastika that Clytie had -given her. She fingered it as she spoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Miss Payson," she said, "I'm going to ask you -something that perhaps is none of my business."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ask what you please," said Clytie, but she looked -at Fancy with something like alarm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you seen Mr. Granthope lately?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie shook her head. "No."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Could you tell me why not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm afraid I can't, Fancy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm terribly worried about it. I'm sure there's -some trouble. Oh, Miss Payson, I know he's awfully -unhappy. And I can't bear that!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie walked to the window and looked out, -standing there with her hands behind her back. There -was a faint line come into her forehead. "I'd rather -not talk about it," she said quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I'm sure that if there is any misunderstanding, -I might help you. Oh, Miss Payson, I don't want to -be impertinent, but I can't bear it to think that he -isn't happy. Can't you tell me about it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie turned slowly, a look of pain deepening on -her face. "I can only tell you this, that I was -mistaken in him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mistaken? How?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not in quality, so much as in quantity, if you -know what I mean. I know what he's capable of, -what he has done, and what he can do. I don't feel -any anger or resentment, for what I know, now, that -he has done. I feel only pity and sorrow for him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But what </span><em class="italics">has</em><span> he done? That's just what I want -to know. You mean that it was something definite?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And—you believed it of him?" Fancy could not -restrain her surprise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I had to believe it. Oh, Fancy, don't you understand? -It was the sort of thing that no woman could -forget. It was of no importance except as showing -that he wasn't so far along as I had thought. It -merely means that I'll have to wait for him. And I -shall wait for him. I'm so sure of him that I can -wait, though it hurt so at first that I couldn't possibly -see him. That's all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy bit her lip. There was a little, determined -shake of her head that Clytie did not see. "Miss -Payson," she said, "you must tell me what it was. -I've heard Professor Vixley say a thing or two that -aroused my suspicions." She went on slowly, with an -effort. "I know that Frank adores you—that he has, -ever since that night you came with him to his office, -after his accident."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, but this was after that," Clytie said wearily. -"It was something he told Vixley."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"After that! Why, Frank hasn't had anything to -do with Vixley or Madam Spoll since then, except to -try to get them to leave your father alone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I saw his own handwriting, Fancy; the very -notes of what I had talked about to him—even the -little intimate things—they nearly killed me. And -Professor Vixley told me himself that Frank had been -giving him information right along, up to only a few -weeks ago—while we had been so happy together—oh, -to think of it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy's face had varied in phase, like the opening -and shutting of the clouds. Now it was eager, rapt -"Oh, I understand, now!" she cried, jumping up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Miss Payson, Vixley can no more be trusted -than a gambler! Don't you know that he's wild with -Frank? Vixley's got it in for him; he is trying to -ruin him! Don't you know that Frank has been -trying to buy him off, just to save your father from -being cheated by them? Why, Frank offered Vixley -a thousand dollars to leave town, only last week. -Vixley told me so himself!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A thousand dollars? That's impossible." Clytie's -voice was still hopeless.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't imagine where he got the money, but he -had it with him, in cash. Vixley said so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How long ago was that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Two weeks ago, about."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie reflected. "I saw Frank on the platform -at Stockton, two weeks ago. I wonder—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, it was the day after he got back, I remember now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" Clytie's face lightened as if another person -had come into the room. She looked away, as if to -greet an unseen visitor. Her hand was raised delicately. -"I see." Her voice came suddenly, definitely. -Then she stared hard at Fancy. "Oh, Fancy, I'm -almost frightened at it! I don't dare to believe it. -Oh, if I've made a mistake in suspecting him. If I've -accused him to myself unjustly, how can I ever bear -it! But I saw those notes—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you didn't ask him to explain them?" Fancy -spoke very slowly. She did not accuse, she only -wondered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No." Clytie's tone had dropped low, and she went -on, fluttering hurriedly. "I simply went away. Oh, -think of it—it was as melodramatic as a play—that's -the way women do on the stage, isn't it? But you -see, I </span><em class="italics">did</em><span> know awful things about him. Fancy—he -had told me, and I suspected more. There was -something in the notes about my present to father, and -his birthday had only just passed. That proved to -me that Frank's notes had been made recently, I -thought."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy looked at her with a quizzical expression. -"I knew a fellow once who used to call me a marmoset. -I guess that's what you are, you poor dear! Why, -Frank told me about your binding a book for your -father the day he first came here. You must have -spoken of it then."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did!" Clytie fairly threw out. "I remember it -now! And that was </span><em class="italics">before</em><span>—before he really knew -me, wasn't it! Oh, what shall I do, Fancy?" Her -look was, for the moment, as helpless as a child's.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do?" Fancy repeated, shrugging her shoulders. -"Why, the telephone wires are still working, aren't -they?" She spoke a bit dryly. She had done her -work, now, and relapsed into a sort of apathy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I prided myself on my intuition, and on my -fairness!" Clytie went on, unheeding her. "I knew -that I saw in him what no one else saw—not even you, -who knew him so well, and who wouldn't suspect him -of anything so base as that! To think of my being -the victim of such a claptrap trick!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy raised her eyebrows and watched her quietly. -"What I can't understand now, is why you're wasting -your time talking about it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie stared at her, her face still shadowed by her -emotion. Then her smile came rapturously. She -turned and ran down-stairs to the telephone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy walked to the window forlornly. There she -leaned her head on her arm against the pane and shut -her eyes, as if she were fatigued. It was black in -the west, and the Marin shore was shrouded in the -murk. The harbor was covered with dancing -whitecaps. The storm was imminent. She stayed there, -motionless, until Clytie's step was heard coming up, -then started into life again and gave herself a shake.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's coming right up!" Clytie announced.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy immediately looked at the blue enameled dial -of her little silver watch. "Well, I must be going."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, please stay!" Clytie exclaimed, holding her -tightly. "I really want you to, so! It's you who have -done it all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy smiled at last, and released herself. "Yes, -I've spent my life in straightening out other people's -snarls," she said. "Sometime I hope some one will be -able to straighten mine. But I've got a date, really."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, do tell me that you're as happy as I am," Clytie -exclaimed. "I've been so selfish, I'm afraid! I -don't know who he is, but I'm sure he must be fine, -if you care for him. How I wish I could help you, -dear!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The only way you could, I'm afraid, is by lending -me some of your brains—and I'm afraid they wouldn't -fit my noddle. He's awfully clever, and I feel like a -fool when I'm with him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you do really love him, don't you?" Clytie -asked anxiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy nodded gravely. "I guess yes. As much -as I can love anybody. I'm afraid of him. That's -one sign, isn't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you can't tell me who he is?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fancy, when you're married, I'll give you a wedding."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I accept!" said Fancy Gray.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned to go, but hesitated a moment, as if she -could hardly make up her mind to ask the question, -yet couldn't go without asking it. "Miss Payson," she -said finally, "did you tell Frank that I had been here?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course I did!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What did he say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He said that it was like you. That you always -played fair."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-by!" Fancy said, and suddenly breaking -through the reserve that had so far constrained her, -she laid her cheek for a moment to Clytie's.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie kissed her. The two walked down-stairs -arm in arm. At the front door Fancy paused and said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Take my advice, Miss Payson, and don't explain. -Never explain. If you once get into that habit you're -lost. It only wastes time. Get right down to business -and stay there. Your head belongs on his shoulder, -remember that. All Frank will want to know is what -you're going to do next. Keep him guessing, my dear, -but never explain! Now, I'm going to try and get -home before it rains."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned up her collar, gave a quick toss to her -head, and walked rapidly down the garden path. At -the gate she turned, gaily gave a mock-military salute, -a relic of her old vaudeville manner, then ran down the -steps.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie watched her till she had disappeared. Then -she went up-stairs and changed her frock.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy's sage advice was wasted. There were -explanations, a torrent of them, when Francis Granthope -came, explanations voluble, apologetic, impetuous, -half-tragic, semi-humorous. The equilibrium of -Clytie's mind was completely overturned and its -readjustment came only after a prolonged talk. Every -trace of the priestess, the princess, the divinity was -gone forever, now. She was more like a mother -rejoicing at the restoration of a lost child, for whose -absence she blamed her own neglect and carelessness. -It was all too delightful for Granthope to wish to cut -it short. He was hungry for her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He, too, had his explanations and his news. For -two weeks his hands had been tied. Clytie had -disappeared from his ken, and he had had no way of -tracing her, for it was useless to telephone to the -house or to ask of her father. There had been -nothing for it but to wait in the hope that whatever had -caused the interruption would come right of itself. -He had never really felt sure of Clytie—her -acceptance of him had seemed too wonderful to be true, a -fortune to which he was not really entitled, and -which he might lose any instant. Whether or not -Vixley or Madam Spoll had effected the separation, -he had no way of determining.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He told then of his trip to Stockton where, by -establishing his identity by means of the finger-prints, -he had succeeded in obtaining possession of the money -he had deposited there so many years ago. This -had amounted, with interest, to several thousand -dollars. He had gone immediately to Vixley to seal the -bargain they had made, but the Professor had -absolutely refused to accept any payment for leaving town. -Indeed, he had hinted that he had schemes on foot -which would bring him an income that Granthope -could not hope to rival. How matters stood between -Mr. Payson and the mediums, neither Granthope nor -Clytie knew. They had not yet heard of the materializing -séance, and the situation was, so far as they -knew, the same as before. It was agreed that there -must be another attempt to rescue Mr. Payson, and -this time through Doctor Masterson, who was probably venal.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope, meanwhile, however, had perfected his -plans. He had sufficient money, now, to warrant his -devoting himself to the study of medicine, a project -he had so long contemplated that, with the start he -had already made, would make it possible for him -to practise in two or three years. He had, therefore, -abandoned all idea of going upon the stage. Clytie -approved of this with considerable relief. The -prospect of reviving gossip by Granthope's appearance -as an actor had caused her much dread. They had -already been much talked about. Society had -discussed them until it had grown tired. Nothing was -sensational enough to last long as an object of -curiosity in San Francisco, and a half-dozen other affairs -had caused them to be almost forgotten.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After this first flurry of talk, in which she had -come down from that lofty spiritual altitude where -she had dwelt for the last two weeks, she was sheer -woman, thrilling to his words and to the sense of his -nearness. As they had progressed in intimacy her -maternal instinct had asserted itself more and more -frankly towards him. She had treated him at times -almost as if he were a boy whose education she was -fondly directing. She had lost some of that feeling, -now, in virtue of her mistake; she was curiously -humble.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He, too, had somewhat changed. Before Clytie's -direct gaze he had lost something of his -power; he had been afraid of her. In this readjustment -the normal phase of courtship was restored, and, -feeling his way with her, delicately perceptive as he -always was with women, he began to notice that she -would willingly resign the scepter—she would gladly -be mastered if he would but put forth his power. She -was learning to be a woman; she would be conquered anew.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was to learn all this slowly, however; so slowly -that, at every manifestation of her inclination he had -a moment's pause for the wonder of it, tasting the -flavor of her condescension, marveling at his own -conquest. To him, as to all lovers, his sweetheart -had been a woman different from all her sex. He was -now to find that she was not one woman but two—that -in her the subtly refined spirit of his vision shared her -throne with that immemorial wild creature of primal -impulse who is the essence of sex itself; who, -subdued or paramount, dwells in all women, saints and -sinners alike. He had, in virtue of his victory, merged -those two warring elements in her soul into one. -She had come into her birthright, not lost it. She -seemed a little frightened by the metamorphosis, but -there was a triumph of discovery, too; he reveled in -its manifestation, but he was still timorous before the -new, splendid, potent being he had invoked. There -was an intoxicating excitement, now, as he saw in -her traces of every woman he had known. It was as -if, after exploring a strange land and meeting its -people, he had at last come upon the queen who -combined all the national characteristics and fused them -with the unique distinction of royalty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They had, also, as yet, a whole lovers' language -to manufacture, metaphors to weave into their talk, -words to suggest phrases, phrases to stand for moods -and emotions. But such idioms are untranslatable—they -will never bear analysis. For love is a subjective -state, whose objective manifestations are ridiculous. -No one can see a kiss—it is a state of being.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But into this relation they entered, as children go to -play, making their own rules of the game, establishing -their own sentimental traditions as lovers use. -With such vivid imagination as both possessed the -pastime became deliciously intricate; it had pathos -and comedy, wind and dew and fire. They spoke -in enigmas, one's quick intuition answering the -other—there were flashes so quick with humor that -a smile was inadequate in satisfying its esoteric -message. An observer would have seen Clytie, her eyes -alight, her pose informed with gracile eagerness, -waking from her gentle languor to inspired -gesture—Granthope pacing the room, erect, virile, dark, -sensitive in every fiber to her presence, flinging a -whimsical word at her, or with a burst of abandon pouring -himself out to her to her delight. There was an -intellectual stimulation as well as an emotional pressure -in their intercourse that forbade any monotony of -mood. There was a tensity of feeling that broke, at -times, into waves of laughter; but there were moments, -too, when the sudden realization of their relation, with -all its doubts, its unknown paths, and secret, fatal -web of circumstance, impelled them to make sure, at -least, of the moment, and to defy the future with an -expression of their present happiness. So they came -down, and so they went up. From height to depth, -from shadow to light he pursued her. He chased, but -she was ready enough to be caught! She held a hand -to him and helped him up; they met in delightful -solitudes of thought; they walked together through the -obvious. That he should so follow her, that she could -understand, there was wonder enough, even without -that other diviner communion. It was a lovers' -play-day, now; there was time enough for the lovers' -ritual and the worship at the shrine. For this day was -the untellable, impossible delights of wonder. They -took repossession of their kingdom, no longer -jeoparded by doubt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was Clytie, who, at last, grew more bold, more -definite. She rose and put her two hands on Granthope's -shoulders, smiling at him with pride in her -possession.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't wait any longer," she exclaimed. "I've -suffered enough. Before anything else comes between -us, let's settle it so that nothing can separate us. You -see, my instinct has triumphed after all. I'm sure of -you—indeed, I always have been. I must speak to -father to-morrow, and, if you like—" She hesitated, -in a sudden, maidenly access of timidity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We'll be married—instantly? Dare you?" He -crushed her impetuously in his arms, not even this -time without a wonder that she should permit him, -not quite daring even yet to believe that she was more -than willing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She freed herself with an expression that should -have reassured him. "There's nothing, now, to be -gained by waiting, is there?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing, if you can live on what I can provide."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed at the very absurdity of it. "It may -be hard, but I think I can manage father," she went -on. "He's too fond of me really to oppose what I'm -set on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I only wish I could do something to assure him, -to propitiate him," said Granthope. "My position -has been so undignified that I've had no chance. I -have been meeting you surreptitiously, and I suppose -he suspects me of being after your money."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"While the truth is, I'm after yours!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wonder if, after all, it </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> mine?" he said thoughtfully. -"I have never been able to find any heirs of -Madam Grant—and her last message to me seemed -to be that I should have what she left."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, it's yours, I'm sure!" she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I long so to know about her! If I could once -convince your father of my sincerity there's much I'd -like to ask him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Father is a strange man. He is often unreasonable -and prejudiced in his judgment and treatment of -people, but there's a warm vein of affection underneath -it all. There's something hidden, something -almost furtive, even in his attitude toward me, -sometimes, that I can't understand. I happened on a queer -evidence of his emotional side only a little while ago. -There is a big trunk up-stairs in our garret where -my mother's things are stored. It's always kept -locked; I've never seen the inside of it. Well, I started -to go up into the attic for something, and as I was -half-way up the steps where I could just see into the -loft, I heard a noise up there. Father was on his -knees, in front of that trunk. He was examining -something in his hand. There was a tenderness and -a pathos in his posture—I got only one glimpse of him -before I went down again. You know my mother -died when I was about five years old—soon after that -day at Madam Grant's. He never seems to want me -to talk about my mother at all; he evades the subject -whenever I mention her. I think that he must have -been very fond of her, and it's still painful to discuss -her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you ever asked him about that clipping about -Felicia Gerard?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, he's as reserved about her, too. Isn't it. -strange? But I'm sure that she was Madam Grant—there's -a mystery about her I can't fathom. Do tell -me more about her. You don't know how queer it -seems that I have actually seen her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He gave her all he knew of the strange, mad -woman's life—it was not much, as he had been so young -then—his straying into her rooms, her adoption of -him, his education, his loneliness, his love. She -warmed to him anew as he told the story.