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diff --git a/old/66354-0.txt b/old/66354-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 354d525..0000000 --- a/old/66354-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,10562 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Proof of the Pudding, by Meredith -Nicholson - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Proof of the Pudding - -Author: Meredith Nicholson - -Illustrator: C. H. Taffs - -Release Date: September 20, 2021 [eBook #66354] - -Language: English - -Produced by: D A Alexander, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The - Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PROOF OF THE -PUDDING *** - - - - - -THE PROOF OF THE PUDDING - - -[Illustration: _Page 160_ - -“NOW WE’RE IN FOR IT!” SAID NAN UNCOMFORTABLY] - - - - - THE PROOF OF THE - PUDDING - - BY - MEREDITH NICHOLSON - - _With Illustrations_ - - [Illustration] - - BOSTON AND NEW YORK - HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY - The Riverside Press Cambridge - 1916 - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1915 AND 1916, BY THE RED BOOK CORPORATION - COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY MEREDITH NICHOLSON - - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED - - _Published May 1916_ - - -By Meredith Nicholson - - =THE PROOF OF THE PUDDING.= Illustrated. - - =THE POET.= Illustrated. - - =OTHERWISE PHYLLIS.= With frontispiece in color. - - =THE PROVINCIAL AMERICAN AND OTHER PAPERS.= - - =A HOOSIER CHRONICLE.= With illustrations. - - =THE SIEGE OF THE SEVEN SUITORS.= With illustrations. - - - HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY - BOSTON AND NEW YORK - - - - - TO - CARLETON B. McCULLOCH - - - - -CONTENTS - - - I. A YOUNG LADY OF MOODS 1 - - II. THE AFFAIRS OF MRS. COPELAND 20 - - III. MR. FARLEY BECOMES EXPLICIT 39 - - IV. NAN AND BILLY’S WIFE 57 - - V. A COLLECTOR OF FACTS 68 - - VI. AN ERROR OF JUDGMENT 87 - - VII. WELCOME CALLERS 99 - - VIII. MRS. COPELAND’S GOOD FORTUNE 113 - - IX. A NARROW ESCAPE 124 - - X. THE AMBITIONS OF MR. AMIDON 136 - - XI. CANOEING 151 - - XII. LAST WILLS AND TESTAMENTS 165 - - XIII. A KINNEY LARK AND ITS CONSEQUENCES 175 - - XIV. BILLS PAYABLE 194 - - XV. FATE AND BILLY COPELAND 208 - - XVI. AN ABRUPT ENDING 226 - - XVII. SHADOWS 243 - - XVIII. NAN AGAINST NAN 256 - - XIX. NOT ACCORDING TO LAW 263 - - XX. THE COPELAND-FARLEY CELLAR 275 - - XXI. A SOLVENT HOUSE 283 - - XXII. NULL AND VOID 292 - - XXIII. IN TRUST 301 - - XXIV. “I NEVER STOPPED LOVING HIM!” 317 - - XXV. COPELAND’S UNKNOWN BENEFACTOR 327 - - XXVI. JERRY’S DARK DAYS 337 - - XXVII. “JUST HELPING; JUST BEING KIND!” 354 - - - - -ILLUSTRATIONS - - - “NOW WE’RE IN FOR IT!” SAID NAN UNCOMFORTABLY _Frontispiece_ - - “A VERY CHARMING PERSON--A LITTLE DEVILISH, BUT KEEN AND AMUSING” 26 - - “OH, I HAD ONE GLASS; NOBODY HAD MORE, I THINK; THERE WAS SOME - KIND OF MINERAL WATER BESIDES. IT WAS ALL VERY SIMPLE” 44 - - NAN EXPERIENCED SUDDENLY A DISTURBING SENSE OF HER INFERIORITY - TO THIS WOMAN 62 - - “I’M NOT LOSING ANYTHING; AND BESIDES, I’M HAVING A MIGHTY GOOD - TIME” 66 - - THE FURTIVE TOUCH OF HIS HAND SEEMED TO ESTABLISH AN - UNDERSTANDING BETWEEN THEM THAT THEY WERE SPECTATORS, NOT - PARTICIPANTS IN THE REVEL 188 - - THE TOUCH OF HER WET CHEEK THRILLED HIM 372 - - -_From drawings by C. H. Taffs_ - - - - -THE PROOF OF THE PUDDING - - - - -CHAPTER I - -A YOUNG LADY OF MOODS - - -It was three o’clock, but the luncheon the Kinneys were giving at the -Country Club had survived the passing of less leisurely patrons and now -dominated the house. The negro waiters, having served all the food and -drink prescribed, perched on the railing of the veranda outside the -dining-room, ready to offer further liquids if they should be demanded. -Such demands had not been infrequent during the two hours that had -intervened since the party sat down, as a row of empty champagne -bottles in the club pantry testified. The negroes watched with discreet -grins the antics of a girl of twenty-two who seemed to be the center -of interest. She had been entertaining the company with a variety of -impersonations of local characters, rising and moving about for the -better display of her powers of mimicry. Hand-clapping and cries of “Go -on!” followed each of these performances. - -She concluded an imitation of the head waiter--a pompous individual -who had viewed this impiety with mixed emotions--and sank exhausted -into her chair amid boisterous laughter. The flush in her cheeks was -not wholly attributable to the heat of the June day, and the eagerness -with which she gulped a glass of champagne one of the men handed her -suggested a familiar acquaintance with that beverage. - -“Now, Nan, give us Daddy Farley. Do old Uncle Tim cussing the -doctor--put it all in--that’s a good little Nan!” - -“Go to it, Nan; we’ve got to have it!” cried Mrs. Kinney. - -“I think it will kill me to hear it again,” protested Billy Copeland, -who was refilling the girl’s glass; “but I’d be glad to die laughing. -It’s the funniest stunt you ever did.” - -The girl’s arms hung limp, and she sat, a crumpled, dejected figure, -glancing about frowningly with dull eyes. - -“I’m all in; there’s nothing doing,” she replied tamely. - -“Oh, come along, Nan. We’ll go for a spin in the country right -afterwards,” said Mrs. Kinney--who had just confided to a guest from -Pittsburg, for whom the party was given, that Nan’s imitation of Daddy -Farley abusing his doctor was the killingest thing ever, and that she -just must hear it. - -Their importunities were renewed to the accompaniment of much thumping -of the table, and suddenly the girl sprang to her feet. She seemed -immediately transformed as she began a minute representation of the -gait and speech of an old man. - -“You ignorant blackguard! you common, low piece of swine-meat! How dare -you come day after day to torture me with your filthy nostrums! You’ve -poured enough dope into me to float a battleship and given me pills -enough to sink it, and here I am limpin’ around like a spavined horse, -and no more chance o’gettin’ out o’ here again than I have of goin’ to -heaven! What’s that! You got the cheek to offer to give up the case! -Just like you to want to turn me over to some other pirate and keep me -movin’ till the undertaker comes along and hangs out the crape! There’s -been a dozen o’ you flutterin’ in here like hungry sparrows lookin’ -for worms. You don’t see anything in my old carcass but worm-food! Hi, -you! What you up to now? Oh, Lord, don’t leave me! Come back here; come -back here, I say! Oh, my damned legs! How long you say I’d better take -that poison you sent up here yesterday? Well, all right”--meekly--“I -guess I’ll try it. Where’s that nurse gone? You better tell her again -about the treatment. She forgets it half the time; tell her to double -the dose. If I’ve got to die, I want to die full o’ poison to make it -easier for the embalmer. I guess you’re all right, doc; but you’re -slow, mighty damned slow. Hi, Nan, you grinnin’ little fool, who told -you to come in here? Oh, Lord! Oh, my poor legs! Oh, for God’s sake, -doctor, do something for me--do something for me!” - -She tottered toward her chair, imaginably the bed from which the old -man had risen, and glanced at her audience indifferently, as they -broke into hilarious applause. The vulgarity of the exhibition was -mitigated somewhat by her amazing success in sinking herself in another -personality. They all knew that the man she was imitating was her -foster-father and benefactor; that he had rescued her from obscure, -hopeless poverty, educated her and given her his name; and that but -for his benevolence they never would have known or heard of her; but -this clearly was not a company that was fastidious in such matters. -The exhibition of her cleverness had been highly diverting. They waved -their napkins and demanded more. - -She continued to survey them coldly, standing by her chair and absently -biting her lip. Then she turned with an air of disdain and moved among -the tables to the nearest door with languid deliberation. They watched -her dully, mystified. This possibly was a prelude to some further -contribution to the hour’s entertainment, and they craned their necks -to follow her, expecting that at any moment she would turn back. - -The screen door banged harshly upon her exit. She crossed the veranda, -ran down the steps toward the canal that lay a little below the -clubhouse, and hurried away as though anxious to escape pursuit or -questioning. She came presently to the river, pressed through a tangle -of briars and threw herself down on the bank under a majestic sycamore. - -A woodpecker drummed upon a dead limb of the tree, and a kingfisher -looked down at her wonderingly. She lay perfectly quiet with her face -buried in the grass. Hers was not a happy frame of mind. Torn with -contrition, she yielded herself to the luxury of self-scorn. She had -no intention of returning immediately to the clubhouse, and she was -infinitely relieved that none of her late companions had followed her. -She wished that she might never see them again. Then her mood changed -and she sat up, flung aside her hat, dipped her handkerchief in the -river and held it to her burning face. - -“You little fool, you silly little fool!” she said, addressing her -reflection in the water. She spoke as though quoting, which was indeed -exactly what she was doing. It was just such endearing terms that her -foster-father applied to her in his frequent fits of anger. - -Then she stretched herself at ease with her hands clasped under her -head and stared at the sky. Beneath the cloud of loosened black hair -that her various exertions had shaken free, her violet eyes were fine -and expressive. Her face was slender, with dimples near the corners of -her mouth: a sensitive face, still fresh and girlish. Her fairness was -that of her type--a type markedly Irish. The wet handkerchief that had -brought away a faint blotch of scarlet from her rather full lips had -left them still red with the sufficient color of youthful health. Lying -relaxed for half an hour, watching the lazily drifting white clouds, -she became tranquillized. Her eyes lost their restlessness as she gazed -dreamily at the heavens. - -The soft splash of oars caused her to lift her head guardedly and -glance out upon the river. A young man was deftly urging a cedar -skiff toward a huge elm that had been uprooted by a spring storm and -lay with half its trunk submerged. He jumped out and tied the skiff -to a convenient limb and then, standing