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} - - 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 MAN WHO LIVED IN A SHOE</title> -<meta name="DC.Title" content="The Man Who Lived in a Shoe" /> -<meta name="DC.Language" content="en" /> -<meta name="DC.Creator" content="Henry James Forman" /> -<meta name="PG.Title" content="The Man Who Lived in a Shoe" /> -<link rel="coverpage" href="images/img-cover.jpg" /> -<meta name="PG.Producer" content="Al Haines" /> -<meta name="PG.Rights" content="Public Domain" /> -<meta name="DC.Created" content="1922" /> -<meta name="PG.Released" content="2015-08-21" /> -<meta name="PG.Id" content="49757" /> - -<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 Man Who Lived in a Shoe" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.source" content="/home/ajhaines/shoe/shoe.rst" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.language" scheme="DCTERMS.RFC4646" content="en" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.modified" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" content="2015-08-21T18:41:00.485325+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/49757" rel="DCTERMS.isFormatOf" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.creator" content="Henry James Forman" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.created" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" content="2015-08-21" /> -<meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width" /> -<meta name="generator" content="Ebookmaker 0.4.0a5 by Marcello Perathoner <webmaster@gutenberg.org>" /> -</head> -<body> -<div class="document" id="the-man-who-lived-in-a-shoe"> -<h1 class="center document-title level-1 pfirst title"><span class="x-large">THE MAN WHO LIVED IN A SHOE</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="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="container" id="pg-machine-header"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>Title: The Man Who Lived in a Shoe -<br /> -<br />Author: Henry James Forman -<br /> -<br />Release Date: August 21, 2015 [EBook #49757] -<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 MAN WHO LIVED IN A SHOE</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="container titlepage"> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold xx-large">THE MAN WHO LIVED -<br />IN A SHOE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">BY</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">HENRY JAMES FORMAN</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">BOSTON -<br />LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY -<br />1922</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="container verso"> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics small">Copyright, 1922,</em><span class="small"> -<br />By LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics small">All rights reserved</em></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="small">Published September, 1922 -<br />Reprinted September, 1922 -<br />Reprinted October, 1922</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="container dedication"> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">TO -<br />MY WIFE</span></p> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-i"><span id="book-one"></span><span class="bold large">BOOK ONE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold x-large">THE MAN WHO LIVED -<br />IN A SHOE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER I</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Are there any women today, I wonder, like the girl -wife of Jacopone da Todi, who are found in the midst of -worldly brilliance wearing the hair shirt of piety and -devotion over their spotless hearts?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I doubt it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is no wonder that Jacopone, that "smart" thirteenth-century -Italian lawyer, became a great saint when he -made that discovery, after his beautiful young wife's -accidental death. It would make a saint of anybody.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I am quite sure Gertrude is not like that. But then -Gertrude is not my wife—as yet. Nor am I Jacopone. -I am nothing more, I fear, than a contented voluptuary -of a bookworm. Like King James, I feel that were it -my fate to be a captive, I should wish to be shut up in -a great library consuming my days among my -fellow-prisoners, the blessed books.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To distil the reading of a lifetime into a little wisdom -for my poor wits, that has been all my aim and my -ambition, if by any name so dynamic as ambition I may call -it. An old young man is what I have been called, and -Gertrude seems propelled by some potent urge to change -me—God knows why.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I have just been talking with—I mean listening to—Gertrude.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We are to be married, she says, in three weeks.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Time out of mind we have been friends, Gertrude and -I, as our mothers had been before us. She, the highly -modern spinster and I, such as I am, have been linked -for years by an engagement which is not an engagement -in the old sense at all. It is a sort of </span><em class="italics">entente cordiale</em><span>. -An engagement in the conventional meaning of the word -would be as abhorrent to Gertrude as the old-fashioned -marriage. As soon would she think of "being given in -marriage" with bell, book and orange blossoms as of -calling herself "Mrs. Randolph Byrd"—or anything -but Miss Bayard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That is what we have been discussing this gloomy -afternoon in my snug little apartment before a garrulous -fire. For Gertrude is not so absurd as to hesitate to -call on me at my apartment any more than I would -hesitate to call on her in Gramercy Park.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But won't it be awkward," I ventured in mild speculation, -"if after we are married we have to stay at an -hotel together, or share a cabin on a ship—to be Miss -Bayard and Mr. Byrd?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't be absurd, Ranny," retorted Gertrude, with -her usual introductory phrase. "Awkward or not, do -you think I should give up my name that I have lived -under all my life, fought for and established?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course not," I hastily apologized. "I hadn't -thought of that." I could not help wondering what she -meant by having established her name. Except as -regards one or two committees and vacation funds -Gertrude's name is unknown to celebrity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You with your H.H.," she ran on briskly, with the -triumph of having scored. "Surely you don't want to -cling to the musty old formulas?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, certainly not," I answered her readily. I am -no match for Gertrude in argument. Of a sudden I became -aware that despite the hissing fire in the grate there -was no sparkle in the air this chill November afternoon. -The H.H. to which Gertrude had alluded was the only -thing resembling an emotion that betrayed any sign of -smoldering life within me in that discussion of ours -touching matrimony.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The H.H., I would better explain, stands for Horror -of Home—for my profound repugnance toward anything -resembling the fettering bonds of domesticity. A -man, I feel, should be as free to do what he pleases -and to go where he likes when and if married as when -single. Otherwise who would assume the chains and -slavery of that shadowed prison-house? To-morrow, -my heart suddenly tells me, I must be off upon a journey -of unknown duration.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Once again I would see the estraded gardens of the -Riviera, the olive groves of Italy, the sacred parchments -and incunabula of the Laurentian Library in Florence. -I would wander anew in the wilderness of the Bibliothèque -Nationale of Paris and on the left bank of the -Seine, where once I collected the lore of Balzac and of -Sainte-Beuve. And who dare prevent my setting off at -a moment's notice for the ill-lighted rotunda of the -British Museum or the cloister precincts of the Bodleian at -Oxford? Even as Gertrude was speaking, I experienced -an irresistible longing for all those places, for the turf -walks and pleached alleys of Oxford and the beautiful -"Backs" of the Cambridge Colleges. There is a manuscript -at Trinity that I must see again, and I have long -promised myself a month in Pepys's old library at -Magdelene in Cambridge.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Gertrude is not like other women.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What I like about you, Ranny," she remarked, flicking -the ash from her cigarette with unerring aim into -the hearth, "is your reasonableness. You hate as I do -to see two people handcuffed together like a pair of -convicts for life. Might as well go back to the Stone Age -or to the times of a dozen children in the house and the -mother grilling herself all day before the kitchen fire. -Ugh!" and she gave a shudder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No fear of that with you," I laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I should hope not," she puffed energetically.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, anyway," I found myself reassuring her -quickly, "even as it is, you have three weeks to -think it over—to back out in. Three weeks is a -good long time, Gertrude. Much can happen in three -weeks."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the table before me lay a new life of Leonardo da -Vinci, just arrived from Paris that day. My fingers -itched to open it and turn the pages. But that would -have been rude, so I forebore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am not like that," Gertrude murmured reflectively, -"and you know it, Ranny."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course not," I guiltily assented.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know," she tapped my cheek with a playful -finger—Gertrude can be very charming if she thinks of -it—"I know perfectly what I want to do. And when I -make up my mind to do a thing I stick to it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And so she does, the clever girl!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish I were like you," I muttered. "I am a sort -of drifter, I'm afraid."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's why you need a manager," laughed Gertrude. -"Wait till you've got me. Then you won't be just -running after books and telling yourself what you're going -to do some day. You'll be doing, publishing, lecturing; -you'll be known—famous."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh my heavens!" I cried out in a terror, throwing -up a defensive hand. "I think I'll run away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Too late," she smiled, with a cool archness. When -Gertrude smiles she is exceedingly handsome. "I've -ordered my trousseau. You wouldn't leave me waiting -at the City Hall, would you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I might," I answered, smiling back at her. "If -there should happen to be a book auction that morning. -And it's only a subway fare back to your flat."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, this is the program," she announced, assuming -her magisterial tone, which instantaneously reduces me -to a spineless worm before her. "You will come to my -flat on the twenty-fourth at ten o'clock. Then we shall -drive down in a taxi to the City Hall and get the -license—or whatever they call it—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lucky you'll be there," I could not help murmuring. -"I should probably get a dog license or a motor-car -license instead of the correct one—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then," went on Gertrude, very properly ignoring me, -"we can have the alderman of the day sing the necessary -song."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He may want to sing an encore—or kiss the bride," -I warned her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He won't want to kiss me when I look at him," -answered Gertrude imperturbably. Nor will he! "Then," -she added, "we can stop here at your place and pick up -your hand luggage, and mine on the way to the Grand -Central Station. You can send your trunk the day before -and I'll send mine. No time lost, you see, no waste, -no foolishness."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perfect efficiency, in short—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Gertrude, "you'll probably forget some -important detail in the arrangement, but there's time -enough to drill you into it the next three weeks."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Forget," I repeated, somewhat dazedly, I admit. -"What is there to forget—except possibly my name, -age or color?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You needn't worry," flashed Gertrude. "I'll -remember those for you—when you need them. I -meant," she explained, "about your trunk or railway -tickets and so on. But anyway, it doesn't matter. I'll -remind you of everything the day before."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I promised to tie a knot in my handkerchief.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And may I ask," I ventured, "where we are going?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I haven't decided yet," Gertrude informed me. "I'll -let you know later, Ranny dear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There is something very wholesome and complete about -Gertrude. That is the reason, I suppose, I have so long -been fond of her. How she can put up with a dreamer -like me is more than I can grasp. Without any picturesque -or romantic significance to the phrase, I am a sort -of beach comber, sunning myself in her cloudless energy -on the indolent sands of life. Every one either tells me -or implies that Gertrude is far too good for me. Nor -do I doubt it. But I wish we could go on as we are -without exposing her to the inconvenience of being married -to me. But Gertrude knows best.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Won't you stay and share my humble crust this -evening?" I asked her as she rose to go.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, thanks, Ranny," she smiled, somewhat enigmatically, -I thought. "We shall often dine together—afterwards."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course," I agreed flippantly. "We may even -meet at the races."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I promised," said Gertrude, "to dine at the Club -with Stella Blackwelder—to settle some committee -matters before I go away. Shall you be alone, poor -thing?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—but that doesn't matter. I am often alone. -I prop up a book against a glass candlestick and the -dinner is gone before I am aware of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It might as well be sawdust, for all you know," -laughed Gertrude.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So it might," I told her, "except that Griselda can -do better than sawdust. I might, of course," I added, -"call up Dibdin and have him feast with me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your trampy friend," commented Gertrude. "Yes, -better do it. I don't like to think of you so much alone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, that is very sweet of you, my dear. I'll do -exactly that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her cool lips touched mine for an instant and she was -gone.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-ii"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER II</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>To my shame I must record that, once I was alone, the -appalling fact of marriage overwhelmed me like a -landslide. With a sense of suffocation and wild struggle I -longed to do in earnest what I had threatened to do in -jest, to run away, blindly, madly, anywhere, to freedom, -as far as ever I could go.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When I should have been rejoicing, I desired, in a -manner, to sit upon the ground and tell sad stories of -the death of kings. I thought upon Lincoln, a brave man -if ever one there was, who had paled before the thought -of marriage and wrote consoling letters to another in -similar case. When I ought to have been feeling at my -most virile, I felt unmanned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yet, was I a boy to be a prey to these emotions? At -twenty-nine surely a man should know his own mind and -be in possession of himself. Never before had I doubted -my way in life. In a world where every one who has no -money proceeds with energy to make it, and every one -who has a little tirelessly labors to acquire more, I had -wittingly and of full purpose turned my life away from -the market place and toward a studious devotion to -books. On my compact income of less than two hundred -and fifty dollars monthly left me by generous parents, -I was able to maintain my modest apartment in Twelfth -Street and to live a life, purposeless in the eyes of some, -no doubt, but which to me is priceless.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That slender income and the old Scotchwoman, Griselda -Dow, with her Biblical austerity and North British -economy, surround my existence with the comfort of a -cushion. Because two sparrows sold for one farthing, -was to Griselda a reason and an incentive for miracles of -thrift. To change all this in three weeks—and I have -not yet informed Griselda! In a welter of agitation I -began to pace the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Perhaps I am a fool to harbor such emotions, but I -confess that the sight of my pleasant study, covered to -the ceiling with the books that I love, and so many of -which I have gathered, fills me with a poignant melancholy. -To uproot all this or to change it violently seems -like a sin I cannot bring myself to commit. How had I -come to think of committing it?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gertrude is, of course, a splendid girl. With all her -energy, she can yet sympathize with the mild successes -of a poor bookworm and listen with patience to the tales -of his triumphs as though he had captured an army corps. -My first edition of the "Religio Medici" can mean -nothing to her, who has never read it, but she seemed -gladdened by my victory when I acquired it under the very -nose of a wily bookseller.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When was it that I had first asked Gertrude to marry -me? It is odd that I cannot remember, for our friendship -could have continued on the same pleasant basis for -the rest of our lives.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was dining alone with her one evening at her -apartment in Gramercy Park, I remember, and there was -sparkling Moselle. I am not one of your experienced -topers, and that sparkling Moselle entered my blood like -a Caxton in a Zaehnsdorf binding or a First Folio of -Shakespeare. A golden haze had seemed to emanate -from every object in the region of that Moselle. Then, -I recollect, Gertrude and I were on a new plane of being. -We were speaking of marriage. Without being -"engaged", we were, in Gertrude's phrase, talking of -"marrying each other." It was on that evening I must -have asked her, though, oddly enough, I have no recollection -of the fact. And now, it seems, three pleasant years -have passed and the time has come.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again it occurred to me abruptly that I had not yet -informed Griselda.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What if Gertrude should insist upon my removing -myself to her apartment; would she accept Griselda? And -how would my precious books be domiciled? How -human they are, those books, even though silent! Always -I have found them waiting whenever I returned from -journeys, from summer visits, from the country, from -anywhere. Their backs and bindings seem to shimmer -and flash forth a stately greeting, to exhale that subtle -fragrance of leather, ink, and paper that none but -book-lovers know. They have developed a sense in me to -perceive these things as no one else can perceive them. How -delightful it has been to find them in their peaceful -legions, arrayed and changeless, retaining the very marks -and slips I have left in them, faithful servitors and -friends!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I take down the "Antigone" in the Cambridge Sophocles -that faces me as I stand and open at random to the -chorus: "Love, invincible love! who makest havoc of -wealth, who keepest vigil on the soft cheek of the -maiden;—no immortal can escape thee, nor any among -men whose life is for a day; and he to whom thou hast -come is mad." It is clear that Sophocles was no modern.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ah, me! I must tell Griselda at once, lest her Scotch -probity should charge me with disingenuousness or -evasion. I pressed a bell. I could not face Griselda in -the kitchen which is her stronghold. I must summon -her to mine.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Griselda, with a heather-blue cap awry on her coarse -gray hair, appeared at the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You called?" she demanded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Griselda, I called. Come in; I wish to speak to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Griselda has known me since I was seven and all my -gravity counts for ever so little with her. So redolent -is she of rich encrusted personality that she gives to my -poor small apartment the air of an establishment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You always call me, Mr. Randolph," she somewhat -testily informed me, "just when I have my hands in the -dough pan or when the pot is boiling over."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Which is it now?" I asked her, laughing somewhat -ruefully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Both," was her laconic answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hurry back then," I told her. "What I wanted to -say will keep."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just like a man," muttered Griselda and left me -without ceremony.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The relief I felt was shameful. To face Griselda with -news of a possible derangement of our lives required a -courage, a girding up of one's resolution to which at the -moment I felt myself woefully unequal.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was Dibdin and his blessed archeological -expedition. He had told me that there might be a berth -for me as a sort of keeper of records and archives. If -only he had started last week. In a mist of vision -well known to daydreamers, I suddenly saw the trim -shipshape steamer with holystoned decks, the glinting -metal work, the opulent South-Pacific sun pouring down -on lightly clad passengers lounging in deck chairs; -girls in white lazily flirting with indolent men. What -oceans of joy and ease were to be found in the world -for those who knew how to take them!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ah, well! Gertrude would make no opposition to my -going, since absolute individual liberty is the very -keystone in the arch of our coming marriage.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I decided to ring up Dibdin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Our line is out of order," the switchboard below -informed me. "They'll have a man up here as soon as -possible."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Frustration! I did not wish the colored door boy -below to hear what I said. He has a notion of my -dignity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With a restless agitation new to me I again fell to -pacing the room, a room not contrived for exercise. -It occurred to me that I must go to see my sister, -my only near relative. She was sure to be at home, for -she, poor girl, is always at home,—what with her three -children and her broken health.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If it were not that the damnable telephone is out of -order, I would ring her up immediately. What with her -three young children and an income the exact equivalent -of my own, she has little diversion unless I take her to -the theater or the opera. How does the poor girl -manage, I wonder? I dread to ask her and she never -complains. I ought to see her oftener; if only she lived -nearer than the depths of Brooklyn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There is the result of romantic marriage for you! -Poor Laura committed the error of falling in love with -a man on a steamer when she was barely nineteen and -marrying him secretly; after seven years and three -babies, the scoundrel Pendleton, with his smooth ways -and unsteady eye, deserted her, disappeared into the blue. -The poor girl's health has never been good since then.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is irritating to think that I might have done more -than an occasional gift for Laura and the children. But -I am so wretchedly poor myself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I still cannot comprehend how Laura could have been -so inconceivably foolish as to marry that ruffian -Pendleton before she had known him three months—and then -to acquire three babies!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gertrude, at all events, could not be guilty of anything -so perverse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marriage—children—chains—slavery—how sordid -it all is and how disturbing! Good enough perhaps -for the hopeless middle class, semi-animal types, who have -nothing else to expect of life, or to absorb them. But for -folk with ambitions and ideals!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What are my ambitions and ideals, I cannot at times -help wondering? Useless to analyze. Freedom to have -them is the first of all.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>How eager I used to be to discuss them with Laura -during those long summers at our cottage in Westchester -when life seemed endless and the future infinite. -Between sets at tennis I poured out to her the things I -was going to do in the world. Laura is only two years -older than I, but how well she had understood and how -sympathetic she was! It was the motherhood within -her, I suppose, that drove her to the marriage and the -kiddies.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The scent of those summers comes to my nostrils now, -the fragrance of lilac and honeysuckle, that brought ideas -to one's head, dreams of achievement, of perfection and -happiness. Who has that cottage now, I wonder? Poor -Laura's dreams have been distorted into a very dismal -sort of reality. And what of my own? But here is -Griselda and she is announcing Dibdin.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>That grizzled priest of what he is pleased to call science -growled in a way he meant to be pleasant as he shouldered -into my comfortable study and sank sprawling into my -best chair. He never seems quite at home in a civilized -room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Couldn't get you on the telephone," he remarked. -"Thought I'd drop over and see what iniquities you're -up to."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As you see," I told him, "I'm deep in crime."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you feed me?" he demanded with a gruffness -that is part of his charm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly. What else can I do when you come at -this hour?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right; then I'll listen to you," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But how," I wondered, "do you know I want to say -anything?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You look charged to the nozzle," he answered -elegantly. "What is it—a rare edition of somebody or -other?" Amazing devil, Dibdin. I always resent his -ability to read me in this manner. But he tells me that in -his archeological expeditions he has had so often to watch -faces of Indians, Chinese, negroes, Turks and others -whose language he did not speak, that to see the desires -of men in their eyes amounts with him to an added sense.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, if you must know," I sat down facing him, -"I am nonplussed, baffled, perplexed, at sea, on the horns -of a dilemma—all of those things. I am to be married -in three weeks."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eager swain!" was his only comment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that all you can say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, feeling about it the way you seem to feel, I -might add that you're a damn fool."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me something novel!" I retorted irritably.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can't," he said. "That's the only thing I know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Comprehensive," I sneered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Complete," was his succinct rejoinder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What a comfort you are!" I cried with a harassed laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What the devil made you get into it?" he growled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fate," I told him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's a poor fate that doesn't work both ways," he -observed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose I sound to you like either a brute or a cad -or both," I pursued. "But the fact is, Dibdin, I am -not a marrying man. The girl in question has nothing -to do with it. She's an admirable, a splendid girl, far -too good for the likes of me. But I simply hate the -thought of marriage—of owing duties to anybody. I -want to be free to do absolutely as I please, to go off -with you to the Solomon Islands, or China or Popocatepetl -if I want to, or to run after some first edition if I -feel inclined. In short, I don't want to bother about -wives or children or whooping cough or measles, or -have them bother about me. Would you call that -selfish?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Damnably," said Dibdin without emotion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, then, that is what I am," I retorted warmly, -"and it is no use trying to change. It takes myriad -kinds to make a world. I am one kind—that kind."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said Dibdin gravely, "no—I think you're -some other kind."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This eternal, beautiful, boundless freedom," I went -on, ignoring him—"surely it is good that some mortals -should have it, Dibdin—and I am losing it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Three weeks off, did you say—the obsequies?" he -queried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," I answered sadly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then maybe it won't happen," he remarked to the -ceiling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What makes you say that?" I caught him up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't know," he replied in his carefully lazy tone -that he assumed when he wished to sound oracular. -"Just a feeling—that you deserve something, a good -deal—worse than marriage." Then abruptly sitting up -in his chair and pulling a thin volume out of his pocket, -"Look at this," he muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I took the vellum-bound book and opened it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An Elzevir 'Horace'!" I exclaimed. "Where did -you get it?" All the rest of the world and all my cares -thinned to insignificance before this treasure.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A plutocratic book collector living in a mausoleum -on Fifth Avenue has just given it to me," he replied. -"It's a duplicate. He has another and a better one of -the same date. D'you value it any at all?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Value it!" I cried, as my fingers caressed it. "Why, -certainly I value it. It is a perfectly genuine Elzevir—the -great Louis himself printed this at Leyden. It is not -what you would call a tall copy, and binders have -sacrilegiously spoiled an originally fine broad margin. It's not -perfect. But it's a splendid specimen of early printing, -with title page and colophon intact. It's a beauty!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You beat the devil," murmured Dibdin in his beard. -"You can be enthusiastic about some things, that's clear. -Anyway, the book is yours," he concluded. "I have no -use for it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't mean it!" I exulted incredulously. "I -am simply delighted, Dibdin, tickled pink, as you would -say! I have long wanted the Elzevir 'Horace.' I haven't -a single Elzevir to compare with this. Think of this -coming out of the blue!" And in my foolish way I fell to -gloating over the thin, musty little volume, examining -the worm drills, holding it up to the light for watermarks -in the gray paper and, in general, I suppose, behaving like -an imbecile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Illustrates my point," muttered Dibdin, fumbling -with a malodorous corn cob and a tobacco pouch.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Point? What point?" I looked up at him abstractedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Out of the blue—this book you say you yearned -for—anything may happen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you call yourself a scientist," I marveled, -leaning back in the chair. "Things like this happen—yes. -But in the serious business of life you're ground between -the millstones of the gods—a victim of events you -cannot control. Look at Rabelais and Montaigne, two free -spirits if ever there were any. Yet one was a victim of -priestcraft so that he cried out until he roared with -orgiastic laughter, and the other a victim of property,—took -a wife that disgusted him. (I have beautiful editions -of both of them, by the way, which you ought to -look at.) But each of them was a victim."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A victim if you're victimized." Dibdin puffed at -his foul pipe. (I cannot make him smoke a decent -cigarette.) "But if you know how to play with -circumstances, you use them as I saw a cowboy in Arizona ride -a bucking broncho. You ride them till you break them. -Look at me, my boy," he went on, with a grin of mingled -modesty and bravado. "I knew I was a tramp at heart. -But my people would have been broken with humiliation -if I had turned out a 'hobo' on their hands. So I took -to ruins and buried cities in out-of-the-way places, and -politely speaking I'm an archeologist. But I tramp about -the world to my heart's content."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That, I admit, presented Dibdin and the whole -matter in a new light to me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why," I finally asked, "didn't I do that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because you're not a tramp at heart," puffed Dibdin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I am!" I almost shouted at him. "That is exactly -what I must be, since I have such a horror of home, -of domesticity."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You with all this comfort—a flat, a housekeeper, -all the truck in this room? No, no, my boy! You're -cast for something else. Hanged if I know for what, -though. These things are too deep to generalize about. -Time will tell."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I rose and circled the room, inanely surveying "this -comfort" that seems to offend Dibdin, though he likes -well enough to sprawl in my best arm-chair. The books, -the rugs, the fire, the alluring chairs, the happy hours -that I have spent here seemed to crowd about me like -the ghosts of familiars, praying to be not driven from -their haunts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then why the devil," I demanded accusingly, pausing -before him, "did you encourage me and praise my little -papers and bits of work in college when you were teaching me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Trying to teach you," he corrected placidly. "You've -never been a teacher in a large fashionable college, my -boy. When most of your so-called students are taking -your course because it is reported to be a snap, so they -can spend their evenings at billiards, musical comedies, -or the like, any young devil with a ray of intellectual -interest becomes the teacher's golden-haired boy. Even -teachers are human. You'll admit you haven't set even -so much as your own ink-well on fire as yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All that is beside the point," I returned irritably. -"Here I am in the devil of a fix and you are talking like -Job's comforters."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," he agreed, "I suppose I am. But in the end -it was not the comforters but events that pulled Job up. -Await events with resignation and expectancy, Randolph, -my lad, and play the game. Stake your coin and wait -until the wheel stops and see what happens."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A fine teacher you are!" I laughed at him, albeit -mirthlessly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No good at all," he assented cheerfully, knocking his -pipe against the ash tray and pocketing the noisome -thing. "And didn't I chuck teaching the minute events -made it possible? Events, my boy; they are the teacher -and the deities to tie to. Set up a little altar to the great -god Event—right here in your perfumed little temple. -That's what I should do," he concluded, muttering -into his beard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Incidentally," he added, "I'm getting extraordinarily -hungry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, sorry," I murmured. "Glad you're here to eat -with me, anyway. It enables me to put off breaking the -news of my coming marriage to Griselda."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What—you haven't told her yet?" shouted Dibdin, -sitting up in his chair. "That fine, upright Highland -lassie? Then you're no disciple of mine! Face things -with courage and face 'em fairly, Randolph. Go and -tell her now! I'll wait here with my highly moral support."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I can't," I blurted miserably.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, you can," he insisted with obstinacy. "Go and -do it now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With a gesture of desperation I pressed the bell.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I am going to tell her anything," I mumbled between -my teeth, "I'll say it right here." Dibdin laughed -ghoulishly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This cowardice—this shrinking from life," he -philosophized detestably—"that's what our kind of -education brings about."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Griselda appeared at the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You rang, Mr. Randolph."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—er—yes, Griselda," and I felt myself idiotically -hot and flushed. "I wanted to say—" and beads -of perspiration prickled my forehead. Then in -desperation, I stammered out,</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Dibdin, Griselda—he is dining here to-night—that's -all, Griselda!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dibdin's laugh rattled throatily in the room. How I -hated him at that moment! Griselda swept us with an -impenetrable glance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is a place laid for him," she uttered in the -tone of one whose patience is a sternly acquired virtue. -And she left us.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Better strip, my lad," chuckled Dibdin, "and put -on your wrestling trunks."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What d'you mean?" I demanded sulkily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The tussle that life is going to give you will be a -caution."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A lot you know about life!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not much, that's a fact," Dibdin observed more -soberly. "But I've had to face some things, Randolph. -I've had to grin at a lot of greasy Arabs in the desert -who thought they would hold me for ransom. I've had -to laugh out of their dull ambition a pack of villainous -Chinese thugs in Gobi, who felt it would profit them to -cut my throat. I've had to make my way alone through -a jungle in Central America for days when the beastly -natives absconded with the supplies and left me in the -middle of a job of excavation. I've had other little -episodes. But never, son, I may say truthfully, have I -shown such blue funk as you did just then before the -patient Griselda."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rot!" was my only answer. "Let's go in to dinner."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It is after ten. Old Dibdin is gone and I have been -putting down these foolish notes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It must be by some odd law of balance or compensation, -I suppose, that those whose lives are least important -keep the fullest record of them. It is a weakness of -mine to wish to read in the future the things I failed to -do in the past. It is really for you, O Randolph Byrd, -aged seventy, that I am writing these notes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If only Gertrude had made up her masterful mind to -three months hence, instead of three weeks, I should -have taken my last fling and gone by the next boat to -Italy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Biagi, that courteous scholar and humanist, writes me -from the Laurentian at Florence that he has discovered -some new material concerning Brunetto Latini—the -teacher of Dante. Among the few ambitions that I -dally with there has always been the one to write a life -of Brunetto, who taught Dante how a man may become -immortal. I have a fine copy of Ser Brunetto's works, -the "Tesoro" and the "Tesoretto", and it seems a -shabby enough little encyclopedia in verse of knowledge -now somewhat out of date. There must have been, therefore, -something in the man himself that enabled Dante -to attribute his own greatness to the teacher.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But I cannot go to Florence and return in three weeks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gertrude, I know, will tell me I can do it after we're -married. But she will expect me to "clean up the job" -in two weeks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There is nothing about Gertrude that terrifies me so -much as her efficiency. I shall never dare to mention the -subject to her, and so I shall never attempt it and never -know the mystery of Dante's immortality. It is all one, -however; what have I to do with greatness? No more -than with marriage.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bur-r-r! The room is cold. </span><em class="italics">Sparge ligna super foco</em><span>, -as cheerful old Horace advises. I have just complied and -put another log on the fire.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My nerves must be a shade off color to-night. I could -have sworn a moment ago, as the room grew chilly, that -my sister Laura was standing before me. It is my guilty -conscience, I suppose. Too late to call her now. Besides, -the telephone is no doubt still "out of order." Poor -Laura! I saw her, white as death, with tears running -down her drawn cheeks. What things are human nerves -when a bit unstrung! I shall go and see Laura to-morrow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I have had my conversation with Griselda and it came -off not amiss.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Griselda," I began carelessly, after Dibdin had gone, -"did I mention to you that I am to be married in three -weeks?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Griselda is not one to waste breath in futile and -flamboyant feminine exclamations. She turned somewhat -pale, I thought.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know very well you did not," she answered -in level tones, polishing a spoon the while.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I meant to," I told her truthfully enough. -"Didn't you expect it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, sir," was her blunt reply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Neither did I," I blurted out before I knew it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A wry, unaccustomed smile for a moment illumined -her dark, gypsy-like features.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You needn't tell me that," she retorted, and I wonder -what she meant by it. It is not like her to waste words. -"Am I," she continued, "to take this as notice to find -a new place?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God forbid!" I cried in horror. "Whatever happens, -Griselda, you remain with me—let that be understood."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And suppose Miss Bayard shouldn't want me?" she -demanded with quiet intensity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then she will probably not want me," I told her. -"That question won't arise. Besides, Griselda," I went -on, "we haven't decided yet how we are going to -manage. Miss Bayard will probably want to keep her -apartment and I mine. She would hardly wish to be bothered -with me all the time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you would call that marriage!" exclaimed -Griselda aghast.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not?" I queried mildly. "I don't know much -about it, Griselda, but marriage is determined by the -kind of license you get at the City Hall and what the -alderman says to you. The leases of apartments have -nothing to do with it, I'm quite sure—though I might -inquire."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Griselda's face was blank for a moment. Then on a -sudden she was bent double in a gale of wild, hysterical -laughter. Never have I known her so shaken by -meaningless cachinnation. Perhaps her own nerves are no -better than mine. Even now I still hear her rattling -deeply from time to time like muffled thunder. But I -don't care now. What a relief to get it over!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is nearly bedtime. Casting over the events of the -day, I cannot but conclude that my own will has played -too small a part in the whole matter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I must see Gertrude to-morrow in good time and -acquaint her with my desire to run over to Florence before -we are married and look up Biagi's new material bearing -upon the blessed old heathen, Brunetto Latini. Since -Gertrude desires me to be great and famous, she cannot -deny me the opportunity to discover how a great and -famous man accomplished the trick. Besides, what has -been delayed three years can surely support a further -delay of three months.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But, good heavens! What is this? Voices—the -scuffling of feet in the hallway—what army is invading -me at this hour! I believe I hear children's voices—and -a scream from Griselda, who has never screamed in her -life!</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-iii"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER III</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Laura—my dear sister Laura—is dead! Her children -are with me!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Without warning she dropped suddenly under her -burdens and with her dying breath confided her children -to me—me!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That one cataclysmic fact has taken its abode in my -brain and numbed it as well as all my nerves to a chill -and deadly paralysis that excludes everything else. It -still seems wholly unbelievable—some nightmare from -which I shall awake with a vast sickly sort of relief to -the old custom of my tranquil life.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The turbulence and the pain of the last three days, -however, are still lashing about me like the angry waves -after a tempest, in a manner too realistic for any dream. -I am broad awake now, I know, and for hours I have -been blankly staring into a very abyss of darkness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What will happen or what I shall do next, I haven't -the shadow of an idea.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Laura is dead and her children are with me, and I am -their guardian and sole reliance. Who could have -forecast such a fate or such a rôle for me? Three days! It -is incredible! Only three days ago, I was languidly -protesting because I could not take ship forthwith for Italy -to examine some manuscript at the Laurentian in Florence!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No, by heavens! It was not I. It was some one -else—some one I knew vaguely, in a past age, a man to be -envied, serene and cheerful, blest of life, whom I shall -never meet again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The last three days! I cannot banish them and yet I -cannot meet the memory of them. Was it I who faced -the tragedy, or was it some one else? Nothing surely is -more tragic than a young mother's death—and that -young mother my own sister! Who was it that stonily -passed through the ordeal of the "arrangements" and -the black pantomime of the sepulture? I cannot record -it even for myself, for never, I know, shall I desire to -be reminded of it. At the death of my mother, I still -had Laura with her practical woman's sense. But now -I was alone. I say now because however remote it -seems, this tragedy will always be present. My life -must forever remain under its stupefying spell.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is not credible that only three days ago I sat here in -my study revolving trifles, those many shining trifles -that went to make up my former life.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Three days ago the silence of this house was disturbed -by the voices of children, the clatter of their feet, and -for the first time in my life I heard Griselda scream.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Mr. Randolph," she rushed in, sobbing, with -the dry tearless sobs of those much acquainted with -grief, "Miss Laura—she—the children are here!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I knew. Though inwardly I sank all but lifeless -under the blow, I knew clearly that Laura was dead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is she very ill?" I heard myself asking faintly, -with a clutching desire to shrink still from the appalling -truth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She—oh, Mr. Randolph,'" she lamented, "don't -you understand—ye know very well!" she suddenly -added with a harshness that surprised me. "We shall -have to put the children to bed in your bedroom."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was as though she had suddenly revolted at the -softness of the atmosphere in my environment, at any -artificiality or evasion. She seemed abruptly determined -to face the stark facts in the open.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The girl will sleep with me," she concluded tonelessly -and turned to go.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Which girl?" I queried dazedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Her that brought the bairns," she replied and left me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Send her in here—I want to speak to her!" I -shouted after Griselda. I could not face the thought -of going out there. I was held to my chair by a sheer -pitiful lack of courage to move into the dreadful gulf -before me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I closed my eyes and endeavored to still the tumult in -my brain into silence. I wanted to think. But only -those can achieve silence who do not need it. I could -not. I opened my eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A thin little girl of perhaps twelve or thirteen stood -before me. This surely could not be the girl Griselda -had referred to in charge of the children. She was -herself a child. Were my disordered senses tricking me? -I experienced the thrill Poe's hero must have felt at sight -of the raven on the bust of Pallas.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who are you?" I whispered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am Alicia, sir," she answered with large, frightened -gray eyes fastened upon mine.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What—what is it?" I stammered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The lady said you wanted to see me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you bring the children?" I breathed, incredulous.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was awestruck. Her eyes, were the eyes of a child -yet they were filled with sorrow and a searching fear old -as the world.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How old are you?" I could not help asking, with an -irrelevance foolish enough in the circumstances.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Going on fourteen, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you—you are the nurse?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I helped Mrs. Pendleton with the children before -school and after school," she answered with more -assurance now, but still uneasy. "I am a mother's helper, -sir." There was no mirth in my soul, but the muscles -contorted my features into a sickly grin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see," I murmured mendaciously. But I saw only -my own confused turpitude at my blindness and neglect -in face of the shifts and needs poor Laura had been -compelled to suffer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where do you come from?" I inquired with a dry -throat, ashamed to ask anything of importance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"From—the Home for—Dependent Children—in -Sullivan County," she murmured hesitatingly, with a -tinge of color in her cheeks. On a sudden I saw her pale -lips tremble and guiltily I realized that, thoughtless, after -my wont, I was subjecting her to an ordeal merely -because I was in torment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sit down," I forced myself to speak evenly, "and -tell me exactly what happened."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She sidled to the big chair, her gaze still fixed upon -me, as though to watch me was henceforth her first -anxiety. She gripped the arm of the chair and hung -undecided for a moment as though fearful of making herself -so much at home as to sit down in this room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sit down," I reiterated more encouragingly, "and -tell me what happened to my sister."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir," she murmured obediently, perching on the -edge of the great chair. "Well," she began, "when I -came home from school in the afternoon Mrs. Pendleton -was lying down. The children were hanging about her -bed and she looked very pale."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes," I urged her on impatiently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I took them downstairs and gave them their -bread and milk and tried to read to them so as to keep -them quiet. But only the littlest one, Jimmie, wanted -to listen. Randolph and Laura wanted to play Kings and -Queens." I realized that I must hear the story in the -girl's own way.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then," she continued, with an effort at exactitude, -"I thought that Jimmie and I had better join them, -because then I could keep them from making so much noise. -We played until supper time. But Mrs. Pendleton didn't -feel well enough to come down. So the children and I -had supper downstairs and Hattie—that's the cook—took -Mrs. Pendleton's supper up on a tray."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That must have been while I was lamenting to Dibdin -over the hardness of my lot.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then what happened?" I muttered, turning away -from her gaze.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I went up to see if Mrs. Pendleton wanted anything," -she resumed nervously, frightened by my movement, -"and she said no, but that she'd get up later when -it was time for them to go to bed. So I helped them -with their lessons until bedtime and Mrs. Pendleton came -down. She said she felt a little better, but she looked -very sad and white. And when she began to walk up -the stairs—" her lips grew tremulous again and the -tears dashed out of her eyes, but she finally controlled -herself bravely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"—She fell—and—" she began to weep bitterly, -"she just said, 'The children—my brother—telephone—' -and that was all—" and that piteous child -who was no kindred to my poor sister sobbed convulsively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That must have been about the time when I was at -table with Dibdin and, over the sauterne, complaining to -him of the narrowness of my income in view of the -lacunæ and wants of my library.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We couldn't—get you—on the telephone," she -found breath to utter at last. "So I brought the children -here—Hattie told me how to go—Hattie's over there -alone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nothing in this world can ever stab me again as the -poignancy of her recital stabbed me. My life seemed -shattered, irreparable. All my dreams were at an end. -Laura was gone and here were her children thrust by -destiny upon my hands—unless their scoundrel of a -father should ever return to relieve me of them. I had -lived peacefully and harmlessly in my way, but for some -inscrutable reason Fate had selected me for her heaviest -blow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well," I told her as kindly as I could in the -conditions, "now you go back to Griselda and go to bed. -I'll have to think things out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh—but the house!" exclaimed the little girl—and -never again do I wish to see such horror on a childish -countenance as at that instant froze the features of -little Alicia. "All alone," she added, her thin shoulders -heaving. "Aren't you going over now, sir?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now!" I exclaimed, looking automatically at my -watch. "Why—yes—in a few minutes, child."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But—Hattie is there alone—" she stammered. -"There's nobody else—then I'd better go back."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was obvious, of course, that I must go at once. But -why should a child see spontaneously that to which I am -obtuse?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, well, you are right, of course—I must go -immediately—I hadn't thought—I'll go over now"—and -I turned away from her, lifted the curtain and gazed -out into the wet, murky street below. Life had collapsed -and the ruins of it were tumbled about my hot ears. I -hardly know how long I stood there, completely oblivious -of the girl Alicia.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Please, Mr. Byrd," I was startled to hear a tearful, -childish voice behind me—"won't you see the children -before you go, sir?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I wheeled about sharply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The children? Oh, yes—no!" The horror of the -situation fell about me like an avalanche that had hung -suspended for a moment and then crashed smotheringly -over me. "No," I whispered huskily, "I can't—not -now—not now!" A kind of chill darkness numbed my -senses.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Like a pistol shot I suddenly heard the harsh voice of -Griselda in the doorway.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The cab is at the door, Mr. Randolph. Don't forget -your rubbers."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And like an automaton galvanized into life I found -myself whirling to the house of death.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-iv"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER IV</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>For a week the children have been with me and -nothing has yet been done about them. Another week, I -think, will drive me mad with indecision.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I seem unable to emerge from the shadow of mystery -and terror into which my serene world has been so -suddenly plunged. The book-lined study is my solitary -refuge; and like a schoolgirl I can do no more than unpack -my heart with words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I have seen Gertrude.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is astonishing how resourceless are even one's nearest -and dearest friends in face of anything really capital.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Poor Ranny! How ghastly!" Gertrude cried, when -she first heard of it, wringing my hand. "But buck up, -dear boy. You know how I feel. There is a way out -for everything." She spoke, I thought, as though I were -in need of ready money.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was here this afternoon to see the children. -Gertrude is no hand with children. They seemed strangely -shy of her, a woman, though they literally fell upon the -neck of growling, grizzled old Dibdin. They are still -subdued by the suddenness of their tragedy, though real -sorrow Gertrude tells me, is, thank Heaven, beyond them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We'll have to think up a way of disposing of the -dear things," she remarked briskly. And though I am -myself completely at a loss what to do with them, I -cannot say I relished her way of putting it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What, for instance, could you suggest?" I inquired -dully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Schools, Ranny dear, schools," she impatiently -answered. "There are homelike places run by splendid -women—just made for such cases. Why, even the -little one—Jimmie, is it?—How old is he; four?—There -are places even for kiddies as young as that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A heavy confusion, the reverse of enthusiasm, -oppressed me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You forget, Gertrude," I endeavored as gently as -possible to remind her, "Laura confided those children -to me with her dying breath—to me—her only relative. -Do you think I ought to fling them out at once, God -knows where!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good Lord, Ranny!" she cried, flushing with a smile -of anger peculiar to Gertrude when she is annoyed. -"What a sentimentalist you are at bottom—after all!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A sentimentalist—I?" I felt hurt. "Just put -yourself in my place, Gertrude, and see how easy such -a decision would be for you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do, Ranny; that is just what I am doing," she -insisted impatiently. "But don't you see that if there is -any one thing you cannot do, it is to keep them here—or -in my apartment?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," I said, "I see that. But I also see that I can't -pitch them out among total strangers, a week after their -mother's—" I could not trust my foolish voice to finish.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you forget," demanded Gertrude with her smile -that brands me imbecile, "do you forget, Ranny, that we -are to be married in two weeks?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Gertrude—far from it. But that is why we are -discussing this problem—because it is perplexing. -Besides, schools of the right sort are bound to be pretty -expensive things."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," said Gertrude, "of course. But poor Laura's -income ought to be enough—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear Gertrude, that is what I don't know. -Carmichael is to give me an accounting of it to-day or -to-morrow. Laura never spoke of her money matters to -me. But, as you say, there will probably be enough. -Only, it isn't altogether that—you see, Gertrude—" I -floundered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I see, Ranny, I see," she hammered at me in the -maddening way women have. "You simply can't get up -enough will power to do something. It's the old story. -But you'll have to, my dear," and she smiled sweetly. -"You have all my sympathy and all the coöperation -you'll take. But the one thing we can't do is stand still. -You understand that—don't you, Ranny?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. I understand that. But my brain is as fertile -of plans as a glass door knob."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll tell you what I'll do, Ranny," Gertrude summarized. -"I know all this has been a great shock to you. -I'll let you alone for a couple of days to turn things -over. And think of what I've said. But then we must -come to some definite decision. I'd give anything if this -terrible thing had not happened now—but it can't be -helped, can it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now, that was very sweet and reasonable of Gertrude. -And it is a thousand pities that she feels distressed. -But it would have been ten thousand more if -poor Laura had died just after we had been married -instead of before. As it is, the problem before me is -largely mine. Were we now married, Gertrude must -have had to bear an undue share of it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shall I ever win back to the old tranquillity and the -peace that was mine? That was the first thought that -came to me when I parted from Gertrude, a selfish -thought as I immediately realized, in view of what is -facing me. I can no longer think as I have thought and -new feelings are struggling for birth within me, -commensurate with the new responsibility. The world, as I -walk through it, seems to present an aspect strangely -different from what it did a week ago. It is so chill and -alien and hollow!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As I was reëntering my study I heard a crash in the -dining room, which is now the children's room, and -when I glanced in upon them the girl Alicia was gathering -up smithereens of glass and Ranny, the eldest boy, -quietly announced, "It broke" in a manner that so -obviously gave him away, all the others could not help -laughing; and they laughed the louder when I joined -them. Confused and angry, the boy ran out of the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is a world apart, the world of children, into which -parents, I suppose, grow gradually. Not being the parent -of these children, I fear I shall never penetrate it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sooner or later they must be sent away, even as Gertrude -maintains. And I must face that event forthwith.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was interrupted at this point by the irruption into -the room of Jimmie, the youngest, inimitably, grotesquely -shapeless in his nightgear, pattering toward me and -taking refuge between my knees. He was being pursued -by the girl Alicia who stood shyly and distressfully -smiling in the doorway, as though all explanation were futile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, old boy, what is it?" I demanded with mock -severity, though in truth I was more afraid of him than -he evidently was of me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Iwantsayprayerstoyoulikeamummy," he uttered in -one excited breath, as though it were one single word.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You want what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He says he wants to say his prayers to you, sir," -spoke up the girl clearly. "I am sorry—he broke away. -Shall I take him away, sir?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wanto say my prayers to you like to mummy," -insisted Laura's child, scrambling upon my knees. And -with a pang of sadness that set all my senses aching I -saw the picture of the past—poor Laura with her sweet, -resigned face, living when she lived only in her children, -listening to the prayers of this sprite with the silken -sunshine in his hair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right, Jimmie," I murmured faintly, as he clung -to me; "go ahead."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Tightly clutching me about the neck and nestling his -face against mine, he brought forth with childish throaty -sweetness the few words to the creative Spirit that -mankind the world over, in one form or another, addresses -as Our Father. "And God," he concluded with brilliant -triumph in his eyes, "bless Mummy and Uncle Ranny."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nothing that I can remember has ever moved me as -that child moved me. Like St. Catherine of Genoa at -her decisive confessional I seemed to receive a profound -inner wound by that child's act, tender and bitter and -sweet, that I never desire to heal. For the moment -Laura and I were nearer to being one than ever we had -been in her lifetime. Nevermore shall I forget the -sweetness and fragrance of that little child and his warm -nestling faith in me. And I am planning to cast him off.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come, now," interposed Alicia, as though breaking a -spell.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One more hug," cried Jimmie, with the arrogance of -righteousness. And suiting his action to his words, he -clambered down with engaging clumsiness from my knees -and padded toward Alicia. Once more I was alone with -my thoughts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Can it be that some instinct in the child whose heart -is still imbedded in his mother's had made him seek the -one person who had been nearest his mother?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I cannot say, I cannot say.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Oh, God—and I must send him and the others, -Laura's children, away, away among strangers!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There seems to be no other way out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I have been turning idly the pages of books in a way -bookish people have, seeking for inspiration, for some -word of guidance. Brunetto tells me on the word of -St. Bernard, that tarnished gold is better than shining -copper; and that the wild ass brays once every hour and -thus makes an excellent timepiece for his savage -neighborhood. But nothing of this casts a glimmer of light -upon my dilemma. Rabelais keeps shouting from his -yellow page, "</span><em class="italics">fais ce que vondras</em><span>." But what is it that -I desire to do?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ah, I know what I desire to do! There is counsel in -the old books, after all.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I will have in the girl Alicia, and see what I can glean. -She was brought up without kith or kin of her own. -And though an institution is more of a machine than a -good school, still those who had the rearing of her were -total strangers. There might be some gleam of -suggestion in that.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Alicia has been here.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come, child, sit down," I invited her, observing that -she still displayed a tendency to stand in awe of me. "I -wish to ask you some questions." But her tense little -face was still haunted by a vague fear. "It's about the -children," I added, and she seemed somewhat more at -ease on the edge of her chair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How long were you at that Home—in Sullivan -County?" I began, grinning by way of ingratiating -myself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ever since I can remember, sir," she answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Were they kind to you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How kind?—What did they do for you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They gave us food and—and medicine when we -were sick. And on Christmas we had a tree. Only -nobody ever came to see me. I always looked out of the -window for somebody to come. But no one came."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes, I know," I pursued. "But did they show -you affection—sympathy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alicia was silent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you know what I mean?" I pressed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir, I think I do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then why don't you answer?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—it's hard to explain," and she laughed a frightened -little laugh. "There is no one there to—to do -those things you said. There were five hundred of us -there. If you're not sick you just go on like all the rest. -If you're sick they give you oil or something. Sometimes -a child pretends it's sick just so the matron or a -nurse might take it in her lap and make a fuss over it. -And some are naughty—for the same reason."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I nodded gravely, but my heart was gripped by a -poignant aching. I saw Laura's children compelled to -feign illness or delinquency in order to receive a touch of -individual attention which, I suppose, every child -spontaneously craves.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Were you glad to leave there?" I asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, sir!" she answered eagerly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tragic, my poor sister dying," I said, half to myself. -"She was an ideal mother. Now—I hardly know what -to do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alicia leaped from her chair and came yearning toward -me. Her little face tremulous and working, she cried out:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Mr. Byrd, you won't send us away—to a -Home—will you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no!—Not to a Home," I replied defensively. -"But schools—there must be good places for children—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They'd feel terribly," she stifled a sob. "They love -it so here—Even here Laura cries for her mother every -night—and little Jimmie—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never mind," I took her up hastily, "nothing is -decided yet, my dear child. I'm glad I spoke to you. You -see," I ran on, "there's so little room here, and I—I -know nothing about children—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But there's nothing to do," she protested, sobbing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing?" I smiled vaguely in an effort to cheer -her and laid my hand upon her thin shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing except just love them," she said. "I'll take -care of them—all I can." How simple!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, well, we shall see," I aimed to be reassuring.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do I have to go—back to the Home?" she asked -brokenly, with an arm hiding her face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no, certainly not," I answered hastily. "We'll -find a better way than that. Now," I added, "be a good -girl, dry your eyes; run along and don't say a word -about—our conversation."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, sir," she murmured obediently. And still gulping, -she left me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is obvious that the girl Alicia has been of decisive -help to me!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yet it is equally obvious that I cannot keep the -children here.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Dibdin has been here and he has left me in a state of -distraction, worse if possible than that I had been in -before.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The good fellow endeavored to be vastly and solidly -cheering.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All nonsense," he growled, "about children being -hostages to fortune. They are the only contribution a -human being really makes to the world. All the digging -that burrowing animals such as I do in the four corners -of the earth, all the fuss that fellows in laboratories make -over test tubes and microscopes and metals and germs, all -the stuff that people sat up nights to put into those -damned books of yours—all of that is done for them—for -the next generation and the generations they will -beget."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eloquent!" I flippantly mocked him; "but how is it -you've elected to be what you call a tramp?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Elected?" he grunted disdainfully. "I didn't elect. -It elected me. Besides," he continued, lowering his -voice, "I would have given it up like a shot—given up -anything, changed my life inside out, done anything if I -had been able to marry the one woman I wanted. I'm -one of those strange beasts for whom there is only one -woman in the world—no other:</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>'If heaven would make me such another world</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Of one entire and perfect chrysolite,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>I'd not have sold her for it,'</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>he quoted, and added with a hoarse laugh, "you ought -to know your Othello."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then why on earth didn't you marry her?" I could -not help marveling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Too late," he murmured, with a whimsical smiling -twitch to his head, that is very engaging. "She was -already married to somebody else when I first saw her. -Too late," he repeated with ruminative sadness. "But -don't let us talk about that," he broke off abruptly. -"Have the kids begun to go to school yet?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is the use?" I answered him gloomily. "I -haven't formed any plans for them yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Plans? What do you mean?" he inquired, puzzled. -Like the girl Alicia he seemed to think there was nothing -to do that required any thought. And I wondered if the -simple souls in life are only the improvident or the very -young.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you see this place," I demanded irritably, "as a -home for a family with three children, to say nothing of -a fourth in attendance upon them?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have to have a larger place—farther out—of -course," he answered glibly, puffing at his pipe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And am I a person to take care of and bring up three -or four children?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why the devil not?" he demanded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why the devil yes?" I retorted fiercely. "What -do I know about children? What experience have I -had? Do you see me as a wet nurse to a lot of babies?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wet nurse be hanged," he responded gruffly. -"Here's your first chance to be of use in the world -and—you talk like that—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Easy to talk," ruefully from me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, what the blazes do you mean to do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is what I am trying to work out," I fell upon -him bitterly. "D'you think it's easy? I've got to work -out some plan—find homes for them—the right kind of -schools—with a home environment. Oh, it's easy, I -assure you! Besides," I ran on savagely, "you seem -to forget I'm to be married in two weeks."