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, that's the part of you I know and love the -best!" she exclaimed. "How good you were to her! -If anything could make me love you more, it would be -your devotion to that poor, lonely, ravaged soul. It -seems as if you have served me in serving her, and -I would like to think that I could pay you back, by -my love, for all you gave her. It stirs me so to think -of her pain and her despair!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let's make a pilgrimage!" he said impulsively. "I -haven't been inside the Siskiyou Hotel since I was a -child, though I've passed there often enough. It's -a pretty disreputable place now, I'm afraid."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes!" Clytie caught up with his eagerness. -"Think of seeing that place again, where we first met! -It will be a celebration, won't it! How long is it? -I don't quite dare think."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Twenty-three years!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And all that time we've been coming together—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was a wide curve my orbit traced, my dear!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's one of the mysteries of life that while we seem -to be going away from each other, we're as really -coming together. But we'll travel the rest of the -course together, I'm sure!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They set out, forthwith, on their quest for what -had been. It had begun to rain, but their spirits were -unquenchable by the storm. The excursion was, -indeed, an adventure. Granthope himself felt his -fancy aroused at the thought of the revisitation of the -old home. It had a double charm for him now, as -the spot where the two women who had most affected -his life had been.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He left her under the shelter of an awning while -he went into the saloon to interview the bartender who -rented the rooms in the building. The man had heard -of Madam Grant, though it was so long since she -had lived there. There were still stories told of her -wealth and her eccentricities, as well as of her occult -powers. The rooms had even, at one time, been -reported to be haunted, but they had always been let -easily enough. At present they were occupied by some -Russians. Yes, Granthope might go up; perhaps they -would let him in.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They ascended the narrow, dingy stairs together. -The wall was grimy where many dirty elbows had -rubbed the plastering; the rail was rickety and many -balusters were missing. Granthope rapped at the door -in the hall with a queer, sick feeling of familiarity, -though it was as if he had read of the place in some -story rather than a place he had used to inhabit.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A Jewess opened the door, her sleeves rolled to the -elbows, her face plump and good-natured. She smiled -pleasantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Would you mind our coming in to look at your -rooms?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What for?" she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, I used to live here when I was a child, and -I'd like to show this lady the place."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you want to, you can, I suppose. It ain't much -to look at now, though. We have to take what we -can get, down here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her curiosity was appeased by the coin which Granthope -slipped into her hand, and she sat down to her -sewing phlegmatically, looking up occasionally with -little interest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The place was, of course, much changed. The -windows were washed, the floor scrubbed and -partly covered with rag rugs. It was well -furnished and well aired. Granthope pointed but the -little chamber where Madam Grant had slept, where -his own bed had been, and, finally, the closet from -which he had first spied upon her. Clytie looked -about silently, much moved, and trying to bring back -her own recollections of the place.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I close my eyes, I can almost see it as it was," -she said. "I can almost get that strange feeling I had -when I came here. If I could be here for a while alone -I think I could see things. I'd like to go into the -closet again. Let's see if the crack is still in the -door."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was still there. She asked permission to go -inside, and the Jewess rather uncomfortably agreed. -The place was filled with clothing; it was close and -odorous; the shelves were filled with boxes, rags -and household belongings. Clytie went in rather -timidly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go over where I sat in the front room, that day," -she said. "I want to look through the crack, as you -did. I'd like to be locked in, too, but the key is gone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She closed the door on herself while Granthope -walked to the bay-window and looked idly out. It -was such a strange sensation, being in the old place -again, that for some moments he lost himself in a -reverie; then, turning and not seeing Clytie, he walked -rapidly to the door and opened it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stood there, leaning back against the wall of -clothing with a wondering, far-away expression, her -eyes staring, her face white, her breath coming fast -through her parted lips. He took her hand, thinking -that she was fainting, and led her out. She recovered -herself quickly and drew him into the front room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I saw my father while I was in there," she -whispered. "He was looking about the room furtively, -as if searching for something. What can it mean? -I'm afraid something has happened to him—I'm -alarmed about it. I must go right home and see if -anything's the matter. I had a strange feeling, like a -pain, at first, in the dark, and I was frightened. Then -I saw him. Come, let's go away!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She went up to the Jewish woman and shook hands -with her, thanking her for the courtesy. The old -lady patted Clytie's hand approvingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's funny, what everybody wants to see my -room for," she said, "but I don't care when I get a -dollar every time, do I? Last week they was an old -gentleman here, like you was, to see it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What was he like?" Granthope inquired.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, he was bald-head, with a spectacles and some -beard."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope and Clytie exchanged glances.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He must have been down here for something," -she said. "I can't make it out. I'm afraid that there's -some trouble. It worries me."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="fancy-gray-accepts"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XIX</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">FANCY GRAY ACCEPTS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The rain had come in a vigorous downpour, -washing away the mantle of dust that had so long lain -over the city. The storm finally settled down to a -steady pelting of heavy drops, lightened occasionally -to mild, drizzling showers, only to be resumed with -greater violence toward night. Every one was glad for -the flushing the town received. There was a novelty -and excitement about the rain, a relief after the -parched, monotonous months of cloudless skies. Men -and women walked the streets smiling, the women -especially; for that free, fearless gaiety, the almost -abandoned good nature of San Francisco girls, was not -to be quenched.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On Thursday evening, Fancy Gray, to all appearance -her old, gay self, smiling as if she had never a -care in the world, went down to Fulda's to dine with -Blanchard Cayley.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In a city of restaurants, Fulda's restaurant was -unique. The Pintos had discovered the place, and by -their own efforts had made it. Maxim and the artists -of the quarter had gained Fulda's consent to a new -scheme of decoration, a plan so mad and impudent -that the room was now a show-place for visitors. The -walls were covered with cartoons and sketches as -incongruously placed, perhaps, as the embossed -pictures on a bean-pot, but what was lacking in art was -made up for by a bizarre, esoteric humor that was the -perpetual despair of the uninitiated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Maxim's chief contribution, a huge cartoon with -caricatured portraits of his friends, had the place -of honor; it was a superb piece of low comedy in -crayons. Beyond this the sketches became more -grotesque, the inscriptions more cryptic. Quotations from -Rabelais, from Brantome, from Chesterton, Whistler -and Wilde were scattered here and there, mingling -with fiery burlesques of Bohemians, Philistines, lobsters -and artists. No one, not even the authors, knew the -point of most of these jokes well enough to explain -them intelligibly, and it was this baffling suggestiveness -which drew patrons to the restaurant and kept its -charm piquant. One saw at each table new-comers -with questioning faces pointing to legends in Greek -and Esperanto and Yiddish, and wondering at the -inscrutable accompaniment of illustration. It was a -sort of mental and artistic hash spread upon the walls. -The humor grew fiercer as one's eyes rose to the -ceiling. There, a trail of monstrous footprints, -preposterous, impossible, led, with divagations, to a point -above the central table which was always reserved for -the Pintos. To crown this elaborate nonsense, they -had drawn a frieze below the cornice with panels -containing the names of the frequenters of the -place, alternated with such minor celebrities as Plato, -Browning and Nietzsche.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In a larger city, such a place would have had a -temporary vogue, and then, after having been "discovered" -by reporters and artists, have sunk into the -desuetude of impecunious rural diners-out, one of the -places of which one says: "Oh, you should have seen -it two years ago." But San Francisco is of that -fascinating size, half-way between town and city, and -of that interesting age where the old is not quite -forgotten and the new not quite permanently instated,—it -is, above all, so delightfully isolated that it need -not ape the East. Though it has outgrown some of its -Western crudities, it is significant that such a -restaurant as Fulda's could become and remain a resort for -the gathering of the cleverest spirits in town. It had -already achieved that reputation; it was patronized -by the arts. The visitors, for the most part, either did -things or wanted to. One was apt to know almost -everybody there. If one didn't know Mr. Smith, one's -friend did; or one knew Mr. Smith's friend.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To this place entered Fancy Gray, drifter, the day -after the materializing séance, in a new, blue -mackintosh and a pert but appropriate hat. She nodded, -to Felix, at the counter, and, following underneath the -trail of footprints on the ceiling, came, jovially as -ever, to the central table. Dougal, Elsie and Benton -were sitting at the far end of it. Dougal sprang up -with a grin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come and sit down quickly and tell us all about -it!" he exclaimed. "What happened after we left?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She sat on the side of a chair without removing her -coat, and gave them her ever-ready smile. "Say, you -didn't raise a rough house or anything, did you? I -thought it would be a case for the coroner before you -got through. If I'd known you were going to be -there I wouldn't have been in the cast. Wasn't it -awful? Madam Spoll was pretty badly burned, I -hear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope I'll never have to see anything as horrible -as that again," said Benton. "But I did what I -could. I hope she'll recover."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We waited till the police and the ambulance came -and then we got out," Dougal added. "There was -nothing more to do but testify. Did you see the -account of it in the paper? I believe they're going -to have more about it, and play it up for all it's worth. -What became of you, Fancy? Last I saw of you you -had skipped into that back room."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, as soon as I had put on my shoes, I got out -as quick as I could by the back way. I didn't know -whether the house was going to be pulled or not. I'd -had trouble enough for one evening. I'm all black -and blue now, from Dougal's holding me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How did Vixley feel, I wonder? He must have -been pretty sore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sore! I guess he was, in more ways than one. -But Flora Flint was the funniest! They found her -in the cabinet, half dressed, after all the crowd was -cleared out—she had been afraid to move."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How did you happen to be there, anyway, Fancy?" -Elsie asked. "I thought you hadn't done anything -with that medium crowd for years."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was not often that Fancy was embarrassed, but -she seemed so, now.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I haven't. I don't know why I did—except—they -asked me, and I wanted to oblige somebody—and I -needed the money. I had forgotten I had told you to -go to Flora's."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aren't you going to eat?" Dougal asked. Fancy -usually dined at the central table several times a week. -Cayley's attentions were already on the wane.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I've got free eggs to-night," was the reply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her eyes had been on the door of the restaurant, -and, at this moment, they were rewarded by the sight -of Blanchard Cayley, who entered and looked about -the room for her. "Well, I'm going to meet my royal -meal-ticket," she said, rising and waving a hand at -him. He nodded, and came down to her, bowing to -several friends on the way, and the two took a table -beyond the Pintos. She faced Dougal who made -disapproving faces at Cayley's back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The room filled up. One long table was decorated, -with flowers, and a party of ladies and gentlemen -from up-town soon came in and took seats there. -They began immediately to chatter and look about the -walls, commenting upon the decorations. At other -tables Fancy saw artists, newspaper men and men -about town, who had been pointed out to her before. -To some of them she nodded. Cayley knew many -more. It was like a great family dining-room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?" said Cayley, in his peculiar tone that made -of one word a whole sentence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I evidently made a hit. I hope you're satisfied, -now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You certainly brought down the house." There -was a sarcastic, almost a surly note in his voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm awfully sorry things went wrong, Blan," she -said. "I wouldn't have done it if I'd known the -crowd was going to be there. I'm sorry now I -consented to take part. I hope I'll never see Vixley -again. He was horrid to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've seen Vixley. He says Madam Spoll isn't -expected to live."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Isn't it awful? I didn't want to do it, Blan, you -know I didn't; I wouldn't have done it for anybody -but you. I don't see how you can bear to have -anything to do with Vixley. Ugh! What </span><em class="italics">did</em><span> you want -me to do it for, anyway?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, only to find out some things, that's all. Of -course I couldn't do it myself, could I?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was evident, now, that he had been drinking. -He had not shown it in his walk or in his voice, but -there was a slight glaze to his eyes that told the -story. He had been abstinent for so long that Fancy -wondered at it. He ordered a flask of chianti and -poured two glasses.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You oughtn't to begin again, Blan—don't!" she -said anxiously. "Water's good enough for me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pshaw! Don't worry, I'm all right. You don't -think I'm drunk, do you?" He laughed harshly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"N—no, but I don't like it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Forget it, Fan; nobody ever saw me drunk. I only -get confidential, that's all. </span><em class="italics">In vino veritas</em><span>. There's -a double meaning there. Exoteric and esoteric."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At this moment the waiter appeared with a stone -bottle and two Chinese cups. "Mr. Dougal sent this -over with his compliments. It's </span><em class="italics">saké</em><span>," he explained. -Fancy kissed her hand to Dougal, and poured for -herself and Cayley.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ugh! It's horrible!" she said. "Isn't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, it's the real thing; I like it." Cayley drank it -all and helped himself to more.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you find out what you wanted to know?" said -Fancy, proceeding with her dinner daintily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, the row came just in time to queer the whole -thing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course you know that if Dougal had had any -idea it was me—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, it wasn't Dougal, it was old man Payson—he -caught on—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy laid down her fork, and narrowed her eyes. -"</span><em class="italics">Payson?</em><span>" she repeated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, of course; the old chap you were talking to, -weren't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked at him with a strange expression. "Payson? -I didn't think—I was too excited to realize—I -mean—who is he, Blan?" Her hands fell into her -lap and clasped one another tightly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, an old boy I know, a good sort, but a fool. -No fool like an old fool, is there?" He poured another -glass of chianti, without noticing how intense she had -grown. His eyes were dallying with two good-looking -girls across the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is Miss Payson—the one who was with you at -Carminetti's—his daughter?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked up at her sharply, now, but her frown -meant nothing to him. He returned to his tagliarini. -"Yes—why?" he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me about her, Blan, please," Fancy begged, -with an unusual air of anxiety.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing to tell, except she's a disdainful beauty, -and a little too haughty for me. Fastidious, -pre-Raphaelite, and super-civilized and all that. You -wouldn't care for her, any more than you would for -a Utamaro." He smiled to himself at what Fancy -had once said of Japanese prints.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"H'm!" Fancy put her chin in her hands, and kept -her eyes on Cayley. "So that old gentleman was her -father," she said in a low unimpassioned voice. "It -was Miss Payson's father I was hired to fool!" Suddenly -she spoke up more sharply, but with a tremor -in her voice. "What did you want me to play spirit -for, Blan? Out with it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He saw now that something was wrong. It made -him peevish.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you know about Miss Payson, anyway?" -he demanded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've—seen her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, what did you think of her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought she was a thoroughbred."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed?" Cayley thought it over, looking somewhat -abstractedly at a picture on the wall, entitled: -"</span><em class="italics">Je congnois la faulte des Boesmes.</em><span>" Then he turned -with an open countenance to her and said, with an -air of candor:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You see, Fancy, I happened to know Payson was -in the clutches of Vixley and this Spoll woman—they -were sucking his blood. I thought I could rescue -him if you would play spirit, and then tell Payson -afterwards what a fraud it all was. Understand -now?" He smiled blandly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see," she said, and went on with her dinner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then again," Cayley remarked, "I thought you -wouldn't mind getting even with Granthope."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This brought her up again with an angry flush. -"What has he got to do with it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, he played it rather low down on you, didn't he?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What d'you mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, he fired you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He didn't! I left of my own accord." Fancy's -lie came impetuously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you know that he's after Miss Payson, now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So I've heard."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're remarkably amiable about it, my dear. You -didn't really care for him, then?" His smile was -unendurable.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I never explain. If people can't understand -without explanations, they never can with them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you don't mind it at all?" he insisted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—I don't mind it. I'm glad." The words came -from her slowly, this time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What d'you mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy was silent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, don't you think he ought to be—shown up -a little?" He was on his third cup of </span><em class="italics">saké</em><span>, but his -hand was as steady as ever.