on the trunk, adjusted a rod -and line and began amusing himself by dropping a brilliant fly here -and there on the rippling surface. It was inconceivable that any one -should imagine that fish were to be wooed and won in this part of the -stream; even Nan knew better than that. But failures apparently did not -diminish the pleasure the fisherman found in his occupation. - -He was small and compactly made and wore white flannel trousers, canvas -shoes, and a pink shirt with a four-in-hand to match. He moved about -freely on the log to give variety to his experiments; he was indeed -much nimbler with his feet than with his hands, for his whipping of the -stream lacked the sophistication of skilled fly-casting. He lighted a -cigarette without abating his efforts, and commented audibly upon his -stupidity when a too-vigorous twist of the wrist sent the fly into a -sapling, from which he extricated it with the greatest difficulty. - -He was not of her world, Nan reflected, peering at him through the -fringing willows. She knew most of the young gentlemen who attended -dances or played tennis and golf at the Country Club, and he was not -of their species. Once in making a long cast his foot slipped, and -he capered wildly while regaining his balance, fell astraddle of the -log, and one shoe shipped water. He glanced about to make sure this -misfortune had not been observed, shook the water out of his shoe and -lighted a fresh cigarette. - -She admired the dexterity with which he held the rod under his arm, -manipulated the “makings” and had the little cylinder burning in a -jiffy and hanging to his lip--a fashion of carrying a cigarette not -affected by the young gentlemen she knew. It was just a little rakish; -but he was, she surmised, a rather rakish young man. A gray cap tilted -over one ear exaggerated his youthful appearance; his countenance was -still round and boyish, though she judged him to be older than herself. - -The patience and industry with which he plied the rod were admirable: -though there was not the slightest probability that a fish would snap -at the fly, he continued his futile casting with the utmost zeal and -good humor. His sinewy arms were white--which, being interpreted, meant -that their exposure to the sun had not been as constant as might be -expected of one who was lord of his own time and devoted to athletics. -She was wondering whether he intended to continue his exercise -indefinitely, when his efforts to extricate the fly from a tangle of -water-grass freed it unexpectedly, and the line described a semicircle -and caught a limb of the sycamore under which she was lying. - -His vigorous tugs only tightened it the more, and she began speculating -as to whether she should rise and loosen it or await his own solution -of the difficulty. If it became necessary for him to leave the fallen -tree to effect a rescue, he must find her hiding-place; and her -dignity, she argued, would suffer if she allowed him to discover that -she had been watching him. He now began moving toward the bank with the -becoming air of determination that had attended his practice with the -rod. She rose quickly, jumped up and caught the bough that held the -fly, and tore it loose with a handful of leaves. - -“Lordy!” he exclaimed, staring hard. “Did you buy a ticket for this -show, or did you stroll in on a rain-check?” - -“Oh, I was here first; but it isn’t my river!” she replied easily. -“They don’t seem to be biting very well,” she added consolingly. - -“Biting? Well, I should say not! There hasn’t been a minnow in this -river since the Indians left. I’m just practicing.” - -“You’ve done a lot of it,” said Nan, looking about for her hat and -picking it up as an earnest of her immediate departure. - -He dropped his rod and walked toward her guardedly and with an assumed -carelessness, his hands in his pockets. - -“That’s one good thing about fly-fishing,” he observed detainingly; -“you don’t need to bother about the fish so long as there’s plenty of -water.” - -He noted the handkerchief that she had spread on a bush to dry, and -eyed her with appreciation as she thrust the pins through her hat. - -“Country Club?” he asked casually. - -She nodded affirmatively, glancing toward the red roof of the -clubhouse, and brushed the bits of bark and earth from her skirt. If he -meant to annoy her with further conversation, it might be just as well -to make it clear that the club afforded an easily accessible refuge. - -“Excuse me, but you’re Miss Farley,--yes? It’s kind o’ funny,” he -continued, still lounging toward her, “but I remember you away back -when we were both kids--my name being Amidon--Jeremiah A., late of good -old Perry County on La Belle Rivière--and I’ve seen you lots o’ times -downtown. I’m connected in a minor capacity with the well-known house -of Copeland-Farley Company, drugs, wholesale only--naturally sort o’ -take an interest in the family.” - -It was still wholly possible for her to walk away without replying; and -yet his slangy speech amused her, and his manner was deferential. She -remembered the Amidons from her childhood at Belleville, on the Ohio, -and she even vaguely remembered the boy this young man must have been. -Within three yards of her he paused, as though to reassure her that he -was not disposed to presume upon an acquaintance that rested flimsily -upon knowledge that might have awakened unwelcome memories; and seeing -that she hesitated, he remarked:-- - -“A good deal has happened since you sat in front of me in the public -school down there. I guess a good deal has happened to both of us.” - -This was too intimate for immediate acceptance; but she would at least -show him that whatever changes might have taken place in their affairs, -she was not a snob. - -“You are Jerry; the other Amidon boy was Obadiah. I remember him -because the name always seemed so funny.” - -“You’re playing safe! Obey died when he was ten--poor little kid! -Scarlet fever. That was right after the flood you floated away on.” - -She murmured her regret at the death of his brother. It was, however, -still a delicate question just how much weight should be given to these -slight ties of their common youth. - -The disagreeable connotations of his introduction--the southward-looking -vista that led back to the poverty and squalor to which she was -born--were rather rosily obscured by the atmosphere of assured -blitheness he exhaled. He seemed to imply that both had put Belleville -behind them and that there was nothing surprising in this meeting under -happier conditions. He was a clean-cut, well-knit, resolute young -fellow. His brownish hair was combed back from his forehead with an -onion-skin smoothness; indeed, he imparted a general impression of -smoothness. His gray eyes expressed a juvenile innocence; his occasional -smile was a slow, reluctant grin that disclosed white, even teeth. A -self-confident young fellow, a trifle fresh, and yet with an unobtrusive -freshness that was not displeasing, Nan thought, as she continued to -observe and appraise him. - -“I broke away from the home-plate when I was sixteen,” he went -on, “about four years after you pulled out; and I’ve been engaged -in commercial pursuits in this very town ever since. Arrived in a -freight-car,” he amplified cheerfully, as though she were entitled to -all the facts. “Got a job with the aforesaid well-known jobbing house. -Began by sweeping out, and now I swing a sample-case down the lower -Wabash. Oh, not vulgarly rich! but I manage to get my laundry out every -Saturday night.” - -“You travel for the house, do you?” she asked with a frown of -perplexity. - -“That’s calling it by a large name; but I can’t deny that your words -give me pleasure. They’re just trying me out; it’s up to me to make -good. I’ve seen you in the office now and then; but you never knew me.” - -“If I ever saw you, I didn’t know you, of course,” she said with -unaffected sincerity; “if I had, I should have spoken to you.” - -“Oh, I never worried about that! But of course it would be all right -if you didn’t want to remember me. I was an ugly little one-gallus -kid with a frowsy head and freckled face. I shouldn’t expect you to -remember me for my youthful beauty; but you saved me from starvation -once; I sat on your fence and watched you eat a large red apple, and -traded you my only agate--it was an imitation--for the core.” - -She laughed, declaring that she could never have been so grasping, -and he decided that she was a good fellow. Her manner of ignoring the -social chasm that yawned between members of the fashionable Country -Club and the Little Ripple Club farther down the river, to which young -men who invaded the lower Wabash with sample-cases were acceptable, was -wholly in her favor. Her parents had been much poorer than his own: -his father had been a teamster; hers had been a common day laborer and -a poor stick at that. And recurring to the maternal line, her mother -had without shame added to the uncertain family income by taking in -washing. His mother, on the other hand, had canned her own fruit -and been active in the affairs of the First M.E. Church, serving on -committees with the wives of men who owned stores and were therefore -of Belleville’s aristocracy; she had even been invited to the parsonage -to supper. - -If Nan Corrigan’s parents had not perished in an Ohio River flood, and -if Timothy Farley, serving on a flood sufferers’ relief committee, -had not rescued her from a shanty that was about to topple over by -the angry waters, Nan Farley would not be standing there in expensive -raiment talking to Jerry Amidon. These facts were not to be ignored and -she was conscious of no wish to ignore them. - -“I’ve been fortunate, of course,” she said, as though condensing an -answer to many questions. - -“I guess there’s a good deal in luck,” he replied easily. “If one of -our best tie-hoppers hadn’t got killed in a trolley smash-up, I might -never have got a chance to try the road. I’d probably have been doing -Old Masters with the marking-pot around the shipping-room to the end of -time.” - -His way of putting things amused her, and her smile heightened his -admiration of her dimples. - -“I suppose you’re going fishing when you learn how to manage the fly?” -she asked, willing to prolong the talk now that they had disposed of -the past. - -“You never spoke truer words! It’s this way,” he continued -confidentially: “When I see a fellow doing something I don’t know how -to do, my heart-action isn’t good till I learn the trick. It used to -make me sick to have to watch ’em marking boxes