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did forget that," growled Dibdin, with a semblance -of contrition. "What does the lady say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, what should she say? Could you expect a girl -on her wedding day to become the harassed mother of -three children not her own?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dibdin jumped from his chair, ground an oath between -his teeth and his forehead was a file of wrinkles.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Listen, Randolph," he began in another voice. "It's -damnably tough, and I know it. But you can't, you -simply can't disperse your sister's children to God knows -where. You are the only relation they've got. Put -yourself in their place. It would be damnation. If you -need—more money," he stammered in confusion, "why, dash -it—I'm an old enough friend of yours to—to advance -you some, eh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And he laughed raucously, wiping the perspiration -from his forehead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are a good sort—of tramp," I grinned sheepishly, -seizing his hand. "But it isn't that. I don't know -as yet what Laura left them. But it isn't that. I feel -like—like hell about it—but what can I do—what -with Gertrude and—and everything else. Oh, it's the -easiest thing in the world, I assure you.—But I wish to -God I could see my way to keeping them!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Easy or not," said Dibdin huskily, "if you send those -children away, I'll break every bone in your body."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I laughed almost hysterically. I know Dibdin. When -he is most moved and most sympathetic, he is at his most -violent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't go," I clung to him as with sunken head he -shouldered toward the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Must," he growled. "I've got to think, too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish you had married, Dibdin, and had children of -your own," I all but whispered with my hand on his -shoulder. "And I'm sorry for the woman. You're a -good devil, Dibdin. I wish I knew who the woman is."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll tell you," murmured Dibdin, with a queer throatiness -of tone. "I'll tell you who she was. It can't -matter now. She was—No, by God! I can't—not now!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And he shuffled out, leaving me gazing after him -speechless and open-mouthed.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-v"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER V</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The girl Alicia keeps watching me like some -bewildered household animal dimly aware of the breaking -up of its household. Always I am conscious of her great -eyes upon me. To her, I presume, I am a Setebos who -can inflict pain and torture, like Death himself; who can -disrupt her little world of clinging affections by the -merest movement of my hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I am in that process of turning things over to which -Gertrude has indulgently consigned me and I am if -anything farther away from a decision than I was twenty-four -hours ago. I finger my books and open at random -a volume of Florio's "Montaigne" in an edition that is -as fragrant of good ink and paper as the Tudor English -is rich, and the first line that falls under my eye is that -of Seneca, "</span><em class="italics">He that lives not somewhat to others, liveth -little to himself.</em><span>" Does this mean that my long absorption -in my own small concerns has made me incapable of -decision in anything of importance—that I live too -little?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I stole into the bedroom last night where the children -were sleeping, while Griselda was making up my couch -in the study.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With their flushed faces they lay there almost visibly -glowing before my eyes with that perfect faith that -children seem to have in the grown-up world about them. -Heine somewhere speaks of angels guarding the child's -couch, and it is not sheer poetry. Their faith and trust, -still illusioned, brevets, I suppose, to angelic rank every -one about them. Randolph, with a slight frown and -moving lips, dreaming seemingly of something active and -strenuous, as befits his ripe age of eleven; Laura, serene -with her mother's countenance and straying curls, and -little Jimmie with his tumbled hair like that of some child -by Praxiteles or Phidias—they slept—secure in their -trust, despite their recent shattering bereavement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No one can really know anything about children until -he has seen them sleeping. Like fortune, they are always -trustfully in the lap of the gods. Never before had -they touched me as they seemed to touch the hidden -springs in me at that moment. It was so, I pictured, -that Laura was wont to steal into their dormitory of -nights before going to bed; and that vision, no doubt, was -a potent help to her courage to continue uncomplainingly -and brave in the face of sorrow, humiliation and her -self-effacing loneliness. Would I had been able to picture -such things more clearly while she was living.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Griselda surprised me emerging from the room and she -smiled, the austere, inscrutable Griselda, with such a smile -as Michelangelo might have depicted on the face of -one of his Sistine Sybils, those weird sisters who seem to -know all things because they have suffered all.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I muttered a casual good night to Griselda and brushed -by her nonchalantly, as a boy whistles with apparent -carelessness when he feels most awkward or uneasy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I slept upon my problem in the way old wives advise -you, but to-day I am no nearer the solution.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I keep trying coolly to imagine them in appropriately -chosen schools and homes, and yet some tugging at my -heart strings, some strange alchemy of the brain, wipes -out those images before they are formed and replaces -them with the vision I saw last night in my invaded bedroom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Who is to help me make a choice? And before I have -put down these words I realize that no one will help me. -My dining room is at this moment vocal with their -laughter—but something within me is more loudly -clamorous yet against the treachery I am planning them. -Treachery! That is nonsense, of course. I have a -perfect right to decide what I choose. But already that -word keeps recurring in my brain whenever I envisage -their dispersal.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>My decision is taken.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I can hardly say who made it. In reality, I suppose -it has made itself. But however it came about, -there—heaven help me!—it is.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gertrude telephoned that she was coming this afternoon. -I offered to go to her, but she would drop in, she -graciously insisted, now that I was a family man, after -lunching with a friend at the Brevoort.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gertrude's entry is always breezy and cheerful.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hello, Ranny," she murmured lightly, sinking on the -sofa and holding out both hands. I took them, kissed -them and held them in mine. I was well aware that for -her these were days of tension.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's nice," said Gertrude with a laugh. "But -what I want is a cigarette, a match and an ash tray."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course, how stupid of me!" I mumbled and -supplied her with her wants.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Those books, Ranny," she puffed, scanning my laden -shelves, "they terrify me afresh every time I see -them—when I think you've read them all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They needn't alarm you," I deprecated quite sincerely. -"The more I read them the less I seem to know—as -you will agree." And I sat facing her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No room for the brains to turn round in?" she -laughed. "Oh, come, dear boy, it's not so bad as that. -I really think," she added more soberly, "you have a very -wise old bean on your shoulders."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What sudden and startling discovery leads you to -words so rash?" I inquired.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've made the discovery all right," she nodded with -emphasis. "Anybody who can handle a situation like -this the way you're handling it is no piker."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gertrude often affects the slang of the day as a humorous -protest against what she terms my purism. But the -truth is, I like the vernacular myself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Impart it," I urged her, whereat she smiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Regular street Arab you are," she declared with arch -satire, "but what I mean is this. I am always one for -quick action—and I don't know much about children. -I urged you to send them away at once. But I realize -now that so soon after poor Laura's passing away that -would have been cruel—and it wouldn't have looked -well, besides. Now I see it more your way, Ranny."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You do!" I could not help exclaiming.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," she continued firmly. "I see your way is best. -I see that we can be quietly married and have our little -trip just the same. Then, when we come back, in the -natural course of events and rearrangement, we can look -up places for them and settle it all right as rain. That's -what you had in your clever old head, Ranny, I'm quite -sure—and I admire you for it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see," I gasped, wondering what words or acts of -mine had conveyed this elaborate strategy to Gertrude. -For the space of a minute perhaps I was sunk in thought. -The vision of the children asleep in their innocent faith -in me suddenly arose vividly and smote me to the heart. -The nestling image of Jimmie—the girl Alicia with her -great, wistful eyes telling me that there was nothing to -do "but just love them"—all this was throbbing in my -brain with every heartbeat. And had I in reality schemed -out the intricate design with which Gertrude now credited -me? By no cudgeling of my poor brains could I recall -any such devising. It was impossible. It was new to -me. Then something in me that is either better or worse -than myself took the reins of the occasion and, like the -auditor of another's speech, I heard myself saying with -solemn firmness:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Gertrude—you must have mistaken me. I had -no such plan. We shall be married, of course, but our -marriage can make no difference. I cannot turn these -children, Laura's children, out of the house. Not now, -at all events, not until they're older. They have no one -in the world but me and I mean to keep them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mean to keep them! You mean that?" she gasped. -And it pained me to be the cause of a deep flush on -Gertrude's face and neck.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've never meant anything more certainly in my life," -I told her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then we can't marry," said Gertrude in a low tone, -still scrutinizing me as though she were wondering -whether she had ever met me before.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not?" I cried. "Why should they make so -great a difference? In any case, didn't you have an idea -that we would each keep our separate flats?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't talk rot," flared Gertrude in an exasperation -which I still deplore, for the steely glitter in her eyes -was not pleasant. "I am not going to make myself -ridiculous by marrying a houseful of kids for whom my -husband is the nurse. Do you really stick to that, -Ranny?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Gertrude," I nodded. "I must."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gertrude gazed at me searchingly for a moment, then -to my amazement she laughed in my face, a trifle louder -than her wont. Laughter was at that instant far from -my thoughts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, well," she resumed her earlier lightness of tone, -"then we'll simply postpone our marriage a while. -You'll get tired of this maternity game, Ranny, depend -on it. We've postponed it three years—a few months -more can't make much difference, can it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then she approached me and took my hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Little boy's tender conscience must be given its fling, -mustn't it?" she began mockingly, in imitation of a -child's speech, in which she does not excel. "Never -mind, give its little whim its head."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A remarkable woman, is Gertrude.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps it's only proper," she concluded more seriously, -"that we should postpone it, since you are just now -in mourning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nonsense," I answered her. "Laura would certainly -never have desired any such thing. Our marriage -will not be a thing of pomp and orange blossoms. -We could just as well get married now as any other -time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Ranny," she replied decisively. "Now it's my -turn to be firm. I think I am right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I should honestly have preferred, in spite of the -conditions that surrounded me, to have married Gertrude then -and there without further delay. We are neither of us -young things full of ineffable inanities on the subject of -romance and I experienced a sober desire for all possible -finality in the midst of the jumbled and painful confusion -into which Fate had seen fit to cast me. But Gertrude -was obdurate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Just as she was about to go there was a gentle tap on -the door. Gertrude, whose hand was already on the -knob, opened it. It was the girl Alicia.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With a downward quizzical glance Gertrude fixed the -girl so that for a moment she stood fascinated, unable to -detach her eyes from Gertrude's. She turned them in -my direction finally and they were troubled and -imploring.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Please, Mr. Byrd," she said, "the children want to -go for a walk now, instead of lessons. The sun is out. -Can I take them?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes," I said hastily. "By all means."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wait a minute," commanded Gertrude, smiling -mechanically. "What is your name, child?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Alicia, ma'am."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Alicia what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Alicia Palmer," and the child's voice was tremulous -with trepidation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And do you give the children lessons?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, ma'am," she answered, lowering her eyes as -though a crime had found her out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And how old are you?" asked Gertrude not unkindly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Going on fourteen, ma'am." The girl looked up at -once, responsive to the gentler tone. But wishing to -relieve her of the interrogatory, I lamely put in a word -urging that she take the children out at once before the -sun had disappeared. The girl glided away like a -shadow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, she's quite attractive—the little thing," -murmured Gertrude. "You'll have quite a menagerie." Then, -laughingly turning to me, she cried, "Oh, Ranny, -Efficiency ought to be your middle name."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps I'd better adopt it?" I murmured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do," said Gertrude. "Well, so long, old boy, I -must be running." And in her haste she even forgot to -let me kiss her good-by.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So after all the alderman at the City Hall was not to -sing his song over us yet. For no reason that I can help -I seem to be in disgrace with fortune, Gertrude and -aldermen's eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A nameless melancholy, a kind of humorous sadness, -has taken possession of me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is not my lost tranquillity that I regret now, nor -does Gertrude's taunt of inefficiency disturb me. But at -bottom I have always realized the type of man that I am -not. The type of man who stands four-square in face -of all the shocks and emergencies of life, who can meet -all changes and events with equal courage, who can take -any situation smilingly by the hand as though he were -its indisputable and indulgent master, that is the sort -of man I should wish to be. But all my own defects -clamorously accuse me of embodying the exact opposite -of such an ideal. I have shrunk away from life until it -fits me like a coarse ill-cut garment rather than a glove. -It takes a vast deal of living to be alive, and the dread -obsession haunts me that I have become as one -mummified in this dim catacomb of books.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I have been to Carmichael's office at his request and the -blow that he has dealt me is heavier than any since -Laura's death.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Laura, it appears, in her desperate desire to increase -her income, had been speculating in the lying promises -of oil and mining stocks which offered fabulous returns. -One after another her substantial railway and steel bonds -went to her brokers for "margins" and some were sold -for current livelihood. No wonder she was compelled -to resort to an orphanage for a "mother's helper", who -is herself a child. The result is that something less than -two thousand dollars of Laura's capital remains for -her three motherless and fatherless children, the oldest -of whom is eleven.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I have no doubt but that her tortured and silent anxiety -on this score hastened my poor sister's death. Carmichael -himself, her lawyer and adviser, was ignorant of -her acts until it was too late. The dread goddess -Fortune plainly does nothing by halves. If it were not for -my grief over the suffering that poor Laura must have -endured so uncomplainingly, I should be moved to -uproarious laughter. Job, I feel sure, must have had his -moments when the comforters were not there, when he -laughed until the tears bedewed his dejected old beard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And I, incompetent recluse that I am, have undertaken -the care and the rearing of three children! I -should at least admire the completeness with which Fate -plays her hands or produces her situations, were I not -at this moment utterly and stonily impervious to all -thought and all emotion—unless an inert and deadly -sense of disaster be an emotion.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>No, that was not enough. What a glutton is that same -Fate! Dibdin has been here to say a hasty good-by.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He has heard of a ship that sails from San Francisco -in a week and that will touch at his particular group of -islands, so that he will not have to trans-ship at Papeete, -as had been his earlier plan. I have never before in my -life felt so utterly alone!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed a curious laugh, that seemed foolish yet -exulting, when I told him I had decided to keep the -children. His eyes glittered and he turned away for an -instant to hide them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look here," he muttered hoarsely, with the assumption -of his most matter-of-fact manner, "let me advance -you a thousand dollars or so—in case you should have -a use for it. Be an investment for me," he added, with -a short laugh. "What use is it to me in the Marquesas -or Solomon Islands, eh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, thanks, Dibdin," I told him. "I can mention -one or two good banks on the Island of Manhattan—if -you don't know of any."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't be an ass, Randolph," he came back with -severity. "I'll write you a cheque."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, you won't," I replied with equal obstinacy. "I -won't take it. If I need it, I'll cable you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Devil you will," he growled irritably. "Cables -don't run where I'll be. You're an ass, after all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks. Would you like to see the children before -you go?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"H'm, yes," he answered meditatively. "No, by -gosh!" he added in sudden confusion. "No, I can't. -Got to run. Slews of things still to do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Inscrutable devil, Dibdin! Who would have supposed -him such a bundle of oddly-assorted emotions?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By the way," he said abruptly, as he was starting, -"Carmichael—heard from him—everything all right?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Inwardly I felt a tug as though some one had pulled -violently upon some cord inside me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes," I lied as urbanely as I was able, "everything -quite all right. You'll keep me in addresses, I -suppose?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He scrutinized me for an instant so searchingly that -with a tremor I feared he would see through me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, of course," he finally answered. "The -Hotel de France, Papeete, is a good address until you -hear of another. They know me there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good," I tapped him on the back. "Write a fellow -a word whenever you can. Pretty lonely here after -you're gone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lonely!" he repeated. "And you—oh, by George, -and I'd almost forgotten—and you to be married in a -few days—lonely!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's—off," I faltered—"for the present."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Off!" he exclaimed aghast. "Did she break it off?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Put it off," I corrected.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When you told her of keeping the kids?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I nodded my head slowly, watching the odd play of -his features.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He opened his arms quickly as though he were about -to hug me like some grizzly old bear—then as quickly he -dropped them, shamefaced.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By God!" he uttered solemnly. "This—this gets -me—the way things came about. You—you are a -man, Randolph, my lad. Courage—that wins everything -in the end. Even when it loses, it wins. Yes, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I have not the remotest idea what he meant by those -words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Broken up about it?" he demanded abruptly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What my gesture proclaimed to Dibdin I don't know. -For me it expressed all that I had passed through during -the last ten days.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, you're right. No use," he said, clapping me on -the shoulder. "Sit tight, my boy. Courage—the only -thing! Now, good-by," he wrung my hand, "and God -bless you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Same to you, old boy, and best of luck."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And now the only intimate friend I possess has gone -and left a hole in the atmosphere as large as Central -Park.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-vi"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER VI</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>An odd look of overt approval I have surprised of -late in Griselda's eyes causes me a peculiar twinge of -regret. It shows that new conditions have overwhelmingly -ousted the old. Griselda never troubled to approve -of me before. I have no desire for any change in -Griselda, even for the better.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I have been successful, however, I am bound to record. -I have found an outdoor school for Ranny and Laura -in Macdougal Street near Washington Square, and a -nearby kindergarten for Jimmie. The girl Alicia is able -to take Ranny and Laura to Macdougal Street on the way -to her own public school. Jimmie, who does not go -until later in the morning, is a problem. Thus far I have -been conducting him to his kindergarten myself. But -obviously that cannot continue, despite the fact that -Jimmie, seeing his elder brother depart with two girls, -turns to me with a look of inimitable superiority and -observes:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We men must stick together, mustn't we, Uncle Ranny."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I gravely agree with him on the general policy, though -I aim to forestall future trouble by indicating that -expediency often governs these things.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The term bills paid in advance to the schools have left -a gap in my exchequer. For the first time I have been -compelled to decline a genuine bargain. Andrews, the -bookseller, called me up with the announcement that he -had something I could not resist. Laughing, I asked him -to name it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is nothing less than Boswell's 'Johnson'," he told -me with particular solemnity, "first edition, with the -misprint on page 135—a beautiful copy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dated April 10, 1791?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dated April 10, 1791," he repeated with impressive -triumph. My heart sank, though it was beating loudly. -For many years I have had an order for that Boswell.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the price?" I murmured faintly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For you," he said, "four hundred dollars."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Griselda would approve of me blatantly did she know -the courage it required to answer Andrews.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, friend, I am sorry but I cannot afford it at present."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Andrews was incredulous. "Do I hear you -correctly?" he queried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Accurately," I told him, "if you hear that I can't -take it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I refuse to accept the evidence of my ears," -he retorted with spirit. "I shall send it down to -you." I told him it was useless. "Oh, you needn't buy it," -he shouted. "But I insist on giving an old customer -the pleasure of seeing it at his leisure, in his own -library."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A shrewd, good devil is Andrews, even though he is -a good salesman. I have been feasting my senses on the -Boswell, but it will have to go back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dibdin's going so abruptly has left me very heavy at -times upon my own hands. He had a way of dropping -in unannounced when you least expected him, so that I -came to count upon him at unexpected moments. There -is no one to take his place. Now on clear evenings I -ramble aimlessly northward and often turn in at the club, -though so little have I been a frequenter of it I hardly -know a soul in the place. Last night I ran into my -classmate, Fred Salmon, for the first time in months.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fred is, I should say, my exact antithesis. He is full -of laughter and noise and exuberance. Riches are his -goal in life, and if he expended one half the vitality on -the acquisition of riches that he devotes to the collection -of humorous anecdotes, he would be a wealthy man to-day.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hello, Ranny," he shouted when he saw me, "you're -just in time to join me in a little refreshment. What -you doing now?" Luckily he seldom waits for an -answer. With trained rapidity he gave his order to a -waiter and continued, "Come across any rare editions -lately, any fine copies, such as 'Skeezicks' or 'Toodlums' -by Gazook?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," I told him, "my collection is lacking in those -masterpieces."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell you what you ought to be, Ranny," he boomed, -as the waiter put down the glasses. "You ought to be -(here's how!)—a bond salesman!" he decided after -a pause and gulped down his liquor;—"or else a dog -fancier."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why those exalted callings?" I asked with only the -mildest curiosity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are such a simp and you look so damn honest," -he elucidated, "that anybody would believe anything you -say."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then will you believe me if I say I don't want to -be either of those things—or anything else?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, sure!" he responded heartily. "I know that -all right. You haven't got anything on me. I'd rather -own a few good horses and follow the races round the -tracks of the world, if I had my choice. Instead of which -I've got to separate the world from enough dollars to -keep me going. If ever you get hard up, Ran," he -concluded reflectively, "let me know. I'll set you up in the -right game. Never make a mistake. I took a course in -character reading for five dollars—by -correspondence—that's how I know so much."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dollars! Dollars! Dollars! Must every one then -become merely a dollar-amassing machine? I remember -Fred in college, ruddy with the freshness of youth, when -he was making jokes for the </span><em class="italics">Lampoon</em><span> and, so abundant -was his energy, everybody expected him to do Great -Things. And now he can talk of nothing but dollars—and -he doesn't seem to be oversupplied with those. I am -nothing myself, but at least no one expected anything -of me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fred proposed that we play a game of poker, bridge, -checkers or cribbage. But as none of those manly sports -tempted me at the moment we parted and he cordially -informed me that he would look me up one day.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nevertheless, with all his noise and emptiness, Fred -was glowing, or seemed to be glowing to me. His ideas -are puerile. His talk is cast in one mold, upon one -design, that of evoking laughter. But he is alive. He is -not apathetic. That is what I deplore in myself, the -apathy that has saturated me after the recent events, that -are like a dark liquid which has entered my mind at one -point and then by natural action unchecked has stained -every fiber of my being. It is not thus I shall acquit -myself of the task I have assumed. I must become alive!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The children, I am beginning to think, are the only -creatures really alive in this world. They don't hanker -after musty-smelling first editions, after knowledge of -bygone old worthies like Ser Brunetto some seven centuries -dead, nor yet after the eternal conversion of life -into dollars.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To-day I witnessed a curious excrescence of their -bubbling imaginations. My door standing open, I was able -to observe a ceremony that transformed my dining room -into a church and the four infants with solemn faces into -the vivid celebrants of the sacrament of marriage. They -are evidently ignorant of the "alderman" method. To -the delight of Jimmie and Laura, Ranny, my oldest -nephew, with hieratic pomp, was being married to the girl -Alicia. Even she knew better than to laugh as the boy -was slipping a ring upon her finger, murmuring some -gibberish which he had either learned or invented, and -endowing her with all his worldly goods. The goods -consisted first of all in the number of a hundred kisses, -which the boy proceeded to administer with savage -realism to the crowing delight of Jimmie and the -uncontrollable giggling of Laura. This part of the -endowment being finally completed, he brought forth from his -pocket a small toy pistol and gravely placed it in her -hand. I nearly jumped from my chair when I saw that. -A pistol of all things! What could have made the little -apes think of that? What a text for a cynic! Perhaps -every bride ought to receive a pistol as part of her -wedding dower? They then proceeded merrily to eat bits -of cake and to laugh and chatter like any other wedding -guests. I closed my door softly and for a space I was -lost in reflection. For it suddenly came to me that to -approach life with anything less than the playful zest -of children was a grim, a fatal error.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was odd that Gertrude should have chosen that hour -to evince the only sign since her decision that she had -any memory of me. When she came in, preceded by the -knock and laconic announcement of Griselda, the first -words she spoke were:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Ranny, and how is domesticity?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Highly educative," I told her, as I ministered to her -usual wants. "I have just learned the proper way of -marrying a woman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed?" murmured Gertrude, somewhat sourly, I -thought, "and how is that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's not the alderman that is important," I informed -her. "It's done with a hundred kisses and a pistol." In -reply to her look of incomprehension, I described to -her the episode of the dining room. To my surprise -Gertrude could see no humor in that.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What a child you are, Ranny," she shook her head -sadly. "And I thought that with all your faults you -were a serious person."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That must have been your fundamental mistake -about me," I answered somewhat sheepishly and yet -nettled. "I fear I am not half as serious as the children -are."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said Gertrude. Then after a brief pause,</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you decided yet that the children ought to be sent -away to schools?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, no, Gertrude! Such a thing has not entered -my head since—since we talked of it," I told her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ranny," she solemnly leaned forward, "I think I -know what's troubling you. You needn't be so foolishly -proud with me. It's a question of money, I take it. -Well, I'm ready to help out with their bills. I know -these things are expensive. I am willing to set aside -part of my income for their bills. We could arrange -that part of it somehow. Why, you foolish boy, won't -you take me into your confidence?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It isn't that—at all," I stammered. "Why won't -you understand—it's the children themselves. How -can I throw them over?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't think you're doing anything for them -here—you and this foundling-asylum girl, who comes -from goodness knows what parents? Better let me -manage this—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Curiously, I felt offended at her speaking thus of the -girl Alicia who seems as integrally a part of my charge -and household as any of the rest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's very good of you, Gertrude," I muttered, "to -offer so much. But to take money from you for my -sister's children is—out of the question." This put her -more than ever out of temper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I never knew any one quite so idiotic," she retorted -caustically. "You can do nothing yourself and you -won't let anybody who can, help you." And after -smoking in silence for a few minutes, Gertrude turned from -me in disgust. Very smartly dressed she was, too, with -a most becoming winter hat and handsome furs. I -should like to please Gertrude. But she seems unable to -grasp my point of view, namely, that touching those -children I feel my responsibility to be personal.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If only some one nearer to them than myself turned -up," I murmured abjectly, "you'd see me bundling them -out so quick it would make their little heads buzz."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nearer," she repeated vaguely, "when you know -there is no such person."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Their father, for instance," I explained. "I have -no reason to think him dead. Laura had always felt -certain he was alive. There are all sorts of explanations -possible for his absence. He may come back, you -know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gertrude laughed at me bitterly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The only likely explanation," she retorted, "is that -he was tired of his wife and children. He is probably -having a good time somewhere with some one who knows -how to hold him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That was a phrase that stung me. Why must she -slur my poor sister now in her grave? I bowed my head -but I could not reply even though I admit to a feeling of -gloomy certainty that Jim Pendleton will never return.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-by," said Gertrude, smiling grimly at me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Au revoir," I answered, letting her out. But she -paid no further heed to me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Why I should vent my undeniable irritation upon -Alicia I do not know. But I called her into my study as -soon as Gertrude had gone and she entered smiling -brightly. The child, I believe, looks considerably happier -than she did when first she came here and her eyes are -less wistful. I was conscious of the sternness of a -hanging judge upon my visage. But Alicia ignored -my mood. Possibly she has found me out and knows -that I am least to be feared when in appearance most -despotic.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Alicia," I began severely, "how are the children -getting on? Are they all right?" (What an imbecile -query!)</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, sir," she wonderingly answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I mean—are they happy here?" I scowled at her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir—they think it's lovely."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are they—are they afraid of me?" I demanded -austerely, looking grimly at my finger nails.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No-o, sir," she stammered, "they—they are not."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was terrifying the child, I realized with a pang. But -when I looked up suddenly the little vixen seemed to be -struggling with laughter—though that can hardly be. -She had the manners to turn away. An attaching little -baggage is this child, but I'll have no nonsense.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you—" I pulled her up sharply, too sharply -perhaps, whereat I grinned in mitigation—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you feel competent to go on taking care of them?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," she gasped—no suspicion of laughter now—"I -just love it—Oh, you're not thinking of—of sending -me away, after all, Mr. Byrd?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a catch in the poor girl's voice and I felt -stupid and brutal.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—no," I growled judicially. "Not at all. I -merely wanted to make sure that there is no trouble of -any sort. I suggest that you report to me every day or -two upon anything that occurs to you—that you think -I ought to know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir," she faltered, "I will, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have they clothes and shoes and things—warm -enough for this weather?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, sir—heaps," she answered, smiling again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you, have you everything you need?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, yes, sir—I think I have." Her shoes seemed -thin and worn. I was in no mood to be superficial or -evasive.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are those the best shoes you have?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir," she answered faintly. Her calico frock -also seemed extremely thin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is all," I dismissed her curtly. "Ask Griselda -to come to me, please."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Griselda," I began, genial enough to one that is not -in awe of me, "I wish you would look over the girl -Alicia's wardrobe and get her whatever she needs in the -way of shoes and things. Would you mind doing that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, I'll do it, Mr. Randolph. I know some cheap -places in Fourteenth Street—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Heaven forbid, Griselda," I interrupted her. "I -won't have that. There is enough inequality and -heart-burning in the world without putting it among children. -No, no. Buy the things where you bought the -others—for Miss Laura's children."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Griselda laughed hoarsely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll not begin ruining the lassie with gaudy -clothes!" she exclaimed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Griselda, I'll not. Good clothes have never yet -ruined anybody," I gave her as my genuine conviction. -"It's the other way about. It's poor clothes eat at the -vitals of your self-respect like the fox in the tale of the -Spartan lad."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have ye gone into the bills for the clothes for the -bairns?" she flung at me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not yet," I answered mildly. "But I'll make a -walking tour through them one of these days."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll walk backwards when you do, I'm thinking," -flung out Griselda, and disappeared, muttering. In -Griselda's lexicon extravagance is synonymous with -crime and even outtops it. But she is certain to do as I -ask.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>There was a book auction to-day. And two days -having elapsed since my interview with Gertrude I was -sufficiently myself, when I lay down the paper announcing -it, to think of going. The news of an auction still has -the effect upon me that a bugle might exert upon some -battered, superannuated cavalry horse. Despite the rise -of the plutocratic collector, despite the shoals of dealers -who have made of book-buying almost an exact science, -I still dream of encountering one day the fortune of -Edward Malone, who, late in the eighteenth century, bought -Shakespeare's sonnets in the edition of 1609 and a first -printing of the "Rape of Lucrece", all for two guineas.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I had already conducted Jimmie to his kindergarten. -On the way, as he nestled his hand more firmly in mine, -he looked up at me with a humorous smile and informed -me that "we men have won'erful times together." It -gave me a curious thrill and I felt grateful even for this -companionship in my solitary life which Gertrude and -so many others find foolish and despicable.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was letting myself out at the front door when a -plain, large-mouthed young woman of perhaps thirty, -austerely garbed in black, stood facing me. I remained -for a moment bereft of speech and then, of course, I -foolishly apologized, I don't know why—perhaps for -encumbering the earth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You wish to see Griselda?" I mumbled, with my hat -in my hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," she declared, scrutinizing me in the murky -hallway. "I want to see Mr. Randolph Byrd."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am he," I told her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should like to talk to you," she said in a low voice. -Mentally I waved a sad farewell to the book auction and -to any bargains it might hold and led the way to my -study.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am at your service," I told her, grinning, and all -but offered her a cigarette.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's about the little girl, Alicia Palmer," she began -hesitantly as though she had something dreadful to impart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you her teacher?" I wonderingly asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Mr. Byrd, I am from the Home for Dependent -Children—I am one of the inspectors."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, I see. You wish to—to inspect her," I -blundered on stupidly, whereat she laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—not exactly," she smiled. "To tell the truth, -Mr. Byrd, I wish to inspect you—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, this is all there is of me," I broke in.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I want," she added, "to take her back to the -Home."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Take her back!" I cried, stung by something in her -tone. "But—but why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We don't allow our girls to live in the homes of -bachelors," she murmured, lowering her eyes for an -instant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" I gasped feebly. It is my eternal wrongness -that seems to be at the bottom of everything. The -picture of the children upon my hands without the girl -Alicia swept me with a chill dismay.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It ought to have been reported to us," she said -reprovingly. "It really ought."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What ought to have been reported?" I groped in -bewilderment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The change—the transfer. We sent Alicia to Mrs. Pendleton," -she explained. "When Mrs. Pendleton—er—died, -we ought to have been notified—so we could -look after her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I understand," I murmured weakly. "You see, my -sister's death was so sudden that nobody thought of such -things. I didn't even know she had taken this girl from -your Home."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In my blundering way I then explained to her how the -children came here, of their attachment to Alicia and of -my own absurd dependence upon her—which I abruptly -realized. I told her quite truthfully, I believe, that now -the children could not get on without her. And the -bitter thought assailed me that nothing in this world that -is pleasant or fitting or agreeable can long be left -unshattered; that everything human and sweet and -tranquil must be by some human hands undone. What a -miserably destructive race we are!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," I concluded sadly, "I suppose now you'll -take her away—and what I shall do with these three -children is beyond me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To my surprise, as I looked up, I distinctly saw a tear -glisten in her eye. She looked away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have a great many books," she observed with -nervous irrelevance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The result of a misspent life," I sighed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I don't know what to do or say," she said, -rising awkwardly. "I'd like to see Alicia and—the other -children. And I'll have to report—I shall call up the -matron of the Home on the telephone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Won't you do it now?" I eagerly prompted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd better see Alicia first, I think—when will she -be in?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At lunch time," I said; "won't you stay, or come to -lunch?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She seemed to recall that this was that obscene -environment, the home of a bachelor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, thank you," she murmured primly. "I'd better -come again in the afternoon. Would three-thirty do all -right?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Admirably," I told her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll do the very best I can," she reassured me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's very good of you," I answered from a grateful -heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Farewell, auctions! Farewell, peace! Once again I -am in troubled waters, predestined like a bit of flotsam -to bob about only in storm. Obscurely, deep within me, -I long for power to do everything, to arrange everything, -to make my world swing about me rhythmically instead -of my lurching about it drunkenly. Even on this secret -page, meant for no eyes but mine, I would pour out my -grief and tragedy, the eternal underlying sadness of -life—and then rise up a man of will and energy to manage -my affairs. Instead, I can only weakly scribble ineptitudes -to while away the time until a poor underpaid girl -inspectress returns to pronounce sentence upon me. Am -I, or am I not, to be allowed to live within hailing of -tranquillity? Gertrude, I am wretchedly afraid, was right -after all. What business has a manikin like myself to -look with bold eyes upon duty, or to grapple with -responsibility which an ordinary man would assume as if -adding another key to his key-ring—to pocket and -forget?</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Falstaff could not have been more genial or hilarious -than I feel at this moment, nor yet the ancient Pistol. -When I left the dining room a few minutes ago, my -dignity would have suffered permanent eclipse had the -children espied me after I closed my door. I capered -about the room like some rheumatic goat lilting a wild -melody </span><em class="italics">sotto voce</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The inspectress has pointed her thumbs upward. I -hardly know whether Alicia, the children or Griselda -decided the issue favorably.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you wish to see Alicia alone?" I asked the -inspectress when she returned. She will never know, that -nice plain girl, with what tension I had awaited her. No -lover she may have had has ever kept a tryst for her -more tremulously—or she would not now be Miss Smith.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," was her reply, "she is only a child. I want to -see her with the children." Alicia was already prepared -and, I am bound to admit, partially primed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here is Miss Smith, come to see you, Alicia," I -announced with assumed lightness, as I ushered the lady in. -Oh, it was very distinctly "ushered."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How do you do, Alicia," Miss Smith held out her -hand, melting at the sight of the children in the midst -of play. "How are you—well and happy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, so happy!" answered Alicia, coming forward -with flushed cheeks. "I am so glad you came."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But why didn't you write us, child?" was the -gentle remonstrance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am awfully sorry, Miss Smith," from contrite -Alicia. "But the time passed so quickly—I was just -going to—and I had to get new clothes—and there are -so many things to do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Miss Smith looked down at Alicia's clothes dubiously. -Perhaps she thought their quality too ruinously good for -one of the inmates of her Home. She then glanced at -the silent, wondering children.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hello, Miss Smith!" they cried in broken chorus, -catching her eye. It was she who had originally brought -Alicia to them. "You won't take Alicia away, will -you?" Laura spoke up bravely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, dear?—Wouldn't you like to have her go -away?" she returned, smiling uncertainly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No! We wouldn't!" replied all the children actually -in one voice, with little Jimmie loudest, whereat we -both laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who," demanded Randolph sternly, "will sew our -buttons on?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And who'll give me my baf?" cried Jimmie.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Or help us with our lessons?" put in Laura.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, we'll see!" Miss Smith came back brightly. I -believe that young woman is genuinely fond of children. -"What are you playing just now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They all began to explain at once.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shall I leave you with them?" I murmured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—I'll stay a minute or two," she nodded—and -I tiptoed out to await doom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When I returned a few minutes later, I heard to my -surprise Griselda's voice, just before I opened the door, -rising to the full height of her indignation:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If this is no fitting, then nothing is fitting—" -whereupon I opened the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The children had disappeared. Griselda with flashing -eyes was literally towering over poor Miss Smith. -Evidently Griselda had been bearing testimony. Most -excellent witness, Griselda! What chance had any -Miss Smith against a rock of sheer personality like -Griselda?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's all right," Miss Smith announced, smiling faintly -as I entered. "I called up the matron this noon and she -left it in my hands. This is an exception—the first of -its kind in our institution—but I mean to let Alicia -stay. She—she seems so happy here," she added, -faltering.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's very gracious of you," I bowed. "I thank -you. Shall we—tell them your decision?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Griselda opened the door of the bedroom where they -all had been cooped up like so many frightened little -hares, and Randolph, unable to contain himself, demanded -eagerly:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can she stay?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," nodded Miss Smith, and wild shouts must -have shattered the nerves of the other tenants. Jimmie, -as a mark of highest favor, ran to Miss Smith and held -forth his arms to be taken up into hers. He could not -bestow a greater confidence. Alicia dabbed some happy -tears from her cheeks. I begged Miss Smith to stay to -tea with them, and unobtrusively escaped. Now my -mind is agog with triumphant imaginings. If ever I -become President, Griselda of a certainty shall be my -Secretary of State.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-vii"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER VII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Now that the Christmas holidays have passed and I -have been casting up accounts, the uneasy knowledge has -come to me that I am no longer living on my income. -The freshet of bills is surging about me yet. Perhaps -I have been improvident, but I have not bought a book -in ages. Andrews, the bookseller, informed me the -other day, with an expression more of sorrow than of -anger, that though he couldn't comprehend my -unaccountable refusal of the Boswell, he had not the heart -to offer it to any one else. He was holding it still, he -declared, in order to spare a friend regrets.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sell it, Andrews, for God's sake—sell it," I told him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you've had your order in for three years," he -protested, "and never canceled it. Now suddenly you -refuse it. That must mean something!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It means—I'll tell you what it means, Andrews: -I have acquired a young family." I then briefly -explained to him my situation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't tell me, Mr. Byrd—you don't tell me!" -he repeated over and over. "Then this is what I do," -he announced with a sudden ferocity of decision. "I -hold that work, if I have to hold it for ten years, until -such a time as you feel you can take it. Only I am so -short of room here," he added blandly, "will you not -store it for me on your shelves?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, you—you Samaritan!" I laughed in my -embarrassment, clapping him on the shoulder. "What are -you trying to do—make a bankrupt of me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you will include it under your insurance—" he -answered—"but never mind: I'll insure it myself." And -then he talked of something else. He was as good -as his word. Before I reached home that Boswell was -here and is now on my shelves. I have been gloating -over that epic of personality and it occurs to me that -Johnson and Griselda are kindred of the spirit.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Two months! It is incredible. Years must have -passed since the children have come here. My past life -seems remote as ancient Egypt. This morning came a -letter from Biagi of the Laurentian, asking why he did -not hear from me, when was I coming to Florence, and -adding that at Oxford also some Brunetto Latini -material has been recently unearthed and that I might stop -on the way and examine it. I laughed. Gone are those -days, never, I fear, to return. If only I could smell a -good old parchment once again! I still remember the -thrill I felt when Biagi first showed me the vellum script -of Sophocles at the Laurentian. I could actually see the -scribe in the Byzantium of the eleventh century reverently -copying the lofty beautiful words, in a spirit of -high worship, his pale cheeks flushed with his pious task. -I </span><em class="italics">was</em><span> that scribe! Why, I ask, was that strange and -eager feeling implanted in my particular bosom? Could -it be that in some past age, I was myself the scholarly -Greek?—But that is nonsense.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If only I could pay my bills. Yet I dare not touch -the trifle Laura left to her children. That must remain -for emergency.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And on May first we must change our quarters. The -renting agent, a decent enough little person, was very -apologetic.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have kids myself," he informed me deprecatingly, -"and I know what it is. But you understand. A -bachelor is one thing and four children is quite another. -Makes a difference." I told him that I was more or less -aware of the difference it made.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And these people here, in this here, now, building," -he explained, "they're so nasty nice—they can't stand -the sight of a kid, let alone the sound." I made no -comment, for too recently had I been just so nasty-nice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We shall have to seek some pastures new.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Fred Salmon, as good as his word, has actually looked -me up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I don't know why the mere entry of that breezy -Mohock into the room brought my unwilling fatherhood -into a relief ten times sharper than I had felt it before. -I suddenly felt myself a gawk and a failure before a man -of the world—even though I did not wholly respect the -man of the world. Once more I was acutely aware of -lost freedom. Abstract Freedom, out of which I had -stepped as a man steps from life into death.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Luckily Fred is not one to beat about the bush.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You remember," he began, skillfully rotating the -mutilated end of a cigar between his teeth, "my telling you -at the club the kind of business you'd be suited for?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A bond salesman or a dog fancier," I answered -promptly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you gone into anything?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I replied in the negative.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I'm thinking of starting something," he -announced solemnly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A dog kennel?" I queried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—a bond business, Ran."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish you luck, my boy," I told him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"None of that—" he grinned, "I want you to go in -with me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I gazed at him in speechless astonishment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have I said a bellyful?" he demanded, removing his -vile cigar.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A—yes," I gasped, "and more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha! That's the way I am," he laughed. "Ideas -come to me and I act upon them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But—what have I done—" I began, stammering, -"to deserve this—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're the man for my money," he erupted boisterously, -"I sometimes make a mistake in picking a horse, -but never in picking a man, Ranny, my boy, never!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When Henry the Fowler was tranquilly snaring -finches and news was suddenly brought him that he had -been elected Emperor, I doubt whether he had felt more -completely graveled than did I at that moment. But to -be serious with Fred Salmon was just then beyond me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have come to the right man, this time, Fred," -I gave him back a parody of his own tone, "not a doubt -of it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You bet I have, old Hoss," he cried, "don't I know it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is," I went on, "if fitness, training, experience, -capacity, predilection and abundance of capital are -factors, you have selected the one man—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yah!" broke in Fred, "I know all about that. -Don't try the sarcastic with me, old boy. I know all -you can say and a darn sight more. But I told you it's -the cut of your mug I want. What good is the best -trained two-year old if he's a hammer-head? It's with -a man as with a horse. You've got the right look to -you—and that's what counts!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The mockery of my thanks and all further attempts -at clumsy satire were utterly ignored by Fred.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're comfortably fixed, I know," he said, -ruminatively scanning my books, which curiously suggest -wealth to every one. "But dash it all, man, you must -want more money for something or other—more books, -maybe. Everybody wants more something. I know," -he ran on, "it isn't every fellah makes up his mind on -the dot the way I do. You've got to turn it over in your -so-called bean, I suppose. All right. But remember—I -don't take no for answer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"With that trifling limitation, I assume, I have a wide -liberty of choice?" I ventured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes," he grinned. "Outside the fact that you're -coming in, you can go as far as you like. Salmon and -Byrd!" he exclaimed suddenly. "How's that for a firm -name? By gosh!—There's genius in it! May have -been that which was driving me to you. I never go -wrong. Salmon and Byrd—Gad! It's so good it -scares me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Salmon and Byrd," I repeated after him mechanically. -"The </span><em class="italics">menu</em><span> strikes me as incomplete for a </span><em class="italics">viveur</em><span> -like you. Add a little shrimp salad—or at least an -artichoke."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He grinned but he would none of my flippancy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no," he wagged his head. "None of that. -Don't spoil a fine thing. It's—what do they call -it—sacrilege. A good firm name—it's half the battle. By -George! This has been a day's work for me. I didn't -know it was going to be so rich. We ought to have a -dinner on it at the Knickerbocker—or Claridge's. What -d'you say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In a flash I saw the vista of Fred's life spread out -before me—noise and laughter, ventripotent bouts with -costly dishes in expensive places, tinkling glasses—the -world of money-making which consists as much in -riotous expenditure as in half-jocund half-fanatical -getting. It was to this world that Fred was inviting me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There will be supper at six o'clock, if you care to -stay," I suggested mildly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No-no, thanks," said Fred reflectively. "I'd like to. -But somehow not to-night. I couldn't. Better come -along with me. And we'll work out details."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I resisted his urging, however, and he left me with -this Parthian arrow:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Think it over as much as you like, Randolph, my -boy. But it's a go. Nothing you can say against it will -hold a candle to the reasons in favor. The firm name -alone is worth a hundred thousand dollars. Consider it -settled. Never felt so sure of anything in all my life. -So long, my boy. You'll hear from me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did not even turn his head when he heard my burst -of almost hysterical laughter as he was closing the door. -Always heretofore I had counted myself, how humble -and insignificant soever, as of the priesthood in the -temple of fine things. It was abasing to think that Fred had -claimed me for the money-changers.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Never again do I wish to experience the martyred -minutes of anguish that I have passed through during the -last twenty-four hours.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For some reason that none can explain Jimmie suddenly -came down with a fever. That bright little whorl -of life all at once looked white, refused his food with -the pallid pitiful smile of an octogenarian and, in a -twinkling it seemed, his cheeks were burning, his eyes -glittered dryly and his lips were parched. Called to his -bedside, I leaned over him and the air about me seemed -to darken. Laura's child was, I believed, dangerously -ill. The heart within me turned leaden and even -Griselda displayed alarm. Then and there I vowed inwardly -that no strangers should have the care of this child if he -recovered, so long as I could care for him myself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The nearest doctor, who occupies a ground-floor apartment -below, a brute of a man of thirty-five or so, elected, -when he came up, to look wise and inscrutable. Calm -and grave, he prescribed oil and with a murmured, "We -shall see in the morning" he left me in an agony of doubt -and anxiety.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The only person who exhibited any degree of calm -was Alicia. And though she is still a child herself I -confess to a feeling of resentment against what seemed -to me callousness in the face of our perturbation. I saw -visions of any number of diseases, of being quarantined, -of Jimmie's possible death, of my bearing forevermore -a feeling of nameless guilt before Laura's memory. I -told them I should sit up the night.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no, Mr. Byrd," insisted the girl with sudden -vehemence. "Don't do that. I'll make up a place in -the dining room and leave the door of their room open. -I'll hear him if he wakes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm afraid, Alicia, you don't take this seriously -enough," I told her sternly. She looked at me wistfully -for a moment and then faintly smiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir, I do," she answered. "But it's no use our -all wearing ourselves out at once if it's real sickness. -But I don't think it's anything much."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How can you know?" I demanded suspiciously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I just think so," she asserted. "At the Home -children were always coming down like this. The next -day they were as well as ever again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But this is not the Home," I retorted severely. The -girl flushed. I saw I had hurt her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But he's a child," she insisted doggedly, in a low -voice. I shook my head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall sit up in the study," I told her, "with the -door open. I shall hear him if he calls. You'd better -go to bed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her great haunting eyes looked at me for an instant -and she left me. In the study I lighted a fire, drew up -the large chair, lighted a cigarette and in dressing gown -and slippers composed myself for the night, determined -to spend it waking.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In my mind were revolving many things. Fred Salmon's -absurd proposal, the strange trick of circumstances -that had suddenly made me responsible for a houseful of -children, the whereabouts of Dibdin, the amazing multiplicity -of bills, the little lad's burning fever. Drowsiness -began to assault my eyelids before the glowing fire. To -combat it, I took down that sonata in words, Conrad's -"The Nigger of the Narcissus", and reread the description -of the Cape storm, which is not a description so -much as the expression of the storm itself. As always -in reading that book, I was overawed to the point of pain -by what language can do. And pondering upon that, -I allowed myself to doze off for a few seconds. -Suddenly I awoke with a tremor and looked at my watch. -To my amazement it was half-past six in the morning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Abjectly guilty, I stole out and tiptoed into the dining -room. The light was burning. I saw three chairs with -a crumpled pillow upon them and Alicia, smiling -drowsily, was gliding out of the children's room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How is he now?" I asked in a muffled tone, thinking -basely to give her the idea that I had watched the -night through.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sleeping quietly," was the reply. "His fever is -mostly gone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's splendid," I murmured sheepishly. "You -are up—er—early, aren't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I just lay here on these chairs," she answered quietly. -"I looked in at Jimmie about every half hour. He had -a very good night." With a sharp pang of annoyance -mingled with relief, I felt myself stark and unmasked. -We gazed at each other in silence for a moment, and then -I broke into muffled laughter, in which she softly joined. -And though I felt myself a fool, I vow I could have -hugged that child to my heart of hearts for her sense of -humor no less than for her silent unfailing constancy.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Like sunlight after storm, Jimmie's recovery is making -the apartment ring again, and when it rings too much I -close my door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I close my door, but not upon the bills. These keep -pouring in with the insistent buzzing of a swarm of -hornets, and every day I see them with a more helpless -dismay. I figure and I add and I calculate, but I seem -unable to subtract. I cannot see how we could do without -the things that are bought. Already my modest current -account is near the point of exhaustion and nothing can -possibly come in before April.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To-day, in my perplexity, I took an elevated train and -journeyed southward into the region of money. What -I should do there I hardly knew, but a nameless inner -necessity seemed to be driving me to do something. I -had a vague notion of consulting with Carmichael. But -when I came into lower Broadway and was actually at -Carmichael's door, I fled in disgust with myself for the -sufficiently transparent reason that I really had nothing -to say to him. I felt like a debutant pickpocket who -turns back abruptly from the threshold of his calling -because he realizes the absence of a vocation or is overcome -by cowardice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the street I looked upon the driving masses of -people, swarming, streaming, with strained faces, urged on -by invisible whips of need, of desire, driven like the souls -in Dante's hell by demoniac powers who ever cry, "Pay -your way! pay your way!" They did not hear the cry -now, the continual snapping of the infernal whips, but -I heard them and I quaked inwardly. To myself I -fancied the most of these surging figures upon a level of -life that has few problems, that is always "happy" with -the dull unexultant happiness of the slave or the captive, -coming briskly to the office of a morning with a sort of -tarnished metallic gayety, lunching at Childs' or at a -counter unprovided with stools, clinging to a strap in a -car jammed with their kind, visiting a motion-picture -"palace" in the evening and living within their incomes -because they must. And though all the rest was -abhorrent, that last detail made me envy them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Pay your way! Pay your way! The cry was beating -in my pulses as I came away, droning in the car wheels -as I traveled northward, dully insistent in the very noises -of the streets about me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Once within my own door the warmth enveloped me -like summer air and with the warmth came the joyous -laughter of the children playing in the dining room. In -a bubbling of happy turbulence they came rushing toward -me as I looked in upon them, demanding that I judge -between them on the rules of their game.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just because she's a girl," complained Randolph -loudly, indicating Laura, "she always wants to be queen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It isn't because I'm a girl," broke in Laura, panting. -"It's because it's fair. Boys never want to be fair, -Uncle Ranny, that's what's the matter. He's been king -for half an hour and he always wants us to do impossible -things so he can be king forever."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I want to be king, too," loudly proclaimed Jimmie.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I suppressed the nascent revolt as best I could and -soothed the passions of pretenders. I reminded them -that this was a democracy and that royalty in our land -could count only upon a visitor's welcome.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aw, don't I know?" said Randolph fiercely. "I -wouldn't be really truly king for anything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a pleasure to me to enter from the turmoil of -the outer world to this playing fountain of affectionate -young life. Jimmie, Laura, Randolph, little glimmers -of spark-like personality were fitfully flickering over -their childish heads and it was my task to turn them into -steady flames. That was what I owed to my sister -Laura and that was the course upon which I was -irrevocably embarked. But now, alone in my study, I still -hear in the hum and rumor of the streets the insistent -imperative cry, Pay your way! Pay your way!</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-viii"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER VIII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The incredible has happened. No, not the incredible. -The incredible is always happening. It is the impossible -that has taken place.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I, Randolph Byrd, am now a business man—no priest -of the temple, but a brazen money-changer as ever was.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The hum and the noise and rattle of it are perpetually -in my ears like the whirr of machinery in the brain of -the factory hand. I cannot think or put myself in the -moods of thought. The sound of the ticker is constantly -in my head, and my nerves crave movement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fred Salmon has accomplished his will.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must stir it and stump it and blow your own -trumpet," is his motto, and he is teaching me to blow. -The firm of Salmon and Byrd is an actuality and clownishly -Fred is making the most of the humor of the name -and doing his best to make me abet him. I say Fred -has accomplished it all. But at the bottom it is Laura's -children who are innocently the primal cause of my -debâcle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"D'you know what you are?" Fred shot at me to-day -in a flash of inspiration—he is dowered with a fecundity -of flashes these days. "You are the original Old Man -Who Lived in a Shoe! It's the kids that made you get -into the game. Gosh! I wish we could get that fact on -our letterhead!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With Fred to think of an idiotic notion is to utter -and commit it. And I live in constant dread lest some -of our customers and clients, a sporadic body as yet, -should inquire as to the children with which I know not -what to do. Fred is an Elizabethan. In the spacious -days he would have ruffed and strutted and wenched -and taken chances with careless slashing humor among -the best or the worst of them. He is a buccaneer who -can throw the dice with jovial laughter when things loom -blackest under the very guns of disaster. He is an -enigma. He is, in short, my exact opposite.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yet he has made me his partner and accomplice. I -used to think myself adamant, but in his hands I am clay.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is now late in March. The cold blasts are often -succeeded by genial days of brilliant sunshine that -already promise the birth of a new spring. How much I -should delight in the flower market near the Laurentian -or in walking up the hill toward Fiesole past the fairy-like -Florentine villas, or strolling in the Lungarno and -across the Ponte Vecchio to San Miniato—to the Pitti—the -Uffizi—the gentle air of Fra Angelico's cloisters—what -absurd fancies! ... I am in wintry New York, -yoked to a broker, or as the letterhead styles -us—Investment Bankers. And though we have received no -cables as yet, we are equipped with a fascinating code -cable address, which is "Sambyrd!" There is no end -to our grandeur.