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her lips parted, and her breath came suddenly for -an exclamation, but the protest got no further than -her eyes. She dropped them to the table-cloth, where -she marked crosses with her little finger-nail. -Dougal was making overt attempts to attract her -attention and the diversion was maddening.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What d'you mean?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you were really a good enough friend of mine -to help me out—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I'll help you out, Blan; what d'you want me to -do?" she said quite eagerly, now. He did not notice -her suppressed excitement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well—I suppose you know a good deal about him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She nodded wisely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And some things, I suppose, might make considerable -difference if they came out? You know what -I mean."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you want me to tell them?" she flung fiercely -at him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He took alarm, and, reaching across the table, -attempted to touch her hand. She evaded him. "Of -course I don't want you to do anything dishonorable—but—you -said yourself she was a thoroughbred—do -you think it's quite the square thing to stand by and -let a man like him marry a nice girl like Miss Payson?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought you said she was supercilious!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, super-civilized, that's all. Call it statuesque. -But all the same I hate to see her get stung—don't -you, now? Come!" He leaned back and folded his arms.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She's too haughty for you, I thought!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did I say that? Well, I'm a friend of the family, -you know—I want to do what I can for them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She reached nervously for her wine-glass, and her -hand, trembling, struck the chianti flask and tipped -it over. Before she could set it straight it had spilled -into a plate, drenching a napkin which lay partly -folded there. The linen was turned blood red. Cayley -laughed at her carelessness loudly. Dougal looked -across again, but Fancy avoided his eye.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Blan," she said, leaning slightly towards him and -speaking low, "do you love me? Or are you just -playing with me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He seemed to consider it. Then he said, very earnestly, -and evidently with a subtle psychological intent, -"I'm only playing with you, Fancy!" And he smiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her fingers drummed on the table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I'll never treat you the way Granthope did," -he added.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her hands came together again in her lap. "That'll -be all about Granthope," she said through her teeth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"See here," he insisted, "you know what a cad he's -been as well as I do! He's trying to marry Miss -Payson, damn him! I've seen her with him often. -If you'll just go up to her and tell her a few -things—you needn't violate any confidences—just enough -to put her on her guard—we can head him off and -spoil that game!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" Fancy's breast heaved violently. "I </span><em class="italics">see</em><span>!" -she exclaimed slowly. Her eyes blazed at him. "So -</span><em class="italics">that's</em><span> what you've been after all this time, is it? I -think I know you now, Blanchard Cayley!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her eyes did not leave him as her right hand stole -over the cloth, reaching for the wine-soaked napkin, -and grasped its dry end. Slowly she rose from her -seat, stood up, and leaned far over the table towards -him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then, raising her hand suddenly, she struck him as -with a flail, once, twice across the cheek, across the -eyes, leaving a purple stain whose drops trickled down -into his beard. The sound was heard all over the -room, and drew all eyes. For a moment she watched -him put up his arm to ward off the blows; then, with -a gasping sob, she turned and ran swiftly down to the -door and out into the street.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cayley, his face now reddened not only by the wine, -but from the furious flush which burned in his cheeks, -sat for a moment as if paralyzed. Then he wiped -the mark with his napkin, automatically. His face -worked like a maniac's. He rose deliberately, reached -for his hat and strode down the aisle after her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dougal saw the pursuit just in time. Quickly his -foot shot out into the passage, and Cayley, passing, -tripped over it, and fell headlong upon the floor. -Dougal, cigarette in mouth, leaped out of his chair -and held him lightly. Benton jumped up and stood -by him, ready. Cayley was mumbling curses. They -helped him up politely, and Dougal muttered:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go back to your table, Mr. Cayley, and sit down -there for five minutes. If you don't, by God, I'll kill -you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The room buzzed with exclamations; every one stared.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cayley stared sullenly, his mouth open, then turned -back and sat down and put his hands to his forehead, -leaning on the table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dougal conferred with Benton. "You wait here, -Benton, and wherever Cayley goes, you follow him. -I'm going out after Fancy. There'll be the hell to pay -to-night if we don't find her. I've never seen her that -way before, and it looks like trouble to me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With that, he hurried out of the restaurant.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>She had run out into the rain without either coat -or umbrella. Turning down Commercial Street in -the direction of the ferry, she walked hurriedly, as if -bent on some special errand; but, at the foot of -Market Street, she hesitated, then crossed, walked along -East Street past the water-front, saloons and sailors' -boarding-houses, stumbling and slipping on the -uneven, reeking, board sidewalks. Then she went up -Howard Street, dark and gloomy, all the way to -Fourth Street. Here she made back for the lights -of Market Street, crossed, looked idly in at a drug -store window for fully five minutes. A man came up -and accosted her jocosely. She turned and stared at -him without replying a word, and he walked away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then, almost running, now, she flew straight for -Granthope's office. Looking up from the street, she -saw a light in his window. She ran up the stairs and -paused for a moment to get her breath outside his -office door. Just at that moment a voice came to her -from inside, and then a man's answered, followed by -a chorus of soft laughter. She stood transfixed, biting -her lip nervously, listening. The woman's voice went -on, evenly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy staggered slowly down the stairs and went -out again into the storm. Down Geary to Market -Street, down Market Street, hopelessly, aimlessly. -Here the rain beat upon her mercilessly in great -sheets. Again she stopped, looking up and down -wildly. Finally she turned the corner and went into -the ladies' entrance of the "Hospital." A waiter led -her to a booth where she could be alone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The "Hospital" was, perhaps, the most respectable -saloon in the city where women were permitted. The -whole rear of the establishment was given over to a -magnificently fitted-up department devoted to such -women as were willing to be seen there. One might -go and still retain a certain relic of good-repute, if -one went with a man—there were married women -enough who did, and reckless girls, too, who took the -risk; but it was on the frontier of vice, where -amateur and professional met.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>From a wide, carpeted passage booths opened to -right and left; little square rooms, with partitions -running up part way, screened off with heavy red plush -portières hanging from brass rods. Each of these -compartments was finished in a different kind of rare -wood, handsomely designed. Arching from a heavy, -molded cornice, where owls sat at stately intervals, an -elaborately coffered ceiling rose, and in the center was -suspended a globe of cathedral glass, electric lighted, -glowing like a full moon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fancy hung up her jacket to dry and ordered a -hot lemonade. Then she went down to the telephone -and called up Gay P. Summer's house number. She -got him, at last, and asked him, tremulously, to come -down to the "Hospital" and see her. She would -wait for him. He seemed surprised, but she would -not explain, and, after a short discussion, he -consented. She went back to the "Toa" room and waited, -sipping her drink.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All about her was a persistent babble of voices, the -women's raucous, hard and cold, mingled occasionally -with the guffaws of men. Across the way, through -an opening of the portières, she could see an over-dressed -girl tilted back in her chair puffing a cigarette. -White-aproned waiters passed and repassed, looking -neither to the right nor left.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was staring fixedly at the wall, her elbows on -the table, her chin on the backs of her hands, when -Gay entered a little crossly. She looked up with a -smile—almost her old winning smile—though it -drooped in a moment and was set again with an effort.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hello, Gay, here I am again!" she said. She gave -him her cold little hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He drew off his rain coat and sat down, as fresh -and pink as ever, the drops still glistening on his -cheeks. "What's up?" he said, touching the electric -button and pulling out his cigarette case.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm through with Blanchard Cayley," she said, -watching him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's about time," he remarked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aren't you glad to see me, Gay?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure!" he answered, without looking at her. He -scratched a match, and, after he had lighted his -cigarette, looked up at the waiter who appeared in the -doorway. "Two Picon punches," he said. Then he -turned to her and folded his arms.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What can I do for you, Fancy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He seemed, somehow, to have grown ten years older -since the time they had frolicked together at the -beach. His cheek was as blooming, his figure as -boyish, but his eyes were a little harder. His voice -showed a little more confidence, and his pose was quite -that of the man of the world. Much of his charm had -gone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gay," she said, "we were pretty good friends, once."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's what we were, Fancy. How much do you need?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She recoiled as if he had struck her and buried -her face in her arms on the table. Her shoulders -shook convulsively. "Oh, I didn't want to graft, Gay, -don't think that! That's not what I called you up for, -really it isn't!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What was it, then?" he asked, growing a little -more genial.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The waiter appeared with two glasses on a tray -and set them down on the table. Fancy looked up and -wiped her eyes. When they were alone again he said, -"Fire away, now. I've got a date at ten. I'm sorry -I said that, but I didn't know but you were hard up, -that's all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gay," she said, "do you remember what you said -that day we went down to Champoreau's the first -time?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I believe I said all that crowd had the big head, -didn't I?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That isn't it, Gay. I wonder if you've forgotten -already?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I guess I have. Lots of things have happened -since that." He blew a lung-full of smoke into the -air over her head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You've said it several times since then. Do you -happen to remember asking me to marry you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I believe I did make a break like that, now you -speak of it. And you threw me down good and hard, -too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She got his eyes, and smiled. "You said that—whenever -I changed my mind and gave the word—you'd marry me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did I?" Gay moved uncomfortably in his chair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You did, Gay, and when you said it, I thought you -meant it. I believe you did mean it then. Oh, Gay, -dear, I want to quit drifting! I want to settle down -and be a good wife to some man who'll take care of -me, some one I can love and help and be faithful to! -Oh, you don't know how faithful I'd be, Gay! I'd -do anything. I'm so tired of drifting—I'm so afraid -I'll go on like this! I'm not a grafter, Gay, you -know I'm not! But I want to get married and be -happy!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You ought to have said that two months ago," he -said, knocking the ash from his cigarette with -exquisite attention.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you want me now?" she said, shaking her -head pathetically. She reached for his hand. "I like -you, Gay, I've always liked you and I think I could -learn to love you sometime. But I'd be true to you, -anyway. Take me, please, Gay! I can't stand it any -longer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For Heaven's sake, don't talk so loud, Fancy; -somebody'll hear you! Say, this isn't fair! I gave -you a good chance, and you threw me down. Why -didn't you take me then? I was crazy about you, but -no, you wouldn't have it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you've got all over it? You don't want me now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had a sudden access of pity, and stroked her -hand. "Why, I couldn't make you happy, Fancy? -You know that. You wouldn't have me marry you if -I wasn't in love with you, would you? I suppose I -have got over it; I was fascinated, and I thought it -was the real thing. We all make mistakes. I've been -about a good bit since then, and I know more of the -world. I'm sorry, but it's too late."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked away, and for a moment her eyes closed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I guess nobody wants me, then. Men get tired -of me, don't they? I'm good enough to play with -for a little while, but—I can't make good as a wife. -Never mind. I thought perhaps you were in earnest, -that's all. I'm sorry I bothered you. You can go, -now!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He went up to her and put his hand on her shoulder. -She shook it off, shuddering. "Go </span><em class="italics">away</em><span>!" she -cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He took his hat and left her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a quarter of an hour she sat there, and then, -looking up haggardly, stared about the room. She -consulted the little chatelaine watch that dangled on -her breast. Going up to a mirror, she attempted to -straighten her hair, but her hands shook so that it -was of little use. She was, even in that warm room, -shivering. Then she rose and went down the carpeted -passage, past luxurious paintings, past the compartments -filled with giggling women and tipsy men, out -into the night again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The rain had stopped at last, but it was cold and -gusty. Great detached masses of cloud pied the -heavens, and in the clear spaces of sky the stars shone, -twinkling brilliantly. She turned down Market Street.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Half-way to the ferry she met Dougal, almost -falling into his arms before she recognized him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I've found you at last!" he exclaimed. "Lord, -how wet you are! Come right along home with me, -and Elsie will give you some dry clothes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no, thank you, Dougal, but I can't, really! -I've got to go to Oakland to-night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nonsense! Wait, I'll get a cab."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't go, honest I can't. Please don't tease me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I won't leave you, at any rate!" He put -his arm through hers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can come down to the ferry, if you want. -I'm going to Oakland."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right, I'll go, too. But you're cold! You -oughtn't cross the bay to-night. You ought to go right -to bed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I'll be warm enough soon!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They walked along for a while in silence, till she -stopped him to ask, "Have you got a pistol with you, -Dougal?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lend it to me, will you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not on your life! What do you want it for?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never mind, I want it. Please, Dougal!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not after that scrap I saw to-night. I don't want -you in the papers to-morrow morning. You've had -trouble enough without a shooting scrape. If -anybody's going to shoot Cayley, let me do it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She sighed, and gave it up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you want to tell me what's the matter, Fancy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Dougal, I'd rather not. It doesn't matter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll get over it all right, I expect."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, I'll get over it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Anyway, you just want to remember you can call -on me any time for anything you want, Fancy, barring -guns. Don't get blue when you have good friends to -fall back on. We're with you to a finish, old girl!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're a dear!" She flashed a smile at him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He grinned, and gripped her arm tighter. Then he -began to dance her down the sidewalk. Fancy grew -hilarious and laughed aloud, excitedly. They began -to sing, as they marched, a song they had learned by -rote, from Maxim. Neither of them well understood -the words:</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Josephine est mor-te,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Morte en faisant sa——</span></div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>En faisant sa priè-re</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>A bon Saint Nicolas,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Tu-ra-la!</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Ca n'va gu-ère—</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Tu-ra-la!</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Ca n'va pas!"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>They kept it up in this vein till the Ferry Building -was reached. There he bought her ticket and took her -to the gate. She still smiled, still flung him her odd -jests, still clung affectionately to his arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, good night, Fancy Gray!" he said at last. -"Don't do anything foolish till I see you again!" His -grin was like a blessing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She seemed loath to leave him, and drew back from -the gate. She unpinned the little silver watch from -her coat and handed it to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say, Dougal, would you mind taking this to a -jeweler and having it adjusted for me?" she said -suddenly. "It doesn't go very well, and I won't have -time to attend to it. Don't forget it. I'll tell -you—perhaps you'd better give it to Elsie—and let her take -charge of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He took it and put it in his vest pocket. "All right," -he said, "I'll give it to her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell her to be careful of it, I'm awfully fond of -that watch!" she added. Then her fingers went to the -little gold chain with the swastika at her neck and -she started to unclasp that, too.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And, Dougal—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She left the chain where it was.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never mind, it's nothing. Good-by, Dougal, you -may kiss me if you want to!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do I want to!" He gave her a bear's hug, and -a brother's kiss.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was still unready to go and stood looking at him -whimsically. Then, impulsively, she seized his arm -and drew him back under an arc light, and held up her -face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dougal," she said, "will you answer me something -absolutely honestly?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you think I'm pretty?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He studied her a moment, and his lips worked -silently. Then he said deliberately:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well,—I don't know as I'd call you exactly a -</span><em class="italics">pretty</em><span> woman, but you're something more than that—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cut it out!" she exclaimed dryly; "I know all the -rest! I've heard it before. Stop before you tell me -I have 'fine eyes' and am good-natured. I know! -'The bride was a distinguished-looking brunette of -great grace and dignity, and wore her clothes -well!' Never mind, Dougal, you're honest, anyway," she -added.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He opened his mouth to protest, repentance in his -eyes, but she blew a kiss at him and darted through -the gate. He watched her till she passed through the -inner door, where she waved a last time.