at the store, and I -began getting down at six A.M. to practice, so when a chance came along -I’d be ready to handle the brush. And camping once over Sunday a few -miles down this romantic stretch of sandbars, I saw a chap hook a bass -with a hand-made fly instead of a worm, and I’ve been waiting until -returning prosperity gave me the price of a box of those toys to try it -myself. And here you’ve caught me in the act. But don’t give me away -to the sports up there.” He indicated the clubhouse with a jerk of the -head. “It might injure my credit on the street.” - -“Oh, I’ll not give you away!” she replied in his own key. “But did the -man you saw catch the fish that time ever enter more fully into your -life? I should think he ought to have known how highly you approved of -him.” - -“Well, I got acquainted with him after that, and he’s taken quite -a shine to me, if I may say it which shouldn’t. The name being -Eaton--John Cecil--lawyer by trade.” - -Her face expressed surprise; then she laughed merrily. - -“He’s never taken a shine to me; I think he disapproves of me. If he -doesn’t”--she frowned--“he ought to!” - -“Oh, nothing like that!” he declared with his peculiar slangy -intonation. “He isn’t half as frosty as he looks; he’s the greatest -ever; says he believes he could have made something out of me if he’d -caught me sooner. He works at it occasionally, anyway; trying to purify -my grammar--a hard job; says my slang is picturesque and useful for -commercial purposes, but little adapted to the politer demands of the -drawing-room. You know how Cecil talks? He’s a grand talker--sort o’ -guys you, and you can’t get mad.” - -“I’ve noticed that,” said Nan, with a rueful smile. “You ought to be -proud that he takes an interest in you. I suppose it’s your sense of -humor; he’s strong for that.” - -This compliment, ventured cautiously, clearly pleased Amidon. He -stooped, picked up a pebble and sent it skimming over the water. - -“He says a sense of humor is essential to one who gropes for the -philosophy of life--his very words. I don’t know what it means, but he -says if I’m good and quit opening all my remarks with ‘Listen,’ he’ll -elucidate some day.” - -Her curiosity was aroused. The social conjunction of John Cecil Eaton -and Jeremiah A. Amidon was bewildering. - -“He’s not in the habit of wasting time on people he doesn’t like--me, -for example,” she remarked, lifting her handkerchief from the bush and -shaking it out. “I suppose you met him in a business way?” - -“Not much! Politics! I room in his ward, and we met in the Fourth Ward -Democratic Club. He tried to smash the Machine in the primary last -spring, and I helped clean him up--some job, I can tell you! But he’s -a good loser, and he says it’s his duty to win me over to the Cause -of Righteousness. Cecil’s a thinker, all right. He says thought isn’t -regarded as highly nowadays as it used to be; says my feet are well -trained now, and I ought to begin using my head. He always wears that -solemn front, and you never know when to laugh. Just toys with his -funny whiskers and never blinks. Says he tries his jokes on me before -he springs ’em at the University Club. I just let him string me; in -fact, I’ve got to; he says I need his chastening hand. Gave me a copy -of the Bible, Christmas, and told me to learn the Ten Commandments; -said they were going out of fashion pretty fast, and he thought I could -build up a reputation for being eccentric by living up to ’em. Says if -Moses had made eleven, he couldn’t have improved on the job any. Queer -way of talking religion, but Cecil’s different, any way you look at -him.” - -These revelations as to John Cecil Eaton’s admiration for the Ten -Commandments, coming from Amidon, were surprising, but not so puzzling -as the evident fact that Eaton found Copeland-Farley’s young commercial -traveler worth cultivating. Amidon was quick to see that he rose in -Nan’s estimation by reason of Eaton’s friendly interest. - -“Well, I never get on with him,” she confessed, willing to sacrifice -herself that Amidon might plume himself the more upon Eaton’s -partiality. - -“Lord, I don’t _understand_ him!” Amidon protested. “If I was smart -enough to do that, I wouldn’t be working for eighteen per. I guess he -just gets lonesome sometimes and looks me up to have somebody to talk -to--not that _anybody_ wouldn’t be tickled to hear him, but he says he -finds in me a certain raciness and tang of the Hoosier soil--whatever -that means. He took me over to the Art Institute last Sunday and gave -me a lecture on the pictures, and me not understanding any more than -if he’d been talking Chinese. Introduced me to a Frenchman fresh from -Paris and told him my ideals were distinctly post-impressionistic. Then -we bumped into a college professor, and he made me talk so the guy -could note the mellow flavor of my idiom. Can you beat that? Cecil says -the hostility of the social classes to each other is preposterous. Got -me to take him to a dance the freight-handlers were throwing. It was -funny, but they all warmed to him like flies to a leaky sugar-barrel. -Wore his evening clothes, white vest and all, and he was the only guy -there in an ironed shirt! I thought they’d sure kill him; but not on -your life!” - -The John Cecil Eaton thus limned was not the austere person Nan knew. -Her Eaton was a sedate gentleman who made cryptic remarks to her at -parties and was known to be exceedingly conservative in social matters. -Amidon, she surmised, was far too keen to subject himself unwillingly -to Eaton’s caustic humor, nor was Eaton a man to trouble himself with -any one unless he received an adequate return. - -“I must be going back,” she said, glancing at her watch. Her casual -manner of consulting the pretty trinket on her wrist charmed him. He -was pleased with himself that he had been able to carry through an -interview with so superior a person. - -He had never been more at ease in his most brilliant conversations -with the prettiest stenographer in the drug house, whose sole aim in -life seemed to be to “call him down” for his freshness. Lunch-counter -girls, shop-girls, attractive motion-picture cashiers, were an alluring -target for his wit, and the more cruelly they snubbed him the more -intensely he admired them. But the stimulus of these adventures was -not comparable to the exaltation he experienced from this encounter -with Nan Farley. If she had pretended not to remember him he would -have hated her cordially; as it was, he liked her immensely. Though -she lacked the pert “come-back” of girls behind desks and counters, -he felt, nevertheless, that she would give a good account of herself -in like positions if exposed to the bold raillery of commercial -travelers. He was humble before her kindness. She turned away, -hesitated an instant, then took a step toward him and put out her -hand. There was something of appeal in the look she gave him as their -hands touched--the vaguest hint of an appeal. Her eyes narrowed for -an instant with the intentness of her gaze as she searched his face -for--sympathy, understanding, confidence. Then she withdrew her -hand quickly, aware that his admiration was expressing itself with -disconcerting frankness in his friendly gray eyes. - -“It’s been nice to see you again,” she said softly. “Good luck!” - -“Good luck to you, Miss Farley; I hope to meet you again sometime.” - -“Thank you; I hope so too.” - -She nodded brightly and moved off along the path toward the clubhouse. -He felt absently for his book of cigarette-papers as he reviewed what -she had said and what he had said. - -He did not resume his whipping of the river, but restored his rod to -its case and turned slowly downstream, not neglecting to lift his eyes -to the clubhouse as he drifted by. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -THE AFFAIRS OF MRS. COPELAND - - -In a quiet corner of the club veranda Fanny Copeland and John Cecil -Eaton had been conscious of the noisy gayety of Mrs. Kinney’s party, -and they observed Nan Farley’s hurried exit and disappearance. - -“Nan doesn’t seem to be responding to encores,” Eaton remarked. “She’s -gone off to sulk--bored, probably; prefers to be alone, poor kid! It’s -outrageous the way those people use her.” - -“They have to be amused,” replied Mrs. Copeland, “and I’ve heard that -Nan can be very funny.” - -“There are all kinds of fun,” Eaton assented dryly. “She’s been taking -off Uncle Tim again. I don’t see that he’s getting anything for his -money--that is, assuming that she gets his money.” - -“If she doesn’t,” said Mrs. Copeland quickly, “she won’t be the only -person that’s disappointed.” - -Eaton lifted his eyes toward a stretch of woodland beyond the river and -regarded it fixedly. Then his gaze reverted to her. - -“You think Billy wants to get back the money he paid Farley for the -drug business?” he asked, in a colorless, indifferent tone that was -habitual. - -John Cecil Eaton was nearing the end of his thirties--tall, lean, with -a closely trimmed black beard. He was dressed for the links, and his -waiting caddy was guarding his bag in the distance and incidentally -experimenting at clock golf. Eaton’s long fingers were clasped round -his head in such manner as to set his cap awry. One was conscious -of the deliberate gaze of his eyes; his drawling voice and dry -humor suggested a man of leisurely habits. He specialized in patent -law--that is to say, having a small but certain income, he was able -to discriminate in his choice of cases, and he accepted only those -that particularly interested him. He had been educated as a mechanical -engineer, and the law was an afterthought. His years at Exeter and the -Tech, prolonged by his law course at Harvard, had quickened his speech -and modified its Hoosier flavor. He passed for an Eastern man with -strangers. He was the fourth of his name in the community, and it was a -name, distinguished in war and peace, that was well sprinkled through -the pages of Indiana history. Though the Eatons had rendered public -service in conspicuous instances they had never been money-makers, -and when John heard of the high prices attained by Washington Street -property in the early years of the twentieth century he reflected that -if his father and grandfather had been a little more sanguine as to the -city’s future he might have been the richest man in town. - -Eaton’s interests were not all confined to his profession. He read -prodigiously in many fields; he observed politics closely and was -president of a club that debated economic and social questions; he was -the best fly-fisherman