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sambyrd! How it all came about is still swathed in -a sort of semi-transparent mystery for me—semi-transparent, -for even now I do see one thing clearly: My -income was hopelessly inadequate to the rearing of three -children and my capital was already invaded. With the -capital gone what was there left for me but addressing -envelopes, the children in a Home like that which Alicia -came from and general collapse and catastrophe!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then there was Fred's enthusiasm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Money," said he sententiously, "is a very simple -matter. It won't come rolling to you of its own accord, -but you can get it. Every one must find his own way. -This is my way—Salmon and Byrd. Will you join me -and make it your way, too?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And I, struggling like a fish in a net, like a bird in a -snare, like any beast caught in a trap, could discern no -way of my own.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But what," I demanded in a sort of despairing -indignation, "can I do at that business?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can learn," said Fred. "And you'll be making -something before you know it. And as we grow you'll -make more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then I made the startling discovery that there are -no parallels in life. Writers may babble of types and -statisticians of means and averages and populations of -facts, but I realized with pain that with all my books -I knew of no guide or inspiration. The case of every -blessed one of us is unique. I could think of no one in -precisely my own circumstances. A pathetic, dejected -melancholy overcame me at my fatal tardiness in -learning that the world, like a hungry beast, was clamoring -for decisions. "Decide! Decide! Decide!" it seems -to roar with slavering jaws, "or I devour you! And if -you don't decide I shall still devour you." The drifters -perish without a struggle. I had drifted heretofore but -now I must flagellate the will for a choice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And so I yielded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The half of my capital has already gone into our -offices, and if chairs, desks and tables will make for -success we shall both be millionaires. There are magnificent -leather sofas such as I never dreamed of lolling on, -but discussions and transactions of money, it seems, must -be done within walls padded with luxury. Money -breeds money, Fred is ever telling me, and even as bees -are attracted by honey, so the opulent investors will flock -to our richly fitted hive. The droning of the ticker and -the sound of a typewriter are the only noises permissible, -and the smoke of cigars must be the most fragrant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I hardly know why I should be ironic. Never before -have I derived so much amusement in a short space of -time. There was the entrance of our first customer, -Signor Visconti. He came, this enterprising Milanese, -in response to one of the hundreds of individual circular -letters we sent out to small banks and investors, on -magnificent stationery, announcing our rare bargains in -securities so safe that the rock of Gibraltar was pasteboard -by comparison, so gilt-edged that only the best of government -paper could dare to crackle in their presence; so -remunerative that—anyway, Mr. Visconti, admirably -dressed, came in.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The young woman who brought in his name had been -drilled not to seem flustered. Fred flushed purple with -pleasure and executed a brief but exquisite war dance on -the rug.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell him I shall see him directly," he murmured to -the young woman and sprawled on the leather chair -beside me in his triumph.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why don't you see him then?" I could not help -asking.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wouldn't do," Fred wagged his head mysteriously. -"Must keep him waiting at least a minute or two—though -I'm burning up to get my talons into him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I laughed at him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now this is what you do, my boy," Fred gave me -quick instruction in the hushed voice of a conspirator. -"A minute or so after I leave you, you take your hat -and coat and pass through the room where I'm talking to -him. I won't notice you. When you're nearly at the -door, I'll call you back. You'll be in a hurry, but you'll -come back. I'll introduce you to Mr. Visconti, then I'll -say confidential-like, but loud enough for him to hear, -'You going out about those bonds?' 'Yes,' you -answer, 'but I'll be back soon.' 'While you're about it,' -I'll say, 'you can tell Spifkins we can let him have that -two-hundred thousand on call at four and three quarters.' You -just nod quickly, like a busy man, salute Mr. Visconti -and out you go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where—do I go?" I stammered in a daze.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You go to a telephone booth downstairs in the lobby -and you call me up on the wire. And don't be surprised -at anything I say until I hang up. Then you can walk -round the block and come back. Is that clear?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Clear as an asphalt pavement," I answered in my -bewilderment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's all right then," he grinned and left me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Complying with his absurd charge, nevertheless, I was -duly introduced to the well-dressed, well-fed, deep-hued -Italian banker from Macdougal Street and made my way -to the telephone booth in the lobby of the building below. -And this is what I heard in Fred's most suave and -ingratiating tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, not at all, Mr. Ferris—always glad to hear -from a customer. Ah—yes, Mr. Ferris. We can still -let you have those bonds. Though in reality they are -sold to another client. But I think we can give him -something just as good that will suit him equally well. -Yes, that will be all right. A hundred thousand, wasn't -it? Well, well—ha! ha! Better late than never. -Don't let that bother you. Yes, yes, Mr. Ferris. Send -them over to your office as soon as my partner comes -back. I am a little busy now with a customer. Oh, -don't mention it, don't mention it! Eh? Why, yes—thanks. -At the Waldorf about five, then. Ta-ta." And -he hung up the receiver.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment I stood speechless in the steaming -booth with the telephone receiver in my hands and then -I staggered out, shaken by helpless laughter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When I returned, Visconti, smiling broadly, was in the -process of being ushered out by Fred with warm -exchanges of amiabilities. We all shook hands on the -threshold in a cordial flurry of busy enthusiasm and a -moment later Fred and I were alone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just sold that fine peach of a Guinea ten thousand -dollars' worth of Hesperus Power bonds," chuckled Fred -in irrepressible glee.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But where," I demanded, "did you get the bonds to sell?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Haven't got them yet," he paced the room in nervous -jubilation. "But we'll get them in a jiffy—at the -National City Bank. They've got lots of 'em over there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Something dark and heavy and cold seemed to have -dropped inside of me upon the vital parts, and chilled me -for an instant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So this is this kind of a business?" I muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This is the way this kind of a business begins," he -replied composedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That interlude of actual business after the ferocious -activity of renting, equipping and furnishing an office, -getting stationery printed and engraved, installing a -ticker, making that mysterious body of connections that -was Fred's province, was sufficiently exhilarating to make -me accept it without much scrutiny. After all, what -could I do? This was the furrow in which my plow -was set and this, I suppose, is the custom of the country.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How," I could not help wonderingly asking, "did -you land the effulgent Visconti?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, he's a good scout," explained Fred. "He runs -a banking house for his fellow dagoes in Macdougal -Street. He saw we were new and he likes to give young -fellows a chance. He was quite frank. You see, it's -nothing for the big houses to sell ten bonds or so. But -he knows that to us just opening up it means a lot more -than the commission. It means a Sale. Oh, he's a -sport, all right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That surprises me more than I can say," I told him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There are some good-hearted brutes even in this -business," growled Fred, "and don't you forget it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you think," I asked with a twinge of shame, "he -saw through your telephoning business and that -rigmarole of yours to me in the booth?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Damn if I don't think he did!" roared Fred. "But -never mind. He's a sport. And some day, when we're -big guns, we'll show him that we appreciate his hand-out -by putting him on to something good—see if we don't!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I felt as shamefaced as though we had committed a -felony. Yet I suppose that this is the ordinary comparatively -innocent chicane of even honest business, remnants -of oriental chaffering and huckstering that still survive. -I am hoping we shall grow out of it. Though at times -I suspect a certain flamboyancy of temperament in Fred -that makes him resort to such shifts rather than not.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A man who had purchased some bonds called up and -inquired whether we would take them back. There was -no reason for Fred's offering anything but an endeavor -to dispose of them. But instead his grandiose reply was:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, certainly we shall take those bonds back, -Mr. Smith—and as many more of them as you've got. -Yes, bring them down by all means."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Once he had hung up the receiver he turned toward -me with blank dismay, muttering:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now what the hell shall we do with those things?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I own to a flash of genuine anger at his imbecile -untruthfulness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't know what to do?" I spluttered. "Then -why on earth did you speak as though you had a dozen -buyers waiting in a row?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because that's business," he tried to shout me down. -"That devil will have more confidence in us if we let him -go back on his bargain than if he made a lot of money -on it. Don't you know human nature?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not human nature like that," I retorted bitterly. -"Tell me what you are going to do about it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let's get on the telephone, both of us," he spoke -cheerfully, "and each call up as many people as we can -and offer them those bonds before that weak sister gets -here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A desperate remedy," I growled irritably. "Let me -see you do it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fred lighted a cigar and gazed out of the window. -When he turned his face was suave and benignant. He -looked like nothing so much as a man about to fill a row -of Christmas stockings. Then he betook himself to the -telephone. In a cheerful, friendly, lingering voice he -began to offer his gift to one after another of his list as -though an inward and spiritual grace were moving him -irresistibly to benefaction. His face was on a broad -grin even under a series of repeated refusals, and I -confess to experiencing a sort of truculent joy at what I -believed to be his discomfiture. His accents, however, -never lost their velvety quality nor did he betray by a -single note any trace of disappointment. On the -contrary he was warming to his work with a keen gusto. -On a sudden the young woman at the telephone outside -informed him that he was being called. He listened.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Smith?" he answered mildly. "Hello! Bringing -us those bonds? What? Decided to keep them, -after all? Well, well," with a laugh, "the Lord be with -you then, Mr. Smith. We could have sold them ten -times over since you first called me. No, no. It doesn't -matter. I'll find something else for the others. You're -mighty wise, Mr. Smith—I'll hand that to you. No, -it's all right. Come and see us. Good-by—good-by, sir!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When he turned away from the telephone the perspiration -beaded his forehead and puffy cheeks and he grinned -genially.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Whew," he whistled, passing a handkerchief over his -face. "That was great fun. But why do they want to -break in on the innocent morning with things like that! -Well, that's how it is, Randolph, my boy," he added -lightly and turned away to other things. In his way -Fred compels my admiration. For this is only one -instance of many, one thread in the texture of our daily -life. How I long to read a few pages of "Urn Burial" -in order to forget it all!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is too soon to know whether or not we are a success. -But we are each of us drawing a small salary and to me -that is an immediate help.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What a curious jumble is our life! Forces strange -and awe-inspiring, the very stars in their courses seem to -be defending Laura's children, lest I should do them an -injury. But in order to keep them and rear them I must -resort to a kind of olla-podrida of backstairs shifts and -devices, such as I have described, that make my cheek -burn. But I suppose it is as Dibdin says: We are all -the ministers and retinue, be it in court dress or in tinsel -and livery, of that exalted prince of the world, the child. -For me, however, it is still a struggle to grasp that -ineluctable truth. Perhaps as a reward for this, as a -sort of pourboire of Fate, I shall become gruesomely -rich, a kind of Mæcenas, an orgulous figure among -scholars, and finance some new Tudor or early English -texts or latter-day collections of the classics?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My pipe has gone out. I have taken to puffing a pipe -in a manner that would delight the soul of Dibdin. -Dibdin! Every day I expect to hear from him, but still -my expectation is vain. The children are all abed and -I sit here filled with a sense that I am responsible for all -of them, sleeping and waking, for their nourishment and -existence, for all this machinery that keeps the six of us -going, and the thought fills me with awe—and yet there -is a kind of pleasant sense of pride in it, too. Dibdin -would say that I reminded him of a broody hen, and -Dibdin would be right. A broody hen is a model of -responsibility for all mankind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yet though I cannot look with young-eyed confidence -upon all of this, or upon my enterprise with Fred, I can -hardly resist a feeling that something of the youth and -manhood I have spent as a solitary among books, something -stirring and effervescent that I have suppressed, is -struggling for an outlet. Fred's methods of business, -though I wince at some of them, fill me with gusts of -irresistible laughter. His constant horseplay and good -humor are infectious.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To-day he came to me with a grave countenance and -informed me that Sampson and Company, a house from -which we sometimes buy a few bonds, desired to know -whether we would join them in underwriting the -Roumanian loan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what did you say?" I inquired with equal gravity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Naturally I told him I must consult my partner."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What did they say to that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Oh, sure,' he said, 'but it isn't a large loan—only -fifteen millions. All we want you to take is about three -millions.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I looked at him quizzically.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, what d'you say, partner, shall we take it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I scrutinized his baffling expression and roared with -laughter. He joined me, laughing, until the tears -trickled down his cheeks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But look here," he began, the flamboyancy of his -manner persisting even in private, "three millions isn't -so much—and the profit would be large."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So long as it was horseplay I enjoyed the joke. But -with Fred the barrier between jest and earnest is very -thin, often indistinguishable.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't talk rot," I told him. "Do you want a short -cut to bankruptcy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, it would be in a great cause," he grinned. -"Got to help dear old Roumania!" And humming a -musical-comedy tune, he left me. But I am still conscious -of a dread lest Fred, in some moment of irresistible -magnificence, should commit poor little Salmon and -Byrd to the devil or the deep.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-ix"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER IX</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>To-day is a red-letter day for me. The red letter -came from Dibdin. As a matter of fact his brief scrawl -in the peculiar, heavy, unadorned script which I love is -written on the minutely ruled paper and in the violet ink -of the Hotel de France at Papeete. But it was so -delightfully cheering to see his dear old fist again—almost -like seeing the man himself. The sheet is dated more -than two months ago, and postmarked San Francisco -six days ago. I wonder what brute intrusted with -mailing it has carried it about in his pocket.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Without a word of preamble it begins in Dibdin's -abrupt manner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've got you on my mind. How are the kids -prospering—and you, old bookworm? I've picked up -something for you even out here—a first edition of Balzac's -'Père Goriot', somewhat fly-blown and the worse for -wear, but intact all the same. I won't intrust it to the -mails. I'll bring it to you.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am enclosing a check for a thousand dollars. Now -don't be an idiot, however difficult that may prove. I -know all you can say, and believe me it isn't worth a -damn. Use it in some way for the kids and make me -feel happy out here among the wrecks and loafers of -white humanity. I wish you could come out here some -day and see to what creatures that once were white men -will stoop just to avoid a little work. However, that's -by the way. I count on you to do as I ask or you'll make -me sore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The blessed old tub I came out in sails for Suva in -three days. And from Suva I go to the Marquesas. -You'll hear from me again before long. If you want to -take a chance and write me, the Hotel de France, Papeete, -is still the best address I can offer you. Yours, -Dibdin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That was all—after months of waiting. I wish the -old fellow enjoyed writing letters a little more than he -seems to. Nevertheless I was delighted. The irrepressible -tramp! He speaks of the Marquesas as if they -were around the corner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As to his check, my first impulse was to destroy it -immediately. I shall keep it, however, as a memento of -Dibdin's absurd generosity of spirit. It would have to -be some desperate need that would ever compel me to use -it. Dibdin little dreams of Salmon and Byrd.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I called in the children to show them the letter. And -though they were less excited about it than I was, they -seemed delighted at the fact that after a day in the office -I should appear gay and cheerful instead of weary and -careworn. Care is the badge of incomplete lives. And -what I needed was a letter from Dibdin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A breath of the wide world has come to me with that -pleasant burly note, of other-worldliness, of freedom, of -rovings and wanderings, something of the zest I used to -feel. I used to feel myself (or so I think) strung like -a lute, sensitive to every breath and sign of beauty, to -all the subtle tunes of life. My nerves are duller now, -responsive only to the obvious. In the inverted world -of business I suppose that is progress. Dibdin's letter -has brought back something of my old self, at least a -nostalgia of other days.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And here my conscience smites me. It is long since I -have seen Gertrude. I must rectify that omission at -once. After all, Gertrude has been patience itself with -my vagaries. And the thought of the old freedom is -struck through with the years of her friendship. -Gertrude never interfered.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I have seen Gertrude and she was indulgently amiable -when I read her Dibdin's letter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I believe, Ranny," she was pleased to say, "you are -developing. Do you know, I think business experience -very good for you?" It was very agreeable to see -Gertrude curled up on a sofa in a very pretty tea gown -comfortably smoking her cigarette. I felt suddenly that the -neglect of feminine society is a mistake for any man, -most of all for myself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm glad my partner isn't here," I told her. "He -might give me away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't care," she answered. "You are a stronger -man to-day than you were a few months and even a few -weeks ago. Here you are attracting money. A -thousand dollars is always a thousand dollars."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, indeed! Let Morgan look to his laurels," I -relied. "His days are numbered."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't be absurd," she laughed. "You'll be rich -before you know it. But that isn't the point. Lots of -other things you'll see in a new way. You've been a -sentimentalist, Ranny," she went on explaining. -"Business gives a man judgment instead of sentimentality. -You'll come to understand that my advice to you in a -number of things, including the children, had more sense -to it then you guessed. You will recognize that even -children can be cared for better by efficient people trained for -it than by an inexperienced bachelor and a little foundling -girl. Don't worry about that now," she added hastily, -"but you'll find out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My answering grin must have been of a sickly pallid -hue, for I own I felt myself chilling at her words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought," I put in, "that that was all over and -settled between us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So it is, Ranny dear," she answered quickly. -"Don't misunderstand. I am not advising now. I am -merely prophesying."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, in that case," I endeavored to be conciliatory, -"it will be a pleasant game to watch how true your -prophecy comes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," she spoke more eagerly. "Now tell me about -your business. It must be horribly interesting."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It horribly is," I agreed, "and fearfully done." And -I went on to describe to her amusement some of the -ways and means of the ingenious Fred Salmon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How delightful," was her laughing comment. "Do -you know, Ranny, when we're married I mean to come -down to your office quite often?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Better come now," I suggested. "Who knows—whether -there'll be an office by then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, it isn't so long to wait—perhaps in—June—or -when you take your holiday."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The sooner the better," I told her quite sincerely. -"I see no object in any further delay—" whereat -Gertrude seemed pleased.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I'll spring it on you one of these days," she -smiled gayly. "Now will you have some tea or -something to drink?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A very companionable person is Gertrude. Since, as a -great man has said, a grand passion is as rare as a -grand opera, I presume that notwithstanding novelists -and romancers to the contrary, companionship is what -virtually all successful marriages are based on. One -thing my business experience has taught me thus far -is a disgust with vague and indefinite conditions. The -sooner Gertrude and I are married, the better I shall -like it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Barely had I written down the last words above than -something occurred to give them the lie. I am still -shaken with anger at what I have learned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alicia, whom I had thought to be in bed, rapped gently -on my door and came in, her sweet candid face so charged -with pain and alarm that I jumped from my chair at -sight of her. I have seemed scarcely to notice her these -months, yet I realize she has grown as dear to me as any -of the other children. To see her suffering seemed -poignantly intolerable.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What on earth," I gasped, "is the matter, Alicia?" She -could scarcely speak for the tears that were choking -her. "Is it any of the children?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"N-no, sir," she sobbed. "They—are—all right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What on earth can it be then?" I demanded, putting -my arm about this little Niobe and gently seating her in -the big chair. "Come, my dear, tell me about it." She -made an effort to control her sobs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are—going to—send me away," she wept. -The same old story. That, I thought, must be this child's -obsession.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Am I?" I spoke as gently as I knew how, taking her -little cold hand in mine, "and why am I going to do -that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know," she sobbed bitterly. "I suppose -because I am no use here—because you don't want me." I -laughed at her boisterously in an endeavor to shake her -out of that notion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And who," I asked, "has said anything of the -kind?" She did not answer. "Was it Griselda?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, sir," she breathed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Was it any of the children?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no, Uncle Ranny—I mean Mr. Byrd. They like me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What was it then?" I insisted gayly. "Come, out -with it. I never heard such bosh. Come, tell me the -whole story, Alicia."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I was in the square this afternoon," she began, -drying her eyes with a very wet and crumpled little -handkerchief, "playing with Jimmie while Laura and Ranny -were roller-skating—" and she paused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes," I urged, "and then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A lady stopped to talk to me—it was Miss—Miss Bayard."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Miss Bayard?" I repeated wonderingly. It was -strange Gertrude had not mentioned it. She must, I -thought, have forgotten the incident. "And what," I -prompted, "did Miss Bayard say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She said," and Alicia's lips quivered pitifully, "'are -you still here, child?'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—go on!" I could hardly trust myself to -speak for the premonitory anger that was rising within me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I told her, yes, ma'am." Alicia spoke somewhat more -easily, feeling, evidently, that I was not against her. -"And Miss Bayard said," she went on, "that she thought -I had gone away weeks ago. I didn't understand what -she meant, and I asked her where she thought I had gone. -'Didn't anybody from the Home come to look you up?' -she asked me. And I told her that Miss Smith had come. -And she asked me whether Miss Smith hadn't done -anything about me. And I told her that Miss Smith -had—that she said I could stay."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what did she say to that?" I gasped, by this -time livid with anger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She said it was very strange—that she did not -understand it. She didn't say it to me. She seemed to -be speaking to herself. And then she just gave a little -nod and walked away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just gave a little nod and walked away," I repeated -after her mechanically. "And because of that you -thought I was planning to send you away?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Mr. Byrd," she murmured with a dejection that -in the young is so profoundly touching it makes one's -heart ache.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," and I hope my sickly laugh was as reassuring -as it was meant to be, "and if I tell you that I knew -nothing at all about it—will that make you feel better?" She -nodded. "And if I tell you that so far from planning -to send you away, I couldn't do without you; that -you are necessary in this house, that you are just the same -to me as any of the other children; that I make no -distinction between you; that, in short—this house is your -home until—until you grow up and get married—as -long as you want to be here—" and I sat on the side -of the chair, drew her to me and patted her as I might -have patted little Laura. "Is that all right?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Uncle—Mr. Ranny," she whispered, her head -sinking toward me like a child's, and a sigh of deep -content escaped her. "I don't want anything else in this -world!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>How beautifully affection sits upon a child!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now go to bed, Alicia," I urged her gently, "and -don't bother your innocent little head about anything of -that sort. Miss Bayard was probably joking, but—she -won't do that again—when she knows how badly it -made you feel."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stirred as from a trance and slowly rose. "How -is the school work going?" I asked her. "All right?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Mr. Byrd," she murmured, "except the Latin—I -don't put in enough time on it, the teacher says, -especially the Latin composition."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, we'll have to remedy that. You must come and -let me help you. What are you reading in Latin?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cæsar's Commentaries," she smiled, shamefacedly, -like a troubled child that has been restored to happiness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, then you </span><em class="italics">must</em><span> get it right. For what would -happen, Alicia, if you were to face the world ignorant -of how Cæsar conquered the Belgians! And if you -should go out into life without an intimate knowledge -of the equipment of Cæsar's light-armed infantry, of the -habits of the Gauls and the right use of the catapult or -the proper employment of the chariot, the consequences -might be little short of ignominious! Better come to me -and let me set you straight. I know you understand -indirect discourse from the way you told me your story -to-night. But the subjunctive, my dear—ah, the -subjunctive must be closer to you than a brother and nearer -than hands and feet!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed a merry, delicious peal of laughter and -when she said good night I put my hand upon her soft -silken hair and sent from the room a very radiant, happy -little girl.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But now, as my thought wanders back to Gertrude's -surprising </span><em class="italics">démarche</em><span>, uncontrollable indignation again -possesses me. To think that it was she who had instigated -the visit of that little inspectress, Miss Smith, -weeks ago! It is unbelievable. Underhand methods in -Gertrude are new to me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I have called up Gertrude on the telephone. And in -spite of the lateness of the hour she insisted in a -somewhat wintry voice that I had better come up at once and -see her, as she put it, settle it once for all. </span><em class="italics">Je m'y rend</em><span>. -To settle it once for all is precisely what I desire.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>My desire has been stormily satisfied. Though -inwardly indignant, I returned to Gertrude with every -intention of being very bland and very reasonable, hoping -against hope to have the unlovely fact somehow cleared -away. But Gertrude, it seems, had decided that the -indignation properly belonged to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hello, Ranny," she greeted me easily, in the gray -tone that precedes a tempest. "What do you mean by -speaking to me as you did over the telephone?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I mean this," I faltered, but that was the last -time I faltered in speaking to her. "Did you or did you -not report the case of Alicia to the Home and send an -inspectress to me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She watched me with narrowed eyelids for a moment -and then, deciding evidently, that a little truculence -would reduce me to my normal state of pulp, she -answered coolly:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And suppose I did—what of it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I merely want to know the truth," I answered her -quietly enough. "Lies are so detestable to me." She -flinched perceptibly, but drew herself up with hauteur.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, then I didn't!" she returned loftily. "But -what if I had? Somebody ought to have reported it," -she ran on with gathering temper by which she thought -to crush me. "I think it's indecent for you to have in -the house a girl of that age who's no relation to you. -The fact that you are a fool doesn't make it any less -indecent. I'm the only woman friend you have and -somebody has to see you don't make a worse idiot of -yourself than nature made you to start with. Now do -you understand, my excellent friend?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And having discharged this volley she stood panting -lividly, as if viewing my ruins. At the moment however -I could not consider her. I knew only that flashes of red -appeared before my eyes, that I spoke the literal truth -when I told her:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To me such an action and the person guilty of it -would be equally contemptible."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You say that to me?" she gasped, taking a step -forward, with a colorable imitation of incredulity, strange -in view of her denial.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To you—yes," I told her, quietly enough, for now -I was more master of myself. "And contemptible is -only a mild euphemism for what I should really think." She -stared at me speechless for a moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">You</em><span> think!" she uttered in mocking scorn. -"You've posed as a sort of God's fool—but what you -are is the devil's tool."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Take care, Gertrude," I warned her. "You might -say something that you will regret even more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She waved me contemptuously away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll say this," she returned in level tones, seating -herself and clenching her hands in an effort at control—but -in reality she was beginning a new offensive. -"You'd better go home, Ranny, and make up your mind -to send that girl away. All men are rotten. But it's -because I thought you were different that—that—" -she did not finish, but added: "And to have you -gathering in girls from the gutter—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stop!" I cried, "I won't hear another word," and -turned away as if to go, not trusting myself to say -more.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come back!" she called, jumping from the sofa. -"Come back and listen: Either you send that girl away -or I'll have nothing more to do with you. Is that -understood?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I laughed at her mirthlessly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Choose between her and me," she uttered with the -touch of melodrama that few women seem to escape.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't be theatrical," I told her, now more in control -of myself. "That girl makes it possible for me to bring -up Laura's children. She is no more to me than any of -the others. But however that may be, she -stays—understand that, please, Gertrude: she stays!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you've chosen?" she demanded in livid stupefaction.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've announced no choice. But the girl stays."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank God!" she lifted her hands upwards, and I -hope her prayer was acceptable. "I knew I was tied to -a fool," she added, as though I had been holding her -enchained, "but I did not know he was a knave as well. -I'm free at last!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I walked out without trusting myself to make reply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I sincerely hope Gertrude will enjoy her freedom more -than she did her bondage. Anyway, I am glad she has -entered a denial.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As I walked home under a starry sky, however, I was -amazed to feel my anger cooling rapidly; the sense of -defeat, of disappointment with human nature, giving way -to a new feeling of freedom, to an elation I had not -experienced in years. I definitely felt a leap of exhilaration -in the wake of the other mingled emotions. It took -me by surprise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Matrimony is obviously not for such shameful villains -as myself. If Gertrude expects me to return on bended -marrow bones and sue for forgiveness, I am certain she -is mistaken. Matrimony is not for me. That at least is -clear.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-x"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER X</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The dancing flamboyancy in his veins has proved too -much for my revered, partner, Fred Salmon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With a glimmer hall bravado, half amusement in his -eyes, he announced to me this morning that he has -"signed on for a piece of the Roumanian loan."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was stupefied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How much?" I gasped faintly, watching him closely, -for I could not believe it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Only a measly million," he replied with deprecating -cockiness. "It was as much as I could do to make them -let us come in at all. If it weren't for your cold feet -I would have taken the three millions." And his chuckle -irritated me beyond words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was in earnest. He was not joking.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And where the devil," I spluttered, "will you get -the money for even the initial payment?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Raise it, my boy, raise it," he bent, beetling over me. -"If we want to amount to anything we've got to take -chances. One syndicate participation like that and -perhaps another with the newspaper publicity, and we're -made men in the Street. Got to do it. Want to be a -piker all your life? I don't!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're—mad—" I stammered limply. "Stark, -raving mad. And how do you propose to raise the -money?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By selling the bonds, fellow!" he announced with -aloof superiority.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you got the bonds?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. They are not even in this country. We give -them </span><em class="italics">ad interim</em><span> certificates until the bonds arrive."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you got the certificates?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," was the astounding reply. "We'll sell 'em -first, get the money for 'em, turn it over to Sampson & -Company, the syndicate managers, and draw our -certificates. That's how it works. Of course if we were -a bigger house, better known, it would be easier. But -we'll do it—don't you worry—we'll do it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean," I groped, "we have to sell something -we haven't even in hand and get money for it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's what it amounts to," he grinned, though less -jauntily than before.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I felt myself crumbling to dust.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't sit there like that!" he cried, regarding me as -one looks down from the side of a great liner upon a -drifting derelict. "Get busy! Get on the telephone -and sell some Roumanian bonds!" And he chuckled in -his absurd triumphant manner that will one day drive me -to desperation. "Begin with your friend Visconti," he -suggested. "He seems to have taken a shine to you. -Talk to him in Dago."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Many and many a time had I asked myself what I -was doing in that particular galley. To enter a new -occupation without enthusiasm, for a cloistered monk like -myself to go out into the market place as a chafferer -and a huckster, among a race I had not even cared to -understand, and to embrace their ideals and their career, -concerning which I had not even curiosity, had been -difficult enough. With the lash of my need I had whipped -myself like a flagellant to the daily grind until custom -had given it the ungrateful familiarity that the -treadmill must have for the mule.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But to embark upon this murky enterprise of Fred's, -charged for me with the dread of a hundred lurking pitfalls, -into which I should infallibly stumble, charged with -the fear of certain failure, all my instincts revolted -against it. Nevertheless, like a lost soul, I suffered -myself to be driven because I must.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is to the glory of human nature that there is more -of the milk and marrow of human kindness in it than -pessimists give it credit for. The excellent Visconti, -after listening to me in silence while I lamely and guiltily -explained my offer to him, courteously replied in -Italian.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you recommend them, Signor, I will take them. -I cannot take many, but I will take five."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I thanked him as best I could, but I shrank back as -under a blow. This man was buying not Roumanian -bonds so much as my Word. Besides, though the bonds -were right enough, I had nothing to give him and yet I -wanted his money. I could not face it, and so I -informed my egregious Fred.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's so," said Fred reflectively and for a moment -he was lost in thought. Then, as is his wont, he -suddenly began to radiate the heat of a new inspiration. -"I've got it!" he cried. "Listen here. You've only -put half your capital into this business. You've got in -the vault—how much is it? Twenty-five thousand in -securities?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I gaped at him in terror.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," he ran on, "suppose you bring them over, -deposit them with Sampson and Company against that -much in </span><em class="italics">ad interim</em><span> certificates—or else borrow money -on 'em. Don't you see?" he slapped his knee gleefully, -"then we have those certificates on hand. We can pass -'em right out to fellows like Visconti, who come straight -across, and so go on with the game. When we're -through, all you've done is to lend yourself—the -firm—twenty-five thousand in securities, given us a big lift and -you put your securities back in the vault. Don't you see -that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Isn't that clear?" he asked in an injured tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Clear as pitch," I answered truthfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never mind," he clapped me smartly on the shoulder. -"You go bring your securities over. I'll make it clear. -Of course you'll draw interest on the loan you're making -the firm."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And like the mule I am, I dully complied. And now -we are laboring on with the sale of the million in foreign -bonds to people the majority of whom have not a -notion whether Roumania is the capital of Rome or a -Central American republic. "</span><em class="italics">L'insuccess</em><span>," declares Balzac, -"</span><em class="italics">nous accuse toujours la puissance de nos pretentious</em><span>." But -as I had no pretensions in this business, loss and -failure would be doubly humiliating. What then, I ask -myself again, am I doing in that galley? Meantime what -remains of my slender possessions is hypothecated to the -pretensions I had never entertained.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I have been house-hunting in the suburbs. It is idle -for me to try to find either a house or an apartment in -any region that would be suitable for both my means and -the children in New York. So for two Saturdays and -two Sundays I have been trudging the dreariness of the -less expensive suburbs in quest of a house.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What!" exclaimed Fred, when he heard of it, "not -going to leave the Shoe?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," I told him. "The Shoe pinches, I must find -another."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, you're a funny old geezer," was his laughing -comment. I could do better than that in describing him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When I come home depressed and weary I find a -shower of little attentions awaiting me, very winning and -touchingly agreeable. Little Jimmie, with great serious -eyes, ostentatiously brings me my slippers and dressing -gown and watches my face intently for the reward of -commendation. When I murmur, "Thanks, old man, -very good of you," I can virtually see his little pulses -pounding with exultation in his veins.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you vewy tired, Uncle Ranny?" he inquires, -keeping up the high drama of profound concern.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So, so, old chap," I tell him, kissing his serious little -face. "Nothing to worry about." A moment later I -hear him dashing about the dining room very properly -and completely oblivious of my fatigue.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Laura in the rôle of Hebe, gravely brings me tea on -a small tray, and asks whether there is any book I desire -or anything else that she might bring me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But behind all these attentions I discern the directing -hand of Alicia. Can it be that the child has instinctively -divined that I have actually broken with Gertrude on her -account, that the little woman's soul in her secretly exults -in a feeling of victory? Since she cannot know all the -conditions, she can feel, at most, I suppose, only a vague -primitive sense of triumph in defeating the will of -another woman. Perhaps I am attributing too much to -her young intelligence, but at times I seem to perceive -in her eyes, in her bearing, a touch of the protective -instinct, of almost the maternal toward me, that I had never -observed in her before. Possibly it is merely a sense -of gratitude. At all events, those attentions of the -little people are very soothing and grateful, notably now, -since Griselda's have declined perforce, in view of her -greatly increased work in the kitchen. Yet it staggers -me at times when I realize the number of souls for whose -shelter and livelihood I am responsible, for the complex -machinery that I must keep revolving. Experience like -that should be acquired young. Like Mr. Roosevelt, I -would advocate early marriages.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I have found a house.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In Crestlands (thrilling are the names of suburbs!) -thirty-five minutes from Grand Central Station, in -Westchester County. I came upon a châlet-like cottage built -largely upon a rock that I believe will answer our -purpose. The rent is moderate and there is said to be an -asparagus bed somewhere in the "grounds." I know -there are two trees with gnarled roots grasping their way -downward among the stones, in a business-like struggle -for existence, and there are a few inches of lawn for -the children. With a veritable terrain like that as dower, -it will surprise no one that I took the cottage.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The latitude's rather uncertain, and the longitude -also is vague," as vague, almost, as that of Roumania; -nevertheless I shall be henceforth a dweller of Suburbia.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This being Sunday, I took the children out there in -the afternoon to examine their new demesne. With the -air of a castellan exhibiting an old castle, I showed them -through the rooms and in the phrases of the real-estate -dealer I enumerated their advantages—with a heavy -heart. But the children cared nothing about that. -Randolph saw visions of a tent or an Indian tepee under one -of the gnarled old trees and Jimmie illustrated how he -would "woll down" the slope; all our "grounds" are -slope </span><em class="italics">et praeterea nihil</em><span>. But Laura, detecting a -neglected rose bush near one of the windows, clapped her -hands for joy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This is like the house in 'Peter Pan', Uncle Ranny," -she cried delightedly. "There will be roses peeping in, -and babies peeping out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I looked at her in poignant surprise. It was so -absolutely the voice of her mother when she was a girl, the -spirit and the expression. It is exactly that feature that -my poor sister would have first taken into account; it -might have been Laura herself. I turned away in order -not to cloud their delight. The poetry of life is the only -thing worth living for, yet what a toll the world exacts -on that commodity!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Griselda, in spite of all temptation, had declined to -come.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is there a good kitchen?" she demanded. I told -her I thought there was.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I will not waste my time looking for the birdies -in the trees or the paint on the roof," she retorted stoutly. -She even demurred at Alicia's coming. "There's over -much to do," she protested darkly.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Of discomfort and wretchedness let none speak. I -have sounded both and so much else that is unpleasant -to the abysmal depths that I shall never again look with -the same eyes upon the impassive faces of the men in -the moving express train. They have all no doubt lived -and suffered even as I, these, my brothers!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I have moved the household to my suburb, and this is -a lament </span><em class="italics">de profundis</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The legendary mandrake is a gurgling infant to the -way my books cried upon removing. They not only -screamed; they sobbed and quivered like broken souls to -be dislodged from their place that has known and loved -them so well and so long. Every object in the flat was -a whole plantation of mandrakes. Their wailing and -ululation resounds yet in their new and changed -surroundings. Roses peeping in, indeed! To my books -this is a house of sorrow. Forlorn and jumbled and still -unsorted they stand and lie in heaps so that their fallen -state wrings my lacerated heart. Alicia, to whom I sadly -complained of this condition, consolingly answered:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But my English teacher in school would say that that -was a 'pathetic fallacy', Mr. Ranny. Books and things -don't really feel, do they?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't they!" I bitterly exclaimed. "Let unemotional -pedants speak as they stupidly will, Alicia. Nothing -can be more poignantly pathetic than a fallacy!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir," murmured Alicia and with reverent fingers -she silently helped me to place some of those books. She -has a tender touch for the objects of other people's love, -a charming attribute in a woman.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>And from the physical chaos in the châlet at Crestlands -I am whirled madly every morning in a crowded express -train, then in a convulsively serried subway car, to the -more subtle chaos in the office of Salmon and Byrd—to -sell Roumanian bonds. Roumanian bonds are overrunning -those offices like the rats in the town of Hamelin. -Ah, will not some piper, pied or otherwise, come and pipe -them all into the sea? The answer, I grieve to say, is -no! The impossibility of shifting one's burdens is the -fundamental mistake of Creation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nothing irritates me more after a morning's fruitless -telephoning or ineffectual running about than to have -Fred Salmon smile sleekly, clap me on the back and -mumble mechanically:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Great work, old boy! You're doing fine!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What is the use of these false inanities? On Saturday -he came to me with the gratifying intelligence that -Imber and Smith, who took two millions of the bonds, -have already sold out their allotment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Damn them!" was the only answer I could find.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's what I say," he answered in his perfect rôle -of being all things to all men, then reflectively, "I think -Smith's a liar, though." I'll wager nevertheless that -he congratulated Smith as heartily as he bruises my back. -To be all things to all men is surely one of the most -disgusting traits in a human biped. Fitfully ever and -again I wish myself out of the ruck and rabble of all -that. But sadly and heavily it comes to me that it is -better perhaps to bear the ills one has than to fly to others -that are a mere sinister blank. I seem like a man on a -raft with the storm-lashed waves washing over me the -while I gasp for breath and hope for rescue.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I wonder what this life would be like if upon coming -home to Crestlands there were not those eager little -retrievers to fetch and to carry and to wait upon me, to -surround me with their glad young freshness. But in -candor I must admit that but for them I should be leading -my old secluded life, undisturbed among books, that now -seems remote as a past incarnation.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The weeks go by and, toiling under our burden, we -are desperately trying to stem the rush of time. In -certain hard-pressed moments I have a sickly feeling that -time will win—and crush us. A revoltingly new discovery -I made yesterday, that Fred has taken to drinking -during business hours, suddenly drew the life out of -me like a suction pump. Then, realizing the meaning -and the enormity of the fact, I was frightened out of -fear and talked to him in as friendly and kindly a vein -as the circumstances would permit, in an effort to show -him our position and where it might lead us.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His first snarl of defiance gave way to contrition. He -wept maudlin tears and made promises so robust that -they ought to outlive him, but—I feel shaken as never -before.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile Sampson and Company are calling for the -payments due on our allotment of bonds, and Fred, the -smiler and the diplomat, is shirking interviews with them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What we need, Ranny," he said to me to-day in -chastened mood, "is capital, more capital. We went -into this business on a shoe string—sometimes it will -hold till you can get a rope and sometimes—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>—"Even a life line is too late," I supplied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did not answer. But after a pause he began afresh:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Couldn't you get round and see some of your rich -friends—see whether they could tide us over for a -spell?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rich friends!" I writhed as one in torment. -"Who are my rich friends? I have none, as you ought -to know. I have now put in every cent of capital that I -own—against your business experience, Fred. And this -is where we've arrived. If my sister's children weren't -dependent upon me—but then," I ended bitterly, "I -shouldn't be here, as I think you know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He bowed his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Didn't your sister—wasn't there anything—?" But -to his credit, he did not finish. If, as I suppose, he -meant to ask whether Laura left any money that I could -use, he evidently thought better of it and walked away -in a somber silence. And that is where we stand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That is where we stand in our business, and the needs -of my household are expanding. Griselda knows nothing -of my affairs and yet I surprise her dark eyes, -singularly lustrous for one of her years, watching me at times -out of her swarthy wrinkled face, as if divining the -Jehannum I am experiencing. More than ever she lays -herself out to perform incredible feats of economy, whilst -I hypocritically pretend to be unaware of it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The children, having prospered and grown during the -winter, are in need of new summer wardrobes, which I -have ordered bought. If it is to be disaster, then -shabbiness shall not betray us. Like the man who donned -evening clothes in which to sink with the </span><em class="italics">Titanic</em><span>, I have -always entertained a stubborn faith in the policy of good -clothes. Policy, policy—the trail of policy is over me -like a fetid odor—and how clean and unsmirched I -have always felt in my stupid transparency! Gertrude, -if she knew it, would now rejoice that she had thrown -me over.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I envy our clerks and typists who banish all cares at -five in the afternoon and do not resume them until the -following morning. What a gay life is theirs—if they -but knew it. They jest and fool and hurl picturesque -slang at one another and draw their pay on Saturdays, -unconscious of how near to perdition we totter. If we -go to the wall they will soon find other places. But -I—shall find the wall. I wish I knew what the emotions -of Fred are as, rucking his forehead heavily, he strides -about our rugs. I only know, however, that mine are -emotions of doom.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The black doom is upon us.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After days of haggling and lying and shuffling and -paltering we have, as a firm, expired.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Our vain and concentrated efforts to sell something -that we had not the necessary means and connections to -sell led us to neglect the things we could have done.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I shall not soon forget the vile outburst of the -heavy-jowled Sampson when as by a Sultan's firman, he -imperiously summoned us to his office and told us in his -language what he thought of us.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"People like you don't belong in the Street—they -belong in jail. Assign!" he snarled, "Better assign at -once and clear out!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And not the least of the bitterness of that moment was -the acrid realization that I could not charge him with -having flattered and hounded Fred into the vanity of the -enterprise, because at that moment Fred and I were -one—with this distinction: What Fred was suffering -would roll from his back like water from a rhinoceros, -whereas I would remain obscenely branded by his words -forevermore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was useless to argue, futile to protest. There was -no time or place for extenuating circumstances. I was -too full of shame and humiliation to offer any conciliatory -suggestions, and I still had enough of mulish pride -not to truckle to that fish-eyed bully. We walked out -of that man's office bankrupts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I still marvel how I found my way back to our own -office through the lurid darkness that encompassed me. -The world about me—the palpitating, pressing eager -world, of which in a measure I had been a part—was -suddenly strange and phantasmal and alien, the ghostly -city of a dream. The people were shadows and their -hurrying steps and errands as mysterious and as -unrelated to my life as those of a colony of ants. The only -actuality I did not envisage in that dark moment which -was coextensive with eternity, was that </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> was the anemic -ghost stalking at noonday and the others were the reality.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If only you had not taken the balance of my capital—" -was the thought throbbing under my overwhelming -misery—"if only you had left me that!" But I -could not bring myself to whine to Fred. I kept stonily -silent. A burning resentment swelled my heart so that I -could not speak. The newspaper publicity Fred had -craved would come to him now with a vengeance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now they are busy dismembering the corpse and colporting -the remains, whilst I sit darkly at home in Crestlands -like one disembodied, dead.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xi"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XI</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I have had time to grow dulled to the shabby -peripety of my career as a business man. The sickening -details and legal forms of our failure are over, and I -am wretchedly surviving on the loan made upon an -insurance policy, but still I have evolved no plans for the -future.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I sit in the shadow of the châlet watching Jimmie -rolling down the slope and endeavoring to roll up again. -The early August sun is hot in the heavens and the air -even of Crestlands is muggy. And my pulses keep -insistently repeating, repeating, "What is to become of -us?" My pulses—but not my mind. That useless -functionary has quite simply suspended operations.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I used to feel wise in reading Montaigne and Buckle, -humorous with Rabelais and Cervantes, acute and a man -of the world with Balzac or Sainte-Beuve. But none of -these erstwhile comforters, it appears, seems able to lift -up my spirit. Modern young critics talk of escape in -literature, but it seems one can only escape when there -is nothing very serious to escape from. Like a -debauchee who had killed his palate or one who has -swallowed an unwholesome dish overnight, the zestful taste -for an essay of Elia, the gustatory rolling under the -tongue of sentences in "Religio Medici", the keen -pleasure in a Dryden preface, all these are now impossible. -The savor of them has died for me. My dreams of -Mæcenasship for Tudor Texts have gone a-glimmering.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For joy in books the tranquil heart is needed. The -world has been too much with me and neither poppy nor -mandragora can banish the effects of it. There is no -balm to sane me.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>There was escape after all, though—if not in reading, -then in writing. I can quite understand now the -persistence of diarists in the world. I had no sooner -written down the words above than a tremor of resolution -shook me and I went into the baking city in quest of -livelihood. I found nothing save exhaustion, but it is -certain that in Crestlands I shall find even less.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I looked upon the teeming streets wide-eyed like a -gawk, surprised anew that so many should find a -foothold and sustenance where I had failed. The mystery -of that will always baffle me. The deepening gloom gave -way, however, when I entered Andrews' bookshop. His -welcome was warm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stranger," he greeted me cordially, "come into your -own."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't deny I have felt it calling," I admitted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Course you did—there is nothing else in the world."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, how much else, Andrews!" I told him sadly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Whether he has heard of my failure or not I cannot -tell. If he has, he was tact itself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here are some beautiful things for you to see," he -announced, bustling as he led me to a table in the rear -of the shop. I looked at his beautiful things and was -able to give him some useful points about one or two of -them. He has actually come upon a Caxton, the lucky -devil! This was indeed "my own", as Andrews was -shrewd enough to divine. </span><em class="italics">Ça me connait</em><span>. And his -courtesy and his deference were strangely consoling in -the light of my recent experiences. Courtesy and -deference cost others so little, but what refreshing manna they -are to one's self-respect!</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I go on tramping the pavements of New York and I -wish there were more point in my trampings.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Every morning I go forth with a faint glow of hope, -and the dim basis of my hope, when I come to think it -out, is something like this: In the haunts of men I may -meet somebody, an old acquaintance who may know or -hear of something whereby a broken reed like myself, a -pronounced failure, may get the chance of earning a -livelihood. A desperate enough situation when reduced -to the glaring light of plain speech—but that is the best -that I am able to do. If only Dibdin were here! -Despairingly I am in need of a friend. But my past life -has separated and insulated me, so that when I think of -friends and my thought convulsively darts out this way -and that, it encounters nothing but vacancy, empty air. -Fred Salmon is avoiding the Club. He is the only one -who had reached to me from the past, and the result I -have already recorded. I am not eager to meet him, -though I have worn out any hostility I may have felt -toward him. </span><em class="italics">C'est un mauvais metier que celui de medire</em><span>. -I find my inward man the better for thinking of Fred -neutrally, when I think of him at all.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Illness was the one thing lacking to my ineffable -Pilgrim's Progress, so infallibly illness has appeared.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jimmie came down with measles on Saturday and -yesterday Alicia followed his example. The crumpling of -Alicia under illness has proved like the shattering of a -column in the edifice of my household. The whole -insecure structure is tottering. And though she is burning -with fever, the unhappy girl is murmuring with anxiety -that stockings go unmended and buttons unsewn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you worry about that, little girl," I keep -telling her. "Griselda will do those things."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Griselda has too much to do as it is," she gulps and -the tears start to her hot eyes. I have isolated her and -Jimmie in my room, and Randolph and Laura are -cautioned to keep as far as possible away from them. I -remember the time when I would have flown from the fear -of infection as from the plague, but now my anxieties -are of a wholly different nature. Jimmie is mending -now, but Alicia is far more ill than she knows.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Griselda has undertaken the stockings and at night, -when I sit watching and waiting for sounds from either -of my invalids, I operate upon the buttons. It is -curious how much art enters into the sewing of a button. A -dog of a bachelor though I have ever been, I have never -been compelled to learn that handicraft before. But I -have learned from Griselda, who smiled crookedly when -she imparted the law, that if you twist the thread around -several times after you have sewn it, the whole thing -acquires, relatively, the strength of a cable. To your -punctured fingers you attend afterwards.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alicia, awakening at midnight, sat up in bed and -caught me at my task; she moaned most dolefully. I -hastily put Jimmie's little "undies" behind me, but too -late.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll never want me—or need me again—what's -the use of getting well?" she wailed weakly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, I shall, Alicia—more than ever," I -hastened to assure her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You do everything now that I ought to do," she -pressed with febrile insistence. "I shall be no use any -more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But don't you see, Alicia," I argued, touching her -hot forehead, "that I shall have to be earning money -while you are doing the buttons? I ought to be -earning it now, so get well as quickly as you can. Jimmie -sees it; he's much better already." That logic seemed -to soothe her more than I had expected. She caught my -hand impulsively and pressed it to her cheek. The -tremendous part played by affection in the lives of children -is a never-ceasing wonder to me.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Alicia is convalescent again, </span><em class="italics">laus Domini</em><span>, and Jimmie -is now running about the little house filling it with -noise—which is music to my ears. Laura and Randolph have -fortunately thus far escaped infection. Jimmie is -wanting to resume "wolling up and down" the slope again, -but this is still </span><em class="italics">verboten</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I can now take up my journeys into town again and -I note with a pang that I am growing shabby. The yearly -purchases of clothes had been as regular with me as my -meals, but I have ordered no clothes for the spring or -summer. Odd, what a deleterious effect the shabbiness -of clothes has upon one's consciousness! The tinge of -inferiority it brings touches some very tender places in -one's spirit, almost like a shabby conscience. But the -doctor of the neighborhood, a contemplative fellow who -obviously knows his business, though he talks of his -laboratory and his experiments like an alchemist, has earned -the clothes that I must do without. And of the two I -needed them more.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>My search is ended. There is jubilation in my heart -again. I have fallen into a livelihood; like the bricklayer -who used to fare forth, dinner pail in hand, I have -found work.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And the way of it was an odd little stroke of Fate, a -whimsicality that would have pleased the ironic soul of -Thomas Hardy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An old college friend of mine, Minot Blackden, whom -I used to call Leonardo da Vinci because he was so full -of ideas and inventions, had rediscovered, he said, the -art of glass-staining. After a five years' residence in -Italy, on a modest patrimony, most of which had gone -into glass or into stain, he had returned to his native land -and set up a shop </span><em class="italics">à la</em><span> William Morris somewhere in the -region of Bleecker Street, and proceeded to stain glass. -He had had some newspaper publicity recently, and there -were cuts of his work.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>While passing a church in my hot and dusty peregrinations, -it occurred to me that here might be a chance of -serving him and also myself. By writing an interesting -booklet about his craft, illustrating it profusely and -sending it with personal letters to all the vestries in the -country, I might bring a flood of custom to his shop. It is -with this forlorn proposal that I was blundering about -to discover Minot Blackden. I failed to find his shop, -but I came face to face with my old Salmon and Byrd -acquaintance, Signor Visconti.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In his palm beach suit and Panama hat, Visconti made -a splendent and impressive figure in the purlieus of -Bleecker Street.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah-h, Signor Byrd," he cried with Latin cordiality, -seizing my hand in both his own, "you are what you -call a sight for sick eyes. I have often wonder about -you—you must come into my banca—we must have -leetla refreshment!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Refreshment appealed to me at the moment and gladly -I accompanied him to his private office in the bank, that -stands between a junk warehouse and a delicatessen -emporium. With a charming tact he touched upon the hard -luck of Salmon and Byrd and dismissed the subject for good.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Briefly—for him—that is, with a wealth of gesture -and illustration, he informed me that he was looking for -a man for his enlarging bank, and asked me to recommend one.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want a fina man—" he explained. "American -gentleman—who speeks a leetla da Italian—who put -up what you call a fina fronta—understand me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A fine front," I mused aloud, "and speaks Italian—no, -Signor Visconti, we had no such young man in our -office. I can think of no one I could recommend."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was obviously nonplused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thinka," he said, with, a gesture of final resolution, -"if I could finda some gentleman lika you, Mr. Byrd, he -would be </span><em class="italics">precisamente</em><span> what I look for. I know," he -added hastily with an apologetic laugh, "man lika you, -Signor, be hard to find!" And again he laughed heartily, -though watching me between narrowed eyelids. His -drift was now obvious. I was silent for a moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, if it comes to that, Signor Visconti," I -answered slowly, "I am doing nothing in particular just -now. I may be utterly no good for you, but—but if—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, you would try old Visconti, Signor!" And up -flew his arms like windmills. "You no ashamed to work -in vot you Americans call da Guinea colony!—no, no!" He -noted the deprecating shadow on my face. "Ah, -you understanda—you know the granda history of the -Italiana people. You—but, Mr. Byrd—" and with an -admirable histrionic transition he suddenly turned grave -and sad—"Mr. Byrd, you are the very man I looka -for," and he gripped both my hands. "But, Meester -Byrd—I fear I cannot afford to pay what you would -expect. Ah, </span><em class="italics">sacra</em><span>—if I could! You, the very -man—</span><em class="italics">Dio</em><span>—" and he clapped a hand dramatically to his -forehead—"the very man, but!—" and his full smile -of sad and wistful regret seemed genuine for all its -histrionic value.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you propose to pay, Signor Visconti?" I -inquired.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can only pay to start," he whispered hoarsely, with -the round eyes of a man facing the inevitable, "thirty-fiva, -maybe forty dollars week. Too leetla, I know," he -added slowly, letting his hands fall on his knees with -resignation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well, Signor Visconti," I said. "If you will -try me, I shall be glad to come at forty dollars."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Visconti fairly leaped at my hand and the bargain was -struck.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I am to begin earning a livelihood on Monday.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Who said that adversity is the best teacher? Possibly -it is, but gladness is the ablest cocktail. There is no -stimulant like a little success.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I am an august personage.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I shall choke with pride, so august am I become in -the Banca e Casa Commerciale Visconti.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I call up the National City Bank concerning the price -of bonds, or the rate of exchange, in English so presumably -impeccable that Signor Visconti visibly puffs out his -magnificent chest as he listens. There is a divinity that -shapes our "frontas", rough-hew them how we will.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Visconti's speaking," I say with firmness and the -head of Visconti's curls his fine dyed mustache and -turns away, glowing with ill-concealed pleasure. This -is seemingly what the head of Visconti's has been -waiting for. Mentally I offer a fervent prayer that he may -never be disillusioned as to my capacity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I toil as I have never toiled before. I come early and -go late and frequently have my lunch sent in from the -adjoining delicatessen, powdered no doubt by the -contiguous junk house, and the "boss", as the others call -him, smiles with a rare unction that spells approval.