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>She walked rapidly on board, went up the stairway, -and hesitated by the door of the cabin. A girl passed -her, looked back and then returned timidly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Excuse me, but ain't you the young lady that -works in Mr. Granthope's office?" she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did, but I'm not there any more. He's gone out -of business," Fancy managed to reply. Her quick eye -had recognized the girl as Fleurette.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sorry for that. He's nice, isn't he? He was -awfully kind to me, and he said it was on account of -you. Did you know he wouldn't even take any money -from me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wouldn't he?" said Fancy. "That's like him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And he gave me such a lovely reading, too. It -just saved my life, I think, and everything came out -just as he said it would, too. Don't you think he's -awfully good-looking?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, very." Fancy was breathing hard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And he's so good. Why, I 'most fell in love with -him, that day. I guess I would have, if I hadn't been -in love already. I was awfully unhappy then. I'm -the happiest girl in the world, now! Say, weren't you -awfully fond of him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I guess he was of you, too. He said some awful -nice things about you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did he?" Fancy's eyes wandered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl saw, now, that something was wrong, and -evidently wanted to make up for it. She spoke shyly: -"Say—there's something else I always wanted to tell -you. I wonder if it would make you mad?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go ahead," said Fancy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You won't think I'm fooling?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," Fleurette almost whispered, "I think you're -</span><em class="italics">awful</em><span> pretty!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With that, she turned suddenly and went into the -cabin.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Fancy went down-stairs slowly, biting her -handkerchief. The lower deck was deserted; she looked -carefully about, to make sure of it. She glanced down -at the water which boiled up from the paddle-wheels -and shuddered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Overhead the stars now shone free of cloud, in the -darkness of space. San Francisco was like a -pincushion, stuck with sparks of light. She crossed to -the port side of the boat, and saw Goat Island, a -blotch of shadow, with its lighthouse, off the bow. -It grew rapidly nearer and nearer. It fascinated her. -When it was directly opposite, a few hundred yards -away, she clenched her teeth and muttered to herself:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, there's nothing in the race but the finish! -This is where </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> get off!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clambering to the top of the rail, she took a long, -deep breath, then flung herself headlong into the -bay, and the waters closed over her.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="masterson-s-manoeuvers"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XX</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">MASTERSON'S MANOEUVRES</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Francis Granthope ran up the two flights of stairs -like a boy, and pounded at Masterson's door. The -doctor appeared, with his celluloid collar in one hand -and a half-eaten orange in the other. He was -coatless and unshorn, although his office hours, "from -nine till four" had already begun. He looked at -Granthope, took another bite of his orange, and then, -his mouth being too full for clear articulation, pointed -inside to a chair by the fireplace under the shelves -full of bottles.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope dumped a pile of newspapers from the -chair and sat down. The sun never came into the -room, and the place was, as usual, chill, dim and -dusty. A handful of fire fought for life upon the -hearth. Behind a fringed portière, which was -stretched across the back of the room, the doctor's cot -was seen, dirty and unkempt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Masterson finished the last of his orange with a -gulp, went to a bowl in the corner where a skull -was perched on a shelf, and washed his hands. After -he had wiped them and rubbed a blotch of juice from -the front of his plaid flannel waistcoat, he put on his -coat and sat down by the fire.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I must say you're quite a stranger. How's -things, Frank?" he said casually.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So-so," was the reply. "I've given up my business."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So I hear. What's the matter? Sold out?" asked -Masterson.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no, I just threw it all up and left."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's funny. I should have thought you could -have got something for the good-will. What you -going to do now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing. I didn't come here to talk about -myself, Masterson, I came to talk about you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, well, that's kind of you," said the healer, -buttoning on his collar. "That's what you might call -friendly. You didn't use to be so much interested -when you was wearing your Prince Albert. What -makes you so anxious, all of a sudden?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope smiled good-naturedly, and poked at the -fire till it blazed up. "See here," he said. "I can -show you how to make some money easily."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That sounds interesting. I certainly ain't in -business for my health. Fire it off. I'm listening."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's no use beating about the bush with you. -And I'm a man of my word. Isn't that so?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I never heard it gainsaid," said Masterson. "I'll -trust you, and you can trust me as equally."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I'll tell you how I'm fixed. You know that -Madam Spoll and Vixley have got it in for me—they've -tried to run me out of this town, in fact."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, </span><em class="italics">that's</em><span> why you quit? Lord, I wouldn't lay -down so easy as that!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I'm out of it, at any rate. I won't say why, -but they tried to hurt me, fast enough. Now I want -to give them as good as they sent."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doctor Masterson grinned and clasped his hands -over his knees. "That suits me all right, I ain't -any too friendly myself, just at present."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then perhaps we can come to terms. What I -propose to do, is to checkmate them with Payson."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Masterson rubbed his red, scrawny beard. "That -ain't easy," he said reflectively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Easy enough, if you'll help me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Simply by giving the whole business away to -Mr. Payson. He'll believe you when he won't me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, what is there in it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know what my word is worth. If you help -me, and we succeed in getting Mr. Payson out of the -net, I promise you a thousand dollars."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"H'm!" Masterson deliberated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course, they know I'll spoil their game if I can, -so I take no chances in telling you. So it's up to you -to decide whether you'll stand in with them, or with -me. I can do it alone, in time, but if you help, so -much the better. You stand to win, anyway. It -isn't worth that much to work with them, as things -are, and you know it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know about that," said Masterson craftily, -watching his man; "a thousand ain't much for giving -away pals."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They're not your pals. They've tried to freeze -you out—Fancy Gray has told me that from the -inside. They're going to get rid of you in short -order. Besides, you'll have the credit of rescuing a -credulous old man from the clutches of swindlers."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's true," said the doctor. "They're a-bleeding -him something awful. It </span><em class="italics">had</em><span> ought to be stopped, as -you say. I don't believe in grafting. I'm a straight -practitioner, and if any of my patients want fake work -they can go somewheres else."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, what d'you say, then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Masterson thought it over as he warmed his hands. -His reverie was interrupted by a knock on the door, -and he rose to open it. An old, shabby woman stood -in the hall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was wrinkled and veined, with yellowish white -hair, vacuous, watery gray eyes, a red, bulbous nose, -and a miserable chin. She had nothing of the -dignity of age, and her thin, cruel lips were her only -signs of character. All other traits were submerged -by drink and poverty. Her skirt was ridiculously -short and her black shawl ragged and full of holes. -She breathed of beer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How d'you do, Mrs. Riley?" said Masterson. "I'm -sorry to say I'm engaged at present and you'll have -to wait. Can't you sit down on the stairs for a while?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, dear, but that fire looks good!" she whined. -"Can't I just come in and have a seat to rest my -bones on? I'm feeling that miserable this day that I -can't stand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let her come in," said Granthope, rising. "I've -said all that's necessary at present, and if you decide -to do what I want, we can talk it over later."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The doctor grudgingly admitted her. She tottered -in and took the chair by the fire gratefully. She had -looked at Granthope when he first spoke, and now she -kept her eyes fixed on him as he stood by the window.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Masterson went over to him and spoke in a lower -tone. "I got to have time to think this thing over," -he said. "Then, if I accept your offer, we got to -discuss ways and means, and so forth and so on. I -won't say yes, and I won't say no, just at present. -I'll think it over and let you know, Frank."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The woman started at the name. Her lower lip -fell pendulous. Her eyes were still on Granthope.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When will you let me know?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I tell you what I'll do; I'm busy to-day, and I -got an engagement to-night. Suppose I come down -to your office after theater time? Say ten-thirty. -Will that do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll be there," Granthope replied. "I'll wait till -you come. The outside door is locked at eleven -o'clock. Be there before that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He took his hat and walked to the door, giving a -look at Mrs. Riley as he passed. Her face was now -almost animated, as her lips mumbled something to -herself. Granthope ran briskly down-stairs, and -Masterson closed the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who's that?" Mrs. Riley piped querulously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That? Why, Granthope, the palmist," said the -doctor, busying himself with some bottles on his table. -He took one up and shook it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Granthope? No, sir! Don't tell me! I know -better."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Masterson was upon her in a flash. "What d'you -mean?" he demanded, taking her by the arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know, I know! You can't fool Margaret Riley!" -she croaked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He shook her roughly. "You're drunk!" he exclaimed -in disgust.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I ain't!" she retorted. "I'm sober enough to -know that fellow; I've seen him before, I tell you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who is he, then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, d'you want to know?" she said craftily. "What -would you give to know, Doctor?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll give you Hail Columbia if you </span><em class="italics">don't</em><span> tell me!" -he cried. "I'll give you a bloody good reputation, -that's what I'll give! I'll give you the name of being -a poisoner, old woman, and I'll take care that your -neighbors know all about your three husbands, if you -don't look out!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, my God! Don't speak so loud, Doctor, please! -I'll tell you if you'll promise to leave me alone. I -didn't mean nothing by it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let's have it then." The doctor's eyes gleamed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you ever hear tell of Madam Grant?" she -asked. "I reckon it was before your day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I did. What about her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, this young fellow you call Granthope, he -used to live with her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He did!" The healer came up to her and looked -her hard in the eye. "How the devil do you know -that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, I've seen him there, many's the time. I used -to know the Madam well. Me and her was great -friends. Why, I was there the day she died!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Were you? I never knew that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We used to call him Frankie, then. He didn't call -himself Granthope at all. I expect he made that up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is—that—</span><em class="italics">so</em><span>!" Masterson grinned joyously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let's see—there was some money missing when the -boy left, seems to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lord, yes, and a sight of money, too. Madam -Grant was a grand miser. They say she had a -fortune stowed away in the dirt on the floor. She run -a real estate business, you know, and she done well -by it. I expect that's where Frankie got his start. -Strange I never seen him afore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're positively sure it's the same one?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Didn't I stare hard enough at him? Why, just as -soon as I come in the door I says to myself, 'I've -seen you before, young man!' Then when you called -him Frank, it all come back to me. I'll take my oath -to it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lord, I could kick myself!" said Masterson. "To -think of all these years I've known him and ain't -suspected who he was!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You won't give me away, then, will you, Doctor?" -the old lady added tearfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll see, I'll see." He returned to his medicine, -thinking hard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He proceeded with his treatment of Mrs. Riley, plying -her all the while with questions relative to Francis -Granthope and Madam Grant. Mrs. Riley knew little, -but she embroidered upon what she had seen and -heard till, at the end, she had fabricated a considerable -history. Her fancy, under fear of the healer's threats, -was given free rein; and Masterson listened so -hungrily, that, had there been no other inducement, her -pleasure in that alone would have made her garrulous. -She went away feeling important.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That afternoon, Doctor Masterson, loaded and -primed with his secret, took his rusty silk hat and a -Chinese carved bamboo cane and walked proudly up -Turk Street to hold Professor Vixley up for what -was possible.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Professor welcomed him with a show of politeness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How's Madam Spoll?" was Masterson's first question, -after he had spread his legs in the front room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gertie's pretty bad," said Vixley. "The doctors -don't hold out much hope, but you know the way they -linger with a burn. I wonder could you do anything -for her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I ain't any too willing, after the way she treated -me last time I was here," said the healer coldly. "I -ain't never been talked to so in my life!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you don't want to mind a little thing like that, -Doc, it was only her way. Business is business, you -know. Besides, if Gertie </span><em class="italics">should</em><span> be took from us it -may make a good deal of difference, after all. I don't -just know what I'll do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I tell you what you'll do," said Masterson, gazing -through his spectacles aggressively, "you'll take me -into partnership, that's what you'll do!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I will, will I? I ain't so sure about that, Doc. -Don't go too fast; Gertie ain't dead yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I rather think I can make it an object to you, -Vixley. I may go so far as to say I </span><em class="italics">know</em><span> I -can." Masterson leaned back and noted the effect of his -words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vixley looked at him curiously and raised his -eyebrows. "Is that so? I didn't know as you was in a -position to dictate to me, Doc, but maybe you -are—you never can tell!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can just everlastingly saw you off with Payson if -I want to; that's what I can do!" Masterson rubbed in.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Through something I found out to-day, that's how."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I guess I could call that bluff on you, Masterson, -if I wanted to. We got him sewed up in a sack. You -can't touch us there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lord, I can blow you sky-high!" He arose and -made as if to walk to the door. "And, by the Lord -Harry, I'll do it, too! I've given you a fair chance, -you remember that!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vixley took water hastily. "Oh, see here, Doc, don't -go to work and be hasty! You know it was only -Gertie who wanted to freeze you out. I don't say it's -impossible to make a deal, only I don't want to buy -a pig in a poke, do I? I can't talk business till I know -what you have to offer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you'll find I can make good all right," said -Masterson, returning to his seat with his hat on the -back of his head. "See here; as I understand it, you're -working Payson on the strength of something about -this Felicia Grant, he was supposed to be sweet on. -Is that right?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, suppose we are, just for the sake of the -argument. What then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, they was a little boy living with her, and he -disappeared. Am I right?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You got it about right; yes." Vixley's eyes sparkled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, then; what if I know who that boy was, and -where he is now? How would that strike you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jimminy! Do you?" Vixley cried, now fairly -aroused. "I don't deny that might make considerable -difference."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should say it would! I should imagine yes! -Why, you simply can't do nothing at all till you know -who he is, and what he knows! And I got him! Yes, -sir, I got him!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who is he?" Vixley asked, with a fine assumption -of innocence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Masterson laughed aloud. "Don't you wish't you -knew?" he taunted. "I'll let you know as soon as we -come to an agreement. What d'you think about that -partnership proposition now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good Lord, ain't I told you all along I was willin'? -It was only Gertie prevented me takin' you in before! -Sure! I'm for it. Gertie's in a bad way, and I doubt -if she'll be able to do anything for a long time, even -if she should recover. Meanwhile, of course, I got -to live. It won't do to let Payson slip through our -fingers. Let's shake on it, Doc; I'm with you. You -help me out, and we'll share and share alike."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Done!" said Masterson. "I kind of thought I -could make you listen to reason. Now you can tell -me just how the land lays with Payson."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wait a minute! You ain't told me who the kid -is, yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Masterson hesitated a moment, unwilling to give up -his secret till he had bound the bargain, but it was, -of course, obviously necessary. He leaned toward his -new partner and touched Vixley on the knee. "It's -Frank Granthope!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vixley jumped to his feet and raised his two fists -wildly above his head, then dropped them limply to his -side. "</span><em class="italics">Granthope!</em><span>" he cried. "My God! Are you sure?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Positive. Mrs. Riley recognized him to-day at my -office. She used to know Madam Grant, and see him -down there when he was a kid. Why? What's wrong -about that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hell!" Vixley cried in a fury. "It's all up with -us, then!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, what can Granthope do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do? He can cook our goose in half a minute. -And if Payson finds this out, it's all up in a hurry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't see it yet," Masterson complained.