in the State. His occasional efforts to improve -the tone of local politics greatly amused his friends, who could not -see why a man who might have been pardoned for looking enviously upon -a seat in the United States Senate should subject himself to the -indignity of a defeat for the city council. To the men he lunched with -daily at the University Club his interest in municipal affairs was only -another of his eccentricities. He had never married, but was still -carried hopefully on the list of eligibles. By general consent he was -the best dinner man in town--a guest who could be relied upon to keep -the talk going and make a favorable impression on pilgrims from abroad. - -Mrs. Copeland’s ironic smile at his last remark had lingered. Their -eyes met glancingly; then the gaze of both fell upon the distant -treetops. Theirs was an old friendship that rendered unnecessary the -filling in of gaps. Eaton was thinking less concretely of her reference -to Billy Copeland’s designs upon the Farley money than of the abstract -fact that a divorced woman might sit upon a club veranda and hear her -former spouse’s voice raised in joyous exclamation within, and even -revert without visible emotion to the possibility of his remarrying. - -Times and standards had changed. This was no longer the sober capital -it had been, where every one went to church, and particular merit might -be acquired by attending prayer-meeting. It was a very different place -from what it had been in days well within Eaton’s recollection, before -the bobtail mule cars yielded to the trolley, or the automobile drove -out the sober-going phaëtons and station-wagons that had satisfied -the native longing for grandeur. The roster of the Country Club bore -testimony of the passing of the old order. The membership committee no -longer concerned itself with the ancestry or reputation for sobriety of -applicants, or their place of worship, or whether their grandfathers -had come to town before the burning of the Morrison Opera House, or -even the later conflagration that consumed the Academy of Music. You -might speak of late arrivals like the Kinneys with all the scorn -you pleased, but they had been recognized by everybody but a few -ultra-conservatives; and if Bob Kinney was something of a sport or his -wife’s New York clothes were a trifle daring for the local taste, such -criticisms did not weigh heavily as against the handsome villa in which -these same Kinneys had established themselves in the new residential -area on the river bluff. Curiosity is a stern foe of snobbishness; and -when Mrs. Kinney seemed so “sweet” and had given a thousand dollars -to the new Girls’ Club, besides endowing a children’s room in the -Presbyterian Hospital, many very proper and dignified matrons felt -fully justified in crossing the Rubicon (otherwise White River) for an -inspection of Mrs. Kinney’s new house. Eaton had accepted such things -in a philosophic spirit, just as he accepted Kinney’s retainer to -safeguard the patents on the devices that made Kinney’s cement the best -on the market and the only brand that would take the finish and tint of -tile or marble. - -“It seems to be understood that they’re waiting for Farley to die so -they can be married comfortably,” Eaton remarked. “But Farley’s a tough -old hickory knot. He’s capable of hanging on just to spite them.” - -“He was always very kind to me. I saw a good deal of him and his wife -after I came here. He was proud of the business and anxious that Billy -should carry it on and keep developing it.” - -“I always liked the steamboating period of Farley’s life,” said -Eaton, ignoring this frank reference to her former husband, in which -he thought he detected a trace of wistfulness; “and he’s told me a -good deal about it at times. It was much more picturesque than his -wholesale-drugging. He never quite got over his river days--he’s always -been the second mate, bullying the roustabouts.” - -“He never forgot how to swear,” Mrs. Copeland laughed. “He does it -adorably.” - -“There was never anything like him when he’s well heated,” Eaton -continued. “He never means anything--it’s just his natural way of -talking. His customers rather liked it on the whole--expected him to -commit them to the fiery pit every time they came to town and dropped -in to see him. When he got stung in a trade--which wasn’t often--he’d -go into his room and lock the door and curse himself for an hour or two -and then go out and raise somebody’s wages. A character--a real person, -old Uncle Tim!” - -The thought of the retired merchant seemed to give Eaton pleasure; a -smile played furtively about his lips. - -“Then it must have been his wife who used to lure him to church every -Sunday morning.” - -“Not a bit of it! It was the old man himself. He had a superstitious -feeling that business would go badly if he cut church. He never -swore on Sundays, but made up for it Monday mornings. He’s always -been a generous backer of foreign missionaries on the theory that by -Christianizing the heathen we’re widening the market for American -commerce. We’ve had worse men than Farley. I suppose he never told -a lie or did an underhanded thing through all the years he was in -business. And all he has to leave behind him is his half million or -more--and Nan.” - -“And Nan,” Mrs. Copeland repeated with a shrug of her shoulders. “I -suppose Mr. Farley knows what’s up. He’s too shrewd not to know. Clever -as Nan is, she could hardly pull the wool over his eyes.” - -“She’s much too clever not to know she can’t fool him; but he’s -immensely fond of her, just as his wife was. And we’ve got to admit -that Nan is a very charming person--a little devilish, but keen and -amusing. She’s too good for that crowd she’s running with--no doubt -of that! If Uncle Tim thought she meant to marry Billy, he would take -pains to see that she didn’t.” - -“You mean he wouldn’t leave her the money?” she asked in a lower tone. -“I suppose he’d have to.” - -Eaton shook his head. - -“He’s under no obligation to give it all to Nan. If he thought there -was any chance of her marrying Billy--” - -“She’s been led to believe that it would all be hers. The Farleys -educated her and brought her up in a way to encourage the belief. It -would be cruel to disappoint her; he wouldn’t have any right to cut her -off,” Mrs. Copeland concluded with feeling. - -“It might be less cruel to cut her off than to let her have it all and -go on the way she’s started. She came about ten years too late upon the -scene. It’s only within a few years that a party like we’ve listened -to in there would have been possible in this town. If Nan had reached -her twentieth year a decade ago, she’d have been the demurest of little -girls, and there would have been no question of her marrying a man who -had divorced his wife merely to be free to appropriate her.” - -[Illustration: “A VERY CHARMING PERSON--A LITTLE DEVILISH, BUT KEEN AND -AMUSING”] - -Mrs. Copeland opened and closed her eyes quickly several times. No -other man of her acquaintance would have dared to speak of her personal -affairs in this blunt fashion. Eaton had referred to the divorce that -had severed her ties with Copeland quite as though she were not an -interested party to that transaction. He now went a step further, and -the color deepened in her face as he said:-- - -“I don’t understand why you didn’t resist his suit. I’ve never said -this to you before, and it’s too late to be proffering advice, but -you oughtn’t to have let it go as you did. Billy’s whole conduct was -perfectly contemptible.” - -“There was no sense in making a fight if he wanted to quit. The law -couldn’t widen the breach; it was there anyhow, from the first moment I -knew what was in his mind.” - -“He acted like a scoundrel,” persisted Eaton in his cool, even tones; -“it was base, rotten, damnable!” - -“If you mean”--she hesitated and frowned--“if you mean that he let the -impression get abroad that I was at fault--that it was I who had become -interested elsewhere--it’s only just to say that I never thought Billy -did that. I don’t believe now that he did it.” - -He was aware that he had ventured far toward the red lamps of danger. -This matter of her personal honor was too delicate for veranda -discussion; in fact, it was not a matter that he had any right to -refer to even remotely at any time or place. - -“Of course, unpleasant things were said,” she added. “I suppose they’re -always bound to be. Manning was his friend, not mine.” - -Eaton received this impassively, which was his way of receiving most -things. - -“By keeping out of the way, that gentleman proved that he couldn’t have -been any friend of yours. If he’d been a gentleman or even a man--” - -She broke in upon him quietly, bending toward him with tense eagerness. - -“He offered to: I have never told that to any one, but I don’t want you -to be unfair even to him. My mistake was that I meekly followed Billy -when he began running with the new crowd. I knew I was boring him, -and I thought if I took up with the Kinneys and the people they were -training with, he might get tired of them after a while and we could go -on as we had begun. But I hadn’t reckoned with Nan. I allowed myself to -be put in competition with a girl of twenty--which is a foolish thing -for a woman of thirty-five to do.” - -She carried lightly the thirty-five years to which she confessed, but -sometimes, in unguarded moments, a startled, pained look stole into -her brown eyes, as though at the remembrance of a blow that might -repeat itself. There was a patch of white in her hair just at one side -of her forehead. Its effect was to contribute to her natural air of -distinction. She was of medium height and her trim figure retained -its girlish lines. Her face and hands were tanned brown, and the color -was becoming. She wore to-day a blue skirt and a plain blouse, with a -soft collar opened at the throat. She had walked to the clubhouse from -her home, a mile distant, and her meeting with Eaton had been purely -incidental. After her divorce she had established herself as a dairy -farmer on twenty acres of land that she had inherited from her father, -a banker in one of the smaller county seats, who had been specially -interested in dairying and had encouraged her interest in the diversion -he made profitable. To please him she had taken a course in dairying -at the State Agricultural School and knew the business in all its -practical aspects. Copeland had first seen her at a winter resort in -Florida where she had gone with her father in his last illness, and -their common ties