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With difficulty we are actually living on my income. -If I had the half of my capital back that I had no -business to put into Salmon and Byrd—but ifs inaugurate -depressing trains of thoughts. My library alone stands -between me and disaster, so like a prudent man of -business I have begun a catalogue of it and I am training -Alicia to help me. I must not again be caught by so -desperate a prospect as recently faced me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>How my little household had been affected by my late -slough of despond I realize only now that I have passed -it. Laughter and high spirits seem to have been -uncorked again. We play and we rollic and chatter, -more than in the early days of our </span><em class="italics">vie de famille</em><span>—how -long ago is it?—something less than a year, no -longer!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is now the end of September and the schools have -reopened. We are all sanely and industriously busy, like -a normal American family, and as though its so-called -head were an adequately competent being, and not the -bungling masquerading amateur that he is. "Who never -ate in tears his bread"—well, we have made intimate -acquaintance of poverty and we fear it less than of -yore—though we hate it more. It may be an impostor, but -who maintains that all impostors are harmless? I -certainly would deny that premise, so—we are cataloguing -the library.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here is 'The Anatomy of Melancholy' by Burton," -announces Alicia, taking down a volume.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Small quarto, printed at Oxford, 1621," I finish for her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," she breathes, marveling wide-eyed. "How -can you remember such things, Uncle Ranny?" for so I -have asked her to call me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How can I remember?" I ask in surprise. "How -can I remember that you are Alicia Palmer, close to the -towering age of fifteen, or that Jimmie Pendleton is -five?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But we—are people," avers Alicia, "and we are—yours." I -own to a slight thrill at this sweet investiture, -implicit in her words, but I seem obtuse to it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But so is a great book a person," I sententiously -inform her, "and 'Oxford, 1621', means a first edition, -Alicia—not merely a person but a personage. That -book is as proud an aristocrat as though it were -plastered with coronets and simply throbbing with Norman -blood. There is a whole heraldry about it—it is a -prince among books. And all, Alicia, because it aroused -men's interest and has given them delight from about -the time the Pilgrims first landed at Plymouth. It's a -book that could take Doctor Johnson out of bed two -hours sooner than he wished to rise. Also, if the worst -came to the worst, it could feed us for a time, and that -is very important, isn't it, Alicia?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," she breathes in awe which for some reason -delights me. "What a wonderful thing it must be to -write a great book." And she fingers the next volume -with even greater reverence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The 'Life of Edward Malone', by Sir James Prior," -reads Alicia. "Is that a prince among books, too?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," I answer. "That is just a friend. Malone, -you see, was crossed in love in the days of Doctor -Johnson, and by way of consolation became a book-collector -and a Shakesperian commentator. They say the Irish -are fickle. But here is one who could never love again. -So whenever I read his life, I think I see through a sort -of mist the lovely lady whom he lost and all about him is -curiously dear to me. He wouldn't feed us for very -long, Alicia, but he has given me many hours of -pleasure."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are book-collectors people—crossed in love?" she -inquires with gentle subtlety, and I am surprised that one -of her youthfulness should be arrested by that particular -point.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you mean me," I answer quietly, "then I can tell -you that I wasn't. No one ever loved me enough to -cross me. I am a collector by a sort of—spontaneous -degeneration."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alicia throws her fine young head back and peals with -delicious laughter. Afterwards I catch her smiling to -herself as she copies down the titles.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I am amazed to note how lovely that child has become -since she has been here. Her thin, frightened expression -has given way to one of happy confidence. All too soon -she will be enriching some young man's life with -happiness. Her interest in my musty old books has given her -a value of companionship in my eyes that I trust I shall -not exaggerate at the expense of my niece and -nephews—though Alicia is hardly one to take advantage of such -a situation. Nevertheless, I must be on my guard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After all, though she is the chartered, custodian of the -others, and </span><em class="italics">quis custodiet ipsos</em><span>—who shall watch over -Alicia? Obviously, it is my task to improve her mind -in order to make her the better guardian for them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And Alicia's mind is improving apace.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Uncle Ranny," she inquired the other day, "may I -ask what that first edition of Boswell's 'Johnson', cost -you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It costs me nothing but a sleepless hour now and -then," I told her. "It is not paid for. But I owe -Andrews four hundred dollars for it. God knows when I -shall pay it. But why do you ask, Alicia?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have just read in </span><em class="italics">Book Prices Current</em><span> that a copy -was sold by Sotheby's in London for one hundred -pounds."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Already!" I murmured and I was lost in admiration -not of the accretion in value—I am used to that—but -of the girl's facility in acquiring the interest and the -jargon of my hobby.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Mr. Andrews must have a wonderful place!" -she exclaimed. "That must be a splendid business. -Where is he? How I'd love to see it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You shall some day, Alicia," I told her. "He is in -Twenty-ninth Street, and an excellent fellow he is."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I then explained to her how Andrews had insisted upon -planting the book on my shelves.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alicia gazed at me in silence for a moment, then -suddenly tears glittered in her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's because of us," she said, with a quivering lip, -"because we came that you couldn't buy it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't talk rubbish, Alicia," I flared at her. "A -collector gets almost as much pleasure in thinking of books -he can't get as in those he buys. Don't you think you -alone are worth more to me than an old Boswell?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," she murmured gloomily, "but I'm going to try to be."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xii"><span id="book-two"></span><span class="bold large">BOOK TWO</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Many months have passed since I last made an entry -in this, which I mean to be a record of my life for later -years, when I am grown old and white and memory gives -back vividly only the days of childhood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It must be that the stoking of the furnace below all -winter, or else my absorption in Visconti's, has banished -reflection upon events from out of my mind. It is not -reflection that was banished, however, but only the energy -to record it. The folk who work the treadmill leave few -records behind them. And I am of the treadmill, occupant -of an office chair, one of the gray mass of dwellers -in the suburbs of life.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The office of Visconti's, that was at first like a queer -old wharf in some foreign city to a ship from distant -parts, has grown familiar and almost homelike, so that -I feel the barnacles gathering about my hulk at the -mooring place.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is ever the same. I come and I labor and I go. -The chair and the desk await me of a morning and by -ten o'clock it is as though I had never left them. I go -forth of an afternoon into freedom and feel a momentary -desire to wander about as of old. The bland frontages -of New York still have a lure for me. But the -nestlings for whom I am laboring are at Crestlands and -to them I automatically hasten my steps.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But is all that about to end?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To-day, for the first time since his disappearance, I -heard of poor Laura's husband,—Pendleton.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For to-day I have received an astonishing letter from -Dibdin, and it is that, I suppose, which has stirred me to -writing again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Be prepared," Dibdin's letter begins, after his usual -abrupt manner, "be prepared for a sort of shock."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A week ago I arrived in Yokohama with half a -schooner-load of stocks and stones, carvings, idols, etc., -homeward bound.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you have ever been in Yokohama you will remember -the Grand Hotel on the Bund." Yes, I do remember. -It was the one bright spot for me in Japan on my brief -and disappointing journey six years ago. Heaven knows -why I went there. Once I had viewed the Temples at -Nikko, the sacred deer on the Island of Miyajima and -the volcanic cone of Fujiyama, there was nothing else -to do. I am not an ethnologist and there were no -bookshops. While awaiting my steamer, the only refuge was -that self-same Grand Hotel at Yokohama, where you can -still sit in a chair facing a window, as commercial -travelers in provincial hotels in America sit, and look out -across the water towards Tokio, and smoke and idle and -gossip. Of an afternoon there is tea with excellent little -cakes—served by Japanese girls in kimonos so gorgeous -that even a geisha would be too modest to wear them -in the street. The color, however, is meant for western -eyes. The ladies, American and English from Tokio -and thereabout, wives of commission merchants, agents, -naval officers, diplomats, tourists, gather around and do -what they can to annihilate reputations,—as is the way -the world over.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There is also a bar—the longest in Asia. Incidentally, -every bar in the East is the longest and men from -Hongkong, Shanghai, Peking, Kobe and Yokohama -carry the measurements of their respective bars in their -heads for purposes of competitive argument. We all -need something to brag about, and there's little else in -those parts. When the ladies have finished their tea and -have gone to their rooms or their 'rickshaws, the bar at -the Grand is the next halting stage for the men. I have -not thought of it for years, though it is vivid enough to -me now. It is one of the five points on the globe where, -if you loiter long enough, you are certain to encounter -every one you ever knew. But—Pendleton!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you remember this setting," runs Dibdin's letter, -"you will realize how easy it was even for a bear like -me to pick up quickly the gossip of the place and, -incidentally, the legend of Patterson. Patterson I learned -was a drifter, an idler, a gambler, and a staunch support -of the Grand bar. He is adroit, suave, pleasant, -shifty—an American. Some trader found him on the beach -in the Marquesas, took him along for company among -the islands and ultimately landed him here. He has -traded in skins, in silk, in insurance; is said to have all -but killed a man in a card brawl and has cleaned out -many a tourist at poker. Now, he is no longer allowed -to play cards at the Grand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I had a curiosity to see this bird of plumage and two -days ago, Mainwaring, the excellent manager of this -hotel, pointed him out to me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Judge of my amazement, as novelists say, when I -recognized in Patterson none other than the author of all -your troubles, your vanished brother-in-law—</span><em class="italics">Pendleton!</em></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will it surprise you to learn that my first emotion -was a desire to rush upon him as he leaned across the -bar and drive a knife into his back?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Instead, however, I got Mainwaring to introduce me -and if Pendleton was surprised, he concealed it -successfully. Presently he was drinking my liquor and -chattering about the islands from which I am a recent -arrival. If I disguised the cold rage I felt against the -man you must give me credit for more diplomacy than -you ordinarily do.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'You talk like a New Yorker,' I presently let fall -in a casual manner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Ah, there you have me!' he threw out in a blandly -mysterious sort of way. 'Truth is, I don't know where -I come from!'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In short, he tried on the lapsed memory sort of thing. -Woke up one day to find himself at Manila. Didn't -know his own name or who he was or whence. Initials -on his linen were J.P. so he took the name of Patterson—as -good as any other, and so forth. Very sad. But -then one must take life as one finds it. Some of us are -elected to martyrdom in this world. That, you -understand, was his drift.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Well,' I told him calmly, 'if you really want to -know who you are, I can tell you.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He turned, I thought, a shade paler, but he played -his part smoothly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'You don't mean it!' he exclaimed with a quite -seraphic ecstasy. 'You know me! My God, man, you -are my deliverer come at last!'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'You are Jim Pendleton,' I told him quietly and then -I told him a few other things. My reasoning was like -this: If he is the thorough hound I thought he was, he -would have an excellent chance of bolting—and good -riddance. If there was a shred of decency left in the -man, now was the time for it to show.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, he surprised me. I saw real tears in his eyes. -He begged for every detail I could give him. His voice -broke when he tried to ask questions about Laura and the -kids. He has not bolted. He is quite pathetically -attached to me. I am dashed if I can tell whether it's real -or not. I don't believe for a minute in the lapsed -memory dodge, but I am flabbergasted. He seems so pitifully -keen for every scrap I can tell him. Maybe the poor -brute is really ashamed of his past and is trying only to -save his face under this rigmarole of lost identity? He -clings to me and I have him, so to speak, under observation. -If it should even seem remotely possible to make -a man of him again, don't you think the risk of bringing -him home might be worth taking? I don't know, I don't -know. I shall use the best judgment I've got about me, -but don't for a moment think I'll let you down. It's your -interest I'm thinking of and the interest of the kids.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't leave here for several weeks yet. That ought -to give me time to take his measure. I know what he -has been. Question is, can a leopard change his spots, -or a beachcomber his character? We'll see, Randolph, -my boy, we'll see what we see. Hard luck is hard luck, -but this man—well, I needn't tell you. There is such -a thing, to be sure, as trying back. I'd like to have a -second chance myself, if I behaved like a villain. But of -this fellow I am far from sure. I will say, though, that -he's drinking less and trying to keep decent not only in -my own sight, but to the surprise of all the white colony -here.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will hear from me again before long."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As I read, I felt gradually overshadowed by the immense -somber fact conveyed in this letter. It was like a -black cloud bank that comes up swiftly, blotting out the -sun from over the landscape. It was not a thing to -blink, to wave aside or to dismiss with a shrug of the -shoulders. It was instant and tyrannous, demanding -anew urgent thought and decision. Fortunately I am -no longer the same creature that was bodily hurled from -tranquillity and leisure, like a monk from his cell, into -the cold wind-swept ways of life. I seem a little less -like chaff in the breeze. My backbone seemed actually -to stiffen and settle as I posed the problem.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The problem is the fate of the children. To receive -and re-create Pendleton means to give them up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Well—and did I not assume their care only because -there was none else? Now there would be—there -might be—some one else. Pendleton has a legal right -to his own children and, if he could establish it -satisfactorily, no doubt a moral right as well.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The advent of Pendleton might prove to have incalculable -advantages for myself. Here, on the one side, -is the treadmill. On the other there is, or there was, -ease and leisure and dreams. My small competency is -gone in the wake of that man's destructive progress. -But for myself, I might manage an easier and more -agreeable way of subsisting than the way of Visconti's. -Those are the cold facts, clearly enough—but somehow -they will not let me rest. My world has been violently -jarred, for all my painful calmness, and I seem unable -to fit the parts again into exactly the old solidity of -groove and joint. There are lurking interstices which -I cannot fill. "Who is Kim—Kim—Kim?" the hero -of an unforgettable tale was wont to ask himself. And -he felt his soul floating off and dipping into the infinite. -Likewise, I ask myself now, Who is Randolph Byrd? -And the startling truth returns that the children in my -house and I are inseparable, that I and they are one!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With this and the fact that Pendleton is in all -likelihood coming back to claim them, I am, pending further -news from Dibdin, left to grapple. At any rate, Dibdin -also is returning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is now the spring and the year is beginning to smile -again. I have been prospering at Visconti's and my -income is now again the same as it was before ever the -children came to me—before I became a business man. -But there is not a soul to whom I can confide my new -dilemma.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There is Minot Blackden, the glass stainer, whom I -have finally discovered to be a near neighbor of -Visconti's. To be exact, his studio and living quarters are -in King Street, and we sometimes have our lunch together. -But Blackden is so much in the grip of his medieval -art that it gets into his food, stains his tapering -hands and even spatters upon his finely pointed blue-black -beard. All he can see in me is the Philistine who has -cast all else aside for the sizzling fleshpots. When I -chanced to mention having four children in my house, -he looked upon me as a bird-of-Paradise might look upon -a polar bear; I was to him a visible but incredible symbol -of something strange and gross. There is nothing placid -or resigned about Blackden. He is intense, incandescent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you realize," he said to me, "that I am restoring -a lost art to the world?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But does it give you food?" I asked him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What does food matter?" he expostulated. "What -does anything else in the world matter?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nevertheless, he was eager to take up my suggestion -concerning the writing of a booklet upon his new craft -and he has been sending it out broadcast. But so -intensely devotional is his attitude to the whole business -that I have not the face to suggest payment for the work, -nor has he referred to it again. I know little of his art, -but I know that his returns are increasing. It is obvious -that I cannot burden a soul, burning with that gemlike -flame of Blackden's, with any such confidence as the -impending return of Pendleton. At times I think that -Minot Blackden and Gertrude Bayard ought to marry -each other. They are both so single-minded and so -absolutely sure of themselves. But in the meantime there -is no one I can talk to.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No—absolutely no one.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Walking to Grand Central station these brilliant afternoons -is a thing I cannot resist. It is the only exercise -I get. Crossing Washington Square, I strike into Fifth -Avenue and by the time I reach Fourteenth Street I have -a delicious sense of losing myself, of merging into the -crowd, that is very soothing after a day in the office. -There is nothing so stimulating as the energetic crowd -in Fifth Avenue. At Brentano's bookstore I usually -pause and scrutinize the window. I am very sound in -the latest novels and the newest developments in -stationery.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To-day, as my eyes were feasting on the cover jacket -of Mr. Arnold Bennett's latest, a lady coming down the -avenue likewise paused before the window and as we -glanced at each other I found I was facing Gertrude. -Of course she had a perfect right to cut me. She smiled -uncertainly instead and put out her hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hello, Ranny," she murmured casually. "No reason -why we can't meet as friends, is there?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not the least in the world," I returned hastily. -"Why should there be?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't know—but of course you always were a -sensible person."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I grinned in my guilty fashion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How is everything?" she continued brightly. "I -heard—about your firm. You in business now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I mentioned my connection with Visconti's Banca e -Casa Commerciale.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're a sort of hero of romance," she smiled -speculatively over my head. "And the kiddies," she added, -"they all right?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Going strong." She made no reference to Alicia but -I thought it only decent not to leave her in doubt. -"Everything in my household is about the same," I said. -She nodded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The years of our friendship flashed through my mind, -with a sense of regret at the passing and crumbling of -human relations. Gertrude would quite naturally have -been the one I could have talked to concerning the -probable return of Pendleton. Then, on a sudden occurred -one of those coincidences which invariably surprise me. -For what Gertrude uttered quite carelessly as though -merely to fill the conversational pause, was this:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No news of their father, I suppose?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I have never yet lied to Gertrude. I detest lies in -general. I was silent. My face must have betrayed me. -Gertrude glanced into my eyes and in a startled voice -she queried:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Have</em><span> you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Briefly, without going into detail, I told her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Ranny," she exclaimed with a new manner, -in a new voice, "that's the most wonderful thing I ever -heard. Wonderful! That's the greatest luck for you. -Your troubles will be over!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, will they?" I speculated ruefully, rubbing my -cheek. "That's the problem. Shall I be able to trust -the children to him again?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't be a—foolish!" she retorted in almost her -old manner. "The responsibility will make a man of -him again. Besides—you'll have to. They are his. -I should think you'd jump for joy at the relief. Dear -me, what a story!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh—er—I must beg you not—not to mention a -word of this to any one," I stammered. "You -understand—it's a ticklish business—for the children's -sake."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't be absurd," she retorted impatiently. "I -don't blab. Will you promise to let me hear how—how -things come out?" I promised.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At this moment Minot Blackden, his eyes blinded by -visions of rose windows, no doubt, bore down and all -but collided with us. I introduced them mechanically to -mitigate his apologies and left them both bound in the -same direction southward. Gertrude waved a hand -gayly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll expect good news!" were her parting words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So I have told some one, I reflected, as I made my way -toward Grand Central, and Gertrude expressed what all -the world would say: "I ought to jump for joy at the -relief. Besides, I shall have to turn them over to -Pendleton." The wheels of the train I somberly boarded -kept insistently repeating the same self-evident opinion. -In addition there was the sickness of death in my soul -for the folly of having given the thing away to Gertrude, -of all people.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I wish I were not obliged to parry social invitations -just at present. The excellent Visconti who had asked -me to dinner two or three times during the winter, has -suddenly taken a notion to ask me at least once every -week. I hope I am not grown so churlish but that I -appreciate his well-meant courtesy. But the fag is too -great.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He has a house in Thirteenth Street neighboring on -St. Vincent's Hospital, and he also has a motherless -daughter, Gina, abounding in vitality, who must be -amused. The proximity to the hospital, he intimates, -the smell of carbolate and iodoform, depress young blood, -and Gina, being super-American, must not be allowed to -remember that there is anything unpleasant in life. I -trust I am not the only vessel chosen to bring more lively -spirits to that girl.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The effort for me is immense. I go to Crestlands -after office hours, dress, return to town, and then make -a late train for Crestlands again. The food is excellent -and Gina sings prettily in a soprano as rich as her -coloring. But the next morning Visconti's does not enjoy -the fruit of my undimmed energies.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>More recently, Visconti has urged me not to dress and -in that I see the fine hand of Gina at work. As an -American-born girl, Gina is quick and eager to read the signs -and weather indications. And though I am becoming -dexterous in excuses, I dined at the Visconti's last night -nevertheless. Gina sang the </span><em class="italics">Sole mio</em><span> and </span><em class="italics">Una voce poco -fa</em><span> and even told my fortune in cards, predicting that I -should "be married a second time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But never a first time?" I queried simply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, then you've never been married at all!" Gina -exulted, and she energetically read the cards for me -afresh. Her sortilege evidently is not a perfect science. -But it occurs to me that by means of it the clever Gina -found out more about my personal life than ever I had -vouchsafed to her in all our acquaintance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When I returned home I found Alicia in my study -sitting late over the catalogue, a copy of which she is -now completing. She jumped from her chair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I am so glad you've come, Uncle Ranny," she -clapped her hands joyously. "I have found something -we have overlooked."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it, Alicia?" And my gaze was, I admit, -fascinated by her flushed cheeks and starlike eyes -sparkling with excitement. She seemed the Muse incarnating -those books, the very spirit of beauty they enshrine. -And yet she is not quite sixteen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's Shelley's 'Alastor'!" she cried. "And it's so -thin that it had slipped in between the covers of another -book. It's a first edition—1816, isn't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Alicia. And a very beautiful poem besides."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, isn't it!" she cried in exultation. "I have read -it all, Uncle Ranny, and do you know what I found -out?"—and her voice became more solemn—"it is -your life Shelley was writing!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I laughed uproariously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, he did!" flashed Alicia. "Only your life is so -much better. He was so absorbed in himself, Alastor, -that he died in his loneliness. And you—you are -simply surrounded by people who love you. You—!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then, I regret to record, self-consciousness -overtook Alicia. She became aware of her own vehemence -and blushing furiously made as if to run out of the -room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My position of vantage near the door enabled me to -stop her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wait, my dear," I endeavored to lift her lowered -chin. "Enthusiasm is nothing to be ashamed of. It's -one of the finest things in life. And I'll tell you -more—we are always applying to ourselves everything we -read in books."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Isn't that," murmured Alicia shamefacedly, "why -people love books?" Foolish girl—to wake the -sleeping pedant in me!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not altogether, Alicia. When we get older we become -less personal. I love books because they hold the -truth and the wisdom of men's minds. And aside from -life and love, Alicia, wisdom and truth are the greatest -realities in the world. There is death, of course, but -who cares to dwell upon death?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I always did think that life and—and—love were -greater than books," stammered Alicia earnestly. "And -now that you yourself say so, I am sure of it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Astonishing child! When has she had the time to -speculate upon the magnitude of life and love? Always -that young thing keeps revealing herself to me afresh. -I looked at her in silence for a moment. Here was a -better counselor than any one, Dibdin excepted, with -whom I might discuss the impending return of Pendleton.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Alicia," I began in another tone, "there is something -I should like to talk to you about. It's criminally -late, I know, and you ought to be in bed, but since you -will dissipate on the catalogue, I'll keep you up a little -longer." I led her back to a chair and she gazed at me -wide-eyed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it anything about—the—children?" she whispered, -somewhat frightened.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—in a way—it is about the children. But -more particularly it is about their father. Have you -ever heard of him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Their father!—I thought he was dead!" she murmured, -awe-struck.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There were times when we all thought so. He -disappeared some years ago. But he's alive, Alicia. I've -just heard from Dibdin, who found him in Japan." Her -eyes grew wider.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How terrible!" she breathed. "Does he know -all—that has happened?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He does now—of course he didn't until Mr. Dibdin -told him." And then this occurred to me. Ought I to -shield Pendleton to the extent of telling her positively -that he had lost his memory or identity? No. A confidant -deserves scrupulous honesty, even if that confidant -be as young as Alicia. "He told Dibdin," I went on, -"that he lost his memory of the past and found himself -one day stranded in Manila. Led rather a wild and -worthless life afterwards—people who lose their -memories seem to do that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you think that's true?" she queried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know, Alicia, but when he comes back I suppose -we'll have to accept that version. Dibdin will have -some advice on that point, I feel sure."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alicia remained silent for a time lost in reflection. -Her child's face in her perturbation was the face of a -grown woman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you think he'll want to take back the children, -Uncle Ranny?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's the crux of the whole matter, Alicia. I don't -know. But if he does, he'll have a right to do so, of -course; they are his."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, oh!" and her hands flew up to her face in a -gesture of poignant despair. "Turn them over to such a -man! Is that the way the world's arranged?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I smiled gloomily. I saw that there was no need of -comment upon the arrangement of the world. This girl -young in her teens understood it as well as any one.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I'd have to go, too," she uttered hoarsely with -a dry sob of bitterness in her throat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not necessarily," I interposed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, I should," she insisted doggedly, as though -driving something painful into her flesh. "But it doesn't -matter about me. But, Uncle Ranny, you won't—you -can't give them up! They're all so happy here. Little -Jimmie and Laura and Randolph! What chance would -they have of growing up fine—away from you—-with -a man like that? You won't let them go—you won't, -you won't! Oh, it would be horrible, horrible!" she -ended passionately.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Listen, my dear," I tried to calm her. "I had no -wish to harrow your feelings. I told you because you -love the children—and we must face all this together. -I shall want your help, your support." She flashed a -sweet look mingled of pride and gratitude.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"After all you—have been through," she murmured -incoherently. "But why don't you do this, Uncle -Ranny!" and with the quick transition possible to youth, -she was again alive, eager, excited, this little fellow -conspirator of mine. "Why don't you let him come here -and live right in this house for a while? We'll be -awfully crowded," she ran on with flushed energy, "but -we'll find room for him. And let's be awfully nice to -him—and believe everything he says. Then we could -watch him, and I just know we'll find out whether he's -all right or not!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I laughed at her enthusiasm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You forget, Alicia," I informed her, "that even if -he shouldn't prove all right, he is still the father of those -children."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't care," she returned stoutly. "If he's bad -and sees that we see he's bad, he wouldn't have the face -to take them away from here. Even a bad father wants -his children to be all right!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And how in the world do you know that, you -astounding infant?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I know!" with a triumphant laugh, "At the -Home—some fathers brought their children and cried—one -of them did—because he was so bad he didn't -think he was fit to have a child near him. I had tiptoed -into the matron's office, and I heard him!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps he didn't want to support the brat," I scoffed -to cover up my wonder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, and do you think he will?" Alicia snatched at -my words. "A man who ran away from them, loafing -round for years? Oh, it will be easy, Uncle Ranny!" -she chuckled. "He couldn't fool us!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And why, my little Portia, couldn't he?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because," said Alicia thoughtfully, "he will always -be thinking of himself and we—won't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean," I pressed, delightedly, "he'll be self-conscious -and give himself away, the while we are clothed -in our rectitude?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes!" she cried, with a laugh. "We'll be thinking -of Jimmie and Laura and Randolph—and it's always -easier to think what to do when you're thinking of -somebody else—not of yourself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And did you discover that also in the matron's office -at the Home?" I leaned toward her in amazement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," she bent her gaze downward, "I learned that -right here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I kissed Alicia upon the cheek. It lies heavy at my -door that I have shown her too little affection in the past -merely because she is not related to me. It startled me -to realize that dear to me as Laura's children are, Alicia -is the dearest of them all.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As with a gentle good night she slipped away, a -profound sigh of relief escaped me. That child succeeded -in almost wholly blotting out my feeling of bitter -perplexity after talking with Gertrude. Do Alicias upon -growing older turn into Gertrudes, I wonder? No, I -think not. Surely not.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I now look to the return of Pendleton almost with -equanimity.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xiii"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XIII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I am agitated like a hen with a newly hatched brood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It has suddenly been revealed to me that the -complacency with which I have been regarding my care and -rearing of the children is abysmally false and wholly -unjustified.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They are not properly clothed for New York and even -here in Crestlands they seem on a sudden pitifully shabby. -The competition in that sort of thing in a suburb is keen. -Everybody's children seem better dressed than my own -and yet, do what I will, I cannot afford to spend more. -Randolph's high-school dignity is positively impaired by -clothes which he is constantly outgrowing. And the rate -at which Jimmie wears out trousers and soils white suits -is simply unbelievable. Laura alone seems to have the -gift of always keeping her things fresh and wearing them -as though they were new.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As for Alicia, that girl ought to be clothed in purple, -at least figuratively, if only I could afford it. It seems -to me I cannot live another day unless I procure for -Alicia a large collection of frocks and blouses and shoes -and whatever else would set off that faunlike creature, -compact of energy and grace. For almost daily that -child grows more beautiful in a way that pulls at my -heartstrings.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I trust I am no idiotic parent, or foster parent, to rave -about her eyes and complexion and the like. I am as -dispassionate as any one can well be. But truly there is -something starlike in her eyes and at times, when she is -sewing or reading or working on my eternal catalogue, -I surprise her pensive, absorbed in some long thoughts -of her own that not for worlds would I disturb. At such -moments I am absolutely fascinated by those soft pools -of light that irradiate her face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Are other girls like that at her age, I wonder? It -seems scarcely conceivable. At any rate, I have never -seen any others like her. But then, I have seen so few.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The truth remains, however, that I positively must -dress her better. Even my dull fancy joyously leaps at -the vision of Alicia beautifully dressed and diffusing -sweetness and fragrance through the house. Of course, -I cannot single her out. There is Laura, too. And it -might seem invidious, although as the eldest of them all, -Alicia is entitled to especial consideration. I cannot -moreover allow Pendleton to observe that I have kept -his children shabby. Few are the claims that Pendleton -can legitimately array against me, but the shabbiness of -the children would too flagrantly proclaim my failure. -Nor does Dibdin know as yet my rake's progress since -Fred Salmon made a business man of me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But where am I to get the money for clothes when the -mere routine of subsistence absorbs it all? There is still -Dibdin's yellowing cheque intact, but I cannot use that—no.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ah—I have it! I shall sell "Alastor!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Since I had overlooked it, I shall merely assume I -never had it. In its Rivière binding "Alastor" should -bring at least two hundred dollars and may bring more. -Heaven knows it cost me more. It holds some marginal -memoranda by Leigh Hunt, which should not detract -from its value. Since Alicia opines that my life is more -laudable than Alastor's because there are those who love -me, she shall profit by her judgment. "Alastor" shall -be sacrificed for her soft and lovely frocks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sooner or later I had to come to it. What is a volume -more or less compared to the happiness of a household? -I am glad I have decided this. So farewell, "Alastor, -Spirit of Solitude!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I seem to be possessed by the mad feverish spirit of -carnival.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Having sold my "Alastor" by means of an advertisement -in the Sunday </span><em class="italics">Times</em><span> for two hundred and twenty-five -dollars, I experienced a sensation of richer blood in -my veins by that accession of wealth. "Alastor" has -clothed all my family. I am sorry for the old woman -who lived in a shoe. She possessed no library. The -moral is obvious. What though I parted with a little bit -of myself when I parted with that book, I have engrafted -something else in its place. For the children also are -myself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I do not delegate Griselda any more to do the buying -for them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>First I took Jimmie and Randolph to a men's outfitting -shop where the atmosphere is august. Alicia offered to -come along, but though Jimmie is hotly attached to her, -he was vocal with objections.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This is men's business," he cried, "and us men must -go alone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">We</em><span> men," corrected Laura, laughing and kissing him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Us</em><span> men know how to talk!" he retorted, violently -rubbing the kiss from his cheek. Kisses, he implied, -were all very well in their place, but not at important -crises in masculine lives, not when the </span><em class="italics">toga virilis</em><span> was -hanging grandly from their shoulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come on, old man," Randolph interposed with a wink -in my direction, and Jimmie's wrath was appeased. The -"old man" soothed and uplifted him to the proper pitch -of virile dignity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The seventy-five dollars laid out upon those two boys -have given me more satisfaction than anything else -recently—until I spent the balance upon the girls. Men's -shops are prosaic and dull compared with those Greek -temples that line Fifth Avenue with feminine apparel. -As the paymaster for the boys I was unnoticed. As the -"uncle" of the two girls opening the door to heart's -desire, I was an object of almost affectionate solicitude -to the saleswoman. They were alert to help and advise. -What a freemasonry, an empire within an empire, is the -domain of women's clothes! In the latest slang and in -words from Shakespeare the jaded saleswomen were -eager to interpret my wishes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want some frocks and things for these girls," I -announced boldly in one of the great shops. "Not too -expensive but things nice girls ought to wear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know," nasally asserted an efficient blonde, ceasing -her mastication and mysteriously secreting what she -was chewing somewhere in her capacious mouth. -"Somethin' nice and classy—and quiet, but—</span><em class="italics">you</em><span> know!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Er—precisely—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Neat but not gaudy?" put in her more pallid, more -"cultured" companion, with a faded smile to complete -the specification.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah—exactly so," I murmured and Laura seemed -to experience a difficulty in restraining herself from -giggling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alicia, however, with the simple directness that is hers, -proceeded quietly to mention voiles and organdies and -soon the discussion became technical and I helpless. I -thought it wise to whisper to Alicia the amount of money -at her disposal. She gasped her astonishment with a -blush and then a beautiful light of gratitude and pleasure -leaped into her eyes and I believe the child was going to -cry. I turned away quickly, and steadily she proceeded -with the business in hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To the lady who quoted Polonius, the neat but not -gaudy one, I intrusted the selection of those things that -I was not to see; she was sincerely gratified at my -confidence and, I believe, conscientious.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was just about enough change left for refreshments -at Huyler's for the girls and paterfamilias. Gay -were the spirits in which we three traveled homeward. -How ridiculous Gertrude would make me, if she knew it!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I felt excitement and happiness bounding in my veins, -a new quality of those emotions, the like of which I had -never experienced before. And my heart positively -missed a beat when the crushing thought struck me: -Must I now lose these young creatures and pass again -into the emptiness of life?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We Americans are like the French in that we think our -climate the best in the world. Or, if not the best, at -least so far superior to many others that, like the French, -we are steeped in vanity about it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Of Saturdays I reach home early after midday, yet -it has been persistently and infallibly raining every -Saturday afternoon the entire blessed spring. If perchance I -want to take a walk and breathe some air, I cannot stir -out of the house.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yet a nervous restlessness possesses me: I must have -some diversion. It suddenly occurred to me to ask the -girls to put on their various new frocks that came last -evening. For a moment I was a little ashamed at the -thought. But at bottom, I suppose, every male is a -Persian Ahasuerus, desirous of displaying and gloating over -the beauty of his women folk. I have no doubt but that -the king secretly admired Vashti even though he was -wroth at her disobedience.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Laura, it appeared, was in the next street at the house -of a school friend, but Alicia complied eagerly, displaying -anything but the suffragette indignation of Vashti. -She was, in fact, eager to parade her frocks with quite -feminine excitement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In her clinging voile, in soft-tinted organdie, in white -slippers and silk stockings, Alicia appeared,—a vision -surprising, disturbingly radiant with youthful charm. -There was something with a blue sash that made her -simply exquisite, the very incarnation of grace. Her -hair gathered tightly at the nape of her neck and then -spreading out into a great brush, a cloud of shimmering -fine gold on her shoulders, seemed the only mark of -childhood left that prevented me from being like another -St. Anthony, miserably afraid of her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I know not what devil possessed me to ask her to go -and put up her hair before she took off that frock. How -different must have been the character of Persia's queen. -For Alicia ran out of the room and almost in a twinkling -she was back with her hair up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I sat for a moment staring at her speechless, dry-lipped -and open-mouthed. For before me, flushed and sparkling, -stood the most adorable young creature I had ever -seen. Why should there be so much mystery in feminine -hair?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You—you—</span><em class="italics">child</em><span>!" I blurted out finally in a sort -of choleric tenderness. "How dare you look so -beauti—so grown up in my house!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A peal of excited laughter was her answer and she -made as if she would rush toward me with open arms, -as might an affectionate child eager to caress an indulgent -parent—and then on a sadden she checked herself, a -blush suffusing her cheeks and her very ears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go call Griselda," I commanded, to cover her -confusion, "and show her the young woman we've been -harboring in the guise of a child."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alicia ran out of the room to comply and for a -moment I remained sitting in my chair as under a spell. -Then I rose hastily to dispel such nonsensical emotions -and left my room, only to come face to face with Alicia -and Griselda in the dining room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, ay—yes!" muttered my aging Griselda, her -swarthy countenance hot from the kitchen stove, looking -more forbiddingly sybilline than ever, "It's all over!" -she added mysteriously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean—all over?" I demanded -a little stupidly, though dimly I suppose I understood -her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The young besoms grow up sae fast, it's a meeracle -they dinna wed in their cradles!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wed!" I cried in disgust at the word. "You -women are always thinking of only one thing—even -you, Griselda. Go," I turned to Alicia, "let down your -hair again this minute, so you won't put such wild -notions into Griselda's frivolous mind."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alicia laughed deliciously and even Griselda with a -sort of dark twisted smile reiterated:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, ay—the young besoms!" Whereupon my -young woman impulsively threw her arms about Griselda -and kissed the brown cheek with gusto. Griselda -returned by pinching Alicia's cheek fiercely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My nephew Randolph and a companion, a tall gawky -boy coming into the house at that moment, stood in their -raincoats at the dining-room door and gaped, blocking -Alicia's path.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I say! Look who's here!" my young hopeful -exclaimed with a low whistle, wagging his head from side -to side. The other boy merely stared in dumb awe, -twisting his wet cap in his fingers. That gawk and -Alicia are the same age, yet—the difference!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let her go through and unmask," I waved them aside -and Alicia, with her head down, ran laughing out of the -room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I returned to my chair and sat down as one dazed. -My policy henceforth will be to frown on suchlike -tricks—though I myself had instigated this one. What an -occupation for a man of books and tranquillity—one -who desired to write of Brunetto Latini—to add to the -body of scholarship upon Dante!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And suddenly I put my head down on my arms and -laughed long and I am sure quite meaninglessly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For if I were a woman, I might just as easily have -sobbed in a way to tear out the heart. Decidedly the -suspense of awaiting news from Dibdin regarding -Pendleton must be undermining my nerves.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I am gey ill to live with.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I seem to myself like the irascible old gentlemen in the -comedies with the prithees and monstrous fine epigrams, -forever taking snuff—save that there is no comedy about -me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I take down books and I cannot read them. What -pleasure I used to experience in leaving some of the -leaves uncut in fine editions so as to cut them on further -readings! I have tried to extract that joy by cutting -some recently, but there is no joy in it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Why am I so certain that Pendleton will take away all -these that I love and leave me desolate? All his past -seems to argue against the probability. Yet constantly -I see before me the picture of their going in a body with -that man while I stand speechless, attempting to smile -benignantly. How we dramatize ourselves, even the -least imaginative amongst us! And all the time I feel -as though great gouts of blood were dripping, dripping -from my heart in nameless anguish.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alicia, that divine child, is watching me unobtrusively -though closely, whenever she can. She surrounds me -with comforts and attentions. But like some sick owl, -I prefer to brood alone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The somewhat isolated position of my châlet on the -rock and the lack of a wife in the household has saved -me from making intimate acquaintances among my Crestlands -neighbors. But there is one young man, Judkins, -an architect in the stucco house opposite, who strides over -to my porch and insists upon talking of his performances -at golf.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ought to join the Club," he keeps reiterating. -"Nothing like eighteen holes to take the kinks outa your -brain after the hullabaloo in the city."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Er—do I seem to have many kinks?" I ask, -whereat he laughs in his harsh voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All got 'em!" he cries. "Can't get away from 'em. -Books!" he adds explosively, "books are no good! -They give you the willies!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And that man claims to have studied at the Beaux -Arts! Edmond de Goncourt, that neurasthenic philosopher, -prayed that he might make a hundred thousand -francs from his play "Germinie Lacerteux," so that he -might buy the house opposite and put this notice on it: -"To be let to people who have no children, who do not -play any musical instrument, and who will be permitted -to keep only goldfish as pets." As for me, I should -waive the children, the pets and the musical instruments; -I would merely say, "No proselyting golfers need apply."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alicia, to mitigate my mood, I suppose, devised a -picnic in the woods. No one was to come save the children -and I and that gawky companion of Randolph's, the boy -John Purington, lest Randolph should be bored. Randolph, -it appears, is easily bored. The consciousness of -my recent hypochondriac behavior led me to accept the -suggestion with alacrity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The luncheon Griselda prepared was packed in paper -boxes by Alicia and together, </span><em class="italics">en masse</em><span>, our little -procession set forth and made its way to a grove less -than two miles distant bordering on the great Croton -aqueduct.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Randolph and the gawky boy fell at once to tossing a -baseball, Jimmie rolled delightedly about the lush grass, -still grappling with his insoluble problem of rolling up a -slope and still perplexed as to why it should be easier to -roll down. Laura ran to his aid and Alicia sat beside me -and laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is the whole problem of life that Jimmie is -facing," I observed gloomily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, it isn't, Uncle Ranny," she put her hand on my -arm as she contradicted. "That is only the law of -gravitation. There is a lot more to life than that!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Alicia," I lowered my voice, "but when that -man comes, how it will hurt to think of little Jimmie, of -all those children of my sister's in the care of that man -who's really her—her murderer!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Please, please, don't think of that!" she begged, with -imploring eyes. "That hasn't happened yet. And -we'll—we'll manage it somehow. Maybe he's a good man, -after all—and, oh; we'll watch him—we'll watch him! -Besides, he mayn't come. If he is what you think, then -I am sure he won't come!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That proved a very cheering thought.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Before I knew it, I was myself tossing a ball with -Alicia and romping with the rest of them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was only after the lunch had been eaten under the -trees and the egg shells and papers were gathered and -stowed away, and the gawky boy proceeded clumsily to -monopolize Alicia, who has not the heart to snub -anybody, that my depression returned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Whereupon Alicia gayly proposed that it was time to -think of going home, because Jimmie was drowsy and -must not forego his nap.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Was it adroitness or spontaneity? I cannot tell, but it -is marvelous how that girl anticipates and understands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a happy, tired, air-steeped company that -returned home.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>A telegram has just arrived. Dibdin and Pendleton -have landed in San Francisco!...</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xiv"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XIV</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Pendleton is here. He has been here a week. -Like one in the dazed excitement of some dream, the -sort of farrago that leaves you limp and weakly smiling -when you wake up and see the sun, I have been going -about with numb limbs, strangely galvanized, not so much -into activity as the expectation of activity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What is it I have been expecting to happen? I -hardly know. But perhaps I have been expecting -melodrama. And I am overcome by the obvious truism that -genuine melodrama is anything but melodramatic. That -is why melodrama on the stage, with its ranting and -strutting and flourishes, disgusts one by its bathos.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The presence of Pendleton in my house, occupying my -bedroom while I have withdrawn into my little study, is -the essence of melodrama.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yet every one and everything is in a tacit conspiracy -to make it seem natural. There is a tension in the -atmosphere, without doubt, but we are all of us madly, -energetically ignoring it, hiding it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man's conduct has been astounding, unimpeachable, -unexceptionable.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He out-Enochs Enoch Arden. Yet—why should I -disguise the fact to myself—I hate him. That, too, I -suppose, is melodrama. But do what I will, he remains -detestable to me. I cannot trust him. I try, however, -not to show it. Dibdin has acquired a deep furrow between -the eyes, due doubtless to his sense of responsibility -in having resuscitated Pendleton. He carries the air of -some magician or sorcerer who has evoked a demon and -is overwhelmed with terror by the problem of what to -do with him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But I must in decency acknowledge that Pendleton's -behavior has been without blemish.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dibdin had sent me a long night letter from San -Francisco saying he would remain there a few days, "to -give the fellow chance to bolt if he wants to." There -had been other telegrams. I was not to meet them at -the train but to give explicit directions. It was as well. -I could not have met Pendleton at the train even if he -were coming from the dead. A week ago, when Dibdin -telephoned from the city, I went so far as to order a -cab to meet them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There again the histrionics of the situation were at a -hopeless disadvantage. For what I remember most -vividly of that Saturday evening was the sickness of my -soul as I sat awaiting their arrival. Again and again I -had steeled myself to tell the children of their father's -coming. I framed words and sentences in my mind -until the cold perspiration moistened my forehead, but I -could not face the ordeal. I had thought I knew myself—that -I was steeled to the tests of life. But I saw I was -still a reed. It came to within a couple of hours before -their arrival and still I had not told them. I found -myself on my two-inch terrace and a stream of profanity -was breaking from my lips. On a sudden I saw Jimmie -standing beside me. Shame and chagrin overtook me -and I bent down to him and begged him to forgive me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you mind me, Uncle Ranny," he put his hand -in mine. "I'm a man, and I know a man has got to -swear sometimes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Jimmie—not if the man has brains enough with -which to think."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That contact with the child, however, seemed to -release something in my clamped and aching skull.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Run, Jimmie," I said, "and send Alicia out to me. -I wish to speak to her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jimmie, to whom commissions are delight, was off like -an arrow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Some moments elapsed before Alicia could come to me -and during that time I had a mad impulse to fly from it -all, to, seize my hat and steal away, to take a train to the -city and not to return, until it was all over. But I waited -nevertheless and Alicia, who had been helping Griselda, -came running out flushed, with concern in her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Alicia," I began miserably, "I have tried to screw up -my courage to tell the children about the coming of—of -their father. But I simply can't do it, Alicia; it's—it's -beyond me. I—I want you to tell them," I faltered -like a guilty schoolboy. The girl winced perceptibly -but—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right," she answered; "do you mean now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"About half-past six—the train gets here at six -thirty-five. You take them into the garden—and keep -them there until after the men come, and—I call you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—Uncle Ranny," she whispered—"but, oh, -please don't worry about it so much!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, my dear," I murmured and at that moment I -felt closer to her than to any other living being. To take -the children out of the house upon the coming of their -father—it sounded like a funeral. And it was at that -moment—my funeral. And the rest of the afternoon -was a blur and the encompassing world was a shadow. -It was broken; no, it was too insubstantial for breaking. -It kept thinning and receding away from me and I was -left a dully throbbing entity in the primal chaos before -Creation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was startled at last by hearing the wheezy groan of -an aged taxi outside and like the galvanized corpse I was, -I felt my members heavily stirring and propelling me to -the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the path in the curiously sickly light of a premature -dusk under a clouded, lifeless sky I saw Dibdin and -Pendleton, slightly stooping forward to the slope, -walking toward me. That moment of poignant joy at seeing -Dibdin, of exquisite pain on beholding Pendleton—I -shall never forget it!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dibdin!" I cried, rushing at his hand and clinging -to it to defer as long as possible touching the other's. -Then, after ages it seemed, my eyes slowly turned to the -tall figure of Pendleton and rested on the fleshy face, -somewhat loose and pendulous, smooth-shaven and -purplish, with eyes that fell before my own. Finally I -disengaged my hand and held it out to him. I could not -do otherwise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jim," I murmured and my voice had labored over a -universe of barriers to achieve that. But I could utter -no more.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He peered at me from his protruding eyes as though -he also were struggling, struggling with memory and -with memories, with a teeming past, with all that he had -been and committed, and for an instant I felt sorry for -him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come in," I breathed deeply, and we made our way -into the house and into my study.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Randolph," Pendleton finally uttered with a -profound sigh, and then I recalled that he was playing a -part. To me the appalling reality of the whole episode -had been so excruciating that momentarily I forgot that -he was in all likelihood playing a part. But was he? -How could he? In the face of these children, in the face -of all he is guilty of, how could he play a part, when the -truth would raise him almost to a kind of manhood? I -cannot give him the benefit of the doubt and yet I cannot -wholly doubt him. Some idiotic simplicity or imbecility -inside me makes it impossible for me to envisage any -creature in human form as so consummate a villain. -Perhaps—perhaps there is something—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Randolph," he murmured in a deep guttural—"I -know you—I remember you—yes, you are—you -are—" and he paused. We hung for a moment like -things dangling by threads, like marionettes motionless. -Then, with a prickling sensation of sweat over all my -body, I broke the spell by fumbling with a box of -cigarettes and with a hand spasmodically quivering like the -needle of a seismograph, I held them out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have a good voyage?" I heard myself saying, as -we all smoked and covertly stole glances at one another. -I was not flying at his throat. Dibdin puffed heavily -with the crease deepening between his eyes and Pendleton's -gaze roved questing and unsteady about the room. -Melodrama! There never was any except on the stage! -In life there is only drama—and pain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How are the kids?" Dibdin asked abruptly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fine!" I exclaimed automatically, in an unnatural -voice, like a pistol shot. "They are out in the garden -there," and Dibdin nodded. I felt certain that his mind -also was seeing the analogy to a funeral. And now my -brain seemed to be shaking off its dull lethargy. From -somewhere in Maeterlinck the haunting memory of a -phrase came glimmering through my consciousness, like -a dim light through a fog, to the effect that if Socrates -and Christ had been in the palace of Agamemnon, the -tragedies of the house of Atreus could not have happened. -I longed for a little wisdom to deal with the situation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Would you like," I turned to Pendleton, "to see the -children?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The children," he repeated dazedly. "Yes—yes—I'd -like to see them. But—just a moment. The children," -he repeated piteously, "but no Laura!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sharp, sharp was the stab at my heart when he spoke -her name. But either he is a supreme master in deceit or -I am the dullest of simpletons. For the struggle through -clouds of memory that his features expressed seemed real -to me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I told you she was dead!" snapped Dibdin gruffly, -without turning to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You told me? Ah, yes." And he sighed heavily. -"Of course you told me." And his chin sank weightily -to his breast. We remained thus silent for a space. -Then—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come," I said, standing up. "I'll take you to the -children."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He rose ponderously, his great frame limp and leaden, -and followed me somberly. He seemed sincere enough -in his grief, I must own that. Dibdin did not move.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I led him into the garden toward the spot where the -children were huddled about Alicia. She was talking -to them in low tones and they were listening in dead -silence. Never again, I hope, shall I experience that -sense of going to my own execution that I experienced at -that instant. Execution—no! I could have walked to -a gibbet or a guillotine smiling, I am quite sure. What -is my life to me? I was walking rather to the execution -of those four young souls under the gnarled old apple -tree.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alicia, too! By Heaven! Like a lightning stroke -that fact crashed into my soul. He would take Alicia -also. No—no! He had no claim upon her, thank God!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not Alicia!" my voice broke out from the turmoil -of my thoughts like the voice in a dream breaking the -barriers of sleep.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh?" said Pendleton faintly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you call, Uncle Ranny?" Alicia turned and -asked in a clear, steady voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Alicia," I struggled for control. "Here is -Mr. Pendleton—come to see the children." I meant to say -"his children," but I could not.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The whole sickly-colored evening seemed to shudder at -my words. The children seemed like wraiths under the -tree to shudder away from the intruding material world.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In a moment—what a tragic moment—Pendleton -was bending toward them, peering, peering into their -white, frightened faces. Then his gaze settled on Alicia -and hung there for a space.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This must be Randolph," he finally turned to the -eldest boy, "grown—grown up—isn't it?" and his arms -stirred forward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir," the boy answered hoarsely and put out his -hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And this—can this be baby Laura?" Laura hung -her head then raised it bravely and with shy resolution -held out her hand. Pendleton took it and kissed her -clumsily on the cheek.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jimmie, hanging back, clung to Alicia's skirt and -watched the proceedings with troubled stealth from -behind her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And this is Jimmie," I said, taking the child by the -shoulder—"the youngest of them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As Pendleton was stooping toward him, Jimmie -uttered a wild scream of heartbreaking terror, wrenched -himself from my hold and fled like some little wounded -animal toward the house. Pendleton gave a short, -mirthless laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My throat was parched, my heart Was thumping like -a rabbit's, but how I loved Jimmie at that moment!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He is only a baby," put in Alicia softly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again Pendleton looked at her—obliquely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And this is—" he murmured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Alicia Palmer," I supplied hastily, "who has been -looking after them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, Alicia—a little deputy mother—" and he held -out his hand with shamefaced suavity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The scene was over—the incredible episode—commonplace -enough as I write it down. But I lived a -dozen melodramas in that eternity that a clock would -tick off in three or four minutes of time.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xv"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XV</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Walking about as I do under sentence, I am like a -man of my acquaintance, a stodgy, a terrible Philistine, -who cherished for years a fancy that he could write -Gilbert and Sullivan operas. In all his life he had -probably never rhymed anything more subtle than love, above -and dove. Since any fool, in his opinion, could supply -the music, he aspired only to the Gilbertian librettos. -Incessantly and hopelessly out of key he went about -humming the Sullivan tunes to the lyrics he alleged to have -in his mind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Similarly, I go about with a sense of mendacious -buoyancy,—like a shipwrecked passenger bobbing helplessly -in a troubled sea, but still alive; a flickering glimmer of -hope, like a desperate man facing a tiger, but still -undevoured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Brazenly I still expect happiness to emerge, somehow, -out of hopelessness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is easy, of course, to lapse into moods of despondency, -into wishing I were dead, since I cannot live in -happiness,</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>From this world-wearied flesh.</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>But such moments pass. There is a sort of tonic in -the rough of life when the smooth is absent, and the wits, -my poor dull wits, brace themselves for the shock of -action. I feel certain now that in all my years of -tranquillity it is the salt of suffering that was lacking. Yet -who would seek suffering for its own sake? I know, -however, that I feel younger and more energetic to-day -than ever I felt five years ago.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Even Pendleton has his uses. He is the thorn in the -side, the fox gnawing at my vitals under the cloak, but -here he is in my house as its guest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He goes with me to the city of a morning on his quest -for work, "a connection" as he calls it, and often I find -him at home before me when I arrive, in my room, -smoking, or out in the garden with the children. I wince -inwardly, but I hope I do not show it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I spoke of hating him, but that is untrue. You -cannot persistently hate any man, notably a guest in your -house. You can only suspect him. Yet, when I see the -children still shy of him, why does it give me a throbbing -sense of triumph? I do not know, but so it is. -Randolph alone seems to approach him nearer as the days -go by. They go on walks together and Randolph -confides to Alicia that he is fascinated by the tales of his -father's experiences in the tropics, of ships and islands -and pearl-fishing and native customs. I fancy Pendleton -must be selectively on the alert in his narratives with his -young son as the listener. His past must contain many -things that none of us in this quiet haven will ever hear -recounted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But I am indifferent to his past. I could listen and -even tolerate him as my guest, if only the children were -not passing to his care. He talks of "relieving" me of -the burden.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't hurry, old man," I answer casually, "they are -no burden to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He gazes at me and lowers his eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I tell you, Randolph, you're a revelation to me. I -never knew a man like you before. They don't make -them like that these days."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Praise from Sir Hubert," occurs to me, but I don't -say it. I am in reality at his mercy, I suppose, but I -often feel as though he were at mine. The glossing over -of his atrocious conduct, the taking him at his word on -the subject of his lapsed memory, which we either slur -or don't refer to at all, seem to give me a tremendous -advantage over him,—the commonplace advantage of -simple honesty over mendacity. Not for a moment do -I now believe in his lapsed memory story. I cannot -deny, however, that his air is one of repentance and, as -Dibdin has said, who in this world is so hard but he -wouldn't give a fellow man a second chance?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Pendleton, now that he has been to a New York -tailor's, appears as impressive and debonair as ever. He -must be in the middle forties and he is not ill-looking. -It is chiefly his eyes that seem changed to me. Do what -I will, I cannot look at them. There is a certain -disturbing obliqueness about his gaze that makes me turn -mine away in a sort of vicarious shame.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>But, again, </span><em class="italics">C'est un mauvais metier que celui de medire</em><span>. -And conscious of that truth, I mean to speak or think -no more ill of Jim Pendleton. After all, his large -contact with the world has given him something that I -lack.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Last evening at dinner he was regaling us with an -experience of his of spearing fish in the Marquesas.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was in the back of the boat," he was saying, "with -a torch in my hand, and my islander, who was an -expert at it, held his spear ready for the first fish that -leaped. Several of them leaped and fell again into the -water round us churning it up, so that we were wet with -spray. Suddenly I saw a huge mass glistening in the -torchlight, falling, it seemed, right on top of us.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The native buried his spear upward in the thing as it -fell. I tell you that man was quick! But it was too late. -The huge fish flopped into the boat with its great head -on my knees and the full weight of his body on the man, -sending him overboard and splintering the side of the -boat. In just about a second we were in total darkness, -floundering in the water, with an overturned boat. I -was badly bruised and the native had both legs broken.