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, here it is in a nutshell. Payson has an -illegitimate son by Madam Grant—he's all but confessed -it, and we're sure of it. We had it all fixed up to -palm off Ringa on him for the missing heir—see? -They was big money in it, if it worked. But let -Granthope get wind of the game, and he'll walk in himself -as the prodigal son, and we're up a tree. He's thick -with the Payson girl already, and unless we fix him, -he'll make trouble. If we could only keep Payson -from findin' out who Granthope is, and if we could -keep Granthope from findin' out that Payson had a -son, we might make it yet, but it's a slim chance now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is a mess, ain't it?" said Masterson, scratching -his head, and studying the pattern on the carpet. "Of -course this son business puts a different face on it -for me. But perhaps we can pull it off yet. Have -you seen Payson to-day?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—and there's another snag. Did you see the -paper this mornin'? The reporters have been around -to-day, and I'm afraid they's going to be trouble about -that materializin' séance. If they print any more, I'll -have to pack up and get out of town till it blows -over. What in the world made Payson suspect -anything, I don't know! Fancy done her part all right. -But I ain't afraid of that. We can get him back on -the hook again all right. All we got to do is to lay -the fakin' on to Flora, and she'll stand for it. What -I want to do next is to develop him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I see you got one of them mirrors over there," -said Masterson, going up to it inquisitively. "It's slick, -ain't it? Let's have a look at it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vixley sprang in front of him and held his arm. -"For God's sake, don't touch it! Don't touch it!" he -cried fearfully. "Leave it alone. I don't want it -started. I can't stand the damned thing! I'm going -to use crystal balls instead. That thing gets on my -nerves too bad."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Masterson, surprised, turned away. "What did -you get it for, anyway? I should think you'd got 'em -again, by the way you talk."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's bad luck in it. I'm going to send it away. -I'm afraid of it, somehow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Masterson laughed, and resumed his seat, to discuss -with the Professor the details of the plot. He -did not seem much interested in the plans for the -future, however, and seemed anxious to get away, -yawning occasionally. He was now smug and -confident, while Vixley seemed to have lost his nerve. -The threatened newspaper revelations had cowed him. -Madam Spoll was left out of the discussion; it was -evident that her part of the affair was finished. -Masterson left, promising his assistance if matters quieted -down, and Payson could be brought under their -influence again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>By dinner-time he had thought the matter over to -his satisfaction, and he therefore enjoyed himself with -beer and cheap vaudeville till half-past ten. Then he -strolled down Geary Street and marched up to -Granthope's office.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It had taken all Granthope's resolution to treat with -Masterson, but it had seemed the only way, at present, -to deal with the situation. Mr. Payson's part in -the materializing séance had not yet transpired.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Masterson took a chair, crossed his legs and began:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Frank, I've been thinking over your proposition -to-day, and I've decided that I've got to raise -the ante."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought that would be about your style," Granthope -returned, "but I think I've offered you about all -it's worth."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, it ain't only my help that's worth it, it's you -that's worth it, so to speak. I'm getting on to your -game, now, and I happen to know that you can afford -to pay well; you see, I didn't happen to know so much -about this Payson girl, as I do now. If you're tapping -a millionaire's family, why, I want my share of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I guess there's no use discussing the matter, then, -if that's your theory. I can't possibly pay more than -what I've offered."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd advise you to hear me out, Frank," Masterson -went on. "I said you could pay more, but I didn't -say what I had to offer wasn't worth more, did I?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why is it worth more now than it was this forenoon?" -Granthope asked impatiently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's worth more, because I've seen Vixley, and I've -found out things that it's for your interest to know. -I'm on the inside, now, and I'm prepared to make a -better bargain."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see; you've sold me out, and now you want to -turn over and sell Vixley out for a raise? I might -have guessed that!" He turned to his desk in disgust.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't care what you think. I ain't discussing -high moral principles. I'm here to make a living in -the quickest and most practical way. If you don't care -to hear what I've got to say, I'll leave."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How do I know you've got anything of value to -me? Why should I trust you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can't expect me to tell you, and then leave -it to you to make a satisfactory price, can you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I don't care what you've learned. We'll call -it all off." Granthope rose, as if to end the interview.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Masterson seeing his caution had gone too far -became more eager. "Let's talk this thing out, Frank, -man to man. Suppose I tell you half of it, and let -you see whether it's as important as I say. Then we'll -have a basis to figure on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right, but make it brief. I'm getting sick of the -business." He sat down, tilted back in his chair and -waited, gazing at the ceiling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Masterson spoke crisply, now. "Suppose I tell you -that Payson has confessed that he has a son?" He -shifted his cigar in his mouth and watched the bolt -fall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As the words came out, Granthope's face, which -had shown only a contemptuous, bored expression, -changed instantaneously. It was, for a moment, as -if a sponge had been passed over it, obliterating all -signs of intelligence, leaving it to blank, hopeless -bewilderment. Then his mind leaped to its inevitable -conclusion, the whole thing came to him in a sudden -revelation; a dozen unnoticed details jumped together -to form the pattern, and there it was, a problem solved: -horror and despair. He was Clytie's half-brother! -He sat enthralled by it for a moment—he forgot the -leering scoundrel in front of him—he saw only -Clytie—inaccessible for ever.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then, still without a word, he rose like one in a -dream, sought for his hat, went out the door, and -ran down-stairs. As in a dream, too, Masterson's -astonished, entreating, indignant exclamations followed -him, echoing down the hall. Granthope paid no -attention, he had no thought but for Clytie—to see her -immediately, at any cost.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>He swung aboard an O'Farrell Street car, found a -seat in the corner of the open "dummy" portion, and -strove with the tumult in his soul. The torturing -thought of Clytie for ever lost to him coiled and -uncoiled like a serpent. He did not doubt Masterson's -revelation, nor could he doubt its obvious -interpretation in the light of the many revelations that -had been cast upon Mr. Payson's past. Yet it must -be corroborated before he could wholly abandon -himself to renunciation. He tried to keep from hoping.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was Clytie's half-brother! His mind wrestled -with it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The car filled at the Orpheum Theater, taking on a -load of merry passengers, who crowded the seats inside -and out till the aisles and footboards were packed. -The bell clanged as they drove through the Tenderloin, -rolled round the curve into Jones Street and took -the steep hill, climbing without slackening speed. It -rounded two more corners, wheels creaking; and as it -passed, the broad area of the Mission and South San -Francisco was for a moment revealed in the gap of -Hyde Street, a valley of darkness, far below, -gorgeously set out with lights, like strings and patterns -of jewels. At California Street a crowd of passengers, -mostly Jews, overdressed, prosperous, exuberant, -transferred for the Western Addition. The car -went up and up, reached the summit and coasted down -the dip to Pacific Street. Another rise to Union Street, -where another line transferred more passengers -towards the Presidio. Then, with only one or two -inside, and the conductor lazily picking his teeth on -the back platform, they climbed again up to the reservoir. -Here a long incline fell giddily to the water and -the North Beach. The car rolled to the crest, ducked -fearfully, and boldly descended the slope.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was Clytie's half-brother! The thought of it -was darker than the night about him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ahead, the black stretch of water, the flash of the -light on Alcatraz, and a misty constellation in the -direction of Sausalito. To the left, a huge shoulder -of Russian Hill swept back from the northern harbor -in a wave toward the south. It was sprinkled with -artificial stars—the gas-lamps, electric lights, and -illuminated windows of the town. One street, directly -opposite, was a line of topaz brilliants, loosely strung, -scattering over the hill. Fort Point light, two miles -away, flared alternately a dash of pale yellow—and -short pin-pricks of red. Farther away, Point Bonita -was flaming, regular as a clock, a periodic spasm of -diamond radiance. Electric cars, like lighted lanterns, -were painfully climbing the Fillmore Street hill. All -about was a sparse settlement of wooden houses, -thickening as it rose to the palaces of Pacific Avenue -crowning the summit. A dark space of grass and -trees lay ahead—the Black Point Military Reservation—the -bugles were calling through the night.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was past eleven o'clock when Granthope ran up -the steps into the Paysons' front garden, walked -rapidly up the path and stood for a moment outside the -door. There was a light in Clytie's workroom; he -threw a handful of gravel against the pane, and waited.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The curtain was drawn aside, the window raised, -and Clytie looked out boldly. She saw him, waved -her hand, and disappeared. A few moments later she -opened the front door quietly. She wore a soft, -clinging, blue silk peignoir; her arms were half bare, and -her tawny hair was braided for the night. She came -out with a look of alarm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Francis, what is it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did I frighten you, dear?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I knew it was you, immediately. But what -has happened to bring you here?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is your father at home?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—he may be back at any moment, though. But -come in!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He removed his hand from hers resolutely, though -her touch thrilled him with delight. "Wait!" he -commanded. "First, can you get the keys to that trunk?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Trunk?" she questioned, puzzled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, the trunk you told me about—with the -wedding-clothes in it—I must see it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now?" she asked wonderingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, immediately. Please do as I say, and don't -ask why, yet. Everything depends upon it. Hurry, -before your father comes!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The unusual air of command brought her to her -senses. She went into the house. "Wait here in the -hall; I'll get a light."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was gone but a moment, and returned with a -candle in a brass candlestick. Then, without a word, -she led the way up the stairs. They passed silently -through an upper hall where an open door revealed -a glimpse of her bed-chamber, all in white, as -exquisitely kept as a hospital ward. Here she left him to -get her father's keys. They came to a flight of steps, -leading upward. She waited for him to go first and -lift the trap-door at the top. When he had disappeared -into the gloom above, she followed him, handed -up the candlestick and took his hand to a place beside him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The garret stretched the full length of this wing of -the house. At the far end a dim light came through -a gable window, in front of which the bough of a tree -waved. The candle cast wavering, widening shadows -of the rafters against the sloping roof, and picked -out with its light the rows of trunks, boxes and pieces -of furniture on either side of the floor. It was damp -and cold; there was a musty odor of old books.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She led the way to the end, where, under the -window a large, black trunk stood upon the floor. -Granthope's heart leaped with hope. But, in another -moment it stood still as death. She had handed him -the key, and he had thrown open the lid. There, -inside, was a smaller trunk, covered with cow-hide, -with a rounded top and a lip of pinked leather, studded -with brass nails. There were the letters, "F.G."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He needed but one look to recognize it as Madam -Grant's. But still, it was a common pattern of the -old-fashioned "hair trunk" and he must be sure. The -lock had been broken, and no key was needed to open -it. He threw open this lid, also. Clytie bent over -him holding the candle, so near that she touched his -shoulder. Neither had spoken.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was the same collection of papers, letters -and account-books, the same little mahogany box. -How well he recalled his first sight of it all! How -heavy that tray had seemed to him, as a child! Now -he raised it with ease. Below, the same revelation of -yellowing satin and old lace—even the same tissue -paper, shredded to tatters, wrapped about the packages. -The boxes of silk stockings and handkerchiefs were -there as well. He thought of the package of bills that -had lain in one corner—he knew the place as well as if -he still saw the money. Lastly, he groped for the -white vellum prayer-book. He found it, and drew it -out. Opening the cover, he looked once at the fly-leaf, -then handed it silently to Clytie. Written there was -the name "Felicia Gerard." He turned his face -away from her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked at the book and then at him, still bewildered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What does it mean, Francis? Tell me; I can't -stand it a moment longer! This is Madam Grant's -trunk, of course—I see that. But how came it here? -Why should my father—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She set the candle upon a box and put her arms -tenderly about his neck, her face close to his, to soothe -his agitation. Her smooth cheek against his was -rapture. He could feel her body, warm and soft, -through her thin peignoir, and the contact inflamed -him. He unclasped her arms with a sudden violent -gesture and sprang up in an agony of despair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't touch me!" he cried. "Never again!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked at him, terrified at his tone. His panic -passed in a wave from him to her, and was the more -unbearable because she did not yet understand the -cause of it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it? Tell me!" She faced him, and -extended her hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He retreated from her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's Mamsy's trunk," he said, trying to control his -voice. "Oh, don't you see?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm too frightened to think!" she cried, clasping -her hands. "I can't think. Tell me quickly, or I shall -faint!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Doesn't your intuition tell you?" he asked bitterly. -"Why should it fail you now, when it should be -stronger than ever before?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It tells me nothing, except that you are killing -me with suspense. Oh, but I know you are suffering, -too! Let me share it. Francis, you don't doubt my -love for you, whatever happens, do you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He caught her hand again and dashed it away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you should see!" he cried. "It's so plain, -now! I am Madam Grant's son—and my father—is -your father! I am your half-brother! It's all ended -between us, now!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How do you know?" She was trembling. "How -does this prove it? It is Felicia Grant's trunk, of -course—but we knew already that my father had an -interest in her—he must have bought this trunk at the -auction when she died—but why does it prove you are -his son? Why should you think that there was ever -such a relation between them? It's horrible!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I found out to-night, an hour ago, that your father -had a child by her—he has confessed it to Vixley and -Madam Spoll. They got it out of him, somehow. -That's how they have got a hold on him—and who -else should this child be but I, who lived with her? It -accounts for his tenderness for these things, for his -scrap-book, his going down to the Siskiyou -Hotel—everything! Oh, it's certain! It is hopeless!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stood gazing at him, bewildered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If he had an illegitimate child it must be you, of -course. But it is strange I never heard of that!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was all so long ago—before you were born—that -it happened. Madam Grant had no friends—except, -perhaps, your mother—and it could have been kept -a secret easily enough."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She gave a low moan and sank down upon a box -limply. Her eyes were fixed on the candle flame; she -seemed to be studying some possible way of escape. -She looked up at him once, and then down again, -for his eyes were desperate. He stood watching her, -and for some time neither spoke. He put his hand -to his head, stroking his hair over his ear mechanically, -while his mind whirled. Below a door slammed. -She rose, shaking back her hair, her eyes half-closed, -her hands on her breast.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I understand, now," she said slowly. "It must -have been that which drew me to you at first. But if -you are my brother, surely I have the more right to -love you! Oh, Francis, I do love you! What does -it matter how, so long as you are dear to me?" She -rose, and put out her hand again, but, at the touch -he shrank away from her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no, I can't stand that! It's all over, that -tenderness. I can't trust myself with you. It's not a -brother's love I feel for you. It's so much more that -you will always be a fearful temptation to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can't you overcome that?" As she held the candle -before her, her face had never appeared more noble; -for a moment she seemed as far away from him as -she had been at first, alone on spiritual heights to -him inaccessible.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can you?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She dropped her eyes. "If we had found this out -before, it would have been easier."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, if we only had! Then you would have come -into my life as a sister. How proud I would have -been of you! How grateful for all you have done for -me! But it is too late, now, to accept you on such -terms. I have kissed you—not as a brother kisses -his sister. I can never get that desire out of my -blood!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shuddered and turned away from him. "Yes, -you are right, I know. I am a woman, now; you -have awakened me. There is nothing for us to do -but part. It is hideous to be the playthings of fate."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," he said grimly, "if I have made you a -woman, you have made me a man! I can at least live -cleanly and self-respectingly. Of course I can't see -you again—not, at least, for a long time—not till we -get over this—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked up with the veriest shadow of a smile. -"Oh, I shall not get over it! There is no chance of -that! Right or wrong, I shall always feel the same -toward you, always long for you. Isn't that a fearful -confession? Yet, how can I help it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then it is for me to protect you all the more. I -can live so that you need not be ashamed of me. But -not near you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She sat down again. Her head drooped like a heavy -flower, her hands fell listlessly into her lap. A -sudden draft distracted the candle and sent her shadow, -distorted, to and fro upon the roof. Then footsteps -were heard on the floor below, and a door slammed -again. She looked up to say:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Father has come home. Shall we tell him, now?"</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 66%" id="figure-99"> -<span id="her-head-drooped-like-a-heavy-flower"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="Her head drooped like a heavy flower" src="images/img-544.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">Her head drooped like a heavy flower</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Must we?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I would rather wait. I can't stand anything more, -yet. I want to think it out. I am too puzzled and I -am fighting against this too hard, now. Let me get -hold of myself first. Perhaps we can get down without -his hearing us, if we wait a little while. He has -gone to his room."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's the best way, if we can. There'll be a -scene—and I am not ready for that, either. I will -tell him later—or you may."