with Indiana had made it easily possible for him to -cultivate her better acquaintance later at home. Billy Copeland was -an attractive young fellow with good prospects; his social experience -was much ampler than hers, and the marriage seemed to her friends an -advantageous one. When after ten years she found herself free, she rose -from the ruins of her domestic happiness determined to live her life -in the way that pleased her best. She shrank from adjusting herself to -a new groove in town; the plight of the divorced woman was still, in -this community, not wholly comfortable. There was little consolation -in the sympathy of friends--though she had many; and even the general -attitude, that Copeland’s conduct was utterly indefensible, did not -help greatly. She realized perfectly that in following Copeland’s lead -unprotestingly when he caught step with the quicker social pace set by -the Kinneys,--a name that stood as a synonym for noiser functions and -heavier libations than the community had tolerated,--she had estranged -many who were affronted by the violence with which the town was -becoming kinneyized. - -Two years had passed and her broken wings again beat the air with -something of their early rhythm. The pathos of her isolation was more -apparent to her old friends in town than to herself. Whether she had -dropped out of the Kinney crowd, or whether it was more properly an -ejectment, there was all the more reason why women who had regarded the -intrusions of that set with horror should manifest their confidence -in her. If she had been poor, a _divorcée_ lodged in a boarding-house -and in need of practical aid, she might have suffered from neglect; -but having an assured small income which her investment in the dairy -farm in no wise jeopardized, it was rather the thing to look in on -her occasionally. Young girls in particular thought her handsome and -interesting-looking, and risked their mothers’ displeasure by going to -see her. And there were women who sought her out merely to emphasize -their disapproval of Copeland and the scandal of his divorce, which -they felt to be an affront to the community’s dignity in a man whose -father had been of the old order of decent, law-abiding, home-keeping, -church-going citizens. They admired the courage and dignity with -which she met misfortune and addressed herself uncomplainingly to the -business of fashioning a new life. - -“I’ve been keeping you from your game,” she said, rising abruptly; “and -I must be getting home.” - -They walked down the veranda toward the entrance and reached the door -at a moment when Copeland, who had been keeping company with a tall -glass in the rathskeller below, waiting impatiently for Nan’s return, -lounged out. - -He stopped short with a slightly challenging air. Eaton bowed and -tugged at the visor of his cap. Copeland lifted his straw hat and -muttered a good-afternoon that was intended for one or both as they -chose to take it. Mrs. Copeland glanced at him without making any sign; -she did not speak to Eaton again, but as they parted near the first -tee and she started across the links toward the highway, she nodded -quickly and smiled a forlorn little smile that haunted him for some -time afterward. - -Half an hour later, standing erect after successfully negotiating a -difficult putt, he said, under his breath:-- - -“By George! She’s still in love with him!” - -He glanced around to make sure no one had overheard him, and crossed to -the next tee with a look of deep perplexity on his face. - -Nan, having returned to the clubhouse, sauntered down the veranda -toward Copeland, wearing a demure air she had practiced for his -benefit. Her indifference to his annoyance at her long absence added to -his vexation. - -“Well, what have you been up to?” he demanded irritably. “The others -skipped long ago.” - -“Oh, I was tired and went down to the river to rest. I’m going home -now.” - -“You can’t go home; Grace expects us to stop at her house; they’ll all -be there in half an hour.” - -“Sorry, but I must skip. You run along like a good boy, and I’ll hop on -the trolley. I must be home by five, and I’ll just about make it.” - -“That’s not treating Grace right, to say nothing of me!” he -expostulated. “I’m getting sick of all this dodging and ducking. I’m -coming up to the house to-morrow and have it out with Farley.” - -“You’re a nice boy, Billy, but you’re not going to do anything -foolish,” she replied. - -He found the kindness of this--even its note of fondness--unsatisfying. -He read into it a skepticism that was not flattering. - -“We’ve been fooling long enough about this; we’ve got to announce our -engagement and be done with it.” - -“But, Billy, we’re not engaged! We’re just the best of friends. Why -should we stir up a big fuss by getting engaged?” - -“What’s got into you, anyhow!” he exclaimed, eyeing her angrily. “This -talk about not being engaged doesn’t go! I’m getting tired of all this -nonsense--being kicked about and held off when I’ve staked everything -I’ve got on you.” - -“You mean,” she said steadily, “that you divorced your wife, thinking I -would marry you; and now you’re angry because I’m not in a hurry about -it, and don’t want to trouble papa, who has been kinder to me than -anybody else ever was--” - -“For God’s sake, don’t cry here! We’ve been talked about enough; I -don’t understand what’s got into you to-day.” - -“I just mean to be sensible, that’s all. We’ve had some mighty fine -times, and you’ve been nice to me; but there’s no hurry about getting -married--” - -“No hurry!” He stared at her, unable in his impotent rage to deal with -the situation as he thought it deserved. “Look here, Nan, I can stand a -lot of this Irish temperament of yours, but you’re playing it a little -too far.” - -“My Irish temperament!” she repeated poutingly. “Well, I guess the -Irish is there all right; I don’t know about the temperamental part of -it. A good many people call it something very different.” - -“When am I going to see you again?” he demanded roughly. - -“How should I know! You see me now and you don’t like me. You’d better -go downtown and do some work, Billy; that’s what I should prescribe -for you. And you’ve got to cut out the drink; it’s getting too big a -hold on you. I’m going to quit, too.” - -Standing near the entrance, they had been obliged to acknowledge the -greetings of a number of new arrivals. It was manifestly no place for -a prolonged serious discussion of their future. Mrs. Harrington, whose -husband’s bank, the Phœnix National, was the soundest in the State, -climbed the steps from her motor without seeing Nan and her companion. -Until Farley retired, the Copeland-Farley account was carried by the -Phœnix; when Billy Copeland took the helm he transferred it to the -Western, as likely to grant a more generous credit. - -Copeland flushed angrily at the slight; Nan bit her lip. - -“I’m off!” she said. “Be a good boy. I’ll see you again in a day or -two. And for Heaven’s sake, don’t call me on the telephone; papa has an -extension in his room, you know, and hears everything. Tell Grace I’m -sorry--” - -“Let me run you into town; I can set you down somewhere near home. The -trolleys are hot and dusty. Besides, I want to talk to you; I’ve got a -lot to say to you.” - -“Not to-day, Billy. Good-bye!” - -Eaton found Nan waiting for him at the fourth green. - -“I was praying for a mascot, and here you are,” he remarked affably. “I -can’t fail to turn in a good card. Glad to see you’ve taken up walking; -there’s nothing like it--particularly on a humid afternoon.” - -“Sorry to disappoint you, but I hope to catch the four-thirty for town. -What are my chances?” - -“Excellent, if you don’t waste more than ten minutes on me. You’ve -never given me more than five up to date. How is Mr. Farley?” - -“He’s been very comfortable for a week; really quite like himself. -You’d better come and see him.” - -“I meant to drop in often all winter, but was afraid of boring him.” - -“You’re one of the few that couldn’t do that. He likes to talk to you. -You don’t bother him with questions about his health--a sure way of -pleasing him.” - -“A rare man, Farley. Wiser than serpents, and stimulating. I’ve learned -a good deal from him.” - -They reached his ball, that had accommodatingly effected a good lie, -and after viewing it with approval he glanced at Nan and remarked:-- - -“You’d better urge me to come to see you, too. It’s just occurred to me -that it might be well for us to know each other better. I may flatter -myself; but--” - -“That’s the nicest thing I’ve heard to-day! Please come soon.” - -“Thank you, Nan; I shall certainly do that.” - -“I met a friend of yours a while ago,” she said, “who pronounced you -the greatest living man.” - -“Ah! A gentleman, of course; I identify him at once; he’s the only -person alive I fool to that extent--Jeremiah A. Amidon! I can’t imagine -why he hasn’t mentioned his acquaintance with you. I shall chide him -for this.” - -He viewed her in his quizzical fashion through the thick-lensed -spectacles he used for golfing. In his ordinary occupations these gave -place to eyeglasses that twinkled with a sharp, hard brightness, as -though bent upon obscuring the kindness that lay behind them. - -“I hadn’t seen him lately--not since I was a child. We used to be -neighbors when we were children, and he was a very, very naughty boy.” - -“I dare say he was,” Eaton remarked, with his air of thinking of -something else. “I suppose you didn’t find him at all backward in -bringing himself to your notice. Shyness isn’t his dominant trait.” - -“On the other hand, he was rather diffident and wholly polite. I -thought his manners did you credit--for he said you had been coaching -him.” - -“He must be chidden; his use of my name in that connection is utterly -unwarranted. He was one of Mrs. Kinney’s party, I suppose,--very -interesting. I’m glad they have taken him up!” - -He was watching, with the quick eagerness that made him so -disconcerting a companion, the passing of a motor toward the clubhouse, -but she understood perfectly that this utterance had been with ironic -intent. She laughed softly. - -“How funny you are! I wish I weren’t afraid of you.” - -“I’ve made a careful study of the phobias, and there is nothing in -the best authorities to justify a fear of me. I’m as tame as buttered -toast.” - -“Well, it’s clear Mr. Amidon isn’t afraid of you!” - -“I’m relieved--infinitely; I’m in mortal terror of _him_. He’s fixed -standards of conduct for me that make me nervous. I’m afraid the -young scoundrel will catch me with my visor down some day; then smash -goes his poor idol. I’m glad you spoke of him; if he wasn’t at your -luncheon--a guess you scorned to notice--I suppose you met by chance, -the usual way.” - -“It was just like that,” she laughed. “Very much so!” - -“H’m! I warn you against accepting the attentions of just any young -man who strolls up the river. A girl of your years must be discreet. -Your early knowledge of Mr. Amidon in the loved spots your infancy knew -won’t save you. You’d better refer all such matters to me. Pleasant -as this is, you’re going to miss your car if you don’t rustle. And -Harrington’s bawling his head off trying to fore me away. Good-bye!” - -With a neat stroke he landed his ball on the green and ran after it to -raise the blockade. When Nan had halted the car and climbed into the -vestibule, she waved her hand, a salute which he returned gallantly -with a sweep of his cap. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -MR. FARLEY BECOMES EXPLICIT - - -The Farleys had lived for twenty years in an old-fashioned square -brick house surrounded by maples. The lower floor comprised a parlor, -sitting-room, and dining-room, with a library on the side. The -library had been Farley’s den, where he smoked his pipe and read his -newspapers. The bookcases that lined the walls had rarely been opened; -they contained the “Waverley Novels,” Dickens’s “Works” complete, and -a wide range of miscellaneous fiction, including “Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” -most of Mark Twain, Tourgée’s novel of Reconstruction, “A Fool’s -Errand,” Helen Hunt Jackson’s “Ramona,” and a number of Mrs. A. D. -T. Whitney’s stories for girls--these latter reminiscent of Nan’s -girlhood. The brown volumes of “Messages and Papers of the Presidents” -were massed on the bottom shelves invincibly with half a dozen -“Reports” of the State Geological Survey. The doors of the black-walnut -bookcases were warped so that the contents were accessible only after -patient tugging. Half the books were upside-down--and had been since -the last house-cleaning. The room presented an inhospitable front to -literature, and the other arts fared no better elsewhere in the house. -A steel engraving of the Parthenon on the dining-room wall confronted -a crude print of the JANE E. NEWCOMB, an Ohio River packet on which -Farley had been second mate--and an efficient one--in ’69-’70. - -Mrs. Farley had established in her household the Southwestern custom -of abating the heat by keeping the outer shutters closed through the -middle of the day, and the negro servants who still continued in -charge had not changed her system in this or in any other important -particular. Nan had not lacked instruction in the domestic arts; in -her school vacations she had been thoroughly drilled by Mrs. Farley. -Cleanliness in its traditional relationship to godliness had been -deeply impressed upon her; and she had been taught to sew, knit, and -crochet. She knew how to cook after the plain fashion to which Mrs. -Farley’s tastes and experience limited her; she had belonged to an -embroidery class formed to give occupation to one of Mrs. Farley’s -friends who had fallen upon evil times; and Nan had been the aptest of -pupils. - -But Nan had never been equal to the task of initiating changes in the -Farley household, with its regular order of sweepings, scrubbings, and -dustings; its special days for baking, its inexorable rotation in meats -and vegetables for the table. And if she had needed justification she -would have given as her excuse Farley’s long acceptance of his wife’s -domestic routine, and the fear of displeasing him by altering it. The -colored cook’s husband did the heavier indoor cleaning and maintained -the yard; and the dining-room and the upper floor were cared for by a -colored woman. Hardly any one employed a black second girl, and Nan -would have changed the color scheme in this particular and substituted -a neatly capped and aproned white girl of the type that opened the -door of her friends’ houses, but the present incumbent was a niece of -the cook and not to be eliminated without rending the entire domestic -fabric. - -Nan reached home a few minutes after five. She ran upstairs and -found Farley in his room, bending over a table by the window playing -solitaire. The trained nurse who had been in the house for a year -appeared at the door and withdrew. Nan crossed the room and laid a hand -on Farley’s shoulder. He had nearly finished the game, and she remained -quietly watching his tremulous hands shifting the cards until he leaned -back with a little grunt of satisfaction at the end. He put up his hand -to hers and drew her round so that he could look at her. - -“Still wearing that fool hat! Take it off and sit down here and talk to -me.” - -His small, round head was thickly covered with stiff white hair, though -his square-cut beard had whitened unevenly and still showed traces of -brown. While he lay in the chair with a pathetic inertness, his eyes -moved about restlessly, and his bleached, gnarled fingers were never -wholly quiet. - -“Let’s see what you’ve been up to to-day?” he asked. - -“Mamie Pembroke’s; she was having a luncheon for her cousin.” - -“Just girls, I suppose?” he asked indifferently. “You must have had a -lot to eat to be gone all this time.” - -“Well, we went for a motor run afterward and stopped at the Country -Club on the way back.” - -“More to eat, I suppose. My God! everybody seems able to eat but me! -I told that fool doctor awhile ago I was goin’ to shoot him if he -didn’t cut off this gruel he’s feedin’ me. You can lay in corn’ beef -and cabbage for to-morrow; I’m goin’ to eat a barrel of it, too. If -I can get hold of some real food for a week, I’ll get out of this. -I understand they’ve got Bill Harrington playin’ golf. My God! he’s -two years older than I am and sits on his job every day. If I’d never -knuckled under to the doctors, I’d be a well man!” The wind rustling -the maple by the nearest window attracted his attention. “Open that -blind, and let the air in. Things have come to a nice pass when a man -with my constitution can be shut up in a dark room without air enough -to keep him alive.” - -It was necessary to lift the wire screen before the shutters could -be opened, and he watched her intently as she obeyed him quickly and -quietly. - -“Been to luncheon, have you?” he remarked as she sat down. “Well, -eatin’ your meals outside doesn’t save me any money. Those damned -niggers cook just as much as if they had a regiment in the house. -What did they give you to eat at the Pembrokes’--the usual bird-food -rubbish?” - -Before his illness he had scrupulously reserved his profanity for -business uses; and it was only when his pain grew intolerable or the -slow action of his doctor’s remedies roused him to fury that he had -recourse to strong language. He allowed her to change the position -of his footstool, which had slipped away from him, and grunted his -appreciation as he stretched his long, bony figure more comfortably. - -“Well, go on and tell me what you had to eat.” - -It seemed best to meet this demand in a spirit of lightness. Having -lied once, it might be well to vary her recital by resorting to the -truth, and she counted off on her fingers, with the mockery that he had -always seemed to like, the items of food that had really constituted -Mrs. Kinney’s luncheon. - -“Grape-fruit, broiled chicken, asparagus, potatoes baked in their -jackets and sprinkled with red pepper, the way you like them; romaine -salad, ice-cream and cake--just plain sponge cake--coffee. Nothing so -very sumptuous about that, papa.” - -It had always been “papa” and “mamma” since her adoption. When she came -home from a boarding-school near Philadelphia where she had spent two -years, her attempts to change the provincial “poppa” and “momma” to the -French pronunciation had been promptly thwarted. Farley hated anything -that seemed “high-falutin’”; and having grown used to being called -“poppa,” his heart was as flint against the impious substitution. - -“Of course there were no cocktails or champagne. Not at the Pembrokes’! -If all the women around here were like Mrs. Pembroke, we wouldn’t have -nice little girls like you swillin’ liquor; nor these sap-headed boys -that trot with you girls stewin’ their worthless little brains in gin. -What do you think these cigarette-smokin’ swine are goin’ to do! Do you -hear of ’em doin’ any work? Is there one of ’em that’s worth a dollar -a week? My God! between you girls runnin’ around half-naked and these -worthless young cubs plantin’ their weak, wobbly little chins against -cocktails all night, things have come to a nice pass. Well, why don’t -you go on and tell me who was at your party? Here I am, lyin’ here -waitin’ for the pallbearers to carry me out, and never hearin’ a thing, -and you sit there deaf and dumb! Who was at that party?” - -“Well, poppa, there were just seven girls, counting me: Mary Waterman, -Minnie Briskett, Marian Doane, and Libby Davis, and Mamie and her -guest--a cousin from Louisville. Of course, there was nothing to drink -but claret cup, with sprigs of mint in the glasses.” - -[Illustration: “OH, I HAD ONE GLASS; NOBODY HAD MORE, I THINK; THERE -WAS SOME KIND OF MINERAL WATER BESIDES. IT WAS ALL VERY SIMPLE”] - -[Illustration] - -“So the Pembrokes are comin’ to it, are they? They’ve got to have -something that looks like liquor--well, they’ll be passin’ the -cocktails before long. Claret cup dressed up like juleps; and how much -did you get of it?” - -“Oh, I had one glass; nobody had more, I think; there was some kind of -mineral water besides. It was all very simple.” - -“Just a simple little luncheon, was it? Well, I suppose it’s not too -simple to get into the newspapers. Nobody can put an extra plate on the -table now without the papers have to print it.” - -He had never quizzed her like this, and his reference to the newspaper -alarmed her. His usual custom was to ask her what she had been doing -and whom she had seen and then change the subject in the midst of -her answer. If he had laid a trap for her she had gone too far to -retreat; and while she had lied to him before, she had managed it more -discreetly. She had escaped detection so long that she believed herself -immune from discovery. - -He began tugging at a newspaper that had been hidden under his wrapper, -and her heart throbbed violently as he opened it and thrust it toward -her. It was the afternoon paper, folded back to the personal and -society items. - -“Just read that aloud to me, will you? I may have been mistaken. Maybe -I didn’t