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In spite of his broken legs, however, he offered to -swim ashore, to the nearest projecting rock. But I was -sure he couldn't make it and very certain I couldn't. It -was a job, I can tell you, righting that boat, helping that -man into it and scrambling in myself; and then with a -piece of splintered oar rowing ourselves in. The -fellow with his broken legs, worked just as hard as I did -and never uttered so much as a groan. It did me up for -some time. But that fellow was spearing fish again in -ten days or so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jimmie, who is sometimes allowed to take his supper -with us, sat gazing at his father, fascinated by the -narrative until the last word. Then seemingly jealous that -any one, even this strange father, should exceed me in -prowess, his little face clouded and he demanded:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Uncle Ranny, didn't you ever spear a big fish?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Jimmie," I laughed, "but maybe you and I will -go there one day and spear some together."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, anyway," he retorted stoutly, "you took us -on a picnic."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Whereat we all laughed, albeit my own laugh was -rueful. The thought flashed through my mind that -Pendleton was certain to win them to himself the moment -he decided to do so. The very memory of me would -become ridiculous to them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Uncle Ranny," spoke up Laura, "has been too busy -feeding us and buying us clothes to go traveling."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alicia smiled radiantly at Laura across the table, and -Griselda, who had just come in with the dessert, nodded -her head with somber emphasis as she placed the bowl -before me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I could have hugged them all three in gratitude, but -nevertheless I pressed Pendleton to narrate more of his -experiences.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," he shook his head, evidently taking the children's -comment to heart. "That's yarn enough for one -evening."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That seemed to me very decent of Pendleton.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I could not help laughing at Dibdin to-day. I called -him up on the telephone and demanded what he meant -by coming from devil knows where after more than two -years' absence and virtually cutting me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come to lunch at the Salmagundi Club," he growled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Does it pain you as much as that to ask me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't be a damn fool," he retorted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't be so wickedly witty," I replied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At twelve-thirty," he muttered and hung up the -receiver. From which I gathered that he was out of -sorts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the hall of the Club where he was waiting, I greeted -him with,</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"'Is it weakness of intellect, birdie,' I cried,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>'Or a rather tough worm in your little inside?'"</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>He stared at me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How you can be so light and idiotic in the face of -circumstances," he began, "passes my comprehension."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Circumstances, my dear fellow, are all there is to life."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Want to wash your paws?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—I am as clean as I shall ever be."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I put my arm through his and allowed him to lead -me to a quiet table in the rear of the billiard room, softly -illumined by a shaded lamp at midday.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What a delightful place!" I exclaimed. "Residence -of Q.T. tranquillity."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tranquillity be blowed," he grunted, as he sat down -facing me. "What are you going to do about that Old -Man of the Sea of yours?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean Pendleton?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Whom the devil else can I mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, nothing of course, but give him a leg up if -we can. What else is there to do? I just received a -letter this morning from an insurance company asking -for confidential information about him. He's given me -as a reference and they're evidently considering him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Danbury and Phoenix?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. How did you know?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I got one, too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose we are really his only two possible -sponsors at present."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd as soon recommend a convict from Sing Sing," -he muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no!" I protested. "Not as bad as that. Besides, -sometimes you have to recommend even a convict."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd much rather recommend a convict. I hate to lie -about this man. I've been asked whether I would trust -him and I have to say yes. But you know dashed well -I wouldn't. Give me a cigarette," he ended savagely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think he'll go straight now," I murmured dully, -passing my case to Dibdin and looking away. "The -children will no doubt have an influence on him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You judge everybody by yourself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How d'ye mean—myself?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The long and the short of it is," he declared, putting -both elbows on the table, "I had no idea what the -children would do to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What did they do to me?" I queried, mystified.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Made you over—that's all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Explain," I said, gazing at him stupidly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is there to explain?" growled Dibdin, when -the waiter was out of earshot. "You were always a -decent sort of idiot—bookworm, muddler, dilettante, -whatever it was—afraid of real life, fit only to collect -pretty little books or old musty volumes that nobody -really cares to read in—a drifter, with about as much -knowledge of the problems of existence as a stuffed owl -in a glass.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What happened? Your sister's orphans come to -you. You plunge into life, go into business which you -detest, lose your money, go to work as a clerk, by George! -You of all people!—Keep a roof over them, bring them -up and hang me if I don't think you were idiotically -happy in it all until I brought this Old Man of the Sea!—What -right had I to pick him up and bring him and bungle -it all? And why the hell didn't you warn me not -to fetch him? I thought I was helping you out. I'd -sooner have chucked the brute overboard—I would, by -Heaven!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment I could reply nothing at all to Dibdin. -His estimate and account of my actions were natural -enough to him who, despite his burly manner, exaggerates -everybody's qualities. It seemed the more remarkable -that he who so firmly believed in the second chance -should now find no word to say in Pendleton's favor. -But I could see clearly enough that what troubled him -was the pain he instinctively realized the departure of the -children from me to Pendleton was certain to bring me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why didn't you cable me, 'Lose the brute?'" he -took up his argument.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because, my dear fellow," I put my hand on his arm -across the table, "it was too late; once you had found -him and told him of what had occurred in his absence, -it was too late. Would you like to live with the -menacing uncertainty of him overhanging in space? Rather -have him here and face him. Besides, the children are -his"—I knew I must state my view squarely on that -head—"If he is fit to take them, then have them he must, -regardless."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Regardless of you, you mean?" He put it darkly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—regardless of me, certainly. I don't count."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By the Lord!" and his fine head shot upwards in a -gesture that was in itself invigorating. "D'you know -you are twenty times the man you were?" he cried. "I -couldn't have believed it. You—you're stupendous!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I laughed and waved him away with a "</span><em class="italics">Retro, Satanas</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're going it blind like that," he ran on, disregarding -me,—"Salmon and Byrd," with a laugh—"losing -all your money and then—Visconti's—slaving for the -kids—meeting it all—by gad, you are living -life!—heroic, I call it—I take off my hat to you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Put it on again," I murmured, moved by his vehemence. -It was certainly agreeable to hear such words -from Dibdin, who never lied. Praise is a savory dish, -not a thing that my misspent life has been surfeited with, -and it was exquisitely soothing to one's vanity. But it -was clear enough that Dibdin was wrong. His usually -lucid view was obscured by the tangle of circumstances -that weighed upon him. Naturally, I could not leave him -in his error.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you knew," I managed to stammer, "the malignant -fear that is eating my liver white, you—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fear of what?" he broke in.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of turning those kids over to him;" I lowered my -voice—"just that and—nothing else."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just that," he repeated gloomily, nodding his head. -"Who would have supposed it? By the Lord! If ever -there was a bull in a China shop, I am that bull. Why -the devil did I ever pick the brute up? Look here!" he -flashed with sudden inspiration, "why not deport him -as we imported him, eh? I might manage it—I might!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—no, Dibdin—neither you nor I would do such -a thing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not?" he growled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That would make us—worse than he is, or was," -I explained sadly. For I must own that for an instant -my heart leaped at his suggestion. "Besides," I went -on prosily, "it's not so easy to lay a ghost when once -you've raised it. We've got to believe him, Dibdin, my -boy—if only for the young ones' sake. He will probably -get his job, and the thing to do now is not to arouse -his suspicion of how we feel about him. Believe -everything he says—believe in him. Thousands every year, -according to the newspapers, turn up willfully missing! -He was tired of the humdrum life and lit out; that is all -there was to it. Now he wants to try back. You -yourself thought he ought to have another chance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was genuine pathos in old Dibdin's voice when -he spoke out with a humid somber look:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By George, that chap's the Nemesis of us all! By -his one willful act of destructive irresponsibility he has -affected all our lives destructively. It's maddening that -one worthless brute should be able to do all that. He -killed Laura, damn him; he orphaned these kids; he's -upset your life—he makes wretched conspirators of you -and me—g-r-r-r! I'd like to pound him to a jelly!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I laughed joylessly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What would that undo?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing, I dare say," snapped Dibdin. "Besides, -you really have no complaint, boy. You tower, Randolph, -my lad; yes, by George! you tower head and shoulders -above any one I know! His very villainy has made -you over—blown the breath of life into you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I believe I answered something flippant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look here!" he cried, with a sudden movement upsetting -a glass of water and disregarding it. "If those -kids go over to him, we can keep an eye on him—just -the same—as though we were with them!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How d'you mean?" I queried, puzzled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That girl—what's her name—Alicia! She'll keep -an eye on him—and them. She's sharp, I tell you, with -her innocent blue eyes. Give you a daily report -like—like—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No!" I emphatically interrupted him. "That, -never! She is not going from my house—certainly not -to him!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was the more abashed by my own vehemence when -I saw Dibdin staring at me with lifted eyebrows.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why—you are not—" he began blankly—but I -interrupted him hotly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am nothing!—She is to me just as Jimmie and -Laura and Randolph are, but they are unfortunately his. -Don't you know the meaning of responsibility for young -lives, Dibdin? I want to give her her chance, educate -her, make a fine woman of her. They have a father; she -has no one but me. I can't turn her out—and I wish," -I added lamely, "I had as much right to keep them all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Whew!" he whistled in renewed astonishment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can only say I don't know you any more. I used -to know you, but I'm proud to make the acquaintance -of the new Mr. Randolph Byrd."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't be a damn fool, Dibdin," I mumbled in -exasperation. "You know you are talking rot. Why the -devil are you so interested in the kids? There is that -cheque you sent—!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You haven't cashed it," he interposed, moving his -shoulders as one shaking off something. "Why the -deuce haven't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will some day," I grinned at him feebly, "when -I need it more. But you haven't answered my question."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I felt I was goading him brutally but for once I seemed -to have the dear old tramp upon the hip. For all his -gruffness he was as full of emotions as anybody. It -seemed to me absurd for a man to hide his implanted -instinct, one of the noblest of all the little hidden -root-cellars of our instincts, under a false shame or -indifference. Women are wiser—they don't hide theirs; and -I had become shameless about mine.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why," I repeated, "are you so much interested in -those kids?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't be an ass!" he grunted, looking down upon -the wet tablecloth, and a spasm as of pain crossed his -countenance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, you see!" I laughed, attempting to lighten his -mood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Randolph," he uttered in a strange solemn tone that -sent a slight thrill through me. "I told you once there -was a woman I had cared about—and only one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—but you never married her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," he continued in the etiolated tone of a dead -grief. "She was married already when I knew her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then my sympathy went out to grizzled old Dibdin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am sorry," I murmured, touching his hand across -the table. "Did I know her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," he said quietly, "you knew her. It was Laura."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In a flash of poignantly bitter and vain regret I saw -the vista of the dead years—of what might have -been! ...</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xvi"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XVI</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Miracles—miracles are common as blackberries!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Pendleton is once again a faithful worker in the -vineyard of the insurance company.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A commonplace miracle enough, but all miracles, I -suppose, are commonplaces that happen to surprise us -or that we don't understand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The abstract office, I am sure, has more joy over one -sinner that repenteth than over ninety and nine—but -I do not wish to be blasphemous. Like Death, it claims -us all in the end. A voluptuary, an idler like myself, -or a renegade who broke from it indefensibly like Jim -Pendleton—all, sooner or later—turn or return to its -yoke like starved runaway slaves—the unrelenting -office! What a change it must be to Jim after the beaches -and the barrooms of the gorgeous East! But for one -closely relevant circumstance I could find it in my heart -to be sorry for him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What a strange and wonderful institution is the family! -Another of those commonplace miracles so charged -with mystery, like birth and death. If I were a classical -writer or a Sir Barnes Newcome I might expatiate at -length upon the subject. The things we swallow and -condone and cover up for the sake of its ties!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suffice it, however, that Jim Pendleton is quietly working -out his salvation, a salary and plans for re-creating -his dismembered home.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The children are becoming quite used to him. Randolph -seems to be the nearest to him and Jimmie remains -stubbornly farthest away. It is painful to think -however that Jimmie's youth will the more certainly and -completely detach him from me in the end.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When is it all to happen? I for one dare not fix the -fateful day which, with every passing hour, draws nearer. -No one fixes the day. It is left dangling in the air by -an invisible thread of uncertain length and strength—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There are times when I could cry out in my anguish, -my agony of nameless pain, fear, apprehension. But -what a spectacle I should make of myself if I gave vent -to emotion! We humans are not so much whited sepulchers -as masked and silent volcanoes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And Jim Pendleton—what is he thinking, feeling? -He is suave, quiet, controlled. He is very gentle with -them all, and particularly soft-spoken with Alicia. He -has taken to consulting and confabulating with her -touching the characteristics and the needs of the children. -At times it seems to me that I cannot bear it and once -at least I have called her and spoken harshly to her, and -charged her with having mislaid a volume of </span><em class="italics">Book Prices -Current</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>How childish on my part! But my nerves are not -what once they were. They are tetchy and fractious. -It has been decreed that I am to have a vacation and go -away for a fortnight—go to Maine or New Hampshire. -If I were to burst into laughter at the thought, I might -end like an hysterical woman, in uncontrollable tears. I -could no more go now than I could spread my arms and -fly. I am as remote from the holiday spirit as from the -North Star.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Poor Dibdin—how mistaken he is in me! He blathers -of my "towering head and shoulders"—b-r-r-r! it -makes me shudder with shame. What a weakling I am -in the face of life!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No—I am a toiler in Bleecker Street, of its reeking -pavements, its fly-infested purlieus, where the Italian -children grub and shout and sun themselves in the -gutters, in the air of a thousand smells throbbing under the -noonday sun. The homecoming to the third-rate suburb -used to be refreshing and soothing like a delicate -perfume. To see the children laughing and rosy in the -square inch of garden, to see Alicia, sparkling with her -young energy and enthusiasm,—it had all been like -coming into a cool temple filled with shapes of beauty, -after wandering in some fetid bazaar. Now it is dust -and ashes. I could never convey to Dibdin or to any -one else how alone I feel in the world, what chill and -cutting blasts of desolation sweep into my life every time -I think of its present or its future.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Minot Blackden came in to Visconti's at noon to-day -to drag me out to lunch.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let's stop in at my studio for a minute," he proposed -as he steered me round a corner. "Something for you -to see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He showed me a small rose window designed for some -church in Cincinnati and turned expectantly to catch my -exclamations. I gasped out some inanities.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Art, my boy!" he gloated. "That's art for you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is, indeed!" I assented helplessly. "Only -surprising thing is how a real artist can acquire so much -fame. Seems to me I see something about you in every -Sunday newspaper I take up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, that's business instinct," he chuckled. "I am -no amateur, I can tell you. I live this thing. You may -think it insane, but sometimes I think I am Benvenuto -Cellini reincarnated." He was not laughing; he was in -deadly earnest. "Come in," he added solemnly, directing -me to a door in the rear of his shop. "I want to -introduce you to my press agent."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was duly introduced to a plain bustling Mrs. Smith -of perhaps thirty-five, who rose from a typewriter and -spoke with a devotional, a reverential fervor of "our -work", while casting worshipful glances at the artist. -How do the Minot Blackdens inspire such adoration? I -know I have rediscovered no lost art and it is plain I am -no incarnation of Benvenuto Cellini. No one will ever -worship me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you seen Miss Bayard lately?" Blackden inquired -as we sat down to an Italian luncheon, beginning -with sardines and red pepper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—I haven't," I answered, surprised. "Do you -know her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do I know her! Don't you remember introducing -us in front of Brentano's?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I had forgotten it, and it seemed to hurt him that I -did not regard his movements and events with the -devotional attention of his press agent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course," I murmured lamely. "You've seen her -again?" He smiled a detached, superior smile such as -the immortals might smile over erring, unregenerate -humans, and ran his fingers through his dark, artistic hair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see her quite often," he explained. "Very wonderful -woman, Miss Bayard. She is a great inspiration -to me in my art. My art has taken strides and leaps -since I met her. Surprised you don't seize the -opportunity of seeing her oftener—a truly artistic -nature!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ass!" I thought. But aloud I explained that domestic -preoccupations left me little time for social or any -other visits. The casualness of my answer seemed to -brighten Blackden perceptibly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I recalled, incidentally, that I had promised Gertrude, -though heaven knows why, to let her know the upshot -of Pendleton's return.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell her, when you see her, that I am coming very -soon. I've had a good deal on my hands. She will -understand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She understands everything," murmured Blackden -absently. "Ah, there is a woman! Yes, I'll tell -her." And his eyes glowed in anticipation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was positively affectionate to me, this austere artist, -when he left me at Visconti's door.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>To come home, as I have said, used to be a delight. -The presence of one person in it has changed it to a -torment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This evening when I approached my châlet on the -rock, I found Pendleton in high good humor playing a -game with the children on the lawn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A flap of canvas, making a sort of pup tent, had been -fastened to the tree for Jimmie, to give him that touch -of savage life which even at Crestlands little boys seem -to crave. Savage life at Crestlands! Yet once the -Mohicans roamed here and the Mohican that is in all of us -craves an outlet in Jimmie. It craved an outlet in me -when I saw the great hulk of Pendleton squatting -tailor-fashion in the tent entrance, enacting the rôle of -cannibal chief. I stood unobserved for a moment, watching -the scene with bitterness in my heart and shame on top -of the bitterness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bring the prisoner before me," grunted Pendleton -in the character of the chief.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Tittering in suppressed glee, Randolph and Laura -marched Jimmie up to Pendleton, who measured the child -with a fearful frown and demanded where were the other -prisoners.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They escaped, your majesty," exploded Randolph -with stifled laughter. "This white man alone dared to -remain and brave your power!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He should be boiled and eaten by rights," Pendleton -growled truculently. "He dares to face the Big Chief -of the Cannibal Islands! Because of his great courage, -however," he added as an afterthought, "we shall spare -his life. Of such stuff great warriors are made."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Beware, your Majesty," giggled Laura, "he might -treacherously plan some harm to you. He is very brave, -this white chief!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We see he is a desperate blade," answered Pendleton -judicially. "But we admire bravery. He shall be -our spear-bearer in battle."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I want to be eaten!" shrilled Jimmie in his -excitement, whereat the others shrieked and shook with -laughter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alicia alone seemed moderate in her merriment. I -hugged it to my heart that she appeared to look a shade -sadly upon the scene. But I am probably wrong. I -went indoors and sank my chin upon my hands with a -turmoil of emotions which I wish to forget.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Pendleton is winning them, there is no doubt about -that. In all the world there is not a soul who would -cling to me, excepting possibly Griselda. Shakespeare -never uttered anything truer than that life was "a tale -told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I wish I had never been born.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This morning I longed to romp and riot with the children, -to shake off every atom of care, to laugh and roll -on the floor with them, to be happy as I have been -happy, but I could not. Held in the grip of a heartache -that permeated every fiber in my body, I slunk sullenly -away to my study after dinner to be alone. But even -that I could not have.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Pendleton followed on my heels, lit a cigar and inquired -whether he could have a talk with me. Naturally -I could not prevent it. I can prevent nothing, for I am -no longer master in my own house.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Old man," he began in his suave thick voice, which -he means to be friendly, which to me seems orgulous with -triumph. "Seems to me you're about due for a rest."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What d'you mean?" I faltered, wincing, though -inwardly I knew well enough what he meant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just what I say," he smiled. "You have worked -hard enough—supporting my family. Time I took the -load off your shoulders—that's what I mean."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I waved my hand in a gesture of deprecation, but I -could not speak.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I know," he insisted doggedly, though even now -he cannot look me in the eyes, "you didn't do it specially -for me. You did it because you are a man—you—bah! they -don't make 'em like you, as I've told you. But -you don't want praise from me, I know that. You don't -need it. What's more to the point is, it's time I took a -flat or small house in one of the suburbs and had the lot -of them move over and live on me for a while. About -time," he nodded his head and shifted his cigar, "about -time!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Every word was a stab, but I steeled myself for the -ordeal. Wasn't that what I had been expecting all this -time?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When—do you want to make the change?" I endeavored -to speak crisply, as when I address the National -City or the Guaranty Trust over the telephone at -Visconti's.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I thought I'd begin to look round to-morrow. -There'll be the place to find, some furniture to get—the -installment plan will help—whole job ought to be fixed -up in two or three weeks, I guess," he added with a laugh. -"Uncle Ranny will have to come to supper pretty often -to keep the kids as happy as we'd like to see them, eh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But a going household—" I spoke quickly in a sort -of last spasm of pitiful expostulation—"it's quite -a—an undertaking to set going?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—I know," he nodded soberly. "Don't think -I don't know I'll have to push the wheel hard—with -both shoulders. But d'you know," he lifted a -confidential eyebrow, "that young woman—Alicia—will be a -great help to me—quite a little housekeeper, she -is—quite a kid—I hope Laura will take after her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My heart was of lead. If he was watching my face, -he must have perceived a deadly pallor sweeping every -drop of blood away from it. There was a pounding in -my ear's like rushing waters.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Alicia," I heard myself saying as one speaking after -being rescued from drowning, "Alicia, you know, isn't -my child—or yours. I can't send her to you. She—there -are formalities—but, anyway, her wishes are a -factor in the matter. I'll do anything, old man," my -head seemed to swell suddenly and shoot upwards like -a cork from an abyss, and my face was damp with -perspiration—"anything, but I can't send that child to -you unless—unless she is keen—you see that, don't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, I see—certainly." He was looking away -as he spoke. I have a lingering hope he had not been -watching my face. "That's all true, of course. But -put yourself in my place, Randolph. Here are three -motherless children. She, that girl, has been a kind of -mother to them. Seems to have a born faculty for it. -What would I do without her, just starting in like -that—you understand!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Surely, surely!" I hastened to assure him, because -I felt slightly more master of myself. "But you see my -point—she doesn't belong to me. And even if she did—I -can't just pass her about—it's a responsibility—her -wish—what I mean is, I can't coerce her in any way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And suddenly I saw the children away from me, with -this dubious, mysterious man, alone, and my heart was -wrung with agony. With Alicia, at least—but, no! I -could not acquiesce so completely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Coerce—certainly not," was his wholly reasonable -comment. "I reckon a word from you would go a long -way, though. But I see your point, Randolph, I see -your point. Tell you what!" he began in a new tone. -"Suppose we put it this way. I'll speak to her myself—I'll -put it up to her—leave you out of it altogether, -see?—leave it to her to decide—so you won't have -to—you'll be neutral, you see?—What's the matter with -doing it that way?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A thousand devils within me moved me with all but -irresistible force to jump at his throat, to stifle his words, -to choke the beastly life out of him, to end the torment -then and there. But I could not—I could not. I knew -he was expressing by his words his sense of certainty -that he could win over Alicia, as he had won the -children—that I was helpless in his hands—that I was a -weakling whom he was making the barest pretense of -respecting—that he could strip my household of all I -held dear with an ease so laughable that he could not -even bother to ridicule me. And yet I could not rise up -and strangle him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As one in a vise, I sat for a moment chained by wild -conflicting passions, and then—a strange thing happened. -A feeling of nakedness, a sense of being stripped -of everything like another Job, of being utterly alone in -the world fell about me like an atmosphere. I felt -deprived of everything, though not bereft. It was an odd -feeling, a sort of involuntary renunciation of all that was -my life in which yet I calmly acquiesced. I faced and -addressed Pendleton almost with tranquillity. Certainly -I experienced a strange new dignity that was very soothing, -very grateful, as water to the thirsty after battle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well, Jim," I heard myself saying quietly. -"Go ahead your own way. That perhaps is best."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All that I remember is a gleam of triumph in his eye. -No word of all his chunnering and maundering afterwards -do I recall. He talked on, smoking, for perhaps -four or five minutes and then he left me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>By myself I felt at once strangely heavy as a mountain -and insubstantial as the shadow thereof.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xvii"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XVII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Again and again I have been told that I am a fool. -But not even my dearest friends have called me mad.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Are the gods then really so anxious to destroy me? -What have I done to deserve it?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This morning, after last night's interview with -Pendleton, I saw Alicia—suddenly saw her as it seemed for -the first time. And yet an overwhelming realization -flooded me like a tidal wave that through countless ages -she and she alone had been inexpressibly dear to me. -She, the divine ideal I had been pursuing, catching fitful -glimpses of in glades and forests, on mountain tops, in -palaces, in fantastic surroundings, amid incredible scenes -of a dim and ancient dream-life, more real than any -reality—</span><em class="italics">she</em><span> was Alicia, this child Alicia.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And I am more than twice her age!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nothing can come of it but misery and wretchedness -for me. By no word or sign dare I convey such a thing -to her or to any one else—to no one except these pale -pages that receive my poor motley confidences with the -only discretion I can trust.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She is dearer to me than all the worlds. Yet not only -must I remain dumb but I must guard my every word, -gesture, thought even, as never before.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the midst of all else this is a catastrophe. Yet it -overshadows and overbalances everything.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Let me disclose the truth by so much as a sign, and -every act and motive of mine becomes abruptly suspect, -and I shall stand revealed for the immoral, shameful -creature that I suppose I am.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I could face that, I believe, if there were any -possibility—but there isn't.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I must hide and cover and conquer the feeling by -inanition. But how can I, when she is so untellably dear -and precious to me?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No, no! A thousand times no! I cannot let Pendleton -try to inveigle her to leave me. No!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And all I have to do is to betray this garish resolution -and my secret will be out, and all that I am and have -done will stand forth as naked pretense and I shall -appear stripped and manacled like a common criminal too -good for the hangman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And I have dared to judge Pendleton!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The time-honored remedy in fiction, when a man finds -himself in love with any one he has no business to love -is, I believe, to go away, to travel. How ridiculous that -sounds to me. The only place I can go to is Visconti's. -To Visconti's! And now I have come back from -Visconti's and I cannot stay in the house.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I cannot stay in the house because Alicia is in it—and -Pendleton!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Oh, he will have his way, I am sure! The Old Man -of the Sea infallibly has. Why should the unscrupulous -always have the advantage? I abhor to think of him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is Alicia that is filling my mind, my heart, my life. -I have been trying to think of her even until yesterday -as a child, and I know I have been deceitful. She is a -woman—she is womanhood. I see her now in her -radiance and every movement and gesture of her, every -act, every glance speaks of the freshness and youth of -life, of a supreme, a divine beauty. I have called her a -child and I yearn to sink at her knees and cry out my -anguish and my adoration. I am the child, helpless -before her. Whatever I conceal, I cannot conceal what her -going would do to me. It would shatter what remains -of my life. And I suffered Pendleton yesterday to -propose calmly that she go over to him—trafficking in -Alicia!—and with Pendleton! It is stifling to think of. -I must go out. But I cannot let any of them see me. I -feel like a thief in my own house. The window—ah, -I can slip out for at least a solitary hour under the stars!</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I did not manage to get out under the stars after all. -Just as I began to fumble with the screen Alicia asked -leave to come in. No presence could have been more -welcome to me, but the dark thoughts under which I had -been brooding made me wince with pain as she entered. -Nevertheless I contrived to greet her with almost -normal cheerfulness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Uncle Ranny," she began hurriedly in an undertone, -coming close to me, "is it really coming, then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean, my dear?" I asked her, though -such subterfuges are quite useless with Alicia.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, he's just been telling me that he has his eye on -a flat near Columbia University in New York—that -he expects to have it going by the time the schools -open—hasn't he told you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What else did he say?" I queried breathlessly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing much—only he asked me whether I didn't -think it was wise to get settled there as soon as possible. -He is very nice to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that all?" I breathed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, that's about all—but isn't that enough?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I smiled feebly and sank into my chair with immense -relief.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I longed to draw her to me, to enfold her, to rest her -head against my heart, to hold her close and to exclude -thereby all black care and worry, all overhanging -shadows, all the threatening and looming clouds of -existence—to make my world blissfully complete. But I -am only "Uncle Ranny" to her—and I felt a shudder -pass down my spine.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you, Alicia," I managed to say. "What did -you answer?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course, I said that was true—what could I say? -But oh, Uncle Ranny," she leaned toward me as she stood -at my desk, "I am afraid, Uncle Ranny! They are ours—aren't -they—I know he's their father, but I can't help -feeling as though we were—handing them over to a -stranger—Oh, I suppose I ought not say it—some one -we don't know at all!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And she burst into tears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Blood and flesh could not bear it longer. I twitched -and writhed in my chair for an instant, then I leaped -up and threw my arms about her and strained her to me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My darling," I murmured brokenly, "and how do -you suppose I feel?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know," she sobbed and gently, very much as -Jimmie or Laura might have done, she put her arms -about me and nestled as though I were some one old and -fragile for whom she had a deep affection—but that -was all. Alicia's first embrace!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then I knew also. She did not, I trust, for an -instant suspect the bitterness of the cup I was that -moment draining. But why should I expect anything else? -The guilt in my own heart tells me enough,—and too -much—of exactly where I stand. Alicia is still a child. -As yet evidently she did not even suspect that Pendleton -was bent upon taking her also. Suppose I prevented that, -then what of the other three whom, in another way, I -love no less? My head was throbbing dizzily, my pulses -were beating like drums. For me this was the supreme -moment of anguish and sacrifice, the dark night of the -soul, that </span><em class="italics">noche oscura</em><span> that St. John of the Cross knows -so well how to describe, that shakes one's being and -changes one's life forever more. My lot seemed to be to -sacrifice and break myself in final and complete -renunciation, to drain my cup of bitterness to its uttermost -dregs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment the world was as a shadow, swaying, -airy and insubstantial. The cowled monk that is buried -somewhere within me was suddenly uppermost and the -life of the world seemed sordid and leprous; a deadly -thing rotted with lusts and passions, a thing to run away -from—that was pulling me into its sensual center. But -only for a moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then suddenly the blood surged to my temples, as -Alicia lay in my arms, and the ancient cunning of a -thousand male ancestors, of savage hunters and crafty -warriors who died that I might live, swept into my thews -and nerves and brain and I crackled with eagerness to -fight for my own.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No!—I would not—could not give up all that I held -dear. I would fight! I gripped Alicia's shoulders in a -spasm of fierce joy and in a hoarse guttural voice that -surprised her no more than it surprised me, I breathed -out:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never fear, Alicia—it can't be! It won't be. He -hasn't done it yet. I'll do something—I don't know -what as yet. But give me time—a little time—I'll -work it out. We'll fight if we must—but we won't -give up tamely!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alicia's warm cheek against mine, though with a trust -that can only be described as childlike, was reward -enough for victory, let alone for this still empty -challenge. But an irresistible, throbbing feeling of -confidence tells me that something will happen—that I shall -win!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Is it simply the confidence of a fool, and the surge of -melodrama that is never very far from any of us? -Possibly. But my blood still throbs and my muscles still -crackle with the strange eagerness and lust for battle. -It may be that the fragrance and the starry look of -Alicia that linger with me yet, the sweet joy and pride -of Alicia when she returned my good-night kiss before -she left me, the affection with which she clung, the -reluctance with which she went, all have something to do -with this new accession of courage. But I do not -comfort myself with vain things. Alicia happens to be a girl -whose affections have never been pampered by any -doting parents. If she looks upon me </span><em class="italics">in loco parentis</em><span>, that -ought to be enough for me. It is not enough. And the -pain of that leaves a barbed sting in my breast. But that -wound I shall carry gladly—I shall wear my hair shirt -like the girl wife of Jacopone da Todi—if only I can -play the man.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The evening and the morning were a day—the first -day of a new life, and what a day!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I went down in the train with Pendleton and briskly -suggested that he need not hurry with his arrangements.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought," said he, with a furtive, sidelong glance -at me, "that my first duty was to ease you. I owe you -too much already," he added, looking out toward the -drabness of the Mt. Vernon right of way.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's only strangers and enemies that owe each other -things;" I countered easily. "Friends owe each other -everything and nothing. There is no audit for such -accounts."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed out of proportion to the deserts of this -lump of wisdom and exclaimed:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're great, Randolph—great!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was my turn to laugh, and I felt that I had the -advantage of him. With the sixth sense, or the pineal -gland, or whatever it is, I was conscious that he was a -little afraid of me—and that did not damage my temper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your experience in life has been so—peculiar," I -told him, "that anybody would be glad to be of any -service possible. And you must remember that Laura -was my only sister. Tell me," I added conversationally, -"don't you find the harness galling at times after -all—you have been through?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Galling! Say, Randolph, those little machine -people in their skyscraper beehives—cages—don't know -what living is!—Freedom!" ...</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For the first time I had noted the light of spontaneity -glowing in his eyes, and my heart bounded: I was about -to hear a confession. But on a sudden he checked -himself and looked away. "Of course," he added in a forced -tone, "one has to face one's responsibilities. No—take -it all in all, I am glad to be doing my share of the work -and carrying my burden."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I knew he was lying. I knew that his first outburst -was the true Pendleton; that the addendum was meant, -as politicians say, for home consumption.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course, of course," I muttered hastily, "but we're -only human." And alternately I cudgeled my poor wits -to stand by me and prayed to them as to deities to light -my way.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This lawless spirit, Pendleton, I had a vague gleam -of intuition, was repenting his return to the yoke of -duty, to the restraints of civilization. What, then, was -it that held him? It was not a suddenly developed -conscience. Of that I was certain. There was a problem -I must solve and solve immediately.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We parted with cordiality at Grand Central station -and twenty minutes later I was one of those little -machines functioning at Visconti's.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want a draft at thirty days," I was saying, "for -ten thousand lire on Naples. Your best rate at that -date." And with the receiver to my ear I heard a voice -within me, independent of the telephone, whispering:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Could it be that he too is bewitched by Alicia?—with -all his roving and experience—or is it his sense of duty -to his children?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Four ninety-eight," said the exchange man, Hoskyns, -at the National City, and "four ninety-eight," I -repeated after him automatically. "Can't you do better—at -thirty days?" And the independent voice in my brain -put in: "Perhaps I am hipped upon the subject of -Alicia?" And so the morning wore on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gertrude, to my surprise and confusion, rang me up -at eleven.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good morning, Ranny," she opened sweetly. "You -haven't kept your promise, have you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Promise?" I repeated dully. "What promise?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You said you would keep me informed about -Pendleton's return. You haven't done it—have you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you have been away for the summer, haven't -you?" I ventured desperately.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, and I am back," she murmured gently, "and -still—better come and lunch with me to-day—don't -you think so?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If there's any one thing that my career as a business -man has done for me, it is to implant in my heart a hatred -for procrastination and shiftiness. I had no luncheon -engagement, and yet I despairingly told her I had.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dinner," she answered, "would suit me even better."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I ought to go home," I protested feebly, with a sinking -instinctive feeling that I really ought not to resume -such relations with Gertrude.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We'll have an early little meal, at six-thirty," she -smoothly ignored me, "Until then, good-by."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I clicked the receiver angrily for a moment, but -Gertrude had hung up. Her high-handed manner irritated -me, but that was her characteristic. We were more -leagues apart, Gertrude and I, than ever she or I could -travel backward. And though the results of our meeting -seemed to be unsatisfactory to Gertrude, I must in -justice to her admit that she is always an admirable -hostess.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I had telephoned to my house that I was not to be -expected to dinner, and when Griselda had dryly -answered, "Ye don't know what ye'll miss," I thought -with a pang that I knew more about that than she did. -Gertrude's calm and comfortable atmosphere, however, -her deep chairs and sofas and the air of excluding a -disorderly world, were not disagreeable to one fresh from -the filthy pavements south of Fourth Street. Could -those junk shops, paper-box factories, delicatessen -"garages" and machine shops be in the same world with -Gertrude's flat, in Gramercy Park? Yet they were only -a little more than a mile away, and those were my real -world, my daily environment. Gertrude's flat was now -foreign ground.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—goose of a man!—don't you see? What -could be better? The man comes back anxious to -reassume his responsibilities. You have had a Hades of -a time, but you have done the square thing, acquitted -yourself like a man and a hero. And now the little -romance ends happily and everything is satisfactory -and you are free again—what could be more delightful?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The heaviness of my heart portended anything but -delight, but I remained silent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't think I am being trivial, Ranny," she resumed -with a more sober vehemence. "It was a wonderful -thing to do. I feel I was wrong in what I advised in -the past. Your sticking to the children has done heaps -for you—for your development, I mean—more for -you than for them, perhaps," she inserted as a parenthesis -with a laugh. "But don't be quixotic now. Everything's -coming right in the best of all possible worlds. -So don't go throwing a wrench into the machinery just -because you've had the wrench in your hand so long you -can't think what else to do with it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am not good at changes," I murmured gloomily. -"I was catapulted from one kind of life into another -by main force of circumstances. Now I don't feel I -can stand being shot back into something else. The wear -and tear, the strain is too great."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I will not deny that what I chiefly saw at that moment -was a disruption that would rob me not only of the -affection of the children of which I could not speak, but -of Alicia, of whom I could speak even less.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gertrude graciously lit a cigarette for me and sat -down beside me. She herself, however, was not smoking.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is one change, Ranny," she began in a new -and strange voice that was almost tender, "that would -do you more good than anything else in the world—can -you guess what I mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A trip abroad?" I fumbled uncertainly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No"—smiled Gertrude quietly laying her hand on -mine, "I mean—marriage."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, my God!" I exclaimed in an agony of apprehension, -and a cold perspiration bedewed my forehead. -That was one thing I never had expected Gertrude to -discuss with me again, even in the abstract.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I do not remember what I ate, except that the dinner -was dainty and cool and exquisite. There was a dewy -cup of something light and refreshing and Gertrude's -frock was charming, her eyes were bright and there was -a touch of color in her cheeks. She did little talking -herself at first, but pressed me to tell her all I could of -Pendleton.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I told her. I told her of his coming, of his air of -penitence, of his returning to the offices of the -insurance company and of his present effort to reëstablish -a home for his children. The only suppressions I was -conscious of were any references to Alicia or to my own -somber emotions on the score of the children. Otherwise -I was frank enough, Heaven knows, for it is hard -for me not to be. To the very end Gertrude did not -interrupt me. Only when I had done she made one crisp, -incisive comment with a faint smile that was merely -a lift of the upper lip.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The one thing I cannot understand, Ranny," she -observed, "is your unreasonable skepticism."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You feel you could trust such a man implicitly?" I -demanded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," was the firm reply. "If there is any one thing -clear, it is that Jim Pendleton is genuinely penitent. -Suppose that lost-memory story is all moonshine, as you -and Dibdin seem to think. By coming back that way -doesn't the man really display more character than if it -were true? He really shows that if he's gone wrong he -has the stamina to come right again—and that's a good -deal in this wicked world, Ranny."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I had not looked at it in that light," I muttered, -disturbed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know you haven't," she gave a triumphant laugh. -"You couldn't be calm on the subject. You really are -an emotional, high-strung romantic, Ranny, and I don't -altogether blame you for being prejudiced. But any -dispassionate person knowing the facts will tell you I am -right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It would be difficult for me to feel dispassionate on -the subject," I returned doggedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly it would," was her ready reply. "That's -why I am glad I captured you. Some friend had to show -you your own interest."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My interest?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ranny," she cried in a voice charged with purpose -if not with emotion,—with an intense, a vibrating -resolution that impinged like a heavy weight upon my senses. -"Ranny—don't let's be children—we are too old for -that. Let bygones be bygones. I'll humiliate myself -before you. I—I love you, Ranny—" and her lips -really quivered—"I have always loved you—will you -marry me, Ranny?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her face seemed strange, transformed by the force of -an irresistible, a final compulsion. I writhed under her -gaze as one on a rack. She hung for a moment, her eyes -glittering into mine, positively tremulous; I had never -seen Gertrude so serious. I could not bear it. It was -excruciating. I know Gertrude was not herself. I leaped -from the sofa, her hand still clinging to mine.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't—I can't, Gertrude," I whispered hoarsely. -"Oh—I—wish—but I am horribly sorry—I can't!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gertrude's nerves are strong and her control over them -is stronger. She gazed at me for an instant, intently, -searchingly, dropped my hand and turned away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is some one else," she murmured in level tones -to herself; "there is some one else now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," I breathed, "though it won't—it can't—" -and I paused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You needn't tell me," she turned, smiling harshly. -"I know—it's that girl—the gutter-sni—but it -doesn't matter. Every man is a fool—and you are the -least likely to prove an exception. Oh, I always knew -that—felt it—but never mind. I can't humiliate -myself any more, can I?—Ranny," her voice suddenly -struck a quieter note. "One thing I must ask for our -old friendship's sake: You will forget this—episode—will -you not? And I shall try to."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear Gertrude—" I threw out my hands in a -gesture of helplessness. If there was any humiliation it -was I who was suffering it. She looked at me calmly, -stonily. The color in her cheeks was exactly the same as -before. Had Gertrude stooped to rouge?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your dear Gertrude—yes; then that's all right. -Have a drink before you go? No? Very well. You -will remember some day that I have given you my -best—done my best for you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It seems inherent in the nature of woman, so cosmic -is the sweep of her outlook, or else so near to the earth, -that when her desires are frustrated she feels the laws -of the universe are frustrated. I did not make this -comment to Gertrude, however; I could only murmur an -entreaty for her forgiveness—which she ignored. Her -only answer was a brief hard gesture of the head, a sort -of jerk that expressed at once futility, contempt and -dismissal.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As one dazed and paralyzed I must have made my way -somehow downstairs, into a street car or some other -conveyance at Fourth Avenue and into the babel at -Grand Central station. But of this I have no recollection -whatsoever. It is a blank. I must have walked -like a somnambulist. I never came to until I left the -train at Crestlands about a quarter past nine, and the -first thing I was conscious of was the pain I must have -inflicted.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xviii"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XVIII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I can write this almost calmly now because so much -has passed since that dreadful evening and details begin -to emerge cloudily from the fog of that confusion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I remember striking out homeward from the station -down our drably progressive suburban Main Street, following -the bumping, grinding, loitering trolley across the -little bridge over a stream that sends up a dank, fishy -odor, though all the living things I have ever seen in its -neighborhood were mosquitoes and water snakes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Over the rusty iron parapet I stood leaning for a few -minutes and the original thought feebly stirred my dazed -brain that life was not so much a dream—as the Spaniard -Calderon would have it—as it is a stream. There -is no knowing what it may not bring upon its bosom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's it," I muttered to myself aloud. "Life is a -stream within a dream."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's about the size of it," gruffly remarked a -passing laborer behind me, his dinner pail clanking against -his side, and he burst into a hoarse guffaw.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I laughed too, and concluded that I was still maudlin -at the end of my perfect day.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I left the bridge and the highway, turned to the right -and began to climb the ill-lighted crooked street, -anciently a Dutch cattle track, no doubt, that leads to my -isolated châlet upon the rock.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With all geography, history, the visible and invisible -universe to draw upon, the fathers of Crestlands had -denominated this obscure street Milwaukee Avenue. -Milwaukee Avenue put the last touch to my nightmarish -state. A sickly laugh escaped me as I bent my back to -the ascent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A young mounted policeman, who rode like another -Lancelot by this remote Shalott, interrupted his tune long -enough to give me a cheery greeting and rode on -humming to himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The September evening was mild and I vaguely purposed -walking past my house and strolling about for a -bit before I went in. It was early for returning from -dinner in town, and I was not overanxious to encounter -anybody. A sudden sense of something eerie and -awesome came to me as I looked at that deeply shadowed -cottage. It appeared unfamiliarly remote, detached, and -I gazed upon it with a weird sense of foreboding that -sent a slight shiver down my back. The window shades -of the châlet were drawn with only their rectangular -lines of light showing through,—light, I reflected -bitterly, by which Pendleton was no doubt beguiling Alicia -to desert my house and follow him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This thought lodged like a barb in my heart and my -feet suddenly turned to lead. I could not go on farther -and irresistibly I felt myself drawn homeward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The somber habit of my recent reflections urged me -with a plausibility strange and inexplicable to enter my -study by the window instead of the comparatively public -door. The window nearly always stood open. In case -of storm Griselda or Alicia would dash about the house -and close the windows, beginning always with my study. -But this day had been clear.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I tiptoed around through the garden to the side upon -which my study window gives. From it the land slopes -away under a covering of trees until it reaches the -stream.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a light in the study, though the shade was -drawn, flapping gently against the rusty wire screen. -This shade, as it happens, does not quite fit. It is short -a full half-inch on either side, so that the peering -observer can see as much as he pleases of what is going on -in that room when it is lighted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Automatically, without any premeditation that I can -now recall, I gazed into my own room like a prowling -thief. The picture I saw riveted me to the spot with an -irresistible magnetic force.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alicia was reclining on my leather couch, seemingly -asleep. Instinctively I knew that she had decided to -wait up for me and with some book in her hands had -nodded in her vigil. It was still early, but Alicia's day -began early and was always charged with activity. What -an exquisite picture she made as she lay there in her thin -frock, with a look of childlike trust and -unconsciousness—radiating beauty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Pendleton, who at that moment entered the door of -the study, possibly to find Alicia, stood for a few -moments spellbound by the picture, even as I stood outside. -My burglarious entry was now frustrated. I must make -use of the door. But I could not move from the -spot. Somehow I could not let Pendleton out of my -sight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>How dared he look at her in that manner!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My nerves were suddenly tense and my muscles quivering. -Strange unfamiliar thoughts of savage acts, of -sudden violence, of thrusts and blows, of blood-lust -seethed and bubbled within me like a lurid boiling pitch. -The inhibitions and restraints of a lifetime, however, -held me writhing as in a vise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I turned away for a twinkling as though to gather -resolution from the murmurous night.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On a sudden, as I peered again eagerly, I saw Pendleton's -great hulk bending over her, with a look peculiar -and intense, with a strange speculation in his eyes that -froze me. His huge hands were spasmodically, irresistibly -hovering as if to embrace her delicate unconscious -shoulders. Before I knew it he was kissing her cheek -and it was I—I—who felt his hot vile breath as though -Alicia's face and mine were one!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I cried out in a torment of fury and pain, but only -a hoarse distant sound as of some night bird issued out -of my parched constricted throat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I rattled the sash violently, seized the screen and -ripped it out, tearing my hands with the cheap twisted -screen frame, though I was unaware of it then. The -thin opaque shade flapped defiantly in my face. And -all at once I heard a piercing scream—the terrified voice -of Alicia!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rage maddened me. And because of my state, I experienced -difficulty, this time of all times, in entering -the window out of which normally I stepped with ease. -I stumbled, slipped, fell, rose again and leaped into the -room like a maniac.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Griselda, drawn by Alicia's scream, no doubt, -was already filling the doorway, facing Pendleton, and -with a look of concentrated hatred that remains engraved -in my memory she was saying:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye blackguard! Ye vile, black-hearted blackguard!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With a wild leap to my table I seized a pointed bronze -paper cutter. I should have plunged it into his heart, -but for the swift intervention of the aged Griselda.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No!" she cried huskily, seizing the blade, "we -need nae add murder to this!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I dropped the paper cutter to the floor and threw -myself at the purple throat of the beast Pendleton. For -a moment the guilty hang-dog look left his eyes and with -an oath he thrust out his open hands against my face -to throw me off. I was blinded by his huge hot palms -against my eyes but I clung convulsively to his throat. -His hands spasmodically closed about my neck; a -momentary blackness fell upon me but I clung, my fingers -eating more savagely into the hateful flesh of his throat. -The pent-up force of years of hostility was that instant -in my destroying hands. He gurgled and gasped and -reeled backward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the meanwhile Alicia, emerging from her bewilderment -and realizing the scene enacting itself with -lightning-like rapidity, gave a low cry and sat up, -moaning with terror. This vision of Alicia recalled me to -myself. I flung his head away from me and I myself -staggered backward with the force of my effort. I was -breathing like a wrestler as I stood leaning with one hand -upon the table. I could not speak.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My desire was to fold Alicia in my arms, to press -her to me, exulting in her safety. But I dared not move -for fear I should topple and fall, with the sheer working -of the rage that was tearing me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go—Alicia!" I gasped out finally. "Upstairs. -Leave us!" Dead, banal phrases, when I panted to pour -out endearments!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With a look of wild anxiety from Pendleton to me, -like a terrified doe, Alicia rose, stood for a moment -irresolute, then suddenly throwing up her hands to her -face, she ran out of the room with a piteous stifled cry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We stood for a space silent, all three of us, Griselda, -Pendleton and I, after the door had closed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, Pendleton," I said finally, when I was a little -more sure of my voice, "nothing you can say will matter -in the slightest. We saw. Question is what d'you mean -to do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He glanced hostilely toward Griselda. She, interpreting -his look, flashed defiantly, with arms akimbo.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look, ye villain, look your fill. I will na leave the -master alone with a murderer, the likes of you! No, I -will na!" How often I have wished since then that she -had not been so zealous.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Talk about murder!" Pendleton, with the ghost of a -grin, pointed at the paper knife still clutched in Griselda's -hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You needn't be afraid on my account," I told -Griselda quietly. "I don't fear him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will na go away," obstinately retorted Griselda, -moving forward, pushing Pendleton aside like a man, and -placing her back against the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well, Griselda," I said. "I have no secrets -to hide from you. And this man has betrayed what he -can never hope to hide. Pendleton, what do you mean -to do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do—" muttered Pendleton, with a dark abstraction -in his look, "I'd like to tell you what I'd like to do to -such as you—but it isn't worth while. This namby-pamby, -mollycoddle, rotten doll-life favors you. Do! -If I had the money, I'd get so far away I couldn't even -think of insects like you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you realize you are no more fit to take Laura's -children than you're fit to live among decent people?" He -was silent for a moment, with the abstraction merging -into cunning in his eye, and that in turn, as though -cunning were of no avail, fading into heaviness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They'll become like you," he finally answered with -the somber trace of a sneer. "There's the oldest boy—I -wish—I'd make a man of him." A snort of derision -from Griselda interrupted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean a criminal," I put in, in spite of myself. -"Well, you can't, Pendleton. Lift a finger and as -surely as you sit there, I'll prosecute you—children or -no children. Don't forget I have witnesses."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He gazed at me open-mouthed with half-defiance, -half-alarm on his moist fleshy countenance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's your little scheme, is it?" he muttered -sardonically.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Only if you drive me to it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Blackmail, eh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I laughed at him. "What's the use of being melodramatic, -Pendleton? You are hardly the one to talk -like that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where's the money Laura left?" he snapped with -truculent sharpness, and I experienced a pang of pain -to hear her name upon his lips. Nevertheless, I -answered him evenly:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That exists intact—about nineteen hundred dollars. -It's the children's, unless I should need it for their -education. I am the executor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Give me a thousand of that!" he cried passionately, -yet with a tentative uncertainty in his voice, "and I'll -go where I'll never see your face again!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's a consummation, Pendleton—but of that -not a penny!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Executor!" he repeated with vicious bitterness—"with -your little laws and safeguards. God! How I -hate you all! God! To be again where real men are—who -move—and laugh—and live! Peddling mollycoddles—caged -white mice! Damn you! I wish to -God I had never met any of you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't know how often I have wished that," I -murmured, but he paid no heed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lord! I want to be again where the sun shines, -where a man can take a chance! I wish to God I had -never met that moldy old rotten Dibdin! I was going -into the commission business with an Englishman at -Osaka—or I could have gone into one of the mines of -Kuhara in Korea—copper—made a fortune!"—he -spoke as if he were vehemently thinking aloud—"but -that plausible rotter Dibdin came along—dragged me -away—and I had a hankering for the lights of Broadway. -Broadway! What have I seen of it? Want to -put me in a cage—in a flat! Hell, man! Give me a -thousand dollars—and let me—I'll pay it back!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I did not laugh at his last words. His mention of -Dibdin suddenly brought to my mind what was like a -flash of light. To be rid of him was my paramount -desire. Dibdin—Dibdin's check—</span><em class="italics">to be used for the -children</em><span>! It lay yellowing in my pocketbook. Now if ever -was the time. Never, I felt certain after Pendleton's -confession, could I benefit the children more with a -thousand dollars!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes!" I cried explosively. "I understand you, -Pendleton. I'll give you a thousand dollars. You don't -belong here—it was a mistake bringing you—go -where you came from—where you'll be at home." It -was only afterwards I recalled that he had mentioned -blackmail.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll give it to me?" he exclaimed avidly, thrusting -out his hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—I will!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To-morrow morning." His face fell.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Some trick? You'll go back on it." I ignored him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you can't sleep here," I went on. "I'll meet you -in town anywhere you say. No, I'll tell you what I'll -do. I'll come with you to town now, to-night. -To-morrow morning we'll settle it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To be rid of him—to get him out from under this -roof—seemed suddenly a great, a priceless boon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God! I could kiss you!" he cried in derisive exultation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go pack your things," I said, through the tumult in -my brain. "I'll call a cab—or better still, you telephone -Hickson, Griselda. I'll go and help him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Pendleton nodded with grim insolence and shouldered -out of the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A better night's work ye've never done in your life," -flashed Griselda, with a look of approbation that pleased -me as much as any praise I have ever received; and she -shuffled out to the telephone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For one moment of silence I stood alone in the middle -of my study, throbbing with a jumble of half-formed -thoughts and racing flashes of ideas upon none of which -my mind was able to fasten. But this single fact finally -emerged from the welter: It was I, by my own act, -who was now sending the father of Laura's children into -exile. But on the heels of that came the certain conviction -that never had any judge since justice was invented -made a more accurate decision. And it seemed to me then -as though something new and massive and stubborn and -hard was born in my bosom that solidified and toughened -me: That, come sorrow or joy, I should be able -to present a surer front to their encounter, a greater -certitude in meeting them. I felt myself at last an active, -fashioned and tempered part of the machinery of life, -and all my past seemed as chaff that had been blown by -the winds of circumstance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alicia! My heart cried out for her! But I could -not go to her now. I must clean my house for her and -when next I saw her it should be in a cleared and wholesome -atmosphere that no longer reeked of Pendleton. I -made my way to his room and opened the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you packing space enough?" I asked him coldly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I could use another suit case," he muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll give you mine," I told him and brought forth -my bag from a closet in the hall. Whether Alicia had -heard any or all of our words I could not tell. The -children were evidently sleeping. I walked on tiptoe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where d'you intend to go?" growled Pendleton, -without looking at me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To an hotel," I told him curtly—"any hotel you like."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go to the Hotel de Gink for all I care," he -muttered and went on with his packing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you want to see the children before you go?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I could not forbear asking him that. He paused for -a moment and straightened up, breathing heavily. Then -he shook his head. "No—I guess not."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The tin taxicab was rattling at the door, and -Griselda came futilely to announce it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll hear from me to-morrow morning some -time," I whispered to her quickly, as Pendleton, stooping -under his bags, lumbered on in front of me. "Look -after Alicia—and the others."