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, it should be you. How can I talk to him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't tell how he'll take it. I'm sure, now, -that he has been looking for me—for Madam Grant's -child—for some time, and Vixley was undoubtedly -leading him on, promising to find his son. But now, -when he knows it is I, after the way he has treated -me, how will he feel?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, be sure he will be kind!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It doesn't matter much. I shall not trouble him. -I shall go away, of course."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I can't bear it! I </span><em class="italics">can't</em><span> give you up! Oh, I'm -sure it isn't right. I can't believe it, even yet!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let's go down!" he said sharply. "I can't stand -it any longer. My blood cries out for you! When I -think that I have held you in my arms—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, come! Don't speak like that or I shall -forget everything else."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He took the candle and lighted her down the steps, -then followed her quietly. Together they crept along -the hall and down the stairway to the lower hall. As -they got there, the cuckoo-clock hiccoughed, five -minutes before the hour.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stood for a moment looking at him, her eyes -burning. Her peignoir fell in long, graceful lines, -suggesting her gracile figure. One braid had fallen -over her shoulder across her breast to below her -waist. Her beauty smote his senses.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To-morrow is Saturday," he said. "I shall come -up to see your father in the afternoon. You had -better be away, if you can."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall be away," she said dully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll have it out with him—settle it beyond all -doubt, and then—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall try to show you what you have made of me. -I shall not see you till we have conquered this thing!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Francis, if I could only feel that it is wrong—but -I </span><em class="italics">can't</em><span>. It seems so right, so natural. I shall -not change. I have given myself to you, and I can -not take myself back. If there is fighting against -it to be done, you must do it for both of us. You -must decide."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall take care of you, Clytie. That will be my -brother's duty."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," she said, drooping, "you must help me, -I can't help you any more. I have done what I can, -but you have passed me now, and you are the master."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I must begin now, then, and go. Good-by!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She gave him her hands, and he took them for a -moment, then flung himself away before their -delicacy could work on him. With a sudden smile, he -turned to the door and was gone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stood, limp and weak, watching him till the -door closed. Then the cuckoo-clock broke the silence -with its interminable midnight clatter, persistent, -maddening.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-sunrise"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE SUNRISE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Clytie met her father, next morning, showing no -trace of what she had suffered during the night. He -himself had enough to think about without noticing -her demeanor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On Saturday the papers had, after considerable -investigation of the matter, called public attention to -the doings of spiritualistic mediums in San Francisco, -and were full of exposures. Vixley's record was -given, and it was sensational enough to make it -advisable for the Professor to leave town till the scandal -blew over. Flora Flint was reported to have fled at -the same time, and, it was presumed, in the same -direction. Other mediums not concerned in this affair -were interviewed, and pseudo-confessions extorted -from their dupes. The Spiritualistic Society protested -in vain that none of the mediums exposed had ever -been in good standing with that body of true -believers—the wave of gossip drowned its voice. San -Francisco was the largest spiritualistic community in -the United States, probably in the world, but, for a -while at least, it would be less easy for clairvoyants -and psychometrists to earn a living. This outburst -was one of the periodic upheavals of reform, but the -talk would soon die down and business would be -resumed in perfect safety by the charlatans. There -would be a new crop of dupes to cajole.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie and her father both avoided the subject. -Breakfast passed silently, and at nine o'clock -Mr. Payson left the house. Clytie went about her work -automatically; answered a few letters, listlessly -rearranged her jewelry in its casket, sorted the leaves -of a book she had taken apart to rebind, cut the pages -of a magazine, set her tools in order on the bench. -From time to time she went to the front window to -look out, returning to stand for minutes at a time in -the center of the room, as if she had forgotten what -she had intended to do. At ten o'clock she lay down -upon the couch in the library and fell into a deep -sleep of exhaustion, the first rest she had obtained -since midnight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was awakened by the door-bell, and had barely -time to hurry into her chamber before the door was -answered. There, word was brought to her that -Mr. Cayley wished to see her. She bathed her eyes, -smoothed her hair, put on her Chinese </span><em class="italics">sa'am</em><span>, and a -jade necklace over her house-frock and went down to -him. Her face was resolutely set, her eyes had a -cold luster.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How d'you do, Blan?" she said, holding out her -hand to him. "I'm so glad to see you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a warmer greeting than he had received for -some time, but he did not appear surprised. He -drew off his gloves, looking admiringly at her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't feel like work, to-day, so I thought I -would run out and see you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You certainly are devoted! I shall have to reward -you by being very nice."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled. "I'm glad you're beginning to appreciate me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Meaning that in the dictionary sense of the word, -or the common interpretation?" she said, seating herself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Both. They're the same, in my case. If I had -suspected that you were going to be so amiable—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm always ready to be that—if you'll let me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This was enough unlike her ordinary manner -toward him to make him give her a look-over for an -explanation. "All right, I'll take you up," he said. -"Just how amiable are you prepared to be?" He sat -down opposite her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's for you to find out!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well. I'll try to discover the line of least resistance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you needn't be so elaborate, Blanchard. You -never really need more than half the subtlety you -waste on me. I'm quite a simple person!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Still waters—" he began.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She lifted her shoulders and her brows.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Run cold!" he finished, and caught a smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wonder if I </span><em class="italics">am</em><span> cold!" she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Granthope didn't succeed in firing you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She showed no evidence of pain except that the -two lines appeared in her forehead suddenly. Then -she shook her head as if to cast off some annoyance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you're quite off the track, there. Don't make -it harder for yourself than necessary. What did you -come to-day for? Tell me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed comfortably and said, "Reconnaissance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought there was a reason. Well, reconnoiter -away! Your precautions are infinite!" Her chin -went up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's one of the qualities of genius, I believe. -I think in the end I shall justify my system."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You haven't produced any psychological condition -yet, then?" She looked at him with her eyebrows -raised. No smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not quite."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hasn't it ever occurred to you that"—her eyes -sought his with a quick glance, and drifted -away—"that such a condition—might come without your -having produced it yourself? Accidentally, so to -speak?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I confess I haven't been modest enough to -anticipate that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought you were a diagnostician, as well as a -physician!" She threw another quick look at him, -withdrawing her eyes immediately.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Prognosis is my specialty."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I shall take care of myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's no defense like a vigorous attack."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not going after you," she protested.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> there a psychological condition, Cly?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's not fair. You ought to be able to tell, -yourself—it's your own theory. The trouble is that -you're too theoretical. You've left me quite out of -the question and tried to do it all yourself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She put her head on one side with unaccustomed -coquetry. There was a new glitter in her eyes which -seemed to baffle him. For the first time she had the -upper hand of him at his own game. He was like a -man who had started to lift a heavy weight and had -suddenly found it unexpectedly light. The reaction -threw him over.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you willing to help?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, if you had only begun that way!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Clytie—do you mean—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I don't mean anything." She got up and -took a turn about the room restlessly as she spoke. -"It's my turn to be theoretical, that's all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He leaned toward her very seriously. "Clytie, I'm -terribly in earnest."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd like more proof of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Would you? What proof can I give?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There you are on the other side, now, making me -do more than my share. I don't intend to teach you, -you know!" She walked away, her hands behind her -back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Could you, if you wanted to?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I think I might show you a few things. I -have my ideas—most women have, you know. Perhaps -I'm not quite so cold as you think." She shut -her eyes a moment and trembled. "But there's -plenty of time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He let that go, gazing with curiosity at the spots of -red on her cheeks. It was not a blush; the color -was sustained. She never looked at him steadily, -giving him only a flashing glance, now and again. -Her nostrils were expanded, her head was held -majestically erect. There was, indeed, plenty of time -for him, and he took it coolly. He betrayed still a -puzzled interest—that of a hunter whose quarry was -fluttering so that he could not get in his shot.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're looking very beautiful, to-day, Cly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To-day?" She emphasized the word.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed. "That's the time I put the mucilage -brush in the ink-bottle! Queer how hard it is to -give a girl a compliment that she'll accept."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I beg pardon—it was ungracious of me. Try me -again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I was clumsy. But compliments aren't my -business. I'm not a palmist, you see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again she drew back her head with a shake. "I -think I told you that Mr. Granthope is my friend?" Her -voice trembled a little.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She walked to the fireplace and stood there, leaning -her back against the mantel, tapping her heel against -the fender.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I told you he wouldn't last long," Cayley went on. -"He's come down like the stick of a rocket. I -suspected he'd be leaving town before the month was out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Leaving town—what d'you mean?" She was keen, now.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I had to go up into the Geary Building this -morning, and I saw his boxes outside the door as I -passed. I took it that he's leaving. You ought to -know, I should think—if he's your friend!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She walked up to the window and back before -answering. Then she came up to him with:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You needn't be afraid, Blanchard; I'm not going -to elope with him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's good. It gives you a chance to elope with me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, it's all planned, then? How exciting!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was invited up to the tavern on Tamalpais and -bring a girl for over Sunday. Mrs. Page is the -chaperon—she calls it a 'sunrise party.' Will you -come?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She lifted her eyebrows. "Mrs. Page? Chaperon?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled. "Oh, you needn't worry; she's all right. -Not exactly your class, but you needn't mind -that—you'll make it proper by going yourself!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You really want me to go—with Mrs. Page?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It sounds a bit gay—you know I'm not exactly -accustomed to that sort of thing—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mustn't believe the stories you hear of her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll go—and find out!" she exclaimed suddenly. -"Yes, I'll go; what time does the boat go?" Her -mood had grown almost eager.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We can just catch the one forty-five. I'll ring -them up and let them know we're coming."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—I want to see her face when she first sees me. -Mrs. Page!" she laughed to herself grimly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cly, what's the matter with you to-day?" he -demanded, turning upon her suspiciously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She opened her eyes very wide. "Why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you're different."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So are you!" Another quick glance at him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nicer." How she drew the word out!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, you're actually letting me go with Mrs. Page. -You never would, before." She laughed in his -face, but the ring sounded metallic.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, well—I didn't think you wanted to. I didn't -think you and she would—get on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you'll see how we'll get on! Blanchard, you -never suspected I had any spirit, I suppose?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where did you get it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Guess!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He dared not; but appeared to take the credit to -himself. He began actually to take fire. Clytie was a -revelation in this tantalizing mood. Where had her -classic reserves gone? What had inspired her? Now -she was like other girls—most alluringly like those he -had "educated." Perhaps, after all, women were all -alike, as he had long maintained, in theory. All this -was evident in his pursuit of her—but even now it -was a cautious chase. He made sure of every foot -of the way.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish we weren't old friends," he said. "It is -a handicap, isn't it? If I didn't know you so well—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I'll show you things you never knew!" she -interrupted, playing up harder and harder. "Don't -be afraid of my resources. I have a trick or two up -my sleeve. We'll forget we were friends and get -acquainted all over. Come, be a Martian—burst a new -brain cell, as I have!" She gave another dry laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It will be dangerous," he warned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pooh!" She snapped her fingers at him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He seized her hand and tried to hold it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not yet!" she said, and shook her finger fantastically.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So, like a wounded bird, she lured him away from -her nest. The luncheon-bell rescued her. She could -not have lasted much longer. During the luncheon, -she kept him skilfully at arm's length, and before they -had finished, Mr. Payson came in and surprised -them—and himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When Clytie went up-stairs to prepare for the trip -he put his hand cordially on Cayley's shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I'm glad to see you and Clytie on such good -terms. It looks like old times."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think perhaps the modern method is going to -succeed," Cayley said with a satisfied smile. "Cly's -been nicer than she has been for weeks. I hear -Granthope's disposed of."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I guess I finished him. I gave him a piece of -my mind, and her, too. Cly's got too much sense not -to see through him. I hope you'll win her, Blanchard. -I'm getting to be an old man, and I want to see her -happily settled. This exposure has hit me pretty -hard, and if Clytie had taken up with that palmist on -top of that, I don't know what I'd do. Go in and -get her, Blanchard—I'm glad she's consented to go -off on this trip. It'll do her good. It ought to give -you a good chance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can trust me for that! I think the time has -about come to force the game. I may have something -to say to you by the time we come back."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope so, indeed!" said the old man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie came down with her bag and kissed her -father affectionately. "Are you going to be at home -this afternoon?" she asked him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, yes, I thought of it. Is there anything I can -do for you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She hesitated. "N-no, only if any one should -call—never mind—only there's no knowing when we may be -back," she added, looking at Cayley. "Blanchard has -threatened to elope with me, you know! I'm terribly -afraid he won't keep his promise, though." She took -his arm and ran him down the steps madly, tossing -her father a kiss from the path.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Payson watched them complacently, as Clytie -hurried her escort through the gate. They had plenty -of time to catch the boat, and her haste was unusual. -She had hinted that the clock was slow, but his watch -assured him that that was not so. He shook his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They had not been gone fifteen minutes when word -was brought up-stairs to Mr. Payson that a -gentleman was waiting to see him. The visitor would not -give his name. The old man went down.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At sight of the caller, his face set hard and grim. -His shaggy brows drew over his spectacles. He -stopped suddenly, but, before he could speak, -Granthope had come forward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I must beg your pardon, Mr. Payson, for not -sending up my name, for coming here at all, in fact; -but it is absolutely necessary for me to see you this -afternoon. My business is important enough to be -its own apology."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sit down, sir!" said the old man, taking a chair -himself, and speaking with deliberation. "I will listen -to what you have to say, but let it be brief. After our -last interview it must be important, indeed, to bring -you to my house after my expressed request that you -should stay away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope remained standing. "It is an extraordinary -thing that has brought me; but if it were not -as important to you as it is to me, you may be sure I -wouldn't have consented to come."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me say right here, young man, that I suspect -your business is nothing more or less than blackmail, -in some form. It is what I expected. But I tell you -in advance that it will be no use, and, at the first hint -of extortion, I shall notify the police!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope smiled. "I could hardly call it blackmail," -he said. "I've never included that in my list -of tricks."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What the devil is it, then? Out with it! If it's -bad news, let me have it point-blank, without beating -about the bush. I have seen enough of your sort to -know that you wouldn't come here except for money, -whatever you say. But I'm a little wiser than I was -three months ago, I can tell you! I've had my lesson, -and you'll get nothing out of me." He grew more and -more excited over his grievance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You remember that I warned you against that -gang?" Granthope interposed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, and they warned me against you, too! Birds -of a feather! Only I suspect you of being a little -shrewder."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Payson," Granthope said earnestly, "I can't -bear these insinuations! Give me a chance, at least, -before you condemn me. I'll tell you in four words -what I came for, before you say anything more that -you will have to regret. I have good reason to believe -that I am your son!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old man rose from his chair and shook his -finger in Granthope's face. "That's all I want to -hear!" he thundered. "Leave my house immediately, -sir! My son, are you? I thought so! Good God, -wasn't it enough for Vixley and the Spoll woman to -try and work that game on me, that you have to come -and begin where they left off? After I had found -them out, too! Do you take me for a damned fool? -Why, you people don't even know when you're shown -up! You get out of my house before I kick you -out!" He strode to the door, lowering, and held it -suggestively open.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope stared at him in astonishment, with no -thought of moving. This was the last thing he had -expected. At first his surprise was too great for his -hopes to rise. He thought of nothing but the angry -man in front of him, wondering why he should deny -the truth so vindictively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you mean to say that I am </span><em class="italics">not</em><span> your son?" he -said, with a queer perplexed hesitation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I ask you to leave my house, sir! Do you think -I'll permit myself to discuss such a subject with -you?" Mr. Payson's scorn was towering.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope still stared. What did it mean? He -spoke again, earnestly, trying his best to keep calm. -"Do you deny that you have a son, sir? I beg you -to answer me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What the devil should I deny it for? What -business is it of yours?" the old man roared. "Why -should you come here asking me such outrageous -questions?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Payson," Granthope tried again, "I told you -that I had reason to believe that I am your son. -You must admit that that gives me an interest in the -matter. I have never known who my parents were. -You needn't be afraid of my forcing myself upon you -against your will, or attempting to get money from -you—that is not my motive. But I have a right, -for my own sake, to know the truth, and I demand -that you answer!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old man quailed before his look and his -seriousness, and began to be impressed with his sincerity. -"Very well, then, I will answer you. No, sir, you -are not my son, because I never had one, to my -knowledge, at least. Does that satisfy you? Vixley and -the Spoll woman tried that game on me and failed. -Now, I'll ask you to leave me alone in peace. I -have had trouble enough!" His first burst of anger -having burned itself out, he weakened under the -strain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope was for a moment at a loss for words. -He was not prepared for this denial—he must begin -all over again. He stood with his hands folded for a -while, and then said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well, Mr. Payson. I will tell you now what I -know, and you may judge of yourself whether or not -I was justified in coming."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old man's countenance was irresolute; his -mouth had relaxed. He faced Granthope silently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you ever know Felicia Grant?" said Granthope next.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Payson exploded again. "Oh, you've got hold -of that, have you? I thought as much. So you've -been in league with that gang all along! I see; all -this pretended enmity was only a part of the game! -Very, clever, sir, very clever!" He began to walk -up and down, bobbing his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I lived with Madam Grant when I was a child," -Granthope persisted calmly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's that?" Mr. Payson went up to him, now, -and took him by the arm. "For God's sake, man, -don't lie to me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I lived with her for three years. I was with her -when she died—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You!" the old man exclaimed. He stared into -Granthope's face as if he could surprise the truth -from him. "If I could be sure of that!" he cried in -distress. "For God's sake, don't play with me!" he -implored. "I have no faith in any one any more. -How can I believe you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope dropped his voice to a soothing pitch -and took the old man's hand in his with a firm clasp -of assurance. "My dear Mr. Payson," he said, "I -can give you plenty of proof of it, if you will only -listen to me. I came to her, where from I never -knew, as a child of five. She took me in, and I lived -with her till she died. She was like a mother to -me—I would be glad to hear that she was really my mother, -for I loved her. I have come to you because I thought -that she must have been that, and you my father. -But I would be the happiest man alive if you could -assure me that there is no relationship between you -and me. What I know of you, I found out through -Masterson—and he may have lied, but it seemed -probable that it was true. I beg you to tell me the -truth, for if you are my father it means more to -me than anything else in the world."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think I can believe you now," said Mr. Payson, -still with his eyes fastened on Granthope. "You seem -to be honest, though I have about lost my faith in -human nature. So I will be honest with you. But -I can only repeat what I told you before. You are -not my son. I never had a son."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A wild hope sprang up in Granthope's heart; though -as yet it seemed impossible. "But you knew Felicia -Grant?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, indeed; I knew her well."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your picture was in her room—an old newspaper -cut—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old man grasped his hand again with both his -own. "Ah, I know you are the boy, now!" he -exclaimed. "I have looked everywhere for you! Thank -God, I have found you before it was too late! Do you -know how I have longed for you for twenty years?—for -the boy who stood by Felicia through that long, -terrible time, when I could do nothing—nothing? -Granthope, I don't care </span><em class="italics">what</em><span> you have -been—charlatan or fakir or criminal, there's a debt I owe -you, and I shall pay it! Oh, you don't know! You -don't know!" He stopped and held out his hands -pathetically. "Why, it was to find you that I first -went to Madam Spoll! I don't know how I can -apologize or make up for the way I've treated -you—you, of all men in the world!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I can't understand yet," said Granthope, -touched at the old man's atonement. "I heard—from -Vixley, it came—that you had acknowledged—you -must forgive me—to an illegitimate son. Can you -blame me for thinking that it must be I?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old man dropped his head on his hand. "I -see, now," he said drearily. "Oh, it must all come -out, I suppose. I owe it to you to tell you, at least."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You need tell me nothing more than you have -told," Granthope said eagerly. "I didn't come here -to pry into your secrets, Mr. Payson, or to make use -of them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I know, now! But it is hard to speak. And -I don't know even whether I have the right to tell -or not. It's not my secret alone. But tell me first -what else you know." He took a chair again and -motioned for Granthope to sit down.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know that Madam Grant had a wedding trousseau -that she kept in a trunk, and that the same trunk -with the same contents, is now up-stairs in your garret."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How can you know that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I saw it last night. Your daughter showed it to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Clytie—she showed it to you? You were here? -How could that be?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It means, Mr. Payson, that I love your daughter—that -we love each other. There is no time to explain -how that came about, now, but I hope to prove to -you that I am worthy of her. We have met often -since you forbade me to come here. We were tacitly -engaged, when I got this information—that you had -a child—and that Felicia Grant was the mother. -There was only one solution of the mystery—that I -was that child, and that Clytie and I were half-brother -and sister. We had to be sure before we broke off -our affair, and I came up here to identify the trunk -she had seen. I had to tell her what I thought was -the truth, and last night we parted—for ever. You -may imagine now how I long to believe what you -say, yet how impossible it seems!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Clytie knows—that I had a child, by Felicia?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I had to tell her—I could not let things go on—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, now I see how Madam Spoll went astray—I -confessed to a child—I wanted to find the boy—she -thought the two were the same—she jumped to the -conclusion that I had had a son."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you had no son?" Granthope said, still mystified.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I had a daughter. Do you see, now? I hoped -to hide it from Clytie for ever. I thought I had -hidden it successfully, and it was better for her, so. -But now, if she knows so much, she must, of course, -be told all. It is right that she should know. Poor -child! But you knew Felicia—you know that she was -no common woman—that ours could have been no -common affair!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know that well. And you needn't fear for Clytie, -Mr. Payson. I don't think it will be even a shock -for her. It isn't as if she had known Mrs. Payson -well."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old man leaned back in his chair and closed his -eyes. "Ah, they were two wonderful women, Granthope! -I could scarcely know which was the more so—which -was the more magnanimous and true!" He -was quiet a while, then he added: "Do you remember -Felicia well?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, not well. I was young then, and the memory -has faded. But she seemed to be very beautiful to -me, though her face would often grow suddenly -strange. She was kind to me. She seemed to be -extraordinarily well educated, too—different from -any one else I have ever known."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Payson rose and saying, "Wait a moment, -please!" left the room. He returned after a few -minutes with a small photograph, faded with age, but -still clear enough to portray the features of a beautiful -woman, apparently of some twenty years or so. The -face was frank and open, the eyes wide apart under -level brows, looking directly out of the picture. The -mouth was large, but well-formed. The face had -a look of candor and serene earnestness that was -engaging.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That was taken in 1869, when I first knew her. -You can see, perhaps, how I must have felt towards -her. There is enough of Clytie in that face for that, -I suppose. But I doubt if you are capable of the -passion I had for that woman!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As Granthope held the portrait in his hand, watching -the face that grew every moment more familiar, -the old man went on:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can tell you only the outline of the story now. -Felicia Gerard, when I first knew her, was working -with Mrs. Victoria Woodhull—a wonderful woman—have -you ever heard of her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope told him of the newspaper clipping Clytie -had found, and how they had, in the library, looked -up the history of Mrs. Woodhull, who had been a -prominent figure in the East thirty years ago. It was -more unusual, then, for women to compete with men -in business affairs, but she, with her sister, had -carried on a successful banking firm on Wall Street. -What had interested Clytie most, however, were the -stories of Mrs. Woodhull's early experience as a -medium, and the fact that she had been calumniated, -persecuted and ostracized on account of the false -interpretation of her views upon social questions.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You may imagine the effect that such a person -would have upon such a spirited girl as Felicia," said -Mr. Payson. "She was carried away with her enthusiasm -and energy, and the conflict inspired her. I -followed them from city to city, urging Felicia to -marry me, but, having adopted the radical social -theories of that cult, she was firm in her refusal not to -bind herself or me to an indissoluble union. Well, I -could get her in no other way than by accepting her as -a partner who should be free to leave me the moment -she ceased to love me; you may be sure that her -action was inspired only by the highest ideality. We -settled finally in New Orleans where, for some time, -we were absolutely happy. But New Orleans was, -and is, I believe, a more conservative sort of -community than most American cities. People shunned us, -and talked. At last, isolated and away from radical -centers, she consented to a marriage ceremony, and -went to work to prepare her trousseau. We were to -be married in San Francisco."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old man's face had grown wistful and tender as -he spoke. He pulled off his spectacles to wipe them, -and looked up at Granthope with a sort of pride in the -story, in the beauty and pathos of it evoked by his -memories. Then he rose, and walked up and down the -floor, his hands behind his back, and his mellow, -unctuous voice ran on. To Granthope, who had known -the woman, and loved her, the story thrilled with -romance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was curious that she insisted upon a formal -wedding. It was a reaction, I suppose; she had -returned to the normal instincts of womanhood. I was -only too willing. Well, it was in New Orleans that -the crisis came. We were living in an old Creole -house on Royal Street—it had been Paul Morphy's, -the chess-player—Felicia saw his spirit in the end -room, where he died, one night. There was an old -gallery around the courtyard and garden, with -magnolia trees, where we used to sit in the evenings. -Heavens! what nights we have spent there!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She had told me that her grandmother had been -insane. It was Felicia's horror, her dread. The -spirits had told her that she would go mad, too. That -was, I suppose, the real reason why she had refused -so long to marry me. But she had almost forgotten -about it by this time. We were happy enough to -forget everything!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you interested, Granthope, or does this bore -you?" he added suddenly, turning. "I'm an old man, -after all, and I have an old man's ways. The past -is very real to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go on, please!" said Granthope huskily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It happened just before Mardi Gras. We had -decided to stay over, and see the fun. That Monday, -when I came home, Felicia was gone. She had left -a note, saying that she would never see me again—I'll -show you that—and a lot of other things; they -will help you to understand Clytie. It seems that -day she had gone suddenly out of her head and had -wandered across the street to another house, where -they kept a leper girl shut up in a room on the gallery. -They carried her home, raving rather wildly, and she -came to her senses in an hour or so, but she was -terrified by the attack. She saw that she would probably be -subject to such attacks in the future; that they might -become worse; that it was not fair to me to marry. -I don't need to tell you, I hope, that it would have -made no difference to me—I would have been glad to -give my life to attending to her through thick and -thin. But she didn't wait to put it to me. She left, -with all her clothes, even the trousseau. She left no -address, nothing by which I could trace her. That -was her way, the only fair way, she thought. It must -have taken some courage. It was, I think, the bravest -thing I ever saw done.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me see that photograph a minute, Granthope. -What a lot of hair she had! I've seen it to her feet. -Cly has fine hair, but not like her mother's. The -same eyes, you see—full of dreams, but they wake up, -sometimes, I tell you! You may find out, sometime. -Level brows and a fullish lower lip. Do you know -what that means? I do.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't see her again for over a year. I hunted -everywhere she had ever been; Boston, Toledo, New -York, everywhere! Finally I gave it up in despair, -and went abroad, trying to forget part of it. There I -met my wife. I married her in sheer despair; but I -found out how fine she was when I told her the story. -I didn't think that there were two such women in the -world! I have a beautiful painting of her, done -while we were in Florence, but I never dared to put it -up, on account of Clytie. It didn't seem right. But -you'll see it in the dining-room to-morrow, I think.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where was I? Oh, yes. We came to San Francisco -for business reasons. Before I had been here a -week I happened upon Felicia down-town—she had -followed Mrs. Woodhull's example and had gone into -business herself—real estate. She did well at it, too. -But at sight of me she flew off the handle. Every -time I saw her it affected her in the same way. Good -God! Can you imagine what it must be to know that -the only way you can help a woman you love and -pity is to stay away from her? I couldn't do anything, -but my wife went to see her and seemed to be able to -pacify her. She found out that Felicia had a child—then -a few months old. The first I knew of it, the -baby was here in the house, and my wife told me that -we would adopt her. No one ever knew that Clytie -wasn't our own child. No one knows but you and -I, to this day, I think.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was a fearful injustice to her, I suppose. Do -you think she can forgive me?" The old man was -pathetically humble and looked to the young man as -to a guardian.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Payson," said Granthope, "have you lived all -this while with her and not known that? I have -known her only two months, and I am sure of it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So you think you love her, do you?" Mr. Payson -looked at him curiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do, sir. And I think that she loves me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Felicia's adopted boy!" the old man said to himself, -"and Clytie! And to think that I had wanted her -to marry Cayley!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He broke off to stand, staring at Granthope, -without a word. Then he exclaimed: "By Jove! I had -forgotten. Cayley was here to-day—Cly's gone off -with him, up to Mount Tamalpais, to join a party -there. Now I recall it—there seemed to be something -between them. You are sure she cares for you?" he -demanded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Last night she did—and we parted, thinking never -to be able to see one another again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I did my best to make that match—I encouraged -Blanchard all I could. I threw her at his -head! I found them here at luncheon. He's been -trying for years to get her to marry him. You don't -think it's possible that she would do anything rash, -do you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope's heart sickened. "In what way? How?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She said—what was it—the last thing. She said -that he had threatened to elope with her, and perhaps -they mightn't come back for some time. I thought it -was a joke, but now I think of it—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope sprang up. "What time did they go?" -he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just before you came—they took the one forty-five."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We can't reach her by telephone—they're not there -yet. What time does the next train go?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Payson turned to an </span><em class="italics">Argonaut</em><span> and looked -at the time-table on the last page. "Saturdays—four -thirty-five," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I must go after her!" Granthope cried, almost -desperate. "Don't you see—don't you know women well -enough to understand what a state of mind she must -be in, now? After our scene last night, the despair -of it would drive her to almost anything reckless, -anything to make her forget! It seemed wicked, -monstrous, for us to meet again—it seemed irrevocable, -final. If Cayley has been pursuing her, as you -say, she may accept him in sheer desperation!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go up there," said the old man. "Go up, and tell -her everything. It is better for you to tell her. -Cayley will resent your appearance, but don't mind -that—get rid of him at any cost. You will have to manage -him. If Clytie is in love with you, I'll stand by her in -whatever she says. Don't think I'm a doting fool, -Granthope, that I veer with the wind, this way. I -wanted her to marry Cayley, because I thought she'd -never know this, and he was a man of honor and -intelligence. But I didn't know that Felicia's boy was -alive."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Granthope left in a tumult of doubt. He knew -little of Cayley, save that he was subtle and -indefatigable with women—and that he was unscrupulous -enough to have betrayed his friend to Vixley. But -how far Clytie's revulsion of feeling would have -carried her by this time, he dared not think. She was in -a parlous state, and ripe for any extreme impulse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The trip to Sausalito was almost intolerable. On -the train to Mill Valley, his anxiety smoldered till -his spirit was ashes. His mind fought all the way up -the mountain track, faring to and fro, sinuously, as -the line wound, in tortuous loops, gaining altitude in -tempered grades. As they rose, the bay unfolded, -shimmering below, curving about the peninsula of -San Francisco, where, amidst the pearl-gray, the -windows of the city caught, here and there, the level -rays from the vivid west. The air was cool and salt. -As they rounded a spur, the Pacific burst upon them, -miles and miles of twinkling sparks on the dullness -of the sea floor. A bank of fog hovered upon the -horizon. Just above it the sun poised, then sank, -bloody red, tingeing the cloud with color and sending -streamers to the zenith. Still his mind urged the -train to its climb. It was as if he put his shoulder to -the car to impel it upward in his haste, so intense was -his expectancy. So, at last, the train rolled up to the -station by the Tavern.