get it straight. Go ahead, now, and read it--read it slow.” - -She knew without looking what it was; the reading was exacted merely to -add to her discomfiture. The newspaper was delivered punctually at four -o’clock every afternoon, so that before she left the Country Club he -had known just where she had been and the names of her companions. She -read in a low, monotonous tone:-- - -“‘Mrs. Robert Smiley Kinney entertained at luncheon at the Country Club -to-day for Mrs. Ridgeley P. Farwell, of Pittsburg, who is her house -guest. The decorations were in pink. Those who enjoyed Mrs. Kinney’s -hospitality were Mr. and Mrs. Frederic Towlesley, Miss Nancy Farley, -Miss Edith Saxby, Mr. George K. Pickard, and Mr. William B. Copeland.’” - -She refolded the paper and placed it on the table beside him. Instead -of the violent lashing for which she had steeled herself, he spoke her -name very kindly and gently, with even a lingering caress. - -“I lied to you papa,” she faltered; “but I didn’t mean to see him -again. I--” - -“Let’s be square about this,” he said, bending forward and clasping -his fingers over his knees. “You promised me a year ago that you’d not -meet or see Copeland; I didn’t ask you to drop Mrs. Kinney, for I don’t -think she’s a particularly bad woman; she’s only a fool, and we’ve got -to be charitable in dealin’ with fools. You can’t ever tell when you’re -not one yourself; that means me as well as you, Nan. Now, about that -worthless whelp, Copeland! I want the whole truth--no more little lies -or big ones. You know that piece of carrion wouldn’t dare come to this -house, and yet you sneak away and meet him and leave me to find it out -by accident! Now, I want the God’s truth; just what does all this mean?” - -His quiet tone was weighted with the dignity, the simple righteousness, -that lay in him. She could have met more courageously a violent tirade -than his subdued demand. She was conscious that he had controlled -himself with difficulty; throughout the interview his wrath had flashed -like heat-lightning on far horizons, but he had kept himself well in -hand. He was outraged, but he was hurt, troubled, perplexed by her -conduct. The adoption of Nan had marked a high altitude in the married -life of the Farleys, and they had lavished upon her the pent love of -their childlessness. The very manner in which she had been flung upon -their protection made her advent in their household something of an -adventure, broadening their narrowing vistas and bringing a welcome -cheer to their monotonous existence. They had felt it to be a duty, but -one that would repay them a thousand-fold in happiness. - -Farley patiently awaited her explanation--an explanation she dared not -make. She must satisfy him, if at all, by evasions and further lies. - -“Mrs. Kinney made a point of my coming; she was always very nice to -me, and I haven’t been seeing her,--honestly I haven’t,--and I was -afraid she’d be offended if I refused to go. And I didn’t know Mr. -Copeland would be there. The luncheon was in the big dining-room, where -everybody could see us. I didn’t see any more of him than of anybody -else. In fact, I got tired and ran away--down to the river and was -there by myself for an hour before I came home on the trolley. When I -got back to the clubhouse, they had all gone motoring and I didn’t see -them again.” - -“Left you there, did they? Well, Copeland waited for you, didn’t he?” - -“Yes,” she admitted quickly. “But I saw him only a minute on the -veranda and told him I was coming home. He understands perfectly that -you don’t want me to see him.” - -“H’m! I should hope he did! All that crowd understand it, don’t they? -They’ve been puttin’ you in his way, haven’t they,--tryin’ to fix up -something between you and that loafer! Look here, Nan, I’m not dead -yet! I’m goin’ to live a long time, and if these fool doctors have -been tellin’ you I’m done for, they’ve lied. And if Copeland thinks my -money’s goin’ to drop into his lap, he’s waitin’ under the wrong tree. -Never a cent! What you got to say to that?” - -“I don’t think he ever thought of it; it’s only because you don’t like -him that you imagine he wants to marry me. I tell you now that I have -never had any idea of marrying him. And as for your money--it isn’t -my fault that you brought me here! You don’t have to give me a cent; -I don’t want it; I won’t take it! I was only a poor, ignorant little -nobody, anyhow, and you’ve been disappointed in me from the start. -I’ve never pleased you, no matter how hard I’ve tried. But I’ve done -the best I could, and I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you. I never told you an -untruth before,” she ran on glibly; “and I wouldn’t to-day if I hadn’t -guessed that you knew where I’d been and were trying to trick me into -lying. You don’t love me any more, papa; I know that; and I’m going -away--” - -Her histrionic talents, employed so successfully in imitating him in -his fury, for the pleasure of Mrs. Kinney’s guests, were diverted now -to self-martyrization to the accompaniment of tears. She had been -closer to him than to his wife: what Mrs. Farley denied in the way of -indulgences he had usually yielded. He had liked her liveliness, her -keen wit, the amusing cajoleries with which she played upon him. The -remote Irish in his blood had been responsive to the fresher strain in -her. - -“For God’s sake, stop bawlin’!” he growled. “So you admit you lied, do -you? Thought I had laid a trap for you, eh?” - -It was difficult for him to realize that she was twenty-two and quite -old enough to be held accountable for her sins. Her appeal to tears -had always found him weak, but her declaration that she had suspected -a trap when he began to quiz her was a trifle too daring to pass -unchallenged. He repeated his demand that she sit up and stop crying. - -“We may as well go through with this, Nan. I want to know what kind -of an arrangement you have with Copeland. Are you in love with that -fellow?” - -“No!” - -“Have you promised to marry him?” - -“No!” - -“Then why are you goin’ places where you expect to see him?” - -“I’ve explained that, papa,” she replied with more assurance, finding -that he did not debate her answers. “I didn’t like to refuse Mrs. -Kinney when I’d been refusing so many of her invitations. She asked me -a while ago to come to her house to spend a week; and a little before -that she wanted me to go on a trip with them, but you were sick and I -knew you didn’t like her, anyhow, so I refused. You’ve got the wrong -idea about her, papa,” she continued ingratiatingly. “She’s really very -nice. The fact that she hasn’t been here long is against her with some -of the older women, but that’s just snobbishness. I always thought you -hated the snobbishness of some of these people who have lived here -always and are snippy to anybody else.” - -He was conscious that she was eluding him, and he gripped his hands -with a sudden resolution not to be thwarted. - -“I don’t care a damn about the Kinneys; I’m talkin’ about you and -Copeland,” he rasped impatiently. - -“Very well, papa; I’ve told you all there is to know about that--” - -“I don’t care what you say ‘about that,’” he mocked; “that worthless -scoundrel seems to have an evil fascination for you. I don’t understand -it; a decent young girl like you and a whiskey-soaked, loafin’, -gamblin’ degenerate, who shook his wife--a fine woman--to be free to -trail after you! That slimy wharf-rat has the fool idea that I took -advantage of him when I sold him my interest in the store--and just to -show you what a fool he is I’ll tell you that I sold him my interest -at a tenth less than I could have got from three other people--did it, -so help me God, out of sheer good feelin’, because he’s the son of a -father who’d given me a hand up, and I thought because he was a fool -I wouldn’t be just fair with him--I’d be generous! I did that for Sam -Copeland’s sake. - -“That was four years ago, and I hadn’t much idea then that he’d make -good. He’s already cashed in everything Sam left him but the store. And -I’ve still got his notes for twenty-five thousand dollars--twenty-five -thousand, mind you!--that he’d like damned well to cancel by marryin’ -you. A man nearly forty years old, who gambles and soaks himself in -cocktails and runs after a feather-head like you while the business his -father and I made the best in the State goes plumb to hell! Now, you -listen to what I’m sayin’: if you want to marry him, you do it,--you -go ahead and do it now, for if you wait for me to die, you’ll find he -won’t be so anxious; there ain’t goin’ to be anything to marry you -_for_!” - -His voice that had been firm and strong at the beginning of this long -speech sank to a hoarse whisper, but he cleared his throat and uttered -his last words with sharp distinctness. - -“I never meant to; I never had any idea of marrying him,” she said. -“And I’ve never thought of the money. You can do what you like with it.” - -“Well, a man can’t take his money with him to the graveyard, but he can -tie a pretty long string to it; and it’s my duty to protect you as long -as I can. I’d hoped you’d be married and settled before I went. Your -mamma and I used to talk of that; you’d got a pretty tight grip on us; -it couldn’t have been stronger if you’d been our own; and I don’t want -anything to spoil this, Nan. I want you to be a good woman--not one of -these high-flyin’, drinkin’ kind, that heads for the divorce court, but -decent and steady. Now, I guess that’s about all.” - -She stood beside him for a moment, smoothing his hair. Then she knelt, -as though from an accession of feeling, and took his hands. - -“I’m so sorry, papa! I never mean to hurt you; but I know I do; I know -I must have troubled mamma, too, a very great deal. And you’ve both -been so good to me! And I want to show you I appreciate it. And please -don’t talk of the money any more or of my marrying anybody. I don’t -want the money; I’m not going to marry: I want us to live on just as -we have been. You’ve been cooped up too long, but you’re so much better -now you’ll soon be able to travel.” - -“No; there’s no more travel for me; I’ll be glad to hang on as I am. -There’s nothing in this change idea. About a year more’s all I count -on, and then you can throw me on the scrap-heap.” - -She protested that there were many more comfortable years ahead of him; -the doctors had said so. At the mention of doctors his anger flared -again, but for an instant only. It was a question whether he had been -mollified by her assurances or whether the peace that now reigned was -attributable to his satisfaction with the plans he had devised to -protect her from fortune-hunters. - -She hated scenes and trouble of any kind, and peace or even a truce was -worth having at any price. She had grown so accustomed to the bright, -smooth surfaces of life as to be impatient of the rough, unburnished -edges. It was not wholly Nan’s fault that she had reached womanhood -selfish and willful. In their ignorance and anxiety to do as well by -her as their neighbors did by their daughters, there had been no bounds -to the Farleys’ indulgence. - -“I’m going to have dinner up here with you,” she said cheerfully, after -an interval. “I’m tired of eating alone downstairs with Miss Rankin; -her white cap gets on my nerves.” - -She satisfied herself that this plan pleased him, and ran downstairs -whistling--then was up again in her room, where he heard her quick -step, the opening and closing of drawers. - -She faced him across the small table in the plainest of white frocks, -with her hair arranged in a simple fashion he had once commended. She -told stories--anecdotes she had gathered while dressing, from the back -pages of “Life.” He was himself a capital story-teller, though at the -age when a man repeats, and she listened to tales of his steamboating -days that she had heard for years and could have told better herself. - -Soon a thunder-shower cooled the air, and made necessary the closing -of windows, with a resulting domestic intimacy. The atmosphere was -redolent of forgiveness on his part, of a wish to please on hers. - -At nine o’clock, when she had finished reading some chapters from “Life -on the Mississippi,”--a book that he kept in his room,--and Miss Rankin -appeared to put him to bed, he begged half an hour more. He hadn’t felt -so well for a year, he declared. - -“Look here, Nan,” he remarked, when the nurse had retired after a -grudging acquiescence, “I don’t want you to feel I’m hard on you. I -guess I talk pretty rough sometimes, but I don’t mean to. But I worry -about you--what’s goin’ to happen to you after I’m gone. I wish I’d -gone first, so mamma could have looked after you. You know we set a lot -by you. If I’m hard on you, I don’t mean--” - -She flung herself down beside him and clasped his face in her hands. - -“You dear old fraud!--there can’t be any trouble between you and me, -and as for your leaving me--why, that’s a long, long time ahead. -And you can’t tell! I might go first--I have all kinds of queer -symptoms--honestly, I do! And the doctor made me stop dancing last -winter because my heart was going jigglety. Please let’s be good -friends and cheerful as we always have been, and I’ll never, never tell -you any fibs any more!” - -She saw that her nearness, the touch of her hands, her supple young -body pressed against his worn knees, were freeing the remotest springs -of affection in his tired heart. - -Nan wanted to be good--“good” in the sense of the word that had -expressed the simple piety of her foster-mother. She had the conscience -of her temperament and from childhood had often been miserable over the -smallest infractions of discipline. Her last words with Copeland on -the club veranda had not left her happy. It had been in her mind for -some time that she must break with Billy. She had never been able to -convince herself that she loved him. She had liked his admiration, and -had over-valued it as coming from a man much older than herself; one -who, moreover, stood to her as a protagonist of the gay world. No one -but Billy Copeland gave suppers for visiting actors and actresses or -chartered a fleet of canoes for a thousand-dollar picnic up the river. -It was because he was different and amusing and made love to her with -an ardor her nature craved that she had so readily lent herself to the -efforts of the Kinneys to throw them together. - -Being loved by Copeland, a divorced man rated “fast,” had all the more -piquancy for Nan as affording a relief from the life of the staid, -colorless household in which she had been reared. There were those who, -without being snobs, looked down just a little upon a girl who was -merely an adopted child to whom her foster-parents gave only a shadowy -background. The Farleys were substantial and respectable, but they were -not an “old family.” She was conscious of this, and the knowledge had -made her the least bit rebellious and the more ready to surrender to -the blandishments of the Kinneys, who were even more under the ban. - -As she undressed and crept wearily into bed, she pondered these things, -and the thought of them did not increase her happiness. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -NAN AND BILLY’S WIFE - - -Farley improved as the summer gained headway. He became astonishingly -better, and his doctor prescribed an automobile in the hope that a -daily airing would exercise a beneficent effect upon his temper. -Farley detested automobiles and had told Nan frequently that they were -used only by fools and bankrupts. A neighbor who failed in business -that spring had been one of the first men in town to fall a victim to -the motor craze, and Farley had noted with grim delight that three -automobiles were named among the bankrupt’s assets. - -When the idea of investing in a machine took hold of him, he went into -the subject with his characteristic thoroughness. He had Nan buy all -the magazines and cut from them the automobile advertisements and he -sent for his friends to pump them as to their knowledge of various -cars. Then he commissioned a mechanical engineer to buy him a machine -that could climb any hill in the State, and that was free of the -frailties and imperfections of which his friends complained. - -Farley manifested a childlike joy in his new plaything; he declared -that he would have a negro chauffeur. It would be like old steamboat -times, he said, to go “sailin’ around with a nigger to cuss.” - -Nan or the nurse went out with him daily--preferably Nan, who was -immensely relieved to find that they were now on better terms than for -several years. Life hadn’t been a gay promenade since she ceased to -share the festivities of the Kinneys and their friends. Copeland she -had dismissed finally, and the rest of them wearied of calling her on -the telephone only to be told that it was impossible for her to make -engagements. It may have been that Farley realized that she was trying -to meet his wishes; at any rate, she had no cause to complain of his -kindness. - -“This would have tickled mamma,” he would say, as they rolled through -the country in the machine. “She was always afraid of horses; these -things don’t seem half as risky when you get used to ’em. If I keep on -feelin’ better, we’ll take some long trips this fall. There’s a lot o’ -places I’d like to see again. I’d like to go down and take another look -at the Ohio.” - -He spoke much of his wife, and at least once every week drove to the -cemetery, and watched Nan place flowers on her foster-mother’s grave. - -After one of these visits he ordered the chauffeur to drive north. -He had read in the papers of the sale of a farm at what he said was -a record price for land in that neighborhood, and he wanted to take -a look at the property. After they had inspected the farm and were -running toward home, Nan suggested that they stop at the Country Club -for a cool drink. - -“Let’s drive to Mrs. Copeland’s place,” he remarked casually. “I’ve -always meant to look at her farm.” - -He watched her sharply, as though expecting her to object. Possibly -he had some purpose in this; or the suggestion might be due to -malevolence; but she dismissed any such idea. He was always curious -about people, and there was, to be sure, no reason why he should not -call on Mrs. Copeland. - -“Certainly; I shall be very glad to go, papa,” she answered. - -“Nan,” he said, laying his hand on her wrist, “there was never any -trouble between you and that woman about Copeland, was there? If it’s -goin’ to make you uncomfortable to stop at her house, why, we won’t do -it.” - -“Of course not, papa. I hope she understood that I couldn’t help the -gossip. It wasn’t my fault.” - -“Well, it was nasty, anyhow,” he remarked. “And as you’ve got rid of -Copeland, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to let her know it. I guess it -won’t be long before that worthless scamp goes to the dump. I’ve got a -pretty good line on him and the store. If I was ten years younger, I’d -go down there and kick him out and put the house on its feet again.” - -He had frequently told her that Copeland-Farley was doing badly, but -she supposed this to be only the wail of a retired pilot who thinks -his old ship is doomed to disaster without his hand at the wheel. -No communications had passed between her and Billy since the day of -Grace Kinney’s party. She persuaded herself that she could face Billy -Copeland’s former wife with a good conscience. - -“That hound,” began Farley after an interval of silence, “had the brass -to try to put her in the wrong--didn’t dare go into court with it, but -let it be whispered on the outside to save his own face! There was a -man somewhere used to visit here, a friend of his. I guess nobody took -any stock in that scandal.” - -“Of course, nobody would believe it of her,” said Nan. “I hardly--” - -She had begun to say that it was incredible that Billy would have done -such a thing, but she caught herself in time. - -“What?” demanded Farley sharply. “Well, I guess nobody but the lowest -cur would have done it.” - -Mrs. Copeland’s brown bungalow was set upon the highest point on her -farm, and from her veranda and windows she could view every part of it. -The veranda was made to be lived upon; there was a table with books and -periodicals; a work-basket lay in a swing seat as though some one had -just put it down; there were wall-pockets filled with fresh flowers. -Along the veranda rail nasturtiums bloomed luxuriantly. - -As Nan waited for an answer to her ring, the lower floor of the -house lay plainly in view through the screen door: a large raftered -living-room with a broad fireplace and a dining-room beyond. Here at -least were comfort and peace. Perhaps Billy Copeland’s wife hadn’t -fared so ill after all! - -The maid said Mrs. Copeland was out on the farm, and an observation -from the veranda discovered her in the barn lot. - -Nan had counted on Farley’s presence to ease the shock of the meeting, -and she did not wholly relish being sent off alone to meet a woman who -might be pardoned for wishing to avoid her. Farley said he would wait -in the car, and Nan left him contentedly studying