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay," she murmured, "have no fear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a train, and in the longest half-hour of -any journey we were at the Manhattan Hotel. Adjoining -rooms were assigned to us with a bathroom between. -There had been a sort of intoxication about -the entire business that had carried me on with a blind -nameless force as one is carried in a dream. Once I -was alone in the four walls of the impersonal chamber, -a sudden lassitude fell upon me, followed by an immense -wave of dreariness. How somber and sinister was life, -full of a drab and hidden tragedy. Trafficking with -Pendleton—slaving at Visconti's—the dreams that -had been mine! And this was the life I was -living. Suppose in the morning he should refuse? On -a sudden my door opened and Pendleton's hatless head -appeared.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure you won't back out in the morning?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And again my nerves snapped back into their -steel-like tension.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not even doomsday morning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you have a drink on it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," I told him, "but there is no reason why you -shouldn't have one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think I will," he said, and with a malign gleam -of triumph he approached the telephone in my room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The bar!" he demanded, and when the connection -was made he added: "Two rye highs for 436." Then -he turned his face toward me and grinned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, Randolph," he began quite amicably, "why -keep me here any longer than you can help?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What d'you mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This: It's only about half-past ten—quarter to -eleven. There is—there must be a train for the West -round midnight. Why prolong the sweet agony of -parting—why not let me go?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now? You must be crazy!" I exploded nervously. -"How can I get the money for you? Besides, there's -another thing—I want you to sign something—something -a lawyer must draw up—a paper of some sort—so -you can't repeat this business."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So that's it—is it?" he nodded his heavy head up -and down, as though thinking aloud. "Well, put that -out of your mind. I'll sign nothing. Take me for a -fool? Here's your chance. Give me the money now -and let me go or the deal's off. See? I'm just as -anxious to go as you're to have me go. But I wasn't -born yesterday. I'll sign no papers in any damn lawyer's -office. Take it or leave it. That's that!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was something unspeakably horrible to me about -sitting there and chaffering with this man whose every -word breathed contamination. For a moment the -thought of Dibdin came to me. I would call upon -Dibdin in this emergency. Dibdin had hardly been near me -of late. Excepting for an occasional luncheon together -or a sporadic telephone conversation, I had scarcely seen -him. It was as though he dreaded to encounter the -monster Pendleton, whom, in a sort he had himself brought -into being, and was only waiting until I should be free -of him. But somehow I could not then call Dibdin. -This was </span><em class="italics">my</em><span> crisis and my mind revolted at dragging -any one else into it. Oddly enough it was not the -children that seemed to be the barrier, but Alicia. The -picture of Pendleton obscenely hovering over her came -scorching, before my vision and I at once, dismissed the -thought of calling upon Dibdin. The club,—that was -my one chance of getting cash at that hour.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's the matter with your club?" Pendleton -snapped me up so suddenly that I was startled. Could -that fleshy brute read my thoughts?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just what I was thinking of," I murmured excitedly -and snatched up the telephone. "Give me 9100 Bryant."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Damn it—you're a sport! I like a dead game bird -like you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When the club answered, I asked whether Mr. Fred -Salmon happened to be in and was informed that the -doorman thought he was and that he would page him. -I sat waiting with the receiver to my ear.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell you what I'll do," said Pendleton, under the -stimulus of expectation. "If you pull this off for me -so I can start to-night, while the mood's on me, I'll sign -any damn thing you please."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hello!" I suddenly heard in Fred Salmon's deep -voice, "Salmon speaking."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fred," I told him, "this is Randolph Byrd."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hello, Ranny!" he broke in exuberantly. "Well, -of all the ghosts—" but I checked him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"—I want to cash a check for a thousand dollars -right now, Fred. I am at the Manhattan Hotel. The -banks are closed. Will you do this for me: Ask at the -office and turn out your pockets and get what you can -from any of the card players there and anybody else you -know. Do you follow me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I get you all right—all right—" said the voice of -Fred, hardening to a businesslike tone now that money -was in question. "Hold the wire a minute, Ran. I'll -see what I can do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fred's raucous voice was as plainly audible to Pendleton -as it was to me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Get it," he muttered. "Get it. I'd hate to wait till -to-morrow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I nodded. To be rid of him to-night would be a vast -relief. And I longed to return home.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I guess we can fix it all right," came Fred's voice in -the telephone. "But you'd better come over with the -check. There's about six hundred dollars in the club till. -I have a couple of hundred with me. And we can raise -the rest."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Pendleton heard him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go ahead," he said. "I'll fix up about a berth with -the head porter in the meanwhile."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's the big idea?" was Fred's greeting, as I -entered the club.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Private," I told him laconically. "Sending a man -to the antipodes because he's unfit to live in this climate."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh—sick man?" Fred was sympathetic.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very sick," I told him. "Incurable,"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fifteen minutes later I was in the hotel, handing -Pendleton the money.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now what d'you want me to sign?" he queried -carelessly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not a thing," I answered. For on a sudden the -futility of holding Pendleton to any bond overwhelmed -me. Any respite, even a few weeks from his presence, -seemed a paradise. Paradise seemed cheap at a thousand -dollars. And who can safeguard paradise? Besides, if -I knew my man at all, it would be some time before he -would return to an environment he so thoroughly loathed. -I was no more safe with his signature than without—and -no less.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's about all, then," he said, and he had the -decency not to hold out his hand. "Good luck," he added -in an undertone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I made no answer and turned my face away from him -with a wonderful sense of relief.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No sooner had the porter bustled out with his things -and the door closed than I looked toward my own small -bag with the dominant thought of returning home. But -I could not move. I found myself shaking like a leaf -and I sank down in the nearest chair, quivering as though -the vibration in my nerves would hurl my body to pieces. -No, I could not go home in this state. And taking off -my coat with hands that shook as in a palsy, I threw -myself upon the bed. But before I passed into the sleep of -stupefied exhaustion a single insistent foreboding kept -dully throbbing through my brain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He will come back—Pendleton will come back!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xix"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XIX</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Exultation filled me when I awoke late in the morning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Though I had slept in my clothes and felt particularly -disheveled, I stripped with the joy of an athlete after a -victory and plunged into the cool invigorating bath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Pendleton was gone! I do not remember the emotions -of Sinbad when he had rid himself of the Old Man of the -Sea. But his emotions must have resembled mine. My -heart sang, I sang myself. I was manumitted. I was -free. To my intimate journal may I not say that I felt -myself a man?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I had fought the beast at Ephesus, my pulses blasphemously -and jubilantly informed me, and by the Lord, I -had won!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The children were mine! Alicia was mine! Would -that I could bind them to me with triple brass. But I -have bound them. In ridding myself of Pendleton, I -had made them securely mine. Suppose he should -return one day? They would be grown—reared by me. -He would be merely the family skeleton. What is a -family without a skeleton? He was that now. He -wouldn't matter. It is human destiny to revolve about -the child, about children. With the exception of -Pendleton the outcast and Gertrude the—well, Gertrude—every -one attained completeness only in rearing the next -generation. And as I rubbed my body with the coarse -towel I felt complete!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As for Alicia—ah—well, who was I to expect from -life </span><em class="italics">everything</em><span>? At any rate she was mine, now, even -as the children were mine. And the very first thing I -would do—oh, jeweled inspiration—is to adopt her, -legally and formally. That thought suddenly made the -blood sing in my ears to so delicious a tune that absurdly, -ridiculously, I began like some pagan or satyr to dance -about the room. </span><em class="italics">Mine, mine, mine</em><span>! I danced into the -room in which Pendleton had not slept and with crazy -gestures made as if to sweep his memory out of the -garish window. I had saved the children and -safeguarded Alicia.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I felt I had played the man. And let no man say he -has lived until he has fought for those he loves. -Inevitably my mind dwelt upon Alicia. Who is that child? -What were her beginnings? Did she come out of the sea -and chaos of life only to vanish in some bitter poignant -dream like that of last night? I only knew that she -was mine now and that I would bind her to me yet more -strongly. I would not ask for too much; I would be -humbly grateful. She had come into my life as a divine -offering and I would not question overmuch. There is -no other origin. I felt supremely, tremulously content. -If only she would abide and never leave me!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And it occurred to me, as I stood shaving before the -mirror, that life is a beleaguered city, with deadly arrows -falling over the wall, and the great enemy, death, -certain to enter in the end. But by virtue of the love -implanted in the human heart, one may snatch many hours -of happiness amid the tumult and the shouting in the -winding ways.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Over my hasty breakfast I recalled with a shock of -guilt that I had not yet communicated with Griselda. -But as I was already late I decided I should call her from -the office.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>How swift is mischief to enter in the thoughts of -desperate men I discovered bitterly only a few minutes later.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For the first word I received upon entering Visconti's -was that Griselda had called me repeatedly and Griselda's -news chilled and numbed every fiber in my body.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alicia had disappeared!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Pendleton! That was the thought that seared my brain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You—don't think"—I stammered brokenly to -Griselda, "that she—that Pendleton—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have thought of that," was her reply. "But—no! -It canna be possible. She hated him—no! She must -hae gone before ye left the house. I looked into her -room soon after and she wasna there. I thought the -girlie was hiding somewhere—or maybe she had run -out into the garden until the mischief should blow over. -I looked high and low; I called her in the garden. But -she was nowhere to be found."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did she take any things?" I queried huskily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A wee bundle—" said Griselda—"night things -and the like."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The shuddering dismay of that moment I shall never -forget.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did she talk with—with him at all during the -evening?" The words struggled out of my parched -throat in spite of me, and I should have hated to see my -own eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay," said Griselda, "that he did, the leper! All -the evening he was wheedling her to come to him with -the bairns when he set up his house. She was weeping -sair to me in the kitchen afterward. It was to ask you -if you wanted her to go that she waited for you in the -study—and fell asleep, the poor maidie!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what did you say to her?" I all but whispered -into the mouthpiece.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I told the lass not to greet," shouted Griselda. "I -told her I could nae believe it would happen. He would -never take the bairns. And if he did he would nae keep -them. He was a bad one—the evil brute! But she was -frightened, the puir lassie!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well, Griselda," I muttered stonily. "I must -think. I shall call you a little later. Don't alarm the -others."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She hated him, had said Griselda! There was a -meager ray of comfort. But do what I would, my -stunned mind continued to flutter heavily like a -half-scorched moth around the ugly, sinister vision of -Pendleton. Could he be at the bottom of Alicia's -disappearance? How had he contrived the trick? If only I had -gone to the station with him! Was it that that -accounted for his hurry to be gone? No! It was impossible. -Ought I to start in pursuit at once? No, no, no! -I could not believe it. It could not be—not of her own -free will! Yet my heart was lacerated by the possibility. -When I lifted my head from my bosom, I gasped -in a desolation of emptiness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I had stifled the prompting to call Dibdin last night, -but now I felt I must find him. I needed the solace and -advice of a friend. I rose heavily and put on my hat. -Visconti had not yet come in.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell Mr. Visconti," I said to Varesi, my young -understudy, "that I have been called away suddenly, on a -serious private matter. I shall telephone him later."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Mr. Byrd," responded Varesi, his lustrous -Italian eyes flashing sympathy. He thought, no doubt, -from what he must have overheard, that some rascal -had run off with my younger sister—a killing matter, -very possibly, to a properly constituted male. Had he -known the truth, his Latin mind would have been shocked -at my seeming Anglo-Saxon composure. Out of doors -I heaved a deep sigh and boarded a north-bound elevated -train for the eighties, where Dibdin has his lodgings, -near the Museum of Natural History.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I found Dibdin not at his lodging but at the Museum, -directing the rearrangement of the Polynesian section in -the light of his additions to it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned one intense glance upon me without speaking, -hurriedly gave some directions to the men at work, -and led me to an alcove where there was a bench.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, let's hear—" he said. "What's he been -doing?" He concluded at once that Pendleton was at -the bottom of whatever wild appearance I must have -presented.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Briefly, but without omitting any essential detail, I -gave him an account of all that had happened the previous -evening, including Griselda's announcement of the -morning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you think he enticed her to go off with him?" -he demanded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well—what do you think?" I queried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think no," said Dibdin. "What does Griselda say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She says Alicia hated him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then take her word for it!" snapped Dibdin. "But -why the devil didn't you call me last night from the -Manhattan?" he turned upon me angrily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why didn't I?" I murmured. "Maybe it's because -you've done enough—maybe it's because there are some -things a man wants to do without assistance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dibdin glanced at me sharply and gave a low whistle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, that's it—" he muttered—"I see," and he -looked away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I am certain that at that moment Dibdin read my -secret. For his expression swiftly changed. He grew -suddenly warm and friendly, more than his usual self.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A fine job you did there, Randolph," he cried, clapping -my shoulder; "an excellent piece of work. I -certainly admire your technique. As for Alicia—she -didn't go with him—of that I feel sure!" I could have -groveled before him in gratitude for those words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But where do you suppose she is?" I could not help -eagerly asking. There was a gleam of amusement -mingled with the sympathy in his eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not very far, I imagine. We'll find her. Have no -fear. Young girls are funny things. The instinct of -sacrifice and the instinct of independence are always -struggling in a woman like the twins in Rebekah's -womb. When they're young it hits them very hard. -Some notion like that must have swamped Alicia—sacrifice—earn -her own living—ceasing to be a source -of trouble—who knows? They don't think when they're -young—or even when they're old. They feel. We'll -find her—but we've got to think. Pull yourself -together, old man."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How," I asked in stupefaction, "do you come to -know all that about women?" And my heart felt -perceptibly lightened at his words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I've been studying them all my life," he laughed. -"Never having had one of my own, I've been watching -and thinking about the whole sex all over the earth. -We'll find her. Have you communicated with the -police?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the word "police," my heart turned leaden again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The—p-police!" I stammered aghast. "Invoke -the publicity that means?—Horrible!" A shudder ran -down my back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Right again!" cried Dibdin, nudging me. "Young -man, you have an appreciation! Quite useless—the -police. But you still—have a suspicion of Pendleton, -haven't you?" I found myself wishing that even the -best of men weren't so ready to imagine themselves -amateur detectives. The very core of my heart of hearts, -Alicia, had disappeared, and I wanted swift concrete help, -not speculative questions.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I admitted that I had a lingering suspicion of Pendleton.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then, this is what we do," Dibdin rubbed his forehead -as over a problem in chess. "We see a private -detective agency here and acquaint them with the facts. -Have them pick up Pendleton on the way—he hasn't -reached Chicago yet, you know—and see if he's traveling -alone. If he is, let him go on his way. If not—then, -a description of the girl—you understand—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A livid fury possessed me suddenly as I saw the all -too vivid picture that Dibdin had evoked and was now -trying to believe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no!" I cried. "I am going myself. I dare -not—I cannot trust anybody else to do this. You don't -know—you can't understand—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know only too damned well," growled Dibdin -staring at me quizzically. "But I am trying to show you -sense—difficult, I admit, to one in your condition. -However, I must try again," he went on with the patience -of resignation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are only one man—don't you see? A detective -agency is an organization of many men in different -places who can concentrate on the same job simultaneously. -At this minute they would know on which train -he might be traveling and some one or several could -already be watching for his arrival. Suppose they miss -him. There are many hotels in Chicago—there are -many trains leaving for the coast—don't you see?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," I breathed brokenly. "Then it's useless."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Far from it," he laughed. "Come with me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Less than an hour later we were at the Mahoney -Detective Agency and a suave young Irishman was -listening without emotion or eagerness to my story -supplemented by Dibdin's interpolations. He seemed to care -little for what concerned me most, but he was keen for -personal details of Pendleton's appearance, height, build, -clothes, lettering on his luggage and so on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When it came to giving a detailed description of -Alicia, my confusion was so pitiful that even the young -detective glanced at me only once and then, like the -gentleman he was, looked sedulously down upon the paper -before him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sixteen—in her seventeenth year!" he murmured -in astonishment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But she is an unusual girl—well grown for her -age," I caught him up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see," he murmured gravely. "What's the color of -her hair?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I went on as best I could with the description.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I could save you money," he smiled blandly, "by -telling you that the girl is not with him—" and I could -have wrung his hand like a brother's. "But," he added, -"it won't cost much to pick him up. I'll have news for -you to-morrow this time, I'm thinking."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As I sat down to lunch with Dibdin at his club, though -in truth nothing was farther from my cravings than -food, he suddenly burst forth into hearty laughter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So it's my thousand you gave Pendleton?" he -chuckled. "That was sheer inspiration, Randolph—sheer, -unadulterated genius! If you weren't so lugubrious -just now, I could accuse you of a high ironic sense -of humor that only a great man would be capable of!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>How terrible were the next twenty-four hours, in spite -of Dibdin's companionship and his efforts to cheer me, -no one will ever know. No funeral could possibly have -darkened my household to such an extent. I dreaded to -be seen by the children, who walked about like wraiths -under the sense of tragedy. I dreaded to tell them lies -and yet I could not tell them the truth. Finally I felt I -must say something to Laura and Randolph.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The departure of their father they received without -the least surprise. Randolph inquired where he had -gone, but this, I answered, I could not tell him, save that -he had gone West. But the absence of Alicia left them -puzzled and strained and awed. Alicia's disappearance -shook them almost as it had shaken me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When will she be back?" demanded Randolph.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know exactly," I answered miserably, "soon, -I hope."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The following morning I gave up all thought of going -to the office. If my mysterious truancy should cost me -my job, then it must be so. I hovered in the region of -the telephone. Again and again I was about to call up -Mahoney's, but I forebore. Finally, toward noon, I -could wait no longer. When the connection was made, -I gave my name and asked for the young man who had -charge of my case.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Was just going to call you," was the bland -apologetic answer. "Your man is at the La Salle Hotel, -going out on the Santa Fe to-night. He is alone and -arrived alone last night. We'll see whether he starts -alone to-night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then, of course, I cursed myself for my folly in thinking -that it might be otherwise and realized that I had -really thought nothing of the sort.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But where in the meanwhile was Alicia?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I had believed myself by now schooled to emergencies, -but here was an emergency that left me dazed and helpless. -I had fondly thought myself a match for life, but -life was crushing me with pain like a blind force.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I leaped up suddenly and wandered about the house -and the garden like a dog searching miserably for a -departed loved one. There was the stream—but I turned -from it shivering. No—that was impossible! The -sense of life in Alicia, her vitality, was too potent, too -radiant to suffer extinction. I looked up at my little -nest from the edge of the muddy stream, that frail eyrie -upon the rock that I had felt so nestling, secure; barred -by the trunks of intervening trees, it now seemed a -prison. A faint breeze that was stirring the leaves made -them murmurous with secret things which my heart cried -out to interpret. Was it a litany, a dirge, or a whisper -of hope? I could not read the riddle, but my bruised -spirit was passionately clinging to hope.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dibdin pretended not to observe my vagaries; when I -returned I found him absorbed in Epictetus.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This is rather good," he growled, pointing to a -passage and puffing his pipe as he spoke:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you not received facilities by which you may -support any event? Have you not received a manly -soul? Have you not received patience?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," I muttered dejectedly, "all very well, but -Epictetus never lost Alicia."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dibdin laughed shortly. "Now," he said, "we must -start out to find her. Though my feeling is she'll come -back of her own accord very soon. The girl was -frightened—no more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I ignored the last part of his speech but leaped at the -first.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How would you start?" I queried sharply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is the high-sounding name of that institution -where she was brought up?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, don't tell them, for Heaven's sake," I cried out -in alarm. "If she is not there and they learn I have -lost her, they'll never consent to my adopting her; they'll -consider me irresponsible."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't let's be fools," retorted Dibdin. "Those -people are not. Do you know how many boys, girls, men -and women turn up 'willfully missing' every year?" No, -I didn't know.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, by George!" he suddenly clapped his forehead -in a burst of inspiration—"Sergeant Cullum! Ever -hear of Sergeant Cullum?." I shook my head. "He -is a policeman I know who has a genius for finding missing -persons. It's positively a sixth sense with him. He's -a prodigy—has traveled everywhere—a human -bloodhound—he is the man to go to!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But—the police!" I stammered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I know—but we'll see whether we can make -him take this as a private case—out of hours—I'll find -him!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The surge of hope to my eyes must have told Dibdin -better than any words I could have uttered what I felt -at that instant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But first we'll call that institution," he directed. -"You put in a call for the number and I'll tell you what -to say."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You needn't," I decided after a moment's reflection. -"I know. I shall simply inquire about the regulations -governing adoptions. I can so word it that if Alicia is -there they will tell me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, now your brain is functioning again," he -concluded. "That being so, I shall leave you and look up -Cullum at the bureau of missing persons."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then I recalled that I had met with the phrase in -newspapers. The fact that missing persons were so numerous -that a bureau of the metropolitan police was required -to handle them cheered me more than any other single -fact. It was consoling to feel that even, in my peculiar -misery I had joined a great multitude who suffered the -loss of loved ones, even as in toil and labor and poverty -I had merged into the vast majority.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When Dibdin left me I learned that I might adopt -Alicia without any great obstacles, if she were willing, -but I was no wiser as to her whereabouts. The Home, -in the person of the Matron, inquired how "she was -getting along." She was obviously not there, and I -experienced a misery of guilt as though I had robbed the -world of its dearest possession and then lost it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alone and bereft I sat, sinking to a mere pin's point -in my abasement. I had begun to believe myself schooled -in life, something of a man among men. But my own -ineffectiveness was now dismally revealed to me. I had -proved myself incapable of guarding even what was -dearest to me in the world. I was at the bottom of an -abyss from which I now felt hopeless to scramble -upward. The sheer and beetling walls of granite were -overpoweringly steep and forbidding. For the first time -in long years, I believe I mentally prayed. I waited for -Dibdin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then suddenly, as is the way with me when I am -at the bottom, my spirits bounded upward. Alicia would -come back to me, I felt in a sudden surge of assurance. -At that moment I felt sure that she was thinking of me, -that she was yearning to return. And before I knew it, -I was blocking in magnificent plans for her education, -for making a splendid woman of her, even though she -already seemed perfect, of supplementing nature's -handiwork with all the force that was in me. I saw her -resplendent, a shining creature, the woman of my dreams! -What a florid designer is hope!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But why should she have been taken from me so -abruptly? The vast mystery of life encompassed me -again like a shell, impenetrable—a carapace through -which nature must supply the openings—and she had -evidently not supplied them. Would Dibdin never come -with his policeman?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Books, for so long my mainstay and support, were now -useless to me. I turned over many volumes idly but my -mind no longer reacted to that old and magical alchemy. -The volume of Epictetus that Dibdin had fingered might -have been a seed catalogue, so remote it seemed and so -null. I was now a ghost among my books: I was -plunged in "The Woods of Westermain," and my -memory flung me the lines:</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>Enter these enchanted woods,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>You who dare.</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Nothing harms beneath the leaves</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>More than waves a swimmer cleaves.</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Toss your heart up with the lark,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Foot at peace with mouse and worm,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Fair you fare.</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Only at a dread of dark</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Quaver, and they quit their form;</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Thousand eyeballs under hoods</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Have you by the hair.</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Enter these enchanted woods,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>You who dare.</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It was clear. I must toss my heart up with the lark -to fare fairly, even though my pain was great.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Late that afternoon; Dibdin returned, bringing -Sergeant Cullum.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That excellent policeman gave me more hope than -any one, excepting my own heart, had yet succeeded in -doing. He insisted upon being made privy to all the -circumstances, to which he listened, his broad shaven face -turned ceilingward, with the rapt air of a mystic, -expecting momentarily that lightning flash of inspiration -that would reveal all. Then he asked to be allowed to -wander by himself throughout the house, over which he -went pointing and sniffing like some well-trained hound. -In the end he declared himself satisfied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now give me a little time," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But what means—how do you go to work?" I -asked, nettled that he should see possibilities regarding -Alicia that I had overlooked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I swear, Mr. Byrd, I don't know," he answered -reverently. "I wait for guidance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Guidance?" I faltered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—from on high."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You depend on that—only?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Only!—Well, yes and no. I pray, Mr. Byrd—I pray."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have no other means?" I queried, with a -sinking heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What other means are there," he demanded with -glowing eyes, "that the Lord can't supply? What -detective in the world can equal the Lord—tell me that, -Mr. Byrd."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I saw that I was in the presence of a fanatic and I -stood abashed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The best man in the Department," Dibdin put in -encouragingly. "Sergeant Cullum </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> the bureau of -missing persons."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Give me a little time," he urged again, with the -fervid intensity of prayer—Time! And it was Alicia who -was missing!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I shook his hand and gave him time and parted from -him with a hope that I should not have to wait for his -ecstatic visions to restore her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He'll find her!" Dibdin exclaimed reassuringly. -"Never fear. If there is one thing I've learned, it's to -accept the methods of people so long as they produce the -results. Let them use the divining rod if they want to, -or incantations with henbane and hellebore, or trances -and visions, or prayer. This almost human race of ours -is made up of some very odd fish," he added with a laugh, -and he looked at me quizzically as though I were the -oddest fish of them all.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But an ecstatic policeman"—I murmured—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—queer—I know," said Dibdin, "but I don't -care. And now, old boy, I've got to run back to the -museum and take a squint at the work. Cheer up."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I was alone in my study after a pretense of eating -supper with the children, when Jimmie burst in and flung -himself upon me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want to know where is Alicia," he demanded with -quivering lips, and he burst into a pitiful freshet of -bitter weeping. His childish tears fell like scalding lead -upon my hands and I hugged the quivering small figure -to me in an anguished embrace.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you want Laura to put you to bed?" I murmured -with my lips against his ear.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't want Laura," he sobbed chokingly; "want -Alicia to give me my bath and put me to bed. Where -is she? Why don't she come?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a cry that tore at my heart as it echoed there -and reverberated. I hugged him closer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll give you your bath, Jimmikins," I endeavored to -soothe him, "and we'll float ships."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Licia—tells me—stories!" he sobbed out, as one -broken with tragedy, and I declare I came very near -to joining him in his grief.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll—tell you a story—Jimmie," I gulped foolishly, -"and until Alicia comes back you must be the fine little -man you are—and let me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When is she coming back?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am not sure, Jimmie—possibly to-morrow." It -was my throbbing hope. For that we could go on any -longer without her was simply inconceivable to me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gradually his paroxysm subsided. He grew quiescent -in my arms and heaved a deep sigh as we nestled against -each other in silence. It is fortunate that the grief of -children is like a summer shower. For so intense is it -while it lasts that any serious continuation of agony -would rack their small frames to pieces.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right, Uncle Ranny," he murmured finally. -"Will you come in and give me my bath? I'll go and -run it—I know how, first the hot and then the cold. -And I'll put the ships in and undress. Then you come -in and tell me a long story while I sail them." And he -ran out of the room in a little whirlwind of energy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I sat bowed in silence for a few minutes and then -heavily made my way to the bathroom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is the temp'ture a'right?" queried Jimmie, with an -intense air of responsibility, his erect nude little figure -standing with a ship under each arm, like a symbol of -man adventuring his petty argosies on this storm-beaten -planet. I put my hand judicially into the water. How -important is the temperature of a child's bath! It must -be neither too hot nor too cold, or disastrous results -might follow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I began to tell him an ancient story of an island that -proved to be a sleeping whale, but he was impatient of -that.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Licia," he informed me in deprecating protest, -"tells me stories of Mowgli in the jungle—out of the -'Jungle Book.'" I endeavored with a heavy heart to -match Alicia, and gradually I became absorbed in my -task and in Jimmie, so that the darkness of life fell away -from me. The water splashed and the ships tacked about -in wild maneuvers, while Jimmie kept reminding me -that "he was listening, Uncle Ranny."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The great mystics are those who submerge their intellect -and senses into night so that their souls emerge before -them like the full moon out of the blackness. Every -parent, I suppose, must be in part a mystic: for by centering -his heart on little children he discerns the pulsating -irresistible life of the universe, the past and the future, -alpha and omega.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At least Jimmie was courteous enough to assure me, -when he hugged me for the last time, with sleepy eyes, -that my tale was won'erful. "But, oh, Uncle Ranny," -he whispered, "say that Alicia will be back to-morrow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I kissed him but made no promise. In the dining room -Laura and Randolph were sitting over their books,—Laura -grave with an anxious pucker in her white forehead -and Randolph with dilated, somewhat fevered eyes. -He was obviously thinking rather than reading. But I -dared not enter into any more discussion of Alicia's -absence that evening.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Only now after many days can I write down the events -of the day following my last entry with anything -approximating composure; and even now my fingers are -tremulous as they hold the pencil.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I had risen early, for my sleep had been broken and -fitful—as, indeed, how could it have been otherwise?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was parched and burning within, to act, to do -something, to range the city, the country—Good God, I -thought, can a person like Alicia disappear in that way -like a pebble in the sea? But my frenzy of thought, that -seemed as if it would burst the poor narrow limits of -my skull, produced no definite idea. I lashed against the -bars of the brain like a beast in its cage.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I entertained no thought of going to the office that -morning, but half an hour after I was up, that was the -only thought that flooded my mind. There are blessings -in a routine of daily labor that those engaged therein can -hardly understand. The treadmill, I imagine, leaves the -mule but little time for speculation or grief or any other -emotions. I was that kind—or, rather that mule let -loose—that could find oblivion nowhere better than in -the treadmill. For routine can dull despair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was still half an hour before breakfast when my -nephew Randolph came clattering down the stairs, -meticulously dressed, though somewhat wild-eyed. He gave -me the impression of having—he also—slept badly. -"Uncle Ranny," he approached me, "are you going to -the office this morning?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I think I am. Why, Randolph?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd like to go in to town with you—and go -round—look around."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean, my boy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Somebody ought to be looking for Alicia all the -time—don't you think so, Uncle Ranny? I'd like to -try," and he looked away shamefaced.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A boy in his sixteenth year can be a considerable pillar -in a household. I had somehow overlooked Randolph in -that rôle. Perhaps I had been inclined to treat Laura's -children too much as nestlings all, wholly dependent -upon me? I experienced a thrill of pleasurable surprise -in the boy's words and manner. He had said no word -concerning his father, had asked no disconcerting -questions. He merely desired to help.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But of course there is somebody looking for Alicia," -I informed him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I know, Uncle Ranny—a policeman! What -does a policeman know about girls like Alicia? I—we -talked a lot, she and I," he stammered. "I have a hunch -I could sort of tell what she'd </span><em class="italics">think</em><span> of doing if she left -home. Let me have a try at it, Uncle Ranny, please. -It'll only be a few nickels in carfare."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly, my boy," I put my arm about his shoulders. -To frustrate young intentions simply because they -are young has never appealed to me as wisdom. "Come -into town with me by all means. I am certain Alicia -will come back"—he could not know the effort this -easy answer was costing me—"but there is no reason -why you shouldn't try to find her." I had thrown off -any mask of secrecy with all excepting Jimmie. -Insincerity is a difficult habit to wear.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks, Uncle Ranny," he answered with suppressed -jubilation, and for the first time in our common -history I suddenly felt that I had a companion in -Randolph—that he was growing up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When he left me at the station, charged with avuncular -instructions that he was to telephone me at various -times of the day and that he was to lunch with me if -he could, I had a tender impulse to embrace this lad, -Laura's first-born, before all the concourse. But I knew -he would be shamed to death by such a demonstration. -So I tapped him on the shoulder and we parted grinning -to keep each other in heart. I experienced a fleeting -intuition that Alicia would be restored to us, but I expected -nothing at all from Randolph's romantic quest for her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My heart went out to the boy as I saw him merge -and lose himself in the crowd; I felt very tenderly not -only toward those of my flesh, but to all young things -facing the hurly-burly of this oddly jumbled sphere.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was becoming an ogler in my old age. Every young -girl I saw in the streets, in cars, at crossings, I scrutinized -searchingly, with painful leapings of the heart, when -any of them in the slightest particular resembled Alicia. -And the melancholy truth came to me that you can build -a life to any design you please, but only a miracle will -keep it intact.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Visconti was in the office when I arrived and he was -kindness itself when he saw my face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Caro mio!</em><span>" he grasped my hand. "Something serious?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Some domestic trouble—a little painful," I stammered, -and he saw that I did not wish to speak of it. -And the vast loneliness of human beings traversing their -orbits on earth struck me as I sat heavily down to my -work. What did I know of Visconti—or Visconti of -me? For ages I had worked near him and I knew he -trusted and had what is called regard for me. Yet the -planets in trackless space knew more of each other. I -believe he knows that I am a middle-aged bachelor and -I know he has a daughter who is the apple of his -eye—and he pays the wage by which I live. But what else -did we know? He had lost a deeply loved wife and -remained a widower. My heart warmed to him in a -sudden sympathy. As though reciprocating, he came -bustling to my desk a minute later and bending toward me -whispered:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do not forget that your time is your own—if your -</span><em class="italics">demarches</em><span>—private business—do not forget!" I -thanked him but he waved his pudgy hand in sign of -friendly deprecation of formalities.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>... com 'e duro calle</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Lo scendere e il salir per l'altrui scale,</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>lamented Dante. Yes, hard is the path, the going up and -down other people's stairs, when you depend for your -livelihood upon them. But Visconti in his manner -endeavored to make his "stairs" those of a friend.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was no word from Randolph that morning and -my heart grew every moment heavier.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I seemed to require no food. I straggled aimlessly -during the noon hour through mean streets, from -Bleecker Street to Abingdon Square, in a world of listless -women and dirty children, a desert, ghostly world, drab -and wretched.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shuttling back and forth, all but inanimate, I passed -Minot Blackden's studio, but with sudden horror recoiled -from entering. I was driven about like a leaf. I was -a shadow in a world of shadows.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Towards four o'clock I rose heavily from my desk, -determined to drag myself to police headquarters in -search of Sergeant Cullum. I expected nothing from -him, but, still, he might utter a word of hope.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At that moment my telephone rang. It was Randolph!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His voice was charged and crackling with excitement -and importance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you meet me at Brentano's, corner Twenty-sixth -Street and the Avenue right away?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why," I said piteously—"tell me, in God's name—have -you news?—what d'you mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A swirl of hope and apprehension swept me like a wave -and left me gasping.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Uncle Ranny," was the chuckling reply. "I -have news—she's—I know where she is—Come right -over!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And without giving me a chance to say more, the -young devil hung up the receiver. I cursed the boy in -my heart for being a boy—for his callousness to -another's suffering.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Exactly how I reached that corner, I cannot now -remember. I did not walk and yet I cannot for the life -of me recall what manner of conveyance I used. So -much happened in my mind during that transit that -external matters left absolutely no impression upon it. The -first impression I do recall is the shock of blank chagrin -that struck me like a shot in the vitals when I saw -Randolph standing jauntily alone at the corner, staring at -the passing crowd. Alicia was not with him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yet how important the young rascal suddenly seemed -in my eyes. He alone in all the world had present -knowledge of her. I could have fallen upon him and -hugged him then and there—and shamed him to death.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where—where is she?" I blurted out. "I thought -you—tell me, in heaven's name!" and I seized hold of -him fiercely, as though he were a pickpocket caught in -the act. He glanced at me with humorous cockiness and -laughed. Then suddenly conscious that people were -staring at us, and that a policeman was speculatively -watching our encounter, he hastily put his arm through -mine and drew me away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come on, Uncle Ranny, I'll lead you to where she is."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You amazing boy!" I muttered. "But are you -really sure?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure I'm sure!" he crowed. "I think it's nothing -to be a detective. I believe I'd make a good one," he -bragged.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Brag, you young devil," I thought indulgently, but -I made no audible reply and merely made him walk -faster.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was leading me into Twenty-ninth Street beyond -Brentano's and to my amazement I found myself at the -well-remembered door of Andrews' bookshop.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here!" I cried in stupefaction. He nodded, grinning -as though he expected an oration of praise for his -acumen then and there. He did not get it. I rushed in -wildly, like a mad man, into those silent precincts where -so often I had passed blissfully silent hours. Who would -desire a garish light in this pleasant temple? For a -moment I seemed to be in utter darkness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Kind of dark," murmured Randolph, "but I spotted her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On a sudden my dilated eyes encountered two human -beings simultaneously in their line of vision. Andrews -was standing in dignity in the middle of his shop like a -monarch about to receive royalty, and behind him, at a -desk in the rear, a girl was bending over some writing, -an electric light illumining her fair head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl—yes!—It was Alicia!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I felt the effect of a sharp blow over the heart and, -brushing the astonished Andrews aside, I made a crazy -leap toward her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Mr. Randolph Byrd!" began Andrews. -"Haven't seen you—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Alicia!" I cried out in what sounded even in my own -ears like a sob.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Uncle Ranny!" She jumped from her chair -with a little scream, and, before I knew it, I was pressing -her to my heart with a quivering convulsive joy that -choked all utterance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She gasped in pain, the poor child. But when my arms -relaxed, she lay sobbing happily against my heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Randolph was so scandalized that he sullenly turned -his back upon us. Andrews was watching us with -discreet and sober interest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dearest child!" I whispered, still in a sort of -trance of ecstasy, and Alicia, with the tears trickling -down her face, murmured softly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, how glad I am I'm found! And there's Randolph," -she added with a happy laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her last words suddenly woke me out of my trance. -I loosed my arms and stood for an instant baffled, -uncertain, shamefaced.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What are you doing here?" I then brusquely demanded -with stupid severity to conceal the turbulent -emotions within me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—oh, didn't you get my letter?" she faltered. "I -tried to explain—I had nowhere to go—" her lips were -quivering—"he told me what a burden I was—I -seemed to be only making a lot of trouble—and I had -nowhere to go," she wept.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He? Who? Andrews?" I demanded harshly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no!—Mr. Pendleton," she was sobbing again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, of course, Pendleton." I felt myself turning -livid with hate for the man whose purpose in life seemed -to be to wreck my own.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And did Andrews know you were my—my ward?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no, Uncle Ranny," and her voice was like a -child's tired of crying. "I meant to tell him later—after -I told you. He just took me without—anything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Glancing now toward Andrews, I found him discreetly -standing, still in the middle of his shop, but somehow he -had managed to draw my scandalized nephew into -conversation to afford me the courtesy of a greater privacy. -My heart went out to him in affection as never before.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Andrews!" I called, pulling myself together to a -semblance of dignity. Andrews gave a nod to Randolph -and without any unseemly haste approached me, -pleasantly smiling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This is my ward—Miss Alicia Palmer," I managed -to say with forced calmness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Andrews bowed ceremoniously as though he were -meeting the owner of the Huth library or Bernard -Quaritch. Yet there was a curious twinkle in his shrewd -old Scotch eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Like all young women of the present day," I went -on, with astonishing glibness—that is at its best when -a man is lying for a woman—"she wanted to prove her -independence by scorning my poor protection, Andrews—to -earn her own living—you understand, Andrews?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed—indeed?" said Andrews. "And she can -earn it, too. Now I understand the mystery. She -recognized a second edition of 'Paradise Lost' at a glance. -Your training, Mr. Byrd—your salary is advanced, -Miss Palmer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alicia smiled, blushing faintly, and in that smile I -suddenly realized how much of the child still clung to -this well-grown young woman—how much of the child, -no doubt, remains clinging to every woman. She was -pained, distraught, suffering, yet she seemed to feel that -she had done something very courageous and dignified. -And it was to her dignity I hung on with tenacity, for -instinctively I recognized that this was a turning point -in her life—that the woman was now putting away the -child in the cradle of the past.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think I shall ask you to release her, Andrews." I -laid a hand upon his shoulder. "Some day I shall -explain to you more fully. It's been—but never mind -that. I should like to take my ward home—with your -permission?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly, certainly," he affirmed with spontaneous -vehemence. "But come in soon, both of you—she's of -our stripe, Mr. Byrd—she loves the good things!—come -in both. I expect to have some new things from -Professor Gurney's library that'll delight you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We shall indeed, my dear Andrews. Get your hat, -Alicia." And as she turned away for her things, I -managed to murmur this much to the kindly Andrews:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall never forget your conduct in this matter, -Andrews—you're a great bookseller, but, man dear, -you're even a greater gentleman!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And with as little delay as possible we left the shop.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A spate of questions boiled in my brain and foamed -up like turbulent waters backed by a dam. But all at -once I came to a sharp decision.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I knew enough. It was that devil Pendleton that had -filled her mind with the thought that she was a burden -until the poor child was wild with a frenzy of distraction. -But he had not been able to trust to his persuasions. -Then there was the scene of that dreadful evening -when, in her bewilderment, she realized herself as an -apple of discord, a shatterer of families. I believed I -understood enough.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where did you sleep, Alicia?" I asked her nonchalantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have a little room in Twenty-fourth Street," she -answered simply. "I haven't paid for it yet. The -landlady wanted money in advance, but I told her I didn't -have it, so she let me stay, anyway."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let us go there, my dear, and settle it now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Uncle Ranny," she murmured low.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've got to hand it to you, 'Licia," broke out Randolph, -emerging from his silence. "You're a true sport—for -a girl!" Whereat we all burst into happy laughter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And for the rest of our peregrinations as well as in -the train, the lad could not take his eyes from Alicia in -sheer amazed admiration. It was as though he were -seeing her for the first time.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xx"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XX</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Had I time to speculate philosophically, I could -expend much of it in wondering why pure joy cannot be -recorded. Perhaps because we experience so little of it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Of sorrow and tribulation we strange creatures that -are men can give a pretty fair account. From Job down -we have excelled in it. But before sheer joy we are -dumb. I can only repeat to myself the poor colorless -words that I am happy, happy, happy as the day is short.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For one brief space of reaction after finding Alicia, -the senses reeled, the worn body and mind swooned into -a sort of deliquescence of lassitude, the eyes smarted with -unshed meaningless moisture, the overdriven heart -throbbed with a vast supernal relief, coextensive with -the universe. Then, swiftly, with an almost audible -sound, that unnerved brain slid into its customary shape -of health, more wholesomely joyous than ever before, -and all the world was bathed in freshness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The blue of the sky was fairer, the sunlight purer, -and even the poor suburban grass of Crestlands autumnally -waning, glistened with the verdure and brightness -of a new creation. But who can describe happiness?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Pendleton is gone, Alicia—the children are here.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No eight words in the language of Shakespeare and -Milton have ever breathed to me the same meaning as -those eight words. Yet what do they signify on paper?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All Europe is in a turmoil, and the Germans have all -but taken Paris, yet this, I perceive, is my first mention -of a vast catastrophe. What tiny self-absorbed creatures -are men! People are dying and suffering by the thousands, -yet we cisatlantians scan the headlines and pursue -our own ends in the accustomed way. What though half -the planet is in peril—I have reconquered my home!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Why, I wonder, had I ever imagined myself to have -a horror of home? A home is a little island of personal -love in the vast impersonal chaos of existence—and pity -him or her who never lands upon that island.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Of nights, occasionally, I now indulge myself in a fire -on the hearth. The wood that burns brightest, I note, -leaves only a little heap of white ashes. When my eyes -rest upon Alicia, or I see the children flitting about, or -hear their ringing voices through the house, I experience -a wonderful contentment that I am the fire at which they -may warm their hands. I, who once entertained fantastic -visions of future greatness, of name and fame, -now feel content to become a little heap of white ashes.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Sergeant Cullum, excellent man, journeyed out here -two days after I had found Alicia, a day after the legal -ceremony of adoption, to apprise me that "he believed -my ward to be in Baltimore." I was about to burst into -uncontrollable laughter, but my conscience smote me and -I was ashamed. In my vast relief I had wholly and -selfishly forgotten this good man who was still upon the -quest. What power of divination or answer to prayer -had directed his thoughts to Baltimore, I cannot imagine. -But with my contrite apology and thanks went a gift that -I trust has soothed his ruffled feelings. We parted in -friendship. Oh, excellent thaumaturgic policeman!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Randolph burst into a loud sniffing laugh when I -told him and Alicia of Sergeant Cullum's visit and the -Baltimore "clew."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, cops are idiots!" he chuckled arrogantly and -looked toward Alicia with a haughty proprietorial air. -"They don't know </span><em class="italics">anything</em><span>! Didn't take me long to -dope out where to look for 'Licia," he boasted. "I -figured it out like this: 'Licia is bugs on your old books. -She was looking for a job to earn her own living, wasn't -she?" Alicia bent her head, still shamefaced over the -episode. "What'd I do? I'm strong on engines. -Wouldn't I go to a place where they make or sell -engines? Well, with her it was books. I went around to -some book places—'n' then suddenly I had a hunch: -Andrews—that you and she always jaw about. I looked -him up in the 'phone book. An' sure enough, when I -went round and peeped in through the door, I saw -Alicia upon a ladder handling some of those old books -there. I thought I'd go in and call her down, but then -I thought 't would surprise her more if you and I came -in on her together—and I beat it hot-foot to a 'phone. -Cops!—They'd say, Baltimore—South America—anything, -so it sounds good!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And again his glance wholly appropriated Alicia. The -youngster seems to think he invented her. But I am full -of gratitude to that boy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The closure of the Stock Exchange and the abrupt -slowing up of financial business has filtered like a shadow -even into Visconti's and is giving me some unhurried -hours in which to ponder the future.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>How many middle-aged bachelors, I wonder, have conjured -similar visions, constructed the same castles of -thin air? To educate Alicia, to serve and to love her -until my love surrounds her so that she cannot choose but -return it—to create a woman Pygmalion-like out of this -very sweet Galatea—what could be more blissful? -Alicia is now in her teens. But suppose she were -sweet-and-twenty, could she ever think with anything but filial -affection of a man nearly twice her age who stands to -her in </span><em class="italics">loco parentis</em><span>?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Like a lovesick boy who pulls at the faint intimations -of his mustache and searches the newspaper for cases of -marriage at seventeen, I eagerly scan the prints and -cudgel my memory for such unions as ours would be. -But the papers are filled with war and rumors of war. -It comes to me suddenly that a certain aged Senator -has not so long ago married his ward, under even a -greater disparity of ages—and I am absurdly happy. -I see myself with Alicia matured and radiant, ever -young—living a life of bright serenity, calling -endearing names.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Did I hear it half in a doze</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Long since, I know not where?</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Did I dream it an hour ago,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>When asleep in this arm-chair?"</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>But this is folly. Tennyson is out of fashion and there -are greater fools than old fools. I ask too much of the -high gods. Enough has already been given to a crusty -bookworm like me. Suppose I had married Gertrude! -The children's voices would never have made music for -my ears. Nevertheless, Alicia shall have the best -education I can give her.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Visconti must be aging, I fear, for he has taken to -repeating himself. He has told me often before that his -daughter Gina is the apple of his eye, but during these -somewhat listless days in the office in which "extras" -figure largely and strategy is the one indoor game, he has -been going into more detail.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I dined at his house last night and to-day he asked me -again to dine on Saturday. I dislike refusing him and -I like lying less. But I declined on the plea of an -engagement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I always forget," he returned with a laugh, "that -a young man is not </span><em class="italics">un' burbero</em><span> of a widower like -me—that a young man, in short, has engagements."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I made some sort of deprecating noise. He talks as -though I were twenty-two, and I like him for it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you see, </span><em class="italics">amico mio</em><span>," he went on explaining, "it -is like this: Gina, the </span><em class="italics">carissima bambina mia</em><span>, is the -apple of my eye. And she must be—what do you -call it—amused—amused, made gay, bright—you see?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I signified my clairvoyance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She is nineteen—a </span><em class="italics">fanciulla</em><span> of nineteen, she must -have much—eh—amusement, not so?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He is fond of the Socratic method and I humored him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But doesn't she go to parties—has she no girl -friends?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, </span><em class="italics">sicurissimo, sicurissimo</em><span>. But a girl—nineteen -years—it is young men in the house that amuse her, -eh?" And he slapped me on the back and roared with -laughter of a boisterous heartiness that somewhat, as -novelists say, "took me aback."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I have not exactly been seeing myself in the guise of -a youth cut out to amuse Gina Visconti.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How of Sunday?" he asked, with a sudden quizzical -soberness. "Sunday you can come?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I regretted his insistence, but somewhat laboredly I -explained that I am weakly addicted to books; and that -Sunday was the single day when I could sit among my -books and—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, but of course!" gravely. He understood full -well that I was a student, a scholar, who outside office -hours pursued a higher life, and so forth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I felt mawkish and mean but I clung to my Sunday.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monday, then—shall we call it Monday?" he pressed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I could not be so churlish as to decline further. But -I hardly knew why a sense of uneasiness stole into my -bosom after his subsequent words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The </span><em class="italics">fanciulla</em><span>," he went on, thoughtfully vehement. -"She is all I possess—all in the world. At my death -she shall possess everything I have. She has it now! -For whom then do I work if not for Gina? As for me, -I could go back to Italy—maybe. I have enough. But -Gina—she is American girl—ah!" and he kissed his -finger tips with unction. "She is fine American girl!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Having said that, he veered into talk about Belgium, -Von Kluck and general strategy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But why should he so persistently sing the praises and -prospects of his daughter to me, a clerk in his office?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I had a sudden impulse to go to him and unbosom -myself on the score of my own </span><em class="italics">bambimi</em><span> and my own -aspirations for them—but somehow I could not. That is -an island girdled, not only by ordinary reticence, which -is with me a vice, but by a host of emotions like those -flames that circled the sleeping goddess. I am not a -Latin; I cannot bubble forth my inmost hopes or flaunt -my heart upon my sleeve.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sunday evening—after a wonderful walk with Alicia -through the already waning woods of Westchester. -There has been a certain air of gravity overhanging her, -of contrition perhaps, that stabbed with pain. I realized -then to what degree her blithe spirit and the starry -laughter of her eyes had been the wine of my recent -life. I could not tolerate her seeming depression. -Besides, there was the matter of her education to be -discussed. Jimmie clamored to go with us, but this time -even his privileged position did not avail him. I desired -to be alone with Alicia.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Was it my mood, I wonder, or do the woods in reality -begin to whisper a farewell in the decline of the year? -Every tree, even to the youngest sapling, seemed to nod -to us as we walked and to rustle a murmur like the -leavetaking of a pilgrim bent on a lengthy journey. I have -ever been impatient of reading descriptions of nature -and have chimed with the scoffers at the pathetic fallacy. -Nevertheless, I can bemuse myself for hours listening to -the wind among the tree tops or gazing at the haze upon -the hills; and in a slow measured rhythm, as if having -endless time before them, they invariably spell a -message,—a message infinitely sad, but for the -creative laughing sun that rides triumphant, high over all.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come, Alicia!" I broke out brusquely, joining the -sun in his laughter, "we have some bright things to talk -over. Don't let us allow the woods to lull us. They -are going to sleep; we are not. Here you are ready for -college. Isn't that soul-stirring?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She emerged from her reverie as a person shaken from -a drowse and smiled with, a distant look in her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bright things," she murmured pensively; "everything -that has happened to me since I came to you has -been bright, and everything soul-stirring. That's what -makes it so hard, Uncle Ranny—I have been so useless. -What good am I?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I laughed uproariously enough to make the woods -shake. Did Alicia know how much I enjoyed combating -such statements or did she really mean it?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have been—" I wanted to tell her banteringly -that she had been a burden and a drag upon my household, -a weight not to be borne—but I perceived that -she was more than serious. She was sad.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now you are, of course, talking nonsense," I -answered flatly. "But there is college before you; that -ought to cure all that. Perhaps you're a little morbid. -Bright associations will change that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But how," she protested, "can you talk of sending -me to college—with all the expense? And I so worthless?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We won't discuss that, my child," I broke in. The -expense had indeed occupied my mind—but I had -formed a plan for that. "Tell me what you would like -best to study—to be?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's the trouble, Uncle Ranny," she replied -pathetically. "What can I be?—Perhaps I might work -for Mr. Andrews?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Modern girls," I informed her, "judging by our -fiction, invariably develop literary, dramatic or histrionic -talent. She must act, write fiction, or preferably plays. -Journalism and settlement work are no longer fashionable. -If the worst comes to the worst, they turn militant -suffragists, but even that is on the wane; but the -two careers are not incompatible. Don't you feel the -urge in your young bones? Which of the arts is it that -is calling you? The pen? The stage? Speak, -Alicia—for this is the critical hour!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She detected raillery in my voice and laughed softly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know you are making fun of me, Uncle Ranny," -she said, "but it's not of me alone. All the same, I wish -I did have some talent, but, oh, I know I haven't! -Sometimes—I wish—I think—oh, Uncle Ranny, I am -ashamed to tell you what I—" and without finishing -her sentence she covered her face with her hands and I -noted that her neck was suffused with a deep blush.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you must tell me, my dear," I gently took her -hands from her face. "Haven't I just become your -parent and guardian by ironclad legal adoption? And -a terribly stern parent and guardian I am—make no -mistake about that!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," she gazed downward shamefacedly, still -exquisitely blushing, "I suppose I must, then. Sometimes -I think, Uncle Ranny," she went on with deliberate -firmness, "that there is one thing girls always think of, but -never talk about—that is more important than any of -the others. Oh, I suppose I am terribly improper and -immodest, but if I am, it's because—I don't know any -better—so you'll have to forgive me. But, oh, I -suppose—he'll come some day and—to—to make a home -and—and to bring up children seems—more wonderful -than anything else! You've made me say it, Uncle -Ranny!" she turned away with tears of vexation—"I -suppose I am horrid—but you've made me tell you and -I told you. Can't a girl study to be—for that—as for -anything else?" And still tormented by her brazen -immodesty, she plucked yellowing leaves agitatedly and -scattered them to the winnowing breeze.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she was turned from me, she could not have seen -my arms going out suddenly as if to take her, and then -falling again to my sides. I longed to embrace her and -to crown her with all the glory of womanhood. But -my conscience warned me away. In my heart, however, -happiness leaped up like the lark I have never seen and -warbled joyously a divine melody that I had never heard. -It required courage for Alicia, a young girl, to confess -what she had confessed. And courage joined to all the -other qualities I knew her possessed of must produce the -best that is in womanhood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is a commentary on our times that Alicia, a girl -ready for college, was ashamed of what she had told me!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was a fool to press her further, I suppose, but then -and there I determined to be at least as brave as was -Alicia.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you," I asked, hoping my voice was not shaking, -"have you already some one in mind?" She shook -her head vehemently, still plucking at the leaves, I could -not repress a profound sigh. "What does he look like in -your mind's eye, Alicia? What is your vision of him?" I -knew I was courting pain, but there are moments when -even torture is irresistible.