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a crowd waiting upon the platform, and -his eyes sought here and there for Clytie. There -she was, incongruous with the party—Cayley, easy, -jocose, elegant—Mrs. Page, full-blown, sumptuous -and glossy, abandoned to frivolity, her black hair -blowing in the wind—and Gay P. Summer, jaunty, -pink-and-white, immaculate in outing attire. There -was another lady whom Granthope did not know. He -walked rapidly up to them, calm, now, and confident, -equal to the situation, whatever it might be.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Page pounced upon him with a little scream -of delight, and towed him up to the group. Clytie's -narrow eyes widened in surprise, and she turned paler -as she looked at him in vain for an answer to her -signal of distress.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Mr. Granthope!" Mrs. Page shouted. "Did -you </span><em class="italics">ever</em><span> in your life! What fun! Aren't you a duck -to come—you're </span><em class="italics">just</em><span> the man we want! If I had -</span><em class="italics">imagined</em><span> that you could be induced to come up here, -I would have let you know! But then, probably, you -wouldn't have come! We needed another man so -badly! I'm </span><em class="italics">so</em><span> glad! I think you know all of us -here, except Miss Cavendish, don't you? Miss -Cavendish, let me present Mr. Granthope. You know I've -told you about him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Miss Cavendish smiled, looked him over with -undisguised amusement, and with a gesture passed him -over to Clytie. Clytie gave him a cold hand, looked -him steadfastly in the eyes, then dropped hers and -waited for her cue.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's very good of you to take me in, Mrs. Page. -I hope you don't mind my inviting myself. I only just -ran up for the night, and I don't want to interfere -with your plans at all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, don't say a word! We were </span><em class="italics">dying</em><span> for -another man. We're all delighted. Now we're six, you -see—just right. You can flirt with the chaperon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come and have a drink, first thing," said Gay -P. Summer, taking upon himself seriously the conventional -obligations of host. "You must be cold, Granthope, -without an overcoat. We'll be back in a minute, -Violet. Come on, Cayley!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He led the way into the bar. Granthope followed -with Cayley, watching for a word in private. "I -want to speak to you alone," he tossed over his -shoulder. Cayley nodded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After the formalities were over, Granthope -remarked: "Well, I think I'll go in and get a room, -Summer. You go out and get the ladies while Cayley -and I go up-stairs a minute."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gay P., suspecting nothing, left the two men alone. -Cayley took a seat on a small table and waited. -Granthope lost no time in preliminaries.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Cayley," he said, pulling out his watch, "what -time does the next train go down the mountain?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's one soon after nine, I believe—why?" -Cayley answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope looked at him without visible emotion -and said nonchalantly, "I think you'd better take it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A hot flush burned in Cayley's cheeks, and he -drew back as if ready either to give or to receive a -blow. "Did you come up here to tell me that?" he -said harshly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did—that amongst other things."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you trying to pick a quarrel with me? If you -are, I think I can accommodate you. Come outside."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I came up here to avoid one. If I had met -you anywhere else, I suppose you'd be knocked down, -by this time." Granthope's tone was unimpassioned, -matter-of-fact.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This is getting interesting," said Cayley, now as -suave as his opponent. "May I ask you to explain?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I had a talk with Doctor Masterson this morning. -You may not be acquainted with him—he's a friend -of Professor Vixley's, whom I believe, you </span><em class="italics">do</em><span> know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cayley's color went back, and his attitude relaxed -from defiance to something less assertive.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He told me a few things about you, Mr. Cayley," -Granthope went on firmly. "I don't intend to repeat -them. But what I do intend is that you shall make -whatever excuses you see fit to Mrs. Page and the -others, and leave here on the next train. Do you -understand perfectly, or shall I go into details?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I won't trouble you, Granthope," Cayley -drawled. "I don't think the crowd would be very -amusing with you here, anyway. I'm much obliged -to you for giving me the opportunity to leave, I'm -sure."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled, Granthope smiled, and the two separated. -Cayley walked up to speak to the clerk in the office, -and then sauntered toward the ladies on the porch. -Granthope was given a room, and went up-stairs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When he returned the party was talking on the -veranda, and there was no chance to speak to Clytie -alone. What he could do to reassure her by his -glance, he did, but she was evidently so much at a -loss to account for his appearance that she had placed -some alarming interpretation upon it. She did not -speak, but her silence was unnoticed in Mrs. Page's -volubility. As they stood there, a bell-boy came out -and notified Cayley that there was a telephone call -for him. Cayley apologized and left to go inside. -Granthope watched him with satisfaction.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie moved off down the veranda a little way, -and Granthope, seeing his opportunity, followed her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had time but to say, "It's all right, Clytie—it's -all right!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked up at him in wonder, and at his words -life and hope came back to her and shone in her eyes. -She did not understand yet, but the message was an -elixir of joy to her. On the instant Gay and Miss -Cavendish joined them, chattering.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Mr. Granthope," she said, "Mr. Summer and -I have been wrangling all this afternoon over a -discussion, and we want your decision. You ought to -know, if anybody does. Which knows most about -women—the man who knows all about some woman, -or the man who knows some about all women?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Granthope laughed. "I think they'd be equally -foolish. No man </span><em class="italics">knows</em><span> anything about any woman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course that's the proper answer," said Miss -Cavendish. "We're all mysteries, aren't we?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Even to ourselves," Clytie offered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, women understand other women, but they -never understand themselves."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gay P. Summer put in, "I don't think any man ever -understands women who hasn't had sisters. I never -had one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's true," said Granthope. He saw his chance, -and turned to Clytie. "I never had a sister, either," -he said deliberately, catching her eye.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie's eyebrows went up. He nodded. It was -question and answer. She moved toward him a little, -unnoticed, and his hand touched hers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Summer added: "I don't care, though, I prefer -to have women mysteries. It's more interesting."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Page came up in time to hear the last words. -"Oscar Wilde says that women are sphinxes without -secrets," she contributed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wonder if any woman is happy enough not to -have a secret," Clytie said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope that yours will never make you unhappy," -Granthope replied; and added: "I don't think it -will." He pressed her hand again, unobserved.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At this moment, Cayley returned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Something doing, Mr. Cayley?" said Miss Cavendish -mischievously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, unfortunately. It's a matter of business and -important. I've got to see a man to-morrow morning -in the city. It's too bad, but I'll have to go down -to-night, after all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, the </span><em class="italics">idea</em><span>!" Mrs. Page cried indignantly. -"You'll do no such a thing! It's outrageous! We -can't </span><em class="italics">possibly</em><span> spare you, Blan; you'll spoil the party!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's my loss. I've got to go, really!" said Cayley. -He turned to Clytie. "I'll have to turn you over to -Mr. Granthope, I'm afraid. I don't want you to miss -the time, of course."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie looked at Granthope, puzzled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">You</em><span> shan't go, anyway, Miss Payson!" Mrs. Page -insisted. "Why, we're going to get up and see the -sunrise to-morrow morning! That's what we came -for. </span><em class="italics">Please</em><span> don't break up the party," she begged.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clytie smiled subtly, and hazarded another glance -at Granthope.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I really came up to bring Miss Payson home," he -said, "but of course I'll leave it to her. The fact is, -I've brought her a message from her father."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" Mrs. Page exclaimed, "I do hope it isn't bad news."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"On the contrary, it's good, I think. Nevertheless, -I'll have to break it to her gently. And with your -permission, I will, now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A look at Clytie, and she walked off with him up -toward the summit of the mountain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What can it be, Francis?" she exclaimed. "I'm -all at sea. But of course I understood from what you -said that it was, somehow, all right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Clytie," he said, "it </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> all right—we've passed the -last obstacle, I think. But it's hard to know how to -tell you. If you'll let me tell it my way, I'll say that, -of all the women I have ever known in my life, the -two whom I have loved best were—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Me—and—?" She held his hand tightly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You and your mother."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She seemed to be in no way surprised, new as the -thought was to her. It only struck her dumb for a -while. Then she said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I must telephone to father at once. Oh, I must -reassure him!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shall we go back?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stood for a moment deliberating. Then she put -her arm in his. "I've seen the stars and moon," she -said, "I've seen the lightning, I've seen the false dawn. -Let's stay, now, and see the sunrise!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They walked, arm in arm, to the summit of the -mountain, and sat down upon a rock to gaze at the -city, far away.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>There it lay, a constellation of lights, a golden -radiance, dimmed by the distance. San Francisco the -Impossible, the City of Miracles! Of it and its -people many stories have been told, and many shall -be; but a thousand tales shall not exhaust its treasury -of Romance. Earthquake and fire shall not change -it, terror and suffering shall not break its glad, mad -spirit. Time alone can tame the town, restrain its -wanton manners, refine its terrible beauty, rob it of its -nameless charm, subdue it to the Commonplace. May -Time be merciful—may it delay its fatal duty till we -have learned that to love, to forgive, to enjoy, is but -to understand!</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="epilogue"><span class="bold large">EPILOGUE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It was quiet at Fulda's. The evening crowd had -not yet begun to come. The Pintos, however, had -arrived early, and were at their central table talking -in low, repressed voices. Felix, at the front counter, -looked over at them occasionally under his eyebrows, -as if there were something unusual in their demeanor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mabel sat erect, her hands in her lap, looking -straight before her, speaking only in monosyllables. -Elsie's smile had diminished to a set, cryptic -expression. She looked tired. Maxim leaned his heavy, -leonine head upon his hand, and drew invisible -sketches with his fork upon the table-cloth. Starr -and Benton talked in an undertone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't go over," said Starr, "I simply couldn't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, somebody had to see, so I went."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Was it—bad?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Benton shook his head. "No, lovely. Wonderful. -One wouldn't think—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mabel looked across at them. Starr lowered his -voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just ten days, isn't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How did you happen to hear?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, I was at the </span><em class="italics">Bulletin</em><span> office when word was -telephoned in. There was something about the -description that struck me—I began to worry—then I -went over with a reporter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The door on Montgomery Street opened, and -Dougal came in. He moved like a machine. His face -was hard, his eyes glassy, as if he had not slept for -many nights. He sat down like an automaton, pulled -off his hat and let it drop carelessly to the floor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where have you been?" Elsie asked him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know. Just walking. Anywhere."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you—?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. I </span><em class="italics">had</em><span> to. I couldn't stand it not to."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Benton, the most composed of them all, pulled himself -up in his chair. "Let's have something to drink," -he suggested. He called the waiter and gave his -order. A bottle was brought and the glasses filled. -They seemed to awake, around the table, and each -one took a glass. Benton raised his. They all drank -in silence. Mabel, her eyes dimmed, held up two -fingers. Elsie smiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's right!" she said, and held up hers. Mabel -gulped down something in her throat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," said Benton, throwing off the mood, "we -might as well have dinner." He took up the menu -and looked it over.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They all ordered languidly. The talk began in a -desultory fashion, and the group became almost -normal—all except Dougal, who stared steadily across -the room to where, under a drawing was a scroll -bearing the words from </span><em class="italics">Salome</em><span>: "Something terrible -is going to happen,"—and Mabel, who did not -speak and watched her plate. The restaurant, meanwhile, -had begun to fill up. Dishes rattled, voices -chattered, new arrivals appeared every few minutes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dougal looked up from his plate listlessly. "I saw -Granthope and his wife on the Oakland boat yesterday," -he said. "I guess he's going East; they had a -lot of luggage."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you speak to him?" Benton asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. I started to, then decided not to break up a -honeymoon party. But I heard her say something -queer. I've been wondering about it." He stopped, -as if he had forgotten all about them there at the -table. Then he continued in a slow labored voice: -"It was the queer way she said it—the way she looked, -somehow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What was it?" Starr asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We were just opposite Goat Island." He paused -and took a breath. "She said—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They all waited, watching him. He tried it again. -"She said—'Doesn't the water look cold!'—then she -kind of shivered and said—'Let's come inside'—we -were just opposite Goat Island."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Maxim repeated the words: "'The water looks -cold'—Oh, God!" he exclaimed softly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a silence for a moment, then Starr said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"D'you suppose she knew?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How could she?" Benton asked. "Nobody knew -till this noon, did they?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Elsie spoke: "Of course she knew."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mabel nodded her head slowly; her breast was -heaving.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a pause for a moment. It was broken by -Benton, who sat facing the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's The Scroyle!" he exclaimed. "Who's that -with him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, that's Mrs. Page," said Elsie, narrowing her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gay P. Summer, jimp and immaculate, with -trousers creased and shiny shoes, with the latest style in -mouse-colored hats, entered with his lady, and looked -jauntily about for a good table. He found one near -the Pintos. Having seated his partner, he leaned over -toward her and whispered for a few minutes. By her -immediate look in their direction, there was no doubt -that he was informing her of the fame of the coterie -at the central table, and boasting of his acquaintance -with it. Then he arose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By Jove!" said Benton. "He's coming over here! -What d'you think of that!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gay approached dapperly, bowed to all, and laid -his hand on the back of Dougal's chair. Dougal -leaned forward and avoided him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good evening, everybody," said Gay affably. "The -gang is still alive, I see!" He smiled inclusively. -Nobody answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should think you'd want to find another restaurant, -now," he continued. "This place is getting -altogether too dead. It's only a show place now. All -the life seems to have gone out of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's right," Maxim murmured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Funny how places run down,"—Gay was forcing -it hard—"why, I know several people who won't come -here any more. It isn't like it used to be, anyway, -nowadays." He grew a little nervous at his apathetic -reception, but went on. "Say, I've got a lady over -there I'd like to introduce to you people. She's a -corker. Suppose I bring her over. You need another -girl."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Benton shook his head. "Not to-night, Gay. Sorry. -Executive session."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gay looked round the table, noted the two empty -places and started: "But couldn't—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said Benton, "we </span><em class="italics">couldn't</em><span>. Some other time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gay, about to move away, looked at Dougal. "Say," -he said, "what's become of Fancy Gray? Are you -expecting her to-night?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the sound of the name Mabel dropped her -head on her arms and began to cry aloud. Her -shoulders worked convulsively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Elsie put her hand round her neck. "Oh, stop, -May!" she whispered. "Don't cry—please!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dougal looked at Mabel. His small eyes gleamed -as bright and dry as crystal.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't stop her, Elsie! If anybody </span><em class="italics">can</em><span> cry, for -God's sake, let them cry!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 6em"> -</div> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="backmatter"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst" id="pg-end-line"><span>*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>THE HEART LINE</span><span> ***</span></p> -<div class="cleardoublepage"> -</div> -<div class="language-en level-2 pgfooter section" id="a-word-from-project-gutenberg" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<span id="pg-footer"></span><h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><span>A Word from Project Gutenberg</span></h2> -<p class="pfirst"><span>We will update this book if we find any errors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This book can be found under: </span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/48984"><span>http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/48984</span></a></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. -Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this -license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg™ -electronic works to protect the Project Gutenberg™ concept and -trademark. 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