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope he will be strong—and fine—and manly," -she murmured as if to herself—"and have at least some -of your—goodness, Uncle Ranny." Every attribute of -that hypothetical "he" was a reproach to my infirmities—a -blow at my peculiar weaknesses. But I had invited -it. The ideal of a girl never errs. It is her emotions that -may lead her astray. Oh, yes—she credited me with -some "goodness." Few are the women, however, who -choose a man for his goodness. In my quality of "Uncle -Ranny" I was "good." I stood for a moment in silence, -writhing with anguish, alternately conjuring up and -banishing the hatefully magnificent creature of Alicia's -dreams. But at last I gripped my soul with sudden -resolution. Now at least she was mine; and I must -accustom myself to the idea of her being some one else's at -the earliest moment—to the inevitable renunciation. -She had innocently and adorably honored me with her -greatest confidence: For the present, at least, I must -make the most of my little happiness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come, dear," I gently touched her on the shoulder. -"You have told me what I wanted to know." I put -her hand through my arm and we strolled on slowly. -"We are horrible old fogies, Alicia, and we mustn't tell -a soul about our views—or we should be ostracized and -possibly jailed. But nothing you could have said would -have made me happier than what you have just told me. -I know of no greater career than the one you have chosen. -And college, much or little as you like of it, can serve -you for a finer womanhood no less than it can for -anything else. In fact, more, I think." From still -swimming eyes she gave me a sidelong glance mingled so much -of gratitude, shame and pride, that I laughed aloud.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is one thing you've got to make up your mind -to, Alicia." I drew her close to my side. "You must -come and tell me everything that's on your mind without -repression. Don't forget, my dear, that I am your father, -mother and most intimate friends. Think how sorry -we should both have been if you had suppressed and -hidden what you have told me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Uncle Ranny," she breathed and very sweetly -in a way to melt the heart of a man, she lifted my hand -to her lips and kissed it. I was irreparably "Uncle -Ranny!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I dared not make a movement in return. At that -moment I might have betrayed more than ever again I -could hide. But the woods were now of another hue; -the invisible lark was still singing, albeit a sadder strain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We decided that Alicia is to enter Barnard next week -and commute with me on the daily train.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xxi"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXI</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Dear God! How I cry out for peace, and there is no -peace!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Who would have looked for disaster at the plump -hands of Gina Visconti? Yet, as though she had willfully -shut the door of my livelihood in my face, that -innocent girl has abruptly cut me off.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I cannot go back to Visconti's. That accursed dinner, -which instinct made me shun, was the cause and -occasion of it all.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I had begun foolishly to feel myself at home in the -Visconti household. When the housemaid informed -me that the </span><em class="italics">signorina</em><span> would be down directly, I strolled -into the drawing-room leisurely, not in the least -surprised that I was apparently the only guest, and gazed -again at the shining new furniture, costly and glistening, -for the </span><em class="italics">n</em><span>th time wondering how it continued to stay -so new. There is a scattering of saccharine pictures on -the walls that invariably make me smile: Cherry Ripe, -the Old Oaken Bucket, Sweet Sixteen; a glittering small -marble of Cupid and Psyche and a crayon enlargement -of the very stout lady that was Gina's mother. Why, -I wondered, do not modern Italians stick to their own -old masters? I once bought a very fair copy of Pope -Julian II in Florence for fifty lire. Even Gina's -energetic modernism, however, seemed unable to exorcise the -peculiar airless odor of an Italian's drawing-room, due -largely, I suppose, to hermetically sealed windows and -constantly lowered shades.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gina came down directly, as had been promised, in a -very pretty satin evening frock that struck me as too -light for a girl as full-bodied as she. That is a detail, -however, which was superseded in my mind by the query -as to why she should feel it necessary to romp into a -room rather than walk. But I know she aspires to be -hyper-American. Her greeting is always warm and her -energy was the one touch of ozone in that stuffy -drawing-room. A moment later entered her father, his -dark-red face pardonably gleaming like a moon through the -haze at the charms of his only daughter. For Gina is -not only pretty—she is eminently modish, to the last -wave of her rich black hair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is she a fine American girl—or is she not, eh?" -Visconti's half-proud, half-defiant look seems to -challenge all present.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The dinner was more than usually exuberant with a -wealth of champagne for so small a company and hothouse -grapes; indeed the exuberance itself seemed of the -hothouse variety. We jested, we laughed at nothing, we -were gay as old friends at a reunion. At the Visconti's -I am always foolishly like that Byron-worshiping lady -who could not long abstain from referring to Missolonghi. -Somehow I find myself caressingly touching the -subjects of Dante or Petrarch or even Leopardi, and -invariably Gina caroms against me with a thrilling -cabaret, a new dance or the latest "show"—and I am -nowhere.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After the coffee Visconti, whose mind seemed preoccupied, -rose abruptly and with one of his gleaming smiles -left us on the hackneyed plea of letters to be written.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gina was restless for a minute or two after her -father's departure. She walked over to the piano, struck -a chord standing, then suddenly sheered to the phonograph -and asked would I dance if she turned on a lovely -fox trot. Apologetically I was compelled to inform her -that the fox trot was as foreign to my accomplishments -as an act on the trapeze.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know you could learn to be a lovely dancer," said -Gina, She then sat down beside me on the expensive -tapestry davenport, with one foot under her and one -ankle to the wide world and leaned forward on her -elbows so that the slender shoulder straps of her frock -pressed upward four little mounds of pink flesh toward -her ears. She has very pretty ears, has Gina. A very -engaging child, I thought. Holding this soulful -attitude, Gina queried softly,</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you love the movies?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," I said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What have you seen lately?" she pursued.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have only seen one—it was a series of pictures of -the South Sea Islands."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean you've never seen any others?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—I'm afraid not."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," she gasped, "I've loved the movies since I -was that high"—and she pointed to a somewhat -excessively oily portrait of herself painted at about the -age of ten or eleven.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I believe in having a lively time," she ran on. -"When I was in public school some of them called me -the 'little guinea girl.' I cried terribly—but I made -up my mind I wasn't going to be a 'guinea girl.' I was -going to be an American. Wasn't I as good as any of -them?" she demanded passionately. "What was the -matter with me? Then I found out what was the -matter with me—American girls are always having good -times. So I thought I'd have as good a time as anybody.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cried until my father let me go to the movies -nearly every afternoon and twice on Saturday. And I -always treated some other girl—an American girl—to -a ticket to go with me. They were friendly then, you -can bet. They stopped calling me a guinea girl."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gina could not possibly know how pathetic that -sounded to me. The curious savagery of children toward -those alien of race, I reflected, is one of the last -survivals of the tribal state of mankind. The somewhat -overpowering scent she used struck me as a survival also, -though I could not remember of what.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is my cousin, Jennie—her name is really -Gemma"—the girl warmed to her story—"she tried -to be American, too, but she gave it up. When I went -to finishing school in Darien, she was already married. -Four years she's been married and has three children. -Now what's the use of that? She can't have a good -time now! Babies—babies—babies!—she hardly -ever goes out. And her husband's quite well off, too. -He's a contractor. But he's an Italian—and thinks -that's the right way for a girl to live. Uh-h!" and she -shuddered slightly. "I'm going to marry an American!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A fierce light of resolution leaped to her liquid dark -eyes and I own I felt terrified.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But—but aren't you young to think of marriage?" -I murmured lamely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Young!" repeated Gina in surprise. "I've been -thinking about the kind of man I'm going to marry since -I was thirteen years old!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Obviously that was one subject she had given mature -reflection.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Haven't you?" she demanded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," I laughed, "not as young as that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you like Italian girls?" she leaned toward me -abruptly, wistfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, indeed!" I answered her, laughing. "There is -Dante's Beatrice—and Petrarch's Laura—and even -Raphael's Fornarina must have been—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I don't mean those," she cried, flushing excitedly. -"I mean Italian-American girls—I love American -men! The man I'm going to marry is—something -like you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I like simplicity, and disingenuousness in the young—or -in the old, for that matter—but her attitude was now -so—so unconventional, with her large ankle rocking to -and fro and her bosom, as she leaned forward, almost -touching my shirt front—that I feared her father might -be displeased were he to enter the room suddenly. The -scent, moreover, was clouding my wits. With my hand -to my forehead I rose ponderously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me see—" I mused with heavy facetiousness, -as though cogitating a deep problem, "do I like them?" I -walked a step or two and faced her. "You are the -only one I know—and I certainly like you," I added -mildly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She uncoiled herself, rose up swiftly and took a step -in my direction. On a sudden she stumbled, gave a -little cry and pitched forward, so that I barely had time -to catch her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you turn your ankle?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—yes," she gasped and lay for a moment in my -arms breathing heavily, her bosom pressing against mine.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me lead you—" I began.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's all right," she whispered thickly. "Just let me -rest a minute." And then that astonishing girl suddenly -lifted up her hand, passed it lightly over my head and -murmured that she loved the color of my hair!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's light brown," she explained, "not pitch black -like mine," and then she rested her head lightly on my -shoulder. "And I love your name—it's so -nice—</span><em class="italics">Randolph</em><span>!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me lead you," I murmured, as though I were the -helpless one.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Ecco!</em><span>" I suddenly heard the voice of Visconti -laughing behind me, and Gina's hand clutched my shoulder -convulsively. I confess that at my heart was a clutch -of sheer blue funk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She has just turned her ankle!" I exclaimed mechanically.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's all right, papa," put in Gina's cheerful voice. -"It's these old slippers. I'll go and change them." And -to my amazement she straightened up, flashed a radiant -smile at both of us, and walked to the door with only the -slightest of limps.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure you can walk alone?" I managed to stammer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes!" Gina waved her hand at the door. "I'll -be down soon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The father laughed loudly and put his hand upon my -shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come, </span><em class="italics">caro mio</em><span>, let us have a little smoke." I -followed him dazedly. "Wonderful girl, Gina!" he -exclaimed. "High spirits, eh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Er—yes, indeed—very high." I felt as though I -had emerged from a severe physical struggle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can see—oh, even an old man like me can see," -he chuckled jovially, as he held his cigar box toward me -in the smoking room, "that you young people like each -other—eh? Oh, sit down, sit down, </span><em class="italics">amico mio</em><span>. It is -all right—all right. I must get used to the idea of the -bambino, being grown up," and forcing me down into a -leather chair, he continued to tap my shoulder by way of -emphasizing his words. "I have been young—yes! I -understand—and trust me, my boy, you cannot do -better. Gina—Gina is one treasure for a man. Ah—yes! -No love like the Italian woman's love. She will make -you the best—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But wait—for God's sake, Mr. Visconti, wait," I -cried in agony, leaping from my chair. "I can't—I -mustn't even pretend to think of such a thing. Gina is -far too—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say no more!" he interrupted vehemently, tapping -me with the back of his hand on the chest. "You are -a fine, gooda young man!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks!" I gasped, "but you don't understand. I -am in no position to marry any woman at this time. -I'm—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hold on!" he flung me back into the chair with an -exuberant force that would have made me laugh if my -vitals had not been chilled by terror. "Is it that I do -not know? Do I not know how your capital did -go—pouf! like that? But all that I have—Gina has it. She -will have enough," and he nodded his head with pregnant -emphasis, "enough, my friend. And Gina's husband—he -will be my son!" He struck his large chest a mighty -blow and threw back his head with triumphant finality.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I attempted no more to rise. It was useless.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Signor Visconti," I began huskily, "you do not -understand me. I cannot marry anybody, ever. I have -four children to bring up—educate—to be responsible -for. The youngest of them is eight. I—you honor me -greatly by your kindness—but marriage is not for me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stared in speechless stupefaction at me as though -I had revealed some incredible horror to his eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Four children!" he whispered, with dilated eyes. -"But who—but I thought you have never been married?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have not," I replied with an intense relief that was -like a restorative. Then, catching his meaning glance, I -went on hastily; "They are my sister's orphans. I am -responsible for them. They have no one else."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" he drew in his breath with the sound of a -syphon. "That is it, is it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," I murmured, rising, resolved to put an end -to this ghastly episode. "Now, if you will excuse me—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All at once his hands shot out and clutched both of -mine.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're not good man!" he shouted vehemently. -"No—not only good—you're a great man! </span><em class="italics">Caro mio</em><span>—ah, -I never make mistake—no!" And before I knew -what he was doing, he had embraced me in Continental -fashion and large tears stood in his eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The cup of my torment was complete. A mad desire -to get away possessed me—only to get away. I stirred -to move but he held me resolutely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We will think it out, my friend," he announced with -sober energy. "We will talk it over—work it out. I, -too, am a man with a heart, </span><em class="italics">caro mio</em><span>. It is I who -understand—Have I not lost my poor Giovanna—Gina's -mother? If you two love each other—well—we must -find—a way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hope bounded in my pulses as I noted that his -enthusiasm was now tempered by thoughtfulness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Mr. Visconti," I murmured with painful -firmness. "I have no right to love Miss Gina—and I -wouldn't dream of telling her so, even if I did—I am -not free—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You—you're not </span><em class="italics">promesso</em><span>—what d'you call -it—engaged?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no, no! It is only my heart that is engaged—not -my word—there is some one else—but it can never -be anything—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But what does it mean?" he flashed, dark anger -purpling his features and kindling the air like a torch. -"What did I see! My girl in your arms—what was -that!" His eyes now darted fiery anger and his arms -were arrested in the midst of a violent gesture.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I shook my head slowly. His anger was infinitely -more agreeable to me—like manna—after his -parching enthusiasm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There was nothing," I answered quietly. "Miss -Gina really turned her ankle on the rug. And I caught -her as she fell—just as you would have done."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stood panting for a moment, his gaze riveted upon -me. At last he turned away, with a pitiful movement of -regret, apology, resignation. The excellent man gave me -the benefit of the doubt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, </span><em class="italics">Dio mio</em><span>," he muttered. "</span><em class="italics">Poverina</em><span>! Go, my -friend, now. I must think. </span><em class="italics">Bellessa mia!—cara -mia!</em><span>—what will I say to her? Ah, </span><em class="italics">Dio</em><span>! what a bitter -world!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am more distressed than I can say," I murmured, -with the crushed voice of poignant suffering, "but what -can I do—or say—more?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Niente</em><span>—nothing, nothing," he muttered. "Good -night!" and my admiration for his spirit was high when -he held out his trembling hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I tiptoed to the door like a thief and as I took my -coat and hat, Gina called out from the top of the stairs -in uncomprehending astonishment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not going—Randolph!" And like a small -avalanche she shot down the stairs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—yes—he is going, </span><em class="italics">bellessa mia</em><span>!" firmly -shouted Visconti as he came running towards us. "He -is called away—good night—good night!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good night," I said and held out my hand to Gina. -But Gina's manners are more modern than her father's. -She was dumbfounded and she turned her back upon me -angrily, registering doubtless some standard emotion -from a favorite movie. It was useless to try to placate -her. I slipped out of the door which will never more -open for me.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The nightmarish quality of the episode persisted in my -consciousness like a drug throughout the passage -homeward, and it was not until I entered my door and -saw a light in my study that reality began to assert -itself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Reality meant the end—the end of my livelihood, the -end of my hopes and plans—the end of the tether. Like -an unfledged boy I must begin to breast the future all -over again. A hero of romance would doubtless at that -moment have thrilled to the struggle with new and -seemingly insuperable obstacles. But alas! I am not a -hero of romance! As I threw my coat upon the hatstand, -a great weariness and a deep dejection fell upon me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alicia came out of my study to greet me. As usual -she had been waiting up for me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why on earth aren't you in bed?" I growled irritably. -Alicia scanned my face amid the shadows cast by -the lamplight. "Go to bed, child," I repeated; "go to -bed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Something has happened," she murmured, frightened; -"something has happened. Oh, tell me—what -was it, Uncle Ranny?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I looked down at her with a scowl that was meant to -be forbidding—a warning that I was in no mood for -triflingness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She seized my hand, still holding my gaze with that -starry look in her eyes that invariably probes deep and -rests in my inmost soul.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Something has hurt you, Uncle Ranny," she whispered -tremulously, "and you must tell me." Our eyes -dwelt together for a space. "Oh, tell me!" she gulped, -with a sudden terror dilating her eyes. "It isn't—it -isn't that—man come back!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no!" I shuddered involuntarily at the image -she evoked of Pendleton. "Not that. Thank Heaven, -Alicia, you're no Pollyanna; you see the worst at once."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," I finally muttered, looking away, "I have hurt -somebody."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't believe that," she retorted vehemently. "But -if you think so—Please, please, tell me. It will be so -much better, for you, Uncle Ranny."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I had a sudden impulse to take her in my arms, but -the emotion was not paternal. And—I was to her -"Uncle Ranny." All unconscious she was guarded -by her circle of sacred flames. Spasmodically I tore my -hand out of her grasp and walked unsteadily across the -room to my table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sit down over there," I motioned her as far away -from me as possible. She stood still without complying.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What was it, Uncle Ranny, dear?" she breathed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A sort of bittersweet pain went through me at the -epithet and I reviled myself inwardly for the impurity of -my dark mind in the presence of this simple, lovely -purity. A profound sigh escaped me as I leaned my elbows -on the table and made a feeble effort to smile at the -mocking visage of Fate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot go back to Visconti's any more, Alicia," I -told her. "Something has happened. That is ended. -I must look about for something else."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" she gasped, "is it as bad as that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As bad as that," I repeated mechanically.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I know it was nothing you could help," she -answered with a sudden radiance that was like a benediction.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So there is no use worrying about that. But you -mean the money," and her face clouded anxiously. "But -I know what I'll do, Uncle Ranny," she came gliding -toward me. "There is always Mr. Andrews for me, -you know. You remember what he said: He'll take -me back any time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An instant of blackness was succeeded by a sudden -burst of illumination. Andrews! Andrews and the -library—the library, all catalogued—complete! -Andrews would either buy it or help me to dispose of it, -and Alicia and the children need not after all suffer by -my catastrophe. My books were more like my flesh and -blood, and to part with them—-but that consideration -was of singularly brief endurance at the moment. Those -books, like a troop of old friends; would rescue us all -from disaster—come like a phalanx between us and -defeat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You amazing child!" I cried, leaping to my feet. -"Light!—You've brought me light! Andrews!—The -very man! To-morrow I am going to Andrews!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I seized her by the shoulders and whirled her about -the room like a marionette in a savage burst of energy. -Alicia gasped and, spinning away, laughed wildly with a -laughter that bordered upon sobs. I dread to reflect -what our neighbors would have concluded, had they -observed through the windows the strange Dionysian rite -of the quiet middle-aged bachelor and his youthful pretty -ward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now go to bed, child," I commanded brusquely. "I -have some thinking to do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shall I make you some coffee?" she pleaded, coming -toward me, still laughing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—go to bed!" Before I was aware she had left -a darting birdlike kiss upon my cheek and fled like a -breeze from the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My eyes dwelt upon the door for a space where she -had vanished, and then they turned involuntarily to the -serried peaceful rows of books that had been my life,—that -now, in the last extremity of need, must, like the -camel in the desert, yield up their blood to be my -livelihood.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The following morning, that is to-day, I made my way -to Andrews, armed with my catalogue, and greatly -to that good fellow's astonishment offered him the sale -of my library.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stared at me in blank amazement for an instant -and then, recovering himself, declared that he would -like to see it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come back to lunch with me," I suggested.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He could not do that, but agreed to come to dinner -in the evening.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His shrewd old eyes took in much more than the details -of my copies and editions during his two or three hours -at my house. With discreet but observant gaze he -followed the children about and measured, more accurately -no doubt than I could have done, the worth and solidity -of my household. He had seen something of my easy -bachelor life in the old days and, doubtless, was now -drawing his contrasts and conclusions.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you think you can offer?" I queried with -some anxiety, as he stood carefully fingering the books -which, like Milton's one talent, it were death to -hide—for they were bread.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Andrews sat down and stared for an interval thoughtfully -before him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll tell you what I'd like to offer you before we -talk about the books—" he spoke with an even, a -studied deliberation. "I'd like to offer you—a -partnership!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was my turn to stare in stupefaction.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It would be a great thing for me if you came in with -me, Mr. Byrd," he now spoke more quickly. "You see, -I'm an old man, getting on, sir—getting on. I want -some new blood in the place—new blood—a fresh -point of view and young enthusiasm. That young lady -of yours coming in the way she did woke me up to that. -And whom could I leave it to when it comes to the end?" -he speculated wistfully. "I have no relations."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I opened my mouth to speak, but Andrews took the -privilege of age to disregard me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want a man with the tender touch for books, -Mr. Byrd—the tender touch. It's a beautiful business," he -smacked his lips—"beautiful! The hunting for -them—it's—it's a knightly quest. And to find homes for -them—it's like placing bonny children. The bookmen -of America are generous. We ought to go to England—buy -libraries—increase our treasure."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, my dear Andrews," I spluttered, in agitated -protest. "Do you know what you are offering me? A -career, a livelihood, life itself—the future of those -children of mine—what can I contribute, except these -books—and compared to your business and good will!—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you were rich," he interrupted, "do you suppose -I'd have the effrontery to make you the offer? You -see, I've known you a long time, Mr. Byrd—and it's -been a great pleasure to me. If I had a son—but," and -his voice struck a harsher note with things repressed—"it's -no use going into that. That is the business for -a man like you.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We all need money," he pursued with new energy. -"It's a thing to despise if you can—a thing for -sentimentalists to drivel about. But so long as our present -social and economic system continues, only a fool would -decry money. It's no good to you when your heart is -breaking, but neither is food nor water, nor shelter nor -leisure. But when you want food and shelter and -leisure, that is as long as you're above ground, you want -money. I have prospered—done well. Will you come -with me, Randolph Byrd?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear good Andrews," I paced the room agitated, -exultant, terrified by this stroke of good fortune. "But -how can I take advantage of your unheard-of generosity? -What can I offer? Will you take my books as a -contribution to capital?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," he shook his head, with twinkling eyes and a -queer crinkling of the crow's-feet about them. "I don't -think we need them. Books are always—books," he -concluded oracularly, with a ring in his voice of the true -bibliophile's reverence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say you will come."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My heart was suddenly flooded by a rich inundation -of hope. This was permanence that Andrews was -holding out—this was an anchorage. It was neither -Salmon and Byrd, nor Visconti's. This was my own -peculiar realm, and only a snob or a fool could reject it. -</span><em class="italics">Ça me connait</em><span>. All the turmoil and troubles of the past -seemed to be melting rapidly away like the shapes in -dreams or unsubstantial clouds. My life would be -secure, the children nourished and educated. Alicia should -have her chance unchallenged—should be prepared -against the advent of that dream-hero of hers,—when he -comes—when he comes! What else was I now living -for? I felt as might have felt the old woman of the -nursery rhyme, who lived in a shoe, had any one -suddenly offered her a vine-clad well-stocked cottage of -many chambers, with a future reasonably safe for her -progeny. I saw on a sudden the clamorous city that had -more than once droned forth my doom, now rich in -prospects and gayly reciting the flattering tale of hope -in my ears—the hope of becoming a bookseller in face -of my dreams of scholarship, eminence—fame, possibly! -But this was no dream. With a flitting smile I -recognized the wayward cynicism and irony of it. And -in deep gratitude I gripped the hand of Andrews to seal -the bargain.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xxii"><span id="book-three"></span><span class="bold large">BOOK THREE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>In returning to this all but neglected record of the -things that made up my life I realize with incredulity -the passage of time. I realize, too, that when you live -the most fully, you write, reflect and record the least. -It was </span><em class="italics">after</em><span> his years of slavery that Cervantes wrote -Don Quixote and inside a prison house that Bunyan and -Sir Walter Raleigh composed their best-known works.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I shall never compose "works", I am certain now, -for my lot is business to the end. Three times during -the past two years I have been in England and in France, -attending sales, buying books, manuscripts and libraries, -and very narrowly I escaped sailing on the </span><em class="italics">Lusitania</em><span>, -which would probably have been the end of these -memoirs and of me. Would it have mattered? To the -children, possibly. Not to me, certainly—except in so -far as they would have suffered by my exit. For though -the business of books is to me the one nearest akin to -pleasure, it is nevertheless a chaffering and a haggling -in the market-place—the reverse of all my tastes and -aptitudes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is odd that externally I bear few of the marks of -the indolent lotus-eating soul that possesses me. People -viewing me superficially might think, with Andrews, -that I am fitted for stratagems, spoils and—business.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yet how happy I was when Andrews made me his -offer! How I plunged into his affairs—our affairs—and -gave them all my energy! The children, I exulted -inwardly, the children are now safe!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But nature abhors anomalies. To work for children -alone is not enough. One desires to work for a bosom -companion, for some beloved woman, whose breast is -home, whose warm arms are the one refuge against the -world, whose eyes are the bright gateways to heaven. -That fulfillment I never had and never shall have. Hence -the anomalous sense of frustration, of incompleteness. -Some psychoanalyst would doubtless brand this as a -well-known middle-aged complex, call it by name like a -familiar and proceed to "cure" me of it. But I am not -going to any psychoanalyst. I know my trouble and -also its name—-though I cannot call it after King -OEdipus or King David or the like.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><em class="italics">Galeotto fu il libro e chi lo scrisse</em><span> mourned the -flame-like Francesca da Rimini. And the name and the author -of my trouble is not Galeotto but—Alicia—Alicia -whom I did not take and now can never have.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I am no romantic Paolo to Alicia's Francesca. I am -a business man—yes, a middle-aged, almost alert New -York business man of the approved hard-varnish -variety—with good, pat stereotyped phrases and a show of -manly sincerity. Who does not know that straight talk -of most of us modern business men, under which we can -hide so much cunning, shrewdness and chicane? Could -I not have simply taken possession of Alicia by a sort of -eminent domain? Oh, I don't mean anything improper! -I mean by all the astute and usual methods, the -bell—book—candle and orange-blossoms sort of thing, like -the hardheaded Mr. Pettigrew of American novels, or -the wicked marquess or baronet of the English.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But I could not—I could not.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Under the carapace of the turtle or the armadillo is a -body of flesh with nerves and blood and viscera—a soft -living part. So also under the shell of the maligned -business man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An infinite pity and tenderness stir me at the thought -of Alicia. I suddenly feel in my inmost soul the softness -of her cheek and it touches me as the delicacy of one's -own child's flesh must touch one. If I had a child of my -own—but on that I must not let my mind dwell even -in dreams.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yet, why not? Dreams are all I am going to have and, -pardie, it is more than I deserve. Much, very much has -been given to me and I ought to feel profoundly -grateful. And I do feel grateful.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But—Alicia—is engaged.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I can hardly write the words, though these are the -words that have driven me to writing again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I have been happy these two years and more—happy -in my fashion. In midst of the tumult and throb of the -war spirit I, in common with other business men, have -been buying and selling and chaffering and huckstering, -rearing Laura's children, educating Alicia and prospering. -If newly rich labor has been buying motor cars, it -must be admitted that some abruptly enriched business -men and their wives have had time to turn from furs -and bric-a-brac and interior decorating so far afield as my -own remote specialty. They have been buying books—libraries -by the yard, classics and first editions by the -hundred. The fact that that admirable American -book-man, the young Widener, had managed to gather a -magnificent collection during his all too brief life, has -stimulated many to emulation. Shelley need no longer weep -for Adonais. I have sold collections of Keats </span><em class="italics">en bloc</em><span> to -gentlemen who have probably never read Endymion in -their lives, and even now I am holding a set of Shelley -first editions only because I could not bring myself to -part with them to the very crude, almost illiterate, -customer who proves to be the highest bidder. Rather -would I sell them for less to a more enlightened bookman. -Oh, yes, I have been happy in my fashion. Yet, glancing -over the few brief scattering entries in this record, why -does the tinge of melancholy persist?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I find a quotation from Anatole France under date -of some twenty-six months ago to the point that "even -the most desired changes have their sadness, for all that -we leave behind is a part of ourselves. One must die to -one sort of life in order to enter another."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What is it that I regret or regretted—unless it is the -mere passage of time that makes me older and older? -And again I find:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Life is a game best played by children and by those -who retain the hearts of children. To those who have -the misfortune to grow up it is often a nightmare." There -it is again—the persistent note of regret. Time -will take them all from me—all, including Alicia. And -then?—How did I ever come to let passion steal into -my heart?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I find some phrases from Hazlitt to the effect that "we -take a dislike to our favorite books after a time," and -that "If mankind had wished for what is right they -might have had it long ago," and then later, a sort of -credo, or confession or apologia </span><em class="italics">pro vita mea</em><span>:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This is a commercial age. If business is the path of -least resistance to a livelihood, so that a slenderly -endowed creature like myself may cling to the surface of -the planet and pass on what has been accomplished to -the generations that must accomplish more—if that is -the easiest way, then that is the way of nature, my way. -All business may be more or less ignoble. But, if so, -who in the present state of evolution can wholly escape -the ignoble?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yet I have not altered in essentials. Who shall say -how I thrill at the sight of beauty, or the rare work of -a master? I cannot declare how my pulses throb when -a new author swims into my ken—his new voice, his -fresh note catch at my throat like a haunting melody and -I have known my eyes to fill at the sheer joy of the -discovery.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Oh, you, Randolph Byrd, aged seventy, when you come -with your white hair and purblind eyes to scan these -notes, will you receive them at their face value? Will -you believe that the sense of frustration underlying them -has to do with careers and fame and lives of Brunetto -Latini? No, my septuagenarian self—I have a respect -for you and a warm pity. I cannot so coldly gull -you—take advantage of you! Damn careers and business and -Brunetto Latinis! I want love, passionate love and -children of my own loins and the beloved on my heart, and -just the common run of happiness that a thousand -thousand men are at this moment enjoying. Then why have -I not taken it? Why have I not taken Alicia as King -David took Bathsheba, or whatever the lady's name was, -in virtue of sheer desire and power? Because I have -been a finicking, hyper-refined, hyper-sensitive fool, my -aged friend; and now that she is engaged to be married -I should be—but now it's too late! Always, always, -Randolph Byrd, you have been too late!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All the world can give me advice and analyze me, yet -nobody really knows me. Dibdin, who knows me best -of all, in reality knows me least. He summed me up, -or thought he did, before his periodical departure for -parts unknown, some twenty months ago.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You see," he said, "you've really got a genius for -kids. I told you how I felt about Laura. Yet what do -I do? I go off to the devil knows where, because I am -a tramp. That is stronger in me than anything else. -But you, you see, gave up everything else for -them—everything. Who but a fool could blink the meaning -of that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Who but a fool, my dear old Dibdin, could be so blind -as you? Who but a fool could fail to see that I am -consumed with passion for Alicia and had only been -waiting, dreading, hoping until she might be old enough to -know her own mind and heart—and waiting too long?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And now Alicia is engaged—and to my own nephew, -Randolph—and life for me, life in the rich, vivid, -colorful, romantic sense of the word, is at an end.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My nephew Randolph—a sophomore at Columbia—engaged -to Alicia!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Flashes of savagery strike into my heart when I could -find it possible to hate that youth—notably when I catch -the Pendleton expression in his face, the Pendleton -shiftiness in his eyes. At such moments I experience an -intense, all but irresistible desire to grapple with him as on -a certain occasion I grappled with his father, to knock -his head against the wall and choke that brazen-faced, -insolent temerity out of him with his last breath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But I am only Uncle Ranny—and I don't suppose I -shall do anything of the kind. Have I not brought him -up? Have I not labored and toiled for him, watched -over him? Is he not my child like the rest? There is -something about the person, the very flesh of the child -one has reared that disarms one's anger and turns the -heart to water. His bad manners hurt more deeply, yet -they are not like the bad manners of a stranger. His -transgressions are not like others' transgressions. In -God's name, your soul cries out, there must be redeeming -features, extenuating conditions! Have I not had a hand -in shaping him? And was he not ineffably endearing as -a child? He may be somewhat wild now, but is not all -youth like that on its path to manhood?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This is a parent's point of view, I see, not a rival's. -Why, why did that boy, of all the males in the world, -take Alicia from me?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was only yesterday that it happened, but already it -seems like an ancient calamity that stamps its victim -with the slow grind of years of pain, blanches his flesh -and presses him down into the limbo of those undergoing -the slow drawn-out tortures of life.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yet I was happy yesterday. I came home at one, as -I do of Saturdays, and the early April sunshine, while -still treacherous, was nevertheless full of dazzling -promise of spring, of relief from the dread winter we have -endured. My head had been buzzing with schemes like -a hive. The lease of the châlet expires in May and I was -full of vain notions of taking a larger, more attractive -house that should be a suitable setting for Alicia. Only -one year more of college is left for Alicia after this and -then—and then—Alicia had talked of entering the -shop, and I should have her with me all the time. How -I longed and looked forward to that day! Alicia my -constant companion, sharing every moment of the day, -going and coming together, lunching together, discussing -everything. Who shall blame me if I saw visions?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then, perhaps an hour after lunch, they suddenly -entered my study together—Randolph a half-pace or so -behind her with something hangdog in his look—an -expression I detest in him—and Alicia, head high, flushed -with a look of desperate resolution about the somewhat -haggard eyes that startled me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I had been occupied in turning over the pages and -collating a Caxton, a genuine Caxton that I meant later to -show to Alicia—"The Royal Book," (1480, 2d year of -the Regne of King Rychard the thyrd)—a beautiful -incunabulum.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Randolph moved abruptly forward with a jerk of the -head, and, his eyes failing to meet mine, he blurted out -huskily:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We're engaged, Uncle Ran—'Licia and I!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What!" I yelled harshly as one in pain and fell -against the back of my chair. "What—what on earth -do you mean!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But he merely looked away, making no response.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is this true, Alicia?" I shouted, as if to overtop the -tumult in my breast.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Uncle Ranny," breathed Alicia, her eyes gazing -into mine with a look so poignantly sad and charged with -pain that it froze me as I was about to speak. I sat for a -space, my mouth open, our eyes dwelling together for an -instant. And then, as by a sudden effort, Alicia smiled -valiantly, laid her hand stoutly on the shrinking boy's -arm, and then abruptly she lowered her gaze.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But—but why—why now?" I spluttered. "You -are both so young—you only a sophomore, Randolph—and -you, Alicia—in God's name, why now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alicia glanced at Randolph as though depending on -him to speak and then contemptuously giving it up as -hopeless, she straightened her shoulders bravely and -murmured in low distinct tones:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I promised Randolph. He wants me to be engaged -to him and I promised him I would."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You—you mean you—you love each other?" I -stammered miserably, for every word was a knife thrust -into my own heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The lad Randolph was now shamed into a little manliness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, we do, Uncle Ranny," came forth in his throaty -voice. "That's just it—we—we love each other. -And—'Licia has promised to be engaged to me 'til I -am through college and get a job."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose it had to come, Uncle Ranny," explained -Alicia with what seemed to me a very labored serenity. -"We grew up together. We have been such chums -and—and Randolph seemed to—to need me. Don't you -see, Uncle Ranny?" There was a piteous note of appeal -in her voice which only seemed to lacerate me the more. -But I could not speak.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The sunshine had gone out of the April afternoon. -Waves of darkness seemed to be beating over me, and -the strength and energy of a few minutes back had oozed -out of me like so much water. So weak and shattered -did I feel that on a sudden I was seized by a panic fear -of collapse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Please leave me now," my lips, strange cold dead -things that seemed in no way a part of my body, brought -forth mechanically, yet with heavy effort. "It's—it's -a shock—we'll discuss it later." I do not envy those -two the sight of my face at that moment. I am pretty -certain Randolph did not see it, for he turned away, but -I am in doubt about Alicia. Her eyes were brimming -with tears and she came toward me with a sudden curious -movement of the hands, as though she felt rather than -saw her way. Then abruptly her hands dropped to her -side and she paused and turned back sharply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They left me then, both of them. I remained -alone—crushed, stunned, alone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And suffering agony though I am, there is now in me -a strange new sense of familiarity with suffering. -Anguish and heartache, thank God, are no longer novelties. -That much anodyne the sheer business of living does -bring to one. I am as sensitive to them as ever I was -in my prehistoric days of ease and leisure and reclusion, -but they are old acquaintances now. I must go on, -hiding my dolor as best I can, working for the sunny comely -lad, Jimmie, so brilliant with promise, for the grave -sweet-faced Laura, replica of her mother, and—yes—for -Randolph and Alicia. I cannot rant and I must not -betray any grief or make a spectacle of myself before -them. I must carry on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Small as might be your lamp," observes the sage of -Belgium, "never part with the oil that feeds it, but only -give the flame that crowns it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A poor and tenuous oil is that of my peculiar lamp, a -petty flame and a murky result. But such as they are, -I must guard them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I cannot down the feeling, however, that there is some -mystery, some secret reason behind this lightning-like -development between Alicia and the boy. With a leaden -heart I must record it that he has proven a disappointment -to me. His mediocrity as a student concerns me -less than his general tendency to shiftiness, his unsteady -eye and his heavy drooping nether lip when he tells me -that he "spent the night with the fellows at the frat -house", that "a fellow's got to associate with friends -of his own age", that "he's got to make friends", and -so on. He is through his allowance four days after -receiving it and repeatedly begs for more. More than once -I have caught the odor of alcohol about him as he came -in late at night, and only the fact that he is Laura's boy -and that I have reared him has made me condone his -many offenses.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Have I been spoiling him, I wonder? Would I have -condoned and tolerated as much if he were my own son? -He is over a year younger than Alicia and though a -handsome enough lad in his way, I fancy I see too much of -Pendleton in his face for comfort. His father also was -markedly good-looking when he married poor Laura. -Have I, I wonder, been rearing another Pendleton?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Alicia, the bright, the fair, the radiant, almost a -woman now, with more wisdom than I ever before -found in women—how came she to do such a thing as -to engage herself to him? I can understand his possible -infatuation. But a girl, I had always believed, learns -her woman's arts by instinct. How can she be so blind -to the boy's character and defects? Can it be that she -really loves him? Love, love, love! That blind force -that is said to move the stars—why can it be so haggard, -gaunt and painful a thing in the ordinary light of -day? Woe is me that I am too dull to comprehend it! -Like the blooded horse in </span><em class="italics">Werther</em><span> that bites his own -vein to ease his overstrained heart, I must bleed -inwardly—I must suffer and endure.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xxiii"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXIII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Since it is for you, Randolph Byrd, aged seventy, -that this vagrom journal has been written, I should deem -myself derelict and insincere if I did not convey to you -in every detail the sort of creature you were in middle -life. If you fail to approve of your progenitor, I shall -know that I have been exact, for I fail to approve of -him myself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We are at war. Every fiber in me should thrill to the -President's declaration of war against Germany, but -here I have been calmly turning the pages of "The -Description of a Maske", by Thomas Campion (S. Dunstone's -Churchyard in Fleetstreet 1607). It is a beautiful -volume in excellent preservation, one of five brought -in by a young man who is going to enlist. He inherited -them from a grandfather, possibly an old fellow like -you, who held them precious. I bought them eagerly, -for I know where I can dispose of them, though I should -dearly like to place them in my own shelves. We shall -make a profit on them, and a handsome one. That is the -sort of thought that runs through my head, Randolph -Byrd, </span><em class="italics">aet.</em><span> 70, and that is the sort of man you were thirty -odd years ago. You never were young in your youth, -my fine friend. Perhaps you will grow younger as you -grow older.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But that is not all. Above the sensuous pleasure in -the books and overriding the thought of lucre, is the -strange romance of Alicia and your namesake, Randolph -Pendleton. It blasts all my previous conceptions of -romance. Where is the color and the warmth and the glory -of it? I had expected after their announcement of a few -days ago that I should be bitterly engaged in watching a -glorious April dawn that would blind me with its strange -flames because it was not for me. Instead I seem to see -only a somber murky twilight whenever I surprise those -two in private colloquy. The mere thought of the -possibility of Alicia loving me (fantastic arrogance!) was -wont to irradiate my heart and to make me positively -light-headed, so that I could scarcely withhold my lips -from smiling publicly. But my young cub of a nephew -seems haggard and obsessed by care, and upon Alicia's -eyes I have more than once observed traces of tears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What can be the meaning of that?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Were I in reality a parent instead of masquerading as -one, I should no doubt endeavor to fathom this mystery. -But you see, I am still, as always, inadequate. The truth -is, I dare not yet talk to Alicia about her love. A little -later, Randolph Byrd, a little later—when the pain is -more decently domesticated in my bosom and will not fly -out like a newly unchained hound. Meanwhile is it not -best that I fasten my attention upon Thomas Campion -his Maske?</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I may fill a little of the interim perhaps by telling you -what I had passed over in the busy silence of the last two -or three years, that Fred Salmon has attempted to make -</span><em class="italics">amende honorable</em><span>. Fred Salmon, who was the means -of my losing all of the meager capital you should have -lived upon in your old age, has reappeared with a -commendable attempt at restitution.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Begoggled and be-linen-dustered, he drove up to the -châlet some ten months ago in a magnificently shining -car of bizarre design and he entered my door booming -like not too distant thunder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hello, Ranny!" he shouted out, and in a twinkling -my study seemed to be brimming with him, inundated by -him, overflowing with Fred and his Salmonism. "Have -a cigar, my boy—how are you?—how is the -family?—how is the book business?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Which am I to answer first?" I grinned mildly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never mind!" roared Fred. "I see you're all right. -Ask me how's tricks with me?" He was so obviously -bursting with news that I complied at once.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well—how are your tricks, Fred?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Booming, booming, Randolph, my boy—and kiting! -Jack Morgan himself wouldn't blush to be in what I've -got into! Put that on your piano, Randolph, my boy!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fred is one of those who likes to talk of Jack Morgan, -Harry Davison, Gene Meyer and Barney Baruch, as -though they were his daily cocktail companions. This -distant familiarity of moneyed men gives him a strange -exuberance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Consider that I have tried it on my piano and like the -prelude," I told him. "Now for the rest of the opus."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"O-puss! Oh, fudge!" he laughed. "Gosh! -You're a great old bird, Rannie—great old bird! Well, -listen here, fellah—" he ran on, wild horses could not -have held him—"you think I like to brag, don't you? -Don't deny it—you know you do! Well, it's God's -truth, Randolph, I do. Some folks are like that—me, -for instance. But I had nothing to brag about, see? -So I made up my mind I'd get into something so good -it could stand any amount of bragging. So what do I -do, but go into oil—oil, Randolph, my lad—and now -I've got it—I've got it! Rich? Say, I'm going to be -filthy with it, Randolph, positively oozing, crawling with -money. That's how it's with me, boy!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Congratulations!" I held out my hand. He gripped -it hard. "And what do you do with your millions?" -I added blandly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I ain't got 'em yet!" he shouted. "But they're -coming, Randolph—they're on the way, on the way! -I hear the sound of their dear little golden feet right -now—sweetest sound you ever heard. And that reminds -me!—" And on a sudden he opened his duster and -from his bosom pocket brought forth a number of dazzling -yellow certificates with gorgeous blood red seals -upon them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"See these?" his large features were beaming a -noon-day flood of generosity. "Remember that twenty-five -thousand you put in of your own spondulix just before -Salmon and Byrd went blooy? Well, this is that! -Here is a thousand shares of Salmon Oil to cover that, -Randolph—and some day you'll cash in with interest, -my boy—big interest too—and don't you forget it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I stared at him in silence for a space. But so genuine -and sincere seemed his air of righteous triumph that I -repressed the Rabelaisian laughter that shook me -inwardly and only said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you, Fred. You're a—white man."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't say a word!" shouted Fred, thumping me on -the back. "It's all to the good!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By the way," I could not help adding after a -glowing moment, "what is the stock selling at now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Not for nothing am I the partner of the canny Andrews.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, now," retorted Fred in a tone somewhat injured -at my lack of romanticism—"now it ain't selling -at all—yet! It's not issued yet, see? We haven't -floated it yet. I'm giving you this out of mine. You -can't sell it for a year. This is organizer's stock. But -never fear, my boy, this will net you more than -twenty-five thousand some day, or my name's Hubbard Squash!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was nothing to do but to hail Fred as a -philanthropist and humanitarian and to thank him for his -golden-hued certificates,—sweet augury of fabulous -riches to come. I keep a small iron safe in my study -now to house such precious objects as the Campion Maske -and the Caxton that I bring home overnight or longer -for study and collation. Very solemnly I clicked the -combination lock, opened the safe and carefully, with -ritualistic, almost hieratic movements, I reverently put -Fred's certificates into one of the little drawers. Fred -watched me attentively. That ceremony seemed to -answer his sense of the dramatic.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir!" he nodded with great satisfaction, as a -period to my movements. "You have put away a little -gold mine there, my boy. And you don't have to work -it, either. I'll do that! All you'll have to do is to cash -the dividend checks. And a word in your ear, Randolph: -If I 'phone you and tell you to buy more, just -you do it, boy—just you do it!" Without describing -to him my momentary mental reservation I, as it were, -promised.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And, oh, say," bubbled Fred, struck by a sudden -memory, "who do you think is in on this property with -me? You'd never guess in the world, so might as well -tell you! It's our old college chum, Visconti—the -guinea—and a great little sport that guinea is, let your -uncle Fred tell you. He's got the spondulix, boy, and -he'll have more, he will. He'll strike it rich on this deal, -you bet your hat, and he'll be richer than ever. And -say!" one idea seemed to follow another in Fred's brain -like salmon running over rapids. "Hasn't he got a -peacherine of a daughter, the old boy? Know her? -Great girl, Gina—wonderfully good sport! She and -I—say, we're great pals, that girl and I—cabarets, -dancing"—and he shook and quivered in a sudden -fragmentary movement of the latest dance—"great sport!" -he concluded, panting ponderously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Angels and ministers of grace defend us!" I heard -myself murmuring.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here! What you praying about?" demanded Fred, -humorously suspicious.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was an invocation, Fred," I explained, "it's the -most wonderful thing I ever heard. Why, you and Gina -are meant for each other. She's a fine American -girl"—I almost said "fina Americana girl," "and -you—you're a—you were simply created for each other!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say," grinned Fred exultantly, "honest, Randolph, -do you think so?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do, most certainly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, well—wait and see. Stop, look, listen—watchful -waiting is the word," he muttered mysteriously. -"Ta-ta, old man, I've got to shoot away from here. -Now remember what I said: Don't buy until you hear -from me, nor don't sell until you hear from me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stay to lunch," I begged. "After all, it's Sunday."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sorry, can't," he returned importantly. "Big things -brewing. See you again. Ta-ta!" And he was gone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Such was the recrudescence of Fred Salmon and the -certificates are still in my safe in witness of it, and -greatly to my surprise they have a market value now, -even though I cannot sell them. Judging by the curb -quotations the golden-hued leaflets are worth ten -thousand dollars to-day. But I know too well that -something will happen before the year is up and they will be -worthless again. How should it be otherwise, since they -are mine?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fred Salmon was never meant to be a whisperer or a -negotiator of secret treaties. The children in the house -that Sunday morning could not fail to overhear him and -ever since he has been known to them and referred to -as "Brewster's Millions."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There is no contour to life. Life is chaotic. Whenever -I thought of Fred as marrying at all, I had mentally -mated him with Gertrude. That, in my opinion, would -have been an ideally eugenic combination. But instead, -Fred is obviously attaching himself to Gina and -Gertrude has been eighteen months married to Minot -Blackden, the rediscoverer of glass-staining. They live -happily in apartments, about a mile apart, and I am told -breakfast together occasionally.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And this notation, oh, my aged correspondent, proves -to me that I am not a novelist. For were I a novelist, -I should doubtless idealize these pictures—romanticize -as I note them. Gertrude—my old cold flame, -Gertrude—married to Blackden! There ought to be a -chapter of that—a veritable lyric epithalamium upon -those highly modern spousals. Blackden should fix them -forever in a series of stained-glass windows!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Instead of that, my feeling is, "What am I to -Gertrude now, or what is Gertrude to me? No more than -Hecuba to the Player in 'Hamlet.'" Always in place of -romance, reality seems to break in, to take possession of -my pen and, willy-nilly, I find myself recording events -as they happen, without varnish or adornment.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>But if my pen is so veracious as I have intimated above, -why is it so overproud and under-honest as not to record -the torture that persists beneath the seemingly calm -surface of life, the agony, the anguish of seeing Alicia daily -under unaltered conditions, the same beloved Alicia, yet -with a barrier reared before her to which the screen of -the Sleeping Beauty was a miserable clipped privet hedge, -to which Brynhild's circle of fire was a pitiful conjuror's -trick?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Having been forced by the pressure of circumstance -into ordered and natural life, I am now maddened by a -passion to straighten it altogether out of its odd -contortions and entanglements. My soul cries out to live -naturally and virtually whispers to me every day that -natural living is the first requisite to constructively social -living. I see heights glimmering of service, of great -impersonal love—but only through personal love lies my -path toward them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In other words, I am now aware that you cannot, like -another Aaron Latta, "violate the feelings of sex." A -few primal instincts there are, so tremendously important, -so powerfully imbedded in the human, in the animal -organism, that to violate them is to twist and crumple -the personality, the very soul within one—life itself. -A normal man must wive and beget and rear before his -imagination is disentangled and freed for the constructive -and corporate life of humanity—before his use to -society is real and stable, reliable and not a sham.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I have reared children, but I have never had a wife -or ever begotten any children of my own. Alicia -embodies the completion of life for me—and Alicia is now -pledged to some one else, leaving my world empty and -meaningless. Come what will and avoid me as she may, -existence cannot go on in this manner. I must take the -risk of private talk with Alicia—to my pain, possibly, -but for my information inevitably. Is she in reality in -love with my nephew?</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Alicia," I began gruffly this evening after dinner, "I -want to talk to you. Will you come into my study in a -few minutes?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She lifted her eyes to mine searchingly for an instant -and lowered them again swiftly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Uncle Ranny," she murmured. There are -times when I feel I could jump out of my skin, as the -phrase is, when she calls me Uncle Ranny. That -"uncleship" has been my undoing. Yet what a wealth of -prerogatives it has brought me!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I chose this evening because somehow all the world -lay tranquillized. Gusts of wind and plumps of April -rain during the day gave way to a great stillness even -over this suburban countryside, where the rumble of the -trains is never absent; but the humid smell of the newly -stirring earth was still in my nostrils and our little lawn -was already green with young grass. One could almost -hear the sap mounting in the trees. There was a vernal -feeling of peace and hope in the house—in my very -nerves.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We were in particular good humor moreover under the -influence of Jimmie's table talk. That boy is a source -of constant delight and bubbles vitality like a fountain. -His presence in a room positively gives the effect of added -light. He is just now in love with long words and -announced that he "would give me a composition on how -to tie a necktie." He meant a demonstration and we all -laughed heartily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never mind," murmured Jimmie cheerfully to -himself. "Demonstration—I won't forget that one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Griselda declares he is exactly as I was at his age. -But I am certain I never was half so delightful.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Laura was not with us. She is at a boarding-school -at Rye this year and comes home only upon alternate -week-ends. Laura, sweet and grave-faced like her -mother, is never as hilarious as the rest of us often are. -My nephew Randolph was also absent. He, I suppose, -was dining at his eternal "frat house."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It occurred to me how happy we could be, just the -three of us, Alicia, Jimmie and I—plus, of course, -Griselda. Alicia is beautiful now with a tender coloring -and movements of exuberant gayety that are like wine -to the heart. When her face is animated and her eyes -flashing with merriment, the house seems charged with -the very elixir of delight. Of late, however, I have seen -little of her gayety and more of her pensive, silent mood -and that has been depressing. But to-night Alicia was -her old lovely self of the days before the engagement and -I seized the occasion to discover what I could about that -puzzle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alone in my study, puffing at a cigarette which might -have been a string of hemp for all the taste I discerned -in it, I feasted my mental eyes for the </span><em class="italics">n</em><span>th time upon the -picture of Alicia married to me, greeting me as a wife -upon my home-coming at night, nestling in my arms for -the delicious intimate fragmentary talk of the day lived -through, of the myriad little threads that take their place -in the woof of life only after the beloved has touched -them with her love. The long quiet evenings of intimacy -and the nights which, in Goethe's phrase, become a -beautiful half of the life span.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Am I immoral, O Randolph of seventy? Then I dismally -fear I am immoral. For these are the pictures, old -man, and these the thoughts that produce them—bad as -they certainly are for me. For Alicia is my ward—my -child. And whatever happens she must not suspect them. -With an effort and a corrugated brow I dismissed them -as I heard Alicia's step on the doorway. Very straight -and demure she was as she entered, bringing with her -that aura of infinitude which always quickens my foolish -pulses.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sit down, Alicia," I waved her to a chair with an -attempt at a smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is anything the matter, Uncle Ranny?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—no—nothing—" with exaggerated naturalness. -"I only wanted to talk to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wasn't Jimmie cunning!" she laughed, slipping into -a chair. "He says he is going to be a writer like Mark -Twain and let you sell his books. This environment, he -says, is enough to make a writer of any fellow." I -laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me, Alicia—" I began briskly enough, and -then, noting her eyes upon me, those deep eyes of a -woman, I faltered:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you—did you—when did this love affair -between you and Randolph begin?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alicia made no answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Was it sudden—spontaneous—like that?" and I -snapped my fingers, still clinging to the spirit of lightness -with which we had left the table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have loved all of them—always," she murmured, -gazing downward, "ever since I've been with them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know that—so have I—so do I—" and my -laugh sounded in my own ears like the grating of rough -metallic surfaces together. "But I don't go marrying -you all—do I? That's a very serious business, Alicia, -this marrying."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>How dull and prosy the words fell upon the air about -me! Does middle age mean being prosy when you mean -to be alert, bright and crisp? Yet I feel younger than -any of them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her face lifting slowly and her wide-open gray eyes -searching mine suddenly struck me as so piteously sad -that I then and there wrote myself down an ass and a -cad and turned away to hide my shame.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know it's serious, Uncle Ranny!" and her voice -was like the muted strings of a violin. "But don't you -think I understand? Please don't be afraid of me—won't -you trust me—please?" And she left her chair -and made a step toward me with an imploring gesture -of the hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am not a designing woman," she declared, with a -half smile, and then she ran on more vehemently, "I -know that Randolph is younger than I. He can tire of -me a hundred times before he is ready to marry. Oh, -we are a long way from marrying. But he—he begged -me to—to be engaged to him and—and for certain reasons -that I can't tell </span><em class="italics">any one</em><span>, I agreed. And I'll keep -my word if he keeps—" and there she paused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A solemn, quite maternal tenderness in her face as she -uttered those words so fascinated me that suddenly I saw -her anew—a new Alicia—and with a strange tug at -the heartstrings I marveled at the miracle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I saw her suddenly not as </span><em class="italics">a</em><span> woman, but as Woman—the -mother of mankind, the nurse, the nourisher of all -the generations. There was in her eyes a something -rapt and sybilline—she was the eternal maternal principle -in nature, the keeper of man's destiny, older than -I, as old as the race—the spirit of motherhood!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And </span><em class="italics">she</em><span> was engaged to Randolph!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then, as though emerging from a maze, I blurted out, -"You are not in love with him, then?" ...</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course I love him!" she returned with fire. "I -love everybody in this house. This has been -home—heaven to me. Why shouldn't I?—Oh, you Randolph -Byrd!—why are men so blind? I've trusted you all my -life as if you were God—and you can't let me -manage—but you've got to trust me!—I can help—I -must—I can't tell you—but you'll never regret it!—Oh, -please, Uncle Ranny, don't press me any more," she -added more plaintively, her force suddenly leaving her -as though she had come to herself with a shock. A gush -of tears filled her eyes. "Don't be—too hard on me," -she faltered. Her hand groped for the chair behind her, -and she sank weeping into it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Alicia! My God!" I cried out, choking. Flesh -and blood could not bear it. I leaped toward her with -a wild impulse to take her in my arms, to comfort her, -to pour out against her lips the truth that I trusted her -and loved her more than any human being on earth.... -My arms went out and all but engulfed her. -But—strangely—I checked myself. A powerful inhibition -suddenly held me arrested as in a vise. Both the -curse and the blessing of middle age were inherent in -that inhibition. If I had so much as touched her then, -I knew in a flash of quivering intuition that the truth I -had perforce so carefully guarded would be spilled like -water. If I touched her then, I was lost!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hastily I retreated a step or two. For a space of -intense charged silence Alicia sat drying her eyes, a little -crumpled Niobe, the while I with trembling fingers of -the hand that was on my table fumbled stupidly in the -cigarette box.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Trust you, Alicia!" I muttered, with an immense -effort to control my voice. "I trust you beyond any -one. You are mistress in this house. Do whatever you -think best. I didn't mean to make you cry, child, -forgive me. You—you have answered my question. -Now don't let's have any more tears—please!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And lighting a cigarette automatically I now -approached her and stood nearer to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm—s-sorry, Uncle Ranny," she faltered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had called me Randolph Byrd in her vehemence -and the sound of it was still reverberating in my brain. -But I was back to Uncle Ranny, like another Cinderella -in her pumpkin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you know what you are, Alicia?" I stood over -her, puffing and chattering against time, "You are an -old-fashioned girl, that's what you are—with emotions -and—and all sorts of curious traits, when you ought to -be discussing Freud and complexes and the single -standard and the right of woman—" the right of woman, I -had almost said, to motherhood irrespective of marriage, -upon which I had heard a fashionable young woman -descant only that morning in the shop, apropos of a book -she was buying on the Dark Lady of the Sonnets. But -I paused in time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And all sorts of things," I trailed off lamely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," she murmured, a faint sad smile wavering on -her lips. "I'll do that next time. I'll deliver a lecture -to Jimmie some evening on the OEdipus complex—or -why it's inadvisable to marry your own grandmother."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clearly Alicia is no stranger to the patter of the time. -But what a glorious, natural creature she is!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her touch of satire after her tempest of emotion -ravished me as perhaps nothing else. How adorable she -was in all her moods!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do it now, Alicia," I cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now—I must go up and wash my face," she -murmured. I couldn't bear to let her go.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where—where is Randolph to-night?" I clutched -at her presence for another instant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know," and with a sudden swift movement -she glided out of the room. If only she knew how -bewitching she is! But perhaps she is better ignorant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One thing is certain. She has answered my question. -She is not in love with Randolph.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dimly I perceive a faint cohesiveness to the swimming -lines of the picture. For some reason that she knows -best, that seemed good to her, she yielded to the boy's -importunities. In some way the mother in her is -involved. How little, after all, I know of my eldest -nephew! Alicia doubtless knows more—much more.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But this is the query that rises before me like a black -pillar in the roadway:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Can that splendid girl be deliberately planning to -sacrifice herself for some real or fancied good to the -boy—hoping the while that by the time his dangers are past, -he might tire of her, and release her plighted word? But -suppose he shouldn't tire—as indeed how could he? -Can I risk her happiness in that manner—her happiness -which means to me a thousand times more than my own?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My own happiness—useless to think of that new! -Whatever Alicia did or didn't betray, it was patently -obvious that I am simply Uncle Ranny—as ever was. -For one instant of excitement I was Randolph Byrd—but -only for that. Ah, well, no use to dwell upon that -bitterness now.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But about that young pair—what would I better do, -my aged counselor? Doubtless at seventy you will be -able to give me the sagest of advice. But that will be -too late, friend, </span><em class="italics">par trop</em><span>, too late. I must watch more -closely from this moment on. I have much to learn, -Randolph Byrd. Of this, however, I am certain: One -individual may with nobility sacrifice his life for another. -That, according to my lights, is inherent in the very order -of the universe. But every one is entitled to his or her -own happiness. Woe and shame to the crippled soul that -allows another to maim him in his happiness. Every -human being has the unequivocal right to his share!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I am rambling, I see. My brain doubtless is still -awhirl with the emotions and overtones of the interview -with Alicia.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The headlines of the evening paper over which my -tired eyes stray are vocal with the war spirit, with news -of bridges guarded, of preparations, of munitions, of -espionage, of ships, troops, volunteering! But the -import of these makes hardly an impression upon my mind. -So impersonal a thing is patriotism juxtaposed to the -intimate business of living!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is late. I must go to bed. Alicia's fiancé has not -yet come in.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>To-day arrived a letter which overshadows all else, -which momentarily put even my last night's talk with -Alicia in the background and aroused strange sleeping -instincts of alarm, of combat, of savage alertness. The -last thing I could now have expected or thought of was -this letter from Pendleton. The brilliant April sun -turned darker as I opened it and the warmth went out -of the vernal air, turning spring back into winter. This -is what I read:</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>DEAR RANDOLPH:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I am writing you from St. Vincent's Hospital in San -Francisco. A business trip that brought me here laid me -flat with typhoid, and all my money, what remained for -the return trip to Kobe, is gone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I ask you to do me the great favor of advancing me -three hundred dollars. I shall be out of hospital in a -week or ten days at most and I want to return at once. -Immediately I get back to Kobe I shall send you a draft -in repayment. You must do this for me, Randolph, as -I have no one else to turn to. Unless I can get back I -am stranded and my only alternative will be to beat my -way back to New York, which is the last thing I want to -do. Please let me hear from you by wire that you'll do -this.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<dl class="docutils"> -<dt class="noindent"><span>Faithfully,</span></dt> -<dd><p class="first last noindent pfirst"><span>JIM PENDLETON.</span></p> -</dd> -</dl> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The impudent blackmailing scoundrel! His only -alternative will be New York. That is his threat, and as -a threat he means it. Yet I would send him the money -willingly if only I were sure that he would really use it -for passage to Kobe or to the devil—so long as it is -far enough away. But what security have I?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nevertheless it comes to me sadly that I shall have to -take the risk and send him the money. To have -Pendleton in New York again—at any cost I must take any -chance to prevent that. And arrant blackmailer that he -is, he understands that!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What could he do if he were here? The children? -Though all minors, the two eldest are old enough to -choose and I believe I am secure in my feelings as to -their choice. He will not, moreover, be charging himself -with the responsibility of the children, if only I seem -indifferent enough as to whether he takes them or not. -Alicia he is powerless to touch. Oh, I have learned -something of the weapons needed to fight such a beast. -But it is his hateful presence that I cannot stomach the -thought of. And that he knows also. I must send him -the money and take the chance that he will really return -to his accustomed lairs. It will be an uneasy time for -a while, nevertheless. But too much ease would now sit -queerly upon my shoulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I shall send him the money.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xxiv"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXIV</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I have had a week of illness and it has been the -happiest of my life.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alicia has been my nurse and no one, I fervently hope, -will ever discover that the larger half of that week has -been sheer malingering. I might have got up in three -days!</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>'Tis late to hearken, late to smile,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>But better late than never</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>I shall have lived a little while,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Before I die forever.</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The Shropshire Lad was perfectly right in the two -middle lines of his quatrain, but oddly wrong in the -others. It was </span><em class="italics">not</em><span> late to hearken or to smile. It never -is late. Every moment has been heavenly for me. And -who ever stops to dwell upon Purgatory once he has -entered Paradise? I am very certain that by a law of -spiritual physics past suffering is wiped out without a -trace.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If "The Rosary" were not so absurd I should sing -it to myself over and over. But being constructively a -convalescent why may I not be absurd? Who shall say -me nay? So being alone, I am humming the tune of -"The Rosary" over and over and taking my pleasure -in it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The hours I have spent with Alicia no one can take -from me. What a petulant patient I have been! I -chuckle as I think of it. It's like </span><em class="italics">Felix Culpa</em><span>. Happy -grippe-cold!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alicia, let us say, brings me some broth upon a tray.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you be comfortable, Uncle Ranny," she asks -with concern in her voice, "until I come back with the -rest?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No!" growls the eccentric uncle. "Not a bit of it. -I want company while I eat."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alicia laughs softly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But who is going to prepare the other tray, while -Griselda is so busy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't care," mutters the grouchy invalid. "I want -company. If I let you go now, will you bring up your -own luncheon and eat it here?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But that makes such a lot of dishes, Uncle Ranny."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't care. I'm obstinate, fussy, irritable, sick. -Have to be humored. Ask the doctor!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alicia peals a delicious silvery laugh and then I see a -film as of tears in her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right—I'll humor you, Uncle Ranny. But I -should think you'd be sick of seeing me round by this -time!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Am sick," growl I. "Get a colored nurse -to-morrow!" Whereupon I hear Alicia's laughter all the way -down the stairs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I wonder why Griselda's Scotch broth tastes so amazingly -delicious, these days. Is it possible that an invalid's -palate is more sensitive to culinary virtues and savors? -I must ask the doctor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the little table at my bedside lies the Valdarfer -Boccaccio, printed 1471, which Andrews, excellent -fellow, had bought at a sale in my absence and, thrice -excellent fellow, brought up for my delectation when he -came to visit the sick. I once spent a delightful week -in the British Museum, virtually under guard, examining -that rare and beautiful volume. Now its only replica -in America is near me and I ought to be feasting all my -senses upon its vellum-bound richness and beauty. It -was once the property of a Medici and has delighted the -hours of popes, princes, dukes, lords; men have longed -for it, have treasured it, loved it as men treasure and -love diamonds or women. It is worth a moderate fortune. -But I leave it neglected. I am waiting for the -rattle of a tray and the entrance of the girl behind the -tray. What would Rosenbach or any decent bookman -say if they knew? But I don't care. Boccaccio himself -would have approved me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alicia enters and the room is flooded with sunshine -and I am quick with life.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Uncle Ranny!" Alicia pauses alarmed, tray -in hand. "Do you think you have fever again? Your -eyes are so bright!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'The better to see you with,' said the wolf," I -mutter and turn away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And your cheeks are red." She puts down the tray, -ignoring my nonsense.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me feel if they are hot," she persists anxiously -and her cool fingers barely touch my cheek which I -hastily draw aside.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have no fever, I tell you, Alicia," I murmur -irritably. "I am ravenous. Food, child—food is my -craving. Sit down and eat—and let me eat."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well, dear grouchy Uncle Ranny," answers -Alicia, cheerfully placing my dishes on the invalid's table -suspended over the counterpane and leaving her own on -the tray. "It shall eat to its heart's content, it shall—this -nice chop and this lovely muffin, and this luscious -jam—greasing its little fisteses up to its little wristeses, -the dirty little beasteses!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Whereupon I am in good humor again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you looked over this Valdarfer Boccaccio at -all?" asks Alicia lightly, by way of making -conversation. I nod.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Isn't it a love?" I nod again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What a history that book has had—and you know -every detail of it, I suppose. All the princes and kings -who owned it—all the romance it has accumulated in -nearly five hundred years—don't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't I what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Know about it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look here," cries Alicia with mock anger, "don't -you go and become a blatant materialist thinking only -of money and profits—like all the rest of the world. -That would be horrible, Uncle Ranny—when I've been -adoring you so abjectly because even your business is -lovely and intellectual and romantic!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And that girl is betrothed to my nephew Randolph! flashes -through my mind. Aloud I say with a faint grin -meant to exasperate her:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who on earth cares for anything but money?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That she very properly ignores and in a softer, more -serious tone, she murmurs:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I came across a little rhyme of Goethe's—'</span><em class="italics">Kophtisches -Lied</em><span>.' Do you remember it?—'Upon Fortune's -great scale the index never rests. You must either rise -or sink, rule and win, or serve and lose; suffer or triumph, -be anvil or hammer.' Isn't it lovely?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. Did you translate that in your head as you -went along?" I ask.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Uncle Ranny—and you have triumphed over -Goethe's wisdom. You have always triumphed even -when you suffered—you have always been you, through -all your troubles—Salmon and Byrd—Visconti's. -You don't know how I, too, lived through all those -things—even when I was a child and hardly dared to speak -to you—I was, oh, so anxious—and so glad when you -seemed to be happy. And even now—oh, it's been so -wonderful to watch you!" The tears fill her eyes and -she turns her face from me. "That's been my life."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You little witch!" my heart cries out dumbly, in a -very ache of tenderness. "And have you been mothering -me in your thoughts all these years as you have -mothered the children?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Alicia—I haven't triumphed," I whisper -huskily. "But I am triumphing now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turns toward me again with a smile of misty -radiance. By an effort I control my voice and launch out -briskly:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did I ever tell you, Alicia, how I nearly owned the -priceless copy of his Essays that Bacon inscribed and -gave to Shakespeare?"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I am well again—and therefore solitary. It is little -enough I have seen of my nephew Randolph during my -illness and little that Alicia has seen of her fiancé.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This being a Saturday when Randolph is at home, -Alicia stopped him as he was about to leave the house to -go to New York, "on business," as my "conditioned" -Sophomore put it, and firmly proposed a walk with her -instead. He demurred, the egregious whelp, demurred -to a walk with Alicia! I surprised a note that was -almost pleading beneath the bright decision—Alicia -pleading to be taken for a walk! I could have trounced the -boy in my hot indignation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They departed—I saw them depart. They were in -the obscure little hall and my door was open. Alicia -waved her hand, smiling. "Just a wee bit walk!" she -called out in Griselda's language. She could not have -known the tug of longing and envy with which my heart -and spirit followed her as my body felt suddenly and -disconsolately heavy against the chair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have a good time," I waved my hand back, "and -greet the spring for me!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The birds are reappearing and an enterprising family -of wrens are already building urgently over my window. -Robins are courting and strutting. The trees are tender -with leaf and the throb of spring is in the air like a -mighty force, ceaseless, slow, careless, yet all-penetrating. -The morning sun was bathing all the world in -the very elixir of youth. A fly was buzzing madly -against the pane. I felt intensely solitary, poignantly -alone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Valdarfer Boccaccio lay opened on my desk—but -he was four and a half centuries removed from this -sunlight. I almost hated it—hated all the beloved objects -about me. My precious books were dumb, inert, a clog -upon all the senses. With a heart passionately hungry -I craved for youth, freshness, activity. I seized the -Valdarfer Boccaccio as though to hurl it from me. Then, -restraining myself, I brought it down on the table with -a bang that nearly shattered its precious binding. I -laughed ruefully. I determined on a sudden to greet the -spring for myself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Griselda came bustling as she heard me rattling the -canes in the jar.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're going out?" she demanded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Griselda." I am always a little apologetic with -Griselda, for did she not know me as a boy? It is a -part of the instinctive clutching at youth that makes us -respect our elders. That puts them at once in their own -elderly world. Besides, Griselda is always in the -right.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then why did ye not go with the bairns?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">They</em><span> didn't want anybody with them," and I winked -Spartan-wise—I can wink at Griselda. Has she not -spent her life serving me? In this rare world you can -do anything to people who love you enough.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Havers!" muttered Griselda, with an enigmatic toss -of her old head. "Then see that ye take your light -coat."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A coat to-day?" I protested.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye—a coat to-day, young man!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Call me young man again, and I'll don goloshes and -fur mittens," I challenged her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Child, I should have called ye," murmured Griselda, -fumbling at the hook upon which my top coat hung.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll put on rubber boots and a sou'wester for that," -I told her and struggled into the sleeves as she held the -garment out for me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wouldna go too far to-day," cautioned Griselda. -"Ye're not over strong yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just a little way," I mumbled, ashamed at her -affection and care for one so worthless. "Thank you, -Griselda!" She would have been shocked and scandalized -had she known that at that moment there was a -moderate lump in my throat and that I all but kissed -her brown old face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>How much the spring had advanced during my days -of imprisonment! The grasses were assertively green -as though they had never been otherwise. Birds were -twittering. Neighbors, or opulent neighbors' gardeners, -were busy at their flower beds, and early blooms in some -of them, transplanted from boxes or hothouses—violets, -hyacinths, daffodils, cried forth their beauties in a way to -make my breath catch. Queer, hungering, clamorous -sensations stirred in my emaciated frame. How well I -understood at that instant Verlaine's unshed tears of the -heart when he sang:</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>Mon Dieu, mon Dieu, la vie est la,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Simple et tranquille</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Cette paisible rumeur—la</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Vient de la ville.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>—Qu'as tu fait, o toi que voila</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Pleurant sans cesse,</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Dis, qu'as-tu fait, toi que voila</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>De ta jeunesse?</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>That bitterly anguished cry of the heart: What have -you made of your youth?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I strode on grimly in a sort of nameless anger, past -the outlying houses, past empty lots with rank grass still -awaiting the pressure of habitation, until the futilely -laid-out streets, empty of all life, gave way to open country -and meadowland. I was making my way to the wood -that lies between the meadows, a skirting dairy farm or -two, some scraggy orchard here and there, and the great -line of the aqueduct, the most Roman of our enterprises, -that carries the water to New York. In the wood I -somehow felt I should be taken again to the bosom of -earth and the sickness of my soul be healed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I looked up at the sky and it was radiant with dazzling -white clouds that made my mole's eyes water. A merry -breeze fanned the newborn earth and once on the edge -of the wood I caught that indescribable whisper of trees -which to me is the earth-note, the age-long speech and -intimation of the planet that, at all hazards, life must -go on; that it is decreed, irresistible and sweet. A pang -of envy stabbed my breast at the thought of the lovers -abroad to-day, even though those lovers were almost my -children. I for one find it difficult to keep apart those -conflicting emotions of the heart. But do parents of the -flesh, I wonder, encounter no similar struggles? Once -among the trees I was permeated by that type of gentle -melancholy serenity that woods induce. Softly I strolled -about on last year's pine needles and leaves, sodden now -after a winter's snowfall and a year's rains. The -cat-like tread of your primeval aborigine returns even to -your civilized boots in the Woods of Westermain, the -stalker and the hunter throbs faintly in your blood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My path led me up a slope where the trees, youngish -still, like myself, were no saplings, however, but towered -in a slender abandon toward the patches of cerulean sky -overhead. They seemed to escort me, those tapering -maples and sycamores with their feathery foliage, like -a troop of young monks still fresh from their novitiate, -still full of the sap of life. Somehow trees in a forest -have always reminded me of monks chanting litanies and -benedictions. The bass-note of all their murmurings is -invariably so solemn. From the crest the land drops in -a declivity and thence, soon abandoning the woodland -in a fringe of bushes and underbrush, rolls on to the -massive moundlike line of the aqueduct.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On a sudden I heard voices beneath me a little way -down the declivity. And peering down with the delicious -thrill of alertness that returns from primitive ages -even to-day among trees, I perceived Alicia and -Randolph with their backs to me in earnest colloquy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My first impulse, naturally, was to hail them or to -make some sort of monitory sound that might apprise -them of my presence. But a sudden movement of -Alicia's arrested all force or motion on my part.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her hands shot forward and with a vehemence that -was obviously not loverlike, she cried out in a tormented -voice:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you've promised me that over and over again, -'Dolph! How many times"—she unconsciously shook -him as she spoke, "how many times do you suppose you -have promised me that you wouldn't drink and wouldn't -play—that you'd give up going about with that -set—that you'd leave it altogether? How many, many -times?" she reiterated, with a pathetic note of -indignation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A fellow can't quit cold like that," I barely heard -the lad muttering—"got to have some friends!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Friends!" Alicia cried, in a voice of bitter exasperation. -"Do you call Billy Banning and Tertius Cullen -and Arthur Bloodgood friends? They're your worst -enemies—almost criminals!" And on a sudden I -realized that I was an eavesdropper and a flush of shame -heated my cheeks. I was about to make a sound but my -throat was dry and no sound came.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Think what it would mean," took up Alicia, "if -Uncle Ranny found it out—" and I could not choose -but listen—"all that he has been to us—father and -mother and everything else. Everything in the world -he has given up for us," she cried with quivering lips, -her voice thinning with passionate anguish. "His comfort, -his leisure, his whole life he has sacrificed with a -smile for us—for you and Jimmie and Laura and—and -even me! Oh, 'Dolph, 'Dolph—do you suppose -there are many such men in the world? And you want -to break his heart by drinking and gambling and Heaven -knows what else it might lead to?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I write these words with shame. I had no business to -hear them. I gathered my arrested forces to compel -myself to move away, when I heard the boy's bass -mutter:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know I'm rotten, 'Licia—rotten as they make -'em—but give me another chance, 'Licia—just one more, -sweetheart—I tell you it's—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," was the bitter interruption, "you made me -those promises when I said I would be engaged to -you—what have they amounted to? It would have broken his -heart if it had come out then. I—I promised the Dean -for you—that time—" her voice charged with emotion -so she could scarcely speak—"and now—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But wait—wait, 'Licia," the boy suddenly drew -her to him with passionate earnestness by both hands. -"I give you my word of honor this time it's different. -It isn't for myself—yes, it is, though—but it isn't for -what you mean—not for anything you can think of. -It is for a Purpose," he explained with great emphasis—"a -Purpose—I can't tell you—but—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you must tell me," insisted Alicia, searching his -eyes tremulously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can't—I can't!" he shook his head vehemently. -"'Licia, darling, be good to me. I must have it. If I -only had about fifty dollars! I could win it—I -know—I am awfully good at poker—I can bluff the lot of -'em. But I've got to have ten to start—and I promise, -word of honor, I'll never play again—word of honor, -'Licia."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was too late now for me to betray my presence. I -was contemptible in my own eyes, ashamed, yet exultant—I -hardly knew what. My frame shook with a cold -rage, with shame at my blindness, and yet a curious sense -of vast illumination surrounded me like an atmosphere. -I moved away, hardly knowing or caring whether I made -any sound, and with bowed head and a tumult throbbing -hot and cold within me, I walked down the slope through -the still whispering woods.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What I had long fitfully suspected was how somewhat -darkly apparent: In some manner Alicia was endeavoring -to stand between the boy and evil, shame, disgrace, -sacrificing herself deliberately, resolutely, without a word -to me—because it might "break my heart!" Through -an empty barren landscape, with unseeing eyes, conscious -only of a welter of incoherent thoughts and emotions, as -though boiling in a vacuum, I made my way homeward. -It might "break my heart!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And did ye walk too far?" Griselda came hurriedly -to the entrance hall when she heard me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—no! Greatest walk of my life," I laughed -absently into her face. "Feel like another man."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She scrutinized me sharply for an instant, and muttering -something about a cup of cocoa and a biscuit, whisked -away to the kitchen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dumb, distraught, I fell wearily into my chair, gazing -vacantly at the rows of books, at the telephone instrument, -the safe, the furniture and cushions, at all the -apparatus of living about me, realizing clearly only one -thing: that it is the simple basal things of life that alone -tend to elude one. For years I had been clinging to -them, faint but pursuing, but still they were eluding me. -Still I was a groping elementary learner in life. Rage -and depreciate myself as I would, I felt nevertheless that -I was facing a problem momentarily beyond me, but -which I urgently knew I must solve. If I had been -blind, I could not continue blind. Suddenly, thought -suspended as a bird sometimes hangs in the air, I seemed -to be watching instinct taking command, instinct -overriding thought and shame, rage and grief—instinct -taking a pen and a cheque book and writing with my hand a -check in Alicia's name for fifty dollars. Why was my -hand doing this? A slight tremor of revulsion shook me -before this trivial deed accomplished—and I made a -movement as though to destroy the cheque I had written. -But I did not destroy it. I sat gazing at it stupidly, as -one might sit before a puzzle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Griselda at this point entered with a tray bearing cocoa -and biscuits.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, thanks, Griselda," I murmured, as one emerging -from a trance. "By the way, I wish, you wouldn't -mention to Alicia or—anybody, my having walked this -morning." Griselda uttered a brief laugh. Then—"Did -ye see them?" she queried abruptly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"See them?" I repeated dully. "What a question -for you to ask, Griselda! If I had seen them would I -ask you not to mention it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, ay—surely—I am a fool!" muttered Griselda, -slowly turning to leave me. But her expression was not -that of one chastened in her folly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is Jimmie in the house?" I asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Jimmie is across the way playing with the -Sturgis boy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well, Griselda. Thank you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A few minutes later Alicia entered the house—alone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I rose heavily and walked toward the open door leading -to the hallway. Her drooping dispirited look struck -me like a blow—my radiant Alicia! Even her pretty -small hat that I admired seemed to squat listlessly upon -her beautiful head—beautiful even in dejection. But -no sooner did she perceive me approaching than she -looked up and smiled piteously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, hello, Uncle Ranny—" but the usual sparkle in -her tone was sadly lacking—"have you been all -right?" She removed her hat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, quite—thanks, Alicia. But a little lonely. -Won't you come in and talk to me, if you have nothing -better to do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course I shall, you poor Uncle Ranny—" and -her tone became more hearty. "What have you been -doing with yourself all alone—?" And I realized that -endearments were trembling on the tip of her tongue and -my soul craved them, but I interrupted her. She had -had enough that morning. And the endearments of pity -would have crushed me utterly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, there's Boccaccio," I muttered, "and puttering -about generally—at which I'm an expert. Sit down," -I added, as she entered the study. "Am I mistaken, or -did you tire yourself out walking too far?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no, dear—I had a lovely walk," she answered -brightly. "Don't you go wasting sympathy on me. I -feel ashamed of my robustiousness, and you convalescing -here alone. But I shan't leave you alone again to-day. -Wouldn't you like me to read some Boccaccio to you?—But -then my Italian is so ferocious, and yours is so beautiful, -you'd hate me if I clipped the vowels too short."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had thus far made no mention of Randolph.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So full did my heart feel of love and sympathy for this -poor beautiful child struggling alone with her problem -and pain that I ached to take her to my heart, to beg her -to confide in me, to let me share her troubles. A lump -rose in my throat and I knew that one movement in her -direction would make all my manhood dissolve in tears -like a child! No, I must not—I could not.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Read me," I whispered huskily, after a pause, "two -or three of the sonnets in the 'Vita Nuova' of Dante."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lovely!" cried Alicia, jumping up and seizing the book.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">A ciascun alma presa</em><span>," she began—"to every captive -soul and gentle heart ... greeting in the name of -their Lord, who is love!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I did not listen after the first stanza. I endeavored -only to still the tumult in my brain and to think what to -do for Alicia.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Somehow, some way, I must put an end at once to this -beloved child's torment—without causing her pain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Three sonnets she had read, or possibly four, and then -she paused and searched my face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you want any more?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you very much, Alicia, I feel brighter already. -I think that will be enough for to-day. By the way, -Alicia," I went on rapidly, fumbling with my papers, "it -strikes me your allowance is too small. You must need -dozens and dozens of things that cost money. Here is -a cheque for fifty dollars I wrote out this morning—but," -I added half absently—"if you need more I can -just as easily make it a hundred," and I laughed a trifle -foolishly—oh, I could act, this morning, act almost as -well as Alicia.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She gazed at me intently for a space, silent, alert—a -flash of suspicion—and then with an ineffable -tenderness and a great relief shining in her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you darling Uncle Ranny," she leaped from her -chair and flew toward me, pressing both her hands down -on my shoulders. Immobile as a Buddha I sat as she -kissed me on the cheek.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But do you really think you can—give me all this?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, Alicia," I laughed with the bravado of Fred -Salmon. "I am quite sure I can. What are uncles for -if—" but I could say no more.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She hung over me for an instant and then abruptly -left me. She, too, was fearful of saying more. But -not for the same reason—oh, not for the same reason!</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>All that day, Alicia, as I could not help overhearing, -was vainly endeavoring to reach Randolph on the -telephone in New York. She rang the fraternity house. -She tried the homes of his friends. But all to no -purpose. Randolph was not to be found. And that -evening Alicia mounted the stairs to her room with a sort -of drooping, febrile anxiety, with an anxious unnatural -gayety.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xxv"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXV</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Only some fifteen hours have passed and the world is -changed to a dazzling brilliance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alicia would not leave me, poor overwrought child. -She has refused to go to bed and insisted upon staying -near me, upon "meeting the dawn" with me. She now -lies stretched upon my couch, covered over with a rug, -and she has just been overtaken by slumber.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And her presence there under my eyes, Randolph Byrd, -is the nearest taste of Heaven that you and I have known, -or possibly ever will know, in this life. It is dawn enough -for me now and for you, my friend—a dawn so resplendent -that I for one shall never desire a brighter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And since there can be no more sleep for me this night, -and since this may be the last entry for you in these -memoirs, for many a day, if not forever, I shall endeavor -to still the flying heart, the mad exultation rioting in my -veins, by noting down for you, how sketchily and -incoherently soever, the momentous occurrences of the -youngest hours.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It came about—but has it come about? Or is this -some mad dream from which I shall wake to the old -somber reality? How can a dark turbid current so -suddenly bring one out into a flashing, sparkling, sunlit -lagoon, overhung with a verdure so rich and lustrous it -would seem to have come fresh from the Creator's hand? -I hear birds piping in wondrous music, or do I imagine -it? But I began by telling you I should be incoherent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It must have been some time past midnight when I -screened the fire, put out the lights and wearily, in -darkness, made my way up the stairs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The fire had unaccountably and fitfully smoked to-night -and I remember the last thing I did was to take -out Fred Salmon's gold-colored certificates from the safe, -examine them with smarting eyes and then gaze in sleepy -astonishment at the quotation of Salmon Oil in the -newspapers. According to that the shares were now worth -twenty-six thousand dollars! It seemed incredible, -absurd. And the year was up and I might sell the stuff. -Like a miser who has nothing else in life to look for, I -gazed spellbound at those securities in whose security I -even now could not believe. But unlike the miser of -fiction, but like my dull, stupid self, I neglected to replace -the crackling papers, though I did put the Valdarfer -Boccaccio in and closed the safe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the upper passageway, I distinctly recall walking on -tiptoe so that Alicia might not be disturbed. Was it -hallucination I wonder, or did I actually hear like a -sighing whisper through the darkness,</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good night, Uncle Ranny!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I am always imagining her voice and her gestures in -my brain. I must ask her when she wakes up. At any -rate, that mysterious whisper it was, or the hallucination -of a whisper, that stirred me into wakefulness again. I -began to undress and paused, realizing that I was now -too wakeful to sleep. I donned a dressing gown over -my waistcoat, adjusted the light and lay down upon the -bed with Baudelaire's "Fleurs de Mai" in my hand. A -little of Baudelaire had the effect upon my mind of rich -food upon a furred tongue. Why, I wondered, do I -keep that gloomy book upon my bedside table? I threw -it down in disgust and took up a volume of Florio's -Montaigne instead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To read and enjoy Montaigne is a certain sign of -middle age. I have long enjoyed Montaigne. A French -verse to the effect that "a peaceful indifference is the -sagest of virtues" came into my head and with sudden -violence I threw away Montaigne.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was not middle-aged. I was not indifferent. The -heart of frustrated youth in me was crying out for life -and love! Alicia was two doors away from me. She -did not love my nephew. Could I not, if I plucked up -energy and resolution, make her love me? Was I then -so irrevocably Uncle Ranny? I leaped up feverishly, -lifted the shade and looked out upon the blinking stars. -Their message was a very simple one. From Virgo to -Cassiopeia, from the Pole star to the farthest twinkler -they seemed to say:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The trifling planet Earth is yours—if you know -how to use it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With a muffled tread I paced the room agitatedly. -This affair between Alicia and Randolph was absurd. -Randolph was unfit for the very thought of marriage. -A wise parent would know how to deal with the -situation. But, alas! I was neither wise nor a parent. -Nevertheless I must find a way of liquidating this -business not later than to-morrow. It could not go on. The -lamplight showed me in my dull perplexity and I turned -it off angrily and again threw myself on the bed to think -in Egyptian darkness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On a sudden I heard a low murmur of voices without. -It is seldom that voices are heard late at night in our -secluded situation. Possibly the policeman exchanging -comments on the night with some solitary passer-by. A -moment later, however, I heard a key inserted in a lock -and a door open. My nephew Randolph returning home -at last! Then to-morrow would be the same? I asked -myself. Alicia would turn over the cheque to him and -all would go on as before? No, no, that could not be. -Yet what could I do? Turn the boy adrift, Laura's boy, -and revolt Alicia's spirit—make her hate me? What a -horrible impasse!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I listened for Randolph's footsteps on the stairs, but -there was no sound. Suppose I were to call him into -my room and tell him that I knew all—appeal to his -better nature. Was not that what parents were obliged -to do the world over? I should talk tenderly to the -boy—but in my heart I own I did not feel tenderly toward -him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Still there was no sound of steps on the stairs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The black darkness made the tension of waiting intolerable. -I switched on the light and automatically made -toward the door. Then all at once the low hum of voices -overtook me. Had Alicia descended to meet him? No—I -had not heard her door. Surely Randolph in his -sober senses would not bring friends of his to the house -at this hour! I looked at my watch; it was twenty -minutes past two!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Noiselessly I opened my door and in the soft moccasin -slippers I was wearing tiptoed down the hall. At -the top of the stairs I paused to listen. Primeval -instincts of alertness stirred within me. My heart was -throbbing against my throat and I literally felt my eyes -dilating in the darkness. I found myself smiling at the -primitive machinery that is set in motion within us, -slumber though it might, at the slightest provocation. Still -treading softly I descended the stairs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No light was showing anywhere. The darkness was -absolute. What under heaven could be the meaning of -that? The primitive instinct of the stalker was again to -the fore. At the foot of the stairs I paused. Sounds -were audible. They came from my study!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Upon my word!" I thought with indignation. The -young man could not possibly be in his right mind. The -study door was closed, but through the slightest of chinks -between door and lintel, left evidently to obviate the noise -of the clicking fixture, I perceived a faint, fitful spot of -light flickering about, like the light of Tinker Bell in -"Peter Pan."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With a slight pressure I pushed the door gently ajar. -Randolph, with a small spotlight in his hand, was -standing at my desk. Except for the circle of light about -him the room was in darkness. The rim of his hat -shading his eyes, he was scanning the Salmon Oil certificates; -with his trembling left hand he was counting them, -under the quivering spot of light proceeding from his -right.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eight—nine—ten!" I heard him breathe heavily. -"A hundred each!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I stood stock-still, overwhelmed, scarcely breathing, -frozen with a sickening shame of horror. The meaning -of it was so crushingly plain!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Take two of them!" I heard a mysterious hoarse -whisper coming from the window. "Put the rest back. -He'll never miss 'em."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right," whispered Randolph, with quaking -huskiness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Give 'em to me!" came from the window.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My power of motion at that instant suddenly flooded -back into my muscles. I lifted my hand as though fearful -of rending the darkness, pushed the switch-button -inside the door and the room was bathed in light from the -single lamp on my table—intense after the pregnant -darkness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then a vision that sent a chill shock through my nerves -and stunned all senses left me gaping—petrified.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the window was framed the abhorrent, dilapidated -parody of the face of Pendleton!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It could not be! was the thought sluggishly struggling -through my numbed brain. It was a nightmare.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then a sudden sharp cry threw me into a momentary -tremor. I wheeled about.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alicia, fully dressed, with one hand to her eyes, was -leaning against the doorpost!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Without speaking, I automatically bounded forward -to the window. The muffled sound of heavy steps -running on the turf fell upon my ears and dimly, through -the starlit darkness, I caught a glimpse of the stooping -bulk of a large man receding down the slope, toward -the brook.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Had my senses been tricking me or had I really seen -the face of Pendleton?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who was it?" I cried fiercely to Randolph, still hanging -stupefied and immobile, with blank terror upon his -features, over my desk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He made no answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sit down over there!" I commanded sharply. As -one under the influence of a drug or a hypnotic spell, the -boy loosely moved to obey, but remained standing irresolute -at my chair, a mass of helplessness, his head dropping -limply on his chest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Anger and pain struggling for mastery within me, I -turned abruptly to Alicia.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Haven't you been asleep, child? Better go -upstairs—please go," I entreated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I won't!" she retorted with a cry of passionate -vehemence and with a rush she flung past me toward -Randolph.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So that is what you wanted the money for!"—she -shook with the fury of her emotion—"to give to that -brute! And he has got you—got hold of you—come -back to make a thief of you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then it </span><em class="italics">was</em><span> Pendleton. I was not mistaken!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why do you suppose I engaged myself to you, you -poor contemptible weakling! Do you suppose I am in -love with you?" Her tears gushed forth, and she rocked -her arms passionately. "Love a thing like you? I -wanted to keep your weakness and your spinelessness -from Uncle Ranny—to save him from the pain he is -suffering now because you're a thief! You promised, -promised me over and over you'd keep straight—wouldn't -gamble—wouldn't drink—over and over—" -she wailed with the anguished note that drags on -tears—"and this is what you've got to! Stealing! And from -Uncle Ranny of all people, who's been father and mother -to you—everything in the world! If I didn't adore -him more than anybody on earth; do you think I would -have looked at you? Oh, how I wish I could beat you to -a pulp!" She lifted her hands on high and for one -fascinated instant I actually thought she would.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish I could feel sure of never seeing your face -again!" she concluded, collapsing with her own anger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Slowly, under the blows of her words, the boy lifted -his eyes, eyes smoldering with shame, with abject misery, -with the hopeless pathos of the weak.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you never cared a damn?" he muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—I never cared a damn—in your sense!" she -cried, forgetting all restraint in her passionate -exasperation. "And I never can and never will now. I'd hoped -you'd become a man. But I'm through with you for good!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I had been standing aside, awed, involuntarily spell-bound -with the aloofness and indecision of surprise. I -now made a move toward Alicia, to lead her away. "If -I didn't adore him more than anybody on earth." I -ought not to have heard that. But I had and my pulses -began to throb anew.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A sudden loud rapping at the door, however, startled -us all out of our tempest of pain into a common alertness. -I glanced at the huddled form of Randolph, at -the still quivering figure of Alicia.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll see who it is!" I muttered, moving toward the -hall. Alicia stood for a moment irresolute, and then ran -out behind me and disappeared in the darkened dining -room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What," it flashed through my mind as I unlocked -the door, "what if Pendleton was caught—the father -of Laura's children, snatched like the thief he was, in -his flight?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And I felt the prickling sensation of sweat against my -clothes as I swung open the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The mounted policeman, Halloran, was looming in the -doorway. He was clutching by the arm a hulking figure -in a shabby top coat, a man, a man panting like a beast, -who was shrinkingly, miserably averting his face from -the light.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I saw this man running away from your house just -now," began Halloran briskly. "Mighty suspicious, he -looked—running away this hour of the night. Picked -him up—to see if they was anything wrong."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I peered at the indistinct features of the man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was the dissipated ashen-white, almost leprous face -of Pendleton.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With an incredible swiftness I felt my mental -machinery working. Something must be done. All hate -of him and all fear of him vanished from my mind -before a faint lucid beam of a sort of indolent humor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That you, Jim?" I queried, peering more closely. -"Hello, Jim!" I greeted him in a jocund undertone, -bringing my voice round, with a great effort, to a pitch -of naturalness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, officer," I went on glibly. "Nothing wrong. -This man was here on a business matter. Left late. -Running for a train, I suppose—weren't you, Jim?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," came hoarsely from Pendleton, and a quiver of -triumph ran down my spine.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There'll be a train—let's see—" I fumbled. The -policeman glanced quizzically from one to the other of -us, then shrewdly interposed:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Train to N'York at three-seven. No use running," -he grinned. My ear, hypersensitive at that moment, -seemed still to catch a note of doubt in the zealous -constable's voice. And when I longed to fling out, in the -words of the ballad—</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>He is either himsel' a devil frae hell,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Or else his mother a witch maun be,</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I heard myself saying calmly, "Thank you, officer." Then -to Pendleton:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you want to come in and spend the night after -all, Jim?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I better go," mumbled Pendleton, edging away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sorry to have troubled you, gentlemen," apologized -Halloran suavely. "But you know—so many robberies -in the suburbs—orders is to look out extry sharp. -Good night to ye, Mr. Byrd. Good night, sir," he nodded -with ill-concealed contempt at Pendleton.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good night," muttered Pendleton and slouched off -heavily down the gravel path.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No harm done," grinned Halloran, looking queerly -after his recent prisoner. "But I could have -sworn—" I interrupted him with a boisterous laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not at all, officer. Sorry you had the trouble—many -thanks for your watchfulness. See you to-morrow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right!" he responded with smart alacrity. -"Good night, sir." I closed the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the room the lad Randolph sat alone, somewhat -straighter now, gazing before him. He must have heard -the colloquy at the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Randolph," I approached him quietly, "now -what do you want to say to me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did not answer for a space. Finally he spoke:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What are you going to do with me, Uncle Ranny?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My anger against him had subsided. I saw only the -frail young mortal, Laura's son, whom I had -undertaken to make a man of—and I had failed!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you think I ought to do with you?" I -queried gently. There was no longer even rancor in -my heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Put me away, I guess," he answered dully. "That's -what I deserve."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When did you first meet your—your father?" I -found myself wincing at the word, but after all -Pendleton </span><em class="italics">was</em><span> his father.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"About three weeks ago," was the reply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How did it happen?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He came here and followed 'Licia and me to town -one morning on the train. He watched for me till I -came out of lecture and then he spoke to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What did he say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, asked whether I'd forgotten him, took me to -lunch and told me you gave him a rotten deal—took his -children away from him—sent him into exile, and -so on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Didn't he tell you that he deserted your mother and -you three children and that your mother died of it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said Randolph wearily, "but I knew that. Oh, -you needn't think I took to him right off the bat."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Didn't he tell you that he went away of his own -desire—after a horrible scene with—with Alicia?" I -felt the truth must be told the boy now. "Didn't he -tell you that I gave him money to go and that only -recently I sent him more money to San Francisco, because -he wanted to get back to the East?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said the boy in wide-eyed amazement. "He -said you had taken everything from him because of the -mistake he'd made—and tried to keep him down. -That's what first began to get me. Oh, what's the use, -Uncle Ranny? It's a hard thing to say, but I guess he's -pretty rotten, even if he is my father. He got me drunk -to-night to do this—" he waved his hand heavily toward -the desk. "Said there was some island he'd found -where he wanted to raise copra or cocoanuts or -something—end his days—-if he only had a little -money—that's why.—But what's the use, Uncle Ranny," he went -on in the same weary tones, "I'm through with him. I -don't care a curse about him now. What are you going -to do with me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A great tenderness for the boy stabbed at my heart. -I longed to comfort him as I could comfort Laura or -Jimmie. Was he not their brother and as much as they -my child? Like a disease, misfortune and dishonor had -suddenly attacked him. My breast was simmering with -bitter self-reproach.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come, Randolph," I put my arm about his shoulder. -"Pull yourself together. We must live this business -down. There's your education to be thought of. You -must finish, don't you see?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean—you'd give me another chance?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Randolph," I answered huskily, "and still -another." At that moment I felt I could have given him -seventy-times seven.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, then," he answered, with the first gleam of -interest I discerned in him, "will you let me go ahead and -enlist?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Enlist," I recoiled from that. "In the army, you -mean? You are so young."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I mean in the navy—I want to do it, Uncle Ranny—I -must do it—That's the only way I can begin again. -I can't stay round where Alicia is."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My heart went utterly out to the boy in his misery. -I knew not what to say to him. The pangs of despised -love!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Alicia has been your—" but it was futile to talk to -him of Alicia.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go to bed, my boy," I said, gently urging him toward -the door. "Get some rest and still your poor nerves. -To-morrow we shall discuss and settle this matter in -your best interests. Remember you are surrounded by -your friends." With a faint gleam of gratitude in his -eyes, he shuffled out unsteadily and I pressed his hand -as we parted at the door. I heard him moving about -in his room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then I realized that I must find Alicia.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xxvi"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXVI</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Treading speedily with a strange lightness of step, I -mounted the stairs first to see whether Alicia might have -returned to her room, as was natural, and found her door -ajar and the apartment empty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My brain still wheeling, I seemed to float dawn the -stairway and into the dining room, but no one was there. -Somewhat uneasily I passed through the narrow box-like -pantry into the kitchen and there the door that gave -on the garden stood open wide.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the shadow, under the starlit sky, under the mystical -blue of overhanging boughs, stood Alicia alone, gazing -into the velvety night, straight as a silvery Diana, -mysterious, tragic.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the sight of her the mad tumult of the evening -seemed to ooze away from me in waves. By an effort -of will I forced my heart to beat more soberly, as I -approached her softly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Alicia!" I whispered behind her so as not to startle -her. Slowly she turned toward me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her face was but dimly discernible but her eyes shone -in the night with the brightness of the stars. The one -thought of my heart was to bring Alicia back to the life -of the past, to wipe out as swiftly as possible the -ravages of the emotional storm, to bring her back to the -tranquil blissful life that her happy presence made for -me. A sad Alicia was unthinkable.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must come in, my child!" I touched her gently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have tried so hard, Uncle Ranny," she turned her -face and laid a hand timidly upon my arm, "I have tried -so hard to keep all this pain from you—so that you -could go on being your happy, lovely self."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My own thoughts concerning her! She was giving -them back to me—with the poignant wistful gloom, the -intense pathos of the young that is so touching, in the -young you love so lacerating. Did I ever say that there -are no women to-day who wear the hair shirt, like the -radiant girl wife of Jacopone da Todi? Blind fool that -I have been!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But my darling girl," I seized both her cold little -hands, "don't worry about me. I am old and tough—seasoned -to the fortunes of life—and to the misfortunes, -too. It is sad, very sad, but it is nothing. It's -you I am thinking of. Things happen, my dear. Life -is like that. There is a lot of happiness and serenity in -it. But you must not let this bite into your soul—it -will pass, Alicia—it has passed already. I want you to -return to your happy blissful self—the self that has -made me—all of us—so happy—so very happy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I ask nothing more or better, Uncle Ranny," she -pressed my hands with quick intense little movements, -"than to be near you, to work and to—to serve -you—that is all I ask in the world!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Almost I had committed the unpardonable sin—almost -I had taken advantage of her mood and of her -grief, taken her to my heart and poured out the words -of love that a hundred, hundred times had overflowed -my heart and clamored for utterance. A pretty head of -a family, a fine protector of the young I should then -have been!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With a tremulous movement I put both her hands -together between my own and whispered to her lest my -voice should betray me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is exactly what I want you to do, my dearest -girl—live quietly and happily near me, be happy until -the—the supreme happiness comes to you—until—" -I added with a painful laugh, "the Prince in the fairy -tale—comes along—to claim you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was the hardest utterance of my life, but I felt a -flash of triumph to have uttered it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Prince in the fairy tale," Alicia repeated slowly, -looking rapt before her, "he came long ago—I have had -more than I deserve—so much, so much, that I often -tremble to think of it. All the Prince and all the fairy -tale I want, or shall ever want."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For one instant I thrilled from head to foot. A darkness -filled my being for a moment and then it was rayed -and forked by the lightnings of a strange intoxication.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can't mean, Alicia," I breathed huskily from a -parched throat, "you—that it is me—that you—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And I knew instantaneously that all the restraint and -resolutions had been swept aside—that after all I was -as weak and weaker than the boy Randolph. For I had -spoken without the iota of a wish to resist my -desires!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Slowly, very slowly, she drew closer to me so that her -sweet breath of violets was warm and fragrant on my -cheek. My head swam.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ever since I came to you;" she breathed ever so -softly, "ever since I was fifteen you have filled my -thoughts, my heart, my life. I have—loved you -always." The blood roared in my ears. I was filled with -madness. But too long had I doubted happiness to receive -it with open arms. I had made a stranger of it as -does a miser by keeping his wealth hidden away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Think what you are saying, Alicia," I took her face -convulsively in both my hands. "I have loved you -beyond anything on earth, beyond life itself. I have -dreamed of you, dwelt upon you until I am mad. Do -you really mean you can love me—as a man? After all -those foolish years of hiding and suffering? Is that -what you mean, or is it just—Uncle Ranny?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—that is what I mean, my Prince of the fairy -tale," she whispered, hiding her face against mine—"if -you'll take me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My senses reeled and swooned. She was tightly -gripped in my arms. I was straining her to my heart. -The months, the years of love hunger charged through -my veins and sinews like an inexorable force, remorseless, -irresistible.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The margin of the garden was a few yards away but -it might have been an infinity. The scant trees, -countable upon the fingers of one hand, might have been a -forest of congregated giants with their vast secret life -brooding and sheltering us. Infinity and our small -intense reality were merged and met. I felt coextensive -with the vast majestic universe. I babbled broken words -against her lips—I don't know what I babbled. For -the vast majestic universe was locked in the circle of my -arms.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Let us go in, my darling," I murmured at last. -"The dew is heavy and you must get your rest. I shall -not attempt to sleep what remains of this night of -nights."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nor I," replied Alicia dreamily. "I want to meet -the dawn with you this morning. Isn't it marvelous, -dearest, that in spite of everything, in spite of that poor -boy in there," she added with a note of pathos, "we two -can be so wildly happy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, my child, marvelous and awe-inspiring. But -happiness is the first decree—the foremost law."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall never be as wise as you, Uncle Ranny," she -laughed softly, lingering in my arms. "There! I have -called you Uncle Ranny again. I am afraid—oh, so -afraid, I shall always call you that!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I sealed her lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, if that is all you're afraid of," I murmured in -the tone of devout thanksgiving, "if that is all—let us -go in, my own."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>And now Alicia is waiting to meet the dawn with me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Up, up, heart of my heart, star of my life, happiness, -nearer to me than my own soul, fire-bringer, life-bringer—up, -or I shall deify you in my mad folly. Up, up, my -Alicia—for the dawn is breaking!</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>I have been sitting in the shade of a trellis watching -the miraculously mobile suspension of a humming bird -over a cluster of honeysuckle blooms. That humming -bird, whorl of triumphant aspiration that it is—aspiration -of insect to become bird—seems in a manner to -embody my life story.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For the humming bird the Golden Age is this perfect -summer day, with its tendril and leaf, its beds of bleeding -heart and bridal wreath, sweet William, larkspur and -marigold and the heavy fragrant breath of honeysuckle. -And so it is for me, also. No fable is deadlier to the -human race, to human weal and human hope, than that same -fable of the Golden Age. There never was an age one -half so golden as the now, nor the infinitesimalest part so -golden as the ages that await us. My son there, sleeping -in his hammock under the tree, overhung by fine -netting, Randolph Byrd, the younger, will see a more -wondrous human life than any we have yet beheld.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Two years and more have passed since I have opened -this record of yours, Randolph the Aged, and I open it -now with a purpose, for a special and peculiar reason.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alicia has chanced to see it and she fell upon it with -a strange—to me inexplicable—delight. She desires -me to "round it off", as she puts it, to disguise it a trifle -here and there as to names and places, and to publish it -for the edification of mankind! If only we could appear -to the world in the stature loving eyes see us! But laugh -as I will at Alicia, she persists obstinately in her wish.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But it was only meant as a memoir for a friend of -mine," I tell her, "who is daily growing nearer to -me—to Randolph Byrd, aged seventy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no!" cries Alicia, looking with eyes shining with -happiness and a face suddenly thrillingly transfigured at -the sleeping baby in the hammock. "It is meant for -another Randolph—Randolph the Young, over there, the -pride and joy of his father—the hope of the world."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It will hardly amuse him," I grunt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It will—won't it, Griselda?" says Alicia to our -aged friend who at this moment emerges from the kitchen -to consult with her mistress. Griselda looks mystified. -"Say, yes—it's for Baby," urges Alicia cunningly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, ay—if it's good for the bairn, I'll say it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Griselda, still vigorous, goes her way.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One would think," I scoff, "you had found in the -manuscript all the jests of Sancho Panza, falling like -drops of rain."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jests!" mocks Alicia. "Who cares about jests, but -the mysterious readers of comic supplements? I find in -it the record of a beautiful love."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But even love birds," I tease, "are only a species of -parrot—though many think they're birds of paradise. -Besides," I urge, "I should have to call the thing a -novel—and this is only a fragment of life seen through two -particular eyes and a very peculiar temperament. There -is no contour to it, any more than there is to life itself. -Were I a novelist, my dearest, I should not improbably -make two or three novels of the stuff. I should at least -assume the jolly privilege of playing destiny to all those -people. All things and all persons should be -rhythmically accounted for."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fudge!" says Alicia. "Don't be so cubist!" I -ignore her modernism.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pendleton would not be left roaming about the world -with endless possibility of still blackmailing me and his -children. Should he not have ended his existence on the -third rail as he ran, the night of his last appearance? -And his son, Randolph—would he not have met with a -heroic and glorious end in France or at sea, instead of -living a highly contented and commonplace life with the -pretty Irish peasant girl he has brought from -Queenstown—a mere ordinary decent automobile salesman? -Would those people go on living in the unremarkable -flowing manner of life? No, my heart," I continue -soberly, "a story must be tricked and padded with -tracery and decoration. And where is the bevy of young -adventuresses at play—without which no novel is -worthy of the name?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In justice to Alicia, however, I must recall that -Gertrude, of all the others, has emerged true to her form. -She carries, I believe, besides the military title of Major, -a decoration from every Allied Nation in Europe and at -least two bestowed by reigning sovereigns. She drove -out here in her handsome car to see us the other day and -was much amazed by the sight of my infant son.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What, Ranny!" she exclaimed with her usual freedom -of speech, now enhanced by life in camp as well as -court. "You've just brought up one family and you're -starting out to get another? You surely are the original -of the old woman who lived in a shoe. What a -reactionary you are!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Reactionary? Yes, Gertrude," I smiled in reply, "I -suspect I am—in some things. I hate poverty. I hate -to think of city or country slums, of oppression, of -disorder and uncleanliness—of lawless, rich or unheeded -poor. Possibly from among those I rear, some one will -arise to fathom and solve these things. I am sure greater -wisdom is slowly filtering into our lives. In many -respects I am, as you charge, reactionary. I still have a -feeling that every human being must be a center of creative -life—and that he who rears children is multiplying -creators in the world—against the resplendent future!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gertrude laughed, a shade bitterly I thought, and -waved her hand in a gesture of despair at my ancient -stupidity. Perhaps I should not have prattled in this -strain to Gertrude—more particularly since her recent -husband, Minot Blackden, has followed the desire of his -eyes elsewhere in Gertrude's absence, is now happily -divorced and married to some one who shares his -apartment, and is himself shamelessly begetting offspring!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No, Gertrude aside, there is no contour to my story. -Dibdin, indeed, still appears and disappears, ever the -Flying Dutchman, as of old. He is at home now and -often sits and smokes in my study and moralizes—may -I whisper it?—perhaps a shade more prosily than of old.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The only devil in the world," he puffed out last night -in his gruff manner, as though, pronouncing somebody's -doom, "the only devil is the darkness of chaos. Children -are the gage the human race, wisely abetted by -Nature, is throwing down to this devil."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And supposing the children you rear should turn -out to be 'nobodies'?" I mildly put in, as an obliging -straw man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What does that matter?" he growled. "Most people -are nobodies. It's the nobodies of the world that -bring about its catastrophic changes. Mark Antony -cunningly put a tongue in every wound of Cæsar's body -in the Forum. Mark Antonys are rare, I grant you. -But it's the First Citizen and Second Citizen who pulled -down Republican Rome about the ears of Brutus. -Shakespeare as well as Mark Antony knew that in the -nobodies resides the real power for doing. The thinkers -are the few; the doers are the many. We need 'em all, -all—and that's what kids are for."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Perhaps I should own at this point that in my secret -heart I agree with Dibdin, just as in reality I am certain -that life has a contour and rhythm of its own. The -world may appear harsh, may be truly ill-adapted for -justice, culture, beauty. But whatever its shortcomings, the -business of the human race in it seems to me clear: To -extend and carry on the race of man—the measure of all -things—to create a better life on earth. All the world -is a man living in a shoe. But somehow, very slowly, it -is acquiring knowledge, learning what to do. We may -indeed be such stuff as dreams are made on, and our life -rounded with a sleep is, in truth, pitifully little. But that -little seems mysteriously, tremendously important.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And by that token it appears to me that there is no -such creature as a living pessimist. The only certain -sign of genuine conviction on the part of a pessimist is -his suicide. To go on living is to hope for better -things—and to hope for them is to bring them about. That is -how life appears to me. But are the views of a shrewd -bookseller who plays golf of Saturdays of any account?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But enough of my prating. Alicia will doubtless have -her way. She is now engaged in the august rites of -the younger Randolph's bath. I expect to be summoned -to the ceremony at any time. To such small dimensions -has my family dwindled that all attention is inevitably -centered on the Baby. Laura is thousands of miles -away, in California, with, the young surgeon she met and -married in France; and Jimmie, within two years of -college, is summering in a camp on a Canadian island. -Randolph Junior reigns supreme. Well, I am content—and -long live the King! But they are all as near and -dear, to me as ever. For as old Burton his "Anatomy" -hath it: "No cord nor cable can so forcibly draw or -hold so fast, as love can do with a twined thread."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I see life stretching and dynamic before me, glittering -with possibility as the atmosphere sometimes glitters in -the sunlight with flittering dancing, revolving points—for -eyes made like mine. Though late in starting, I must -plunge into the life of responsibility, helping, how slightly -soever, to join the long generations of the past in preparing -the dazzling future.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The name of the new time spirit is Responsibility.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At this point Alicia appeared to summon me to the -Rites of the Bath, and hung for a moment reading over -my shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I insist upon adding two words to that," she announced, -"and they shall be the last."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is your privilege, beloved," I agreed and eagerly -made way for her. Then Alicia wrote:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And Love."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>THE END</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">By Henry James Forman</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold">NOVELS</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span>The Captain of His Soul -<br />Fire of Youth -<br />The Man Who Lived in a Shoe</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold">TRAVEL</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span>In the Footprints of Heine -<br />The Ideal Italian Tour -<br />London: An Intimate Picture</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 MAN WHO LIVED IN A SHOE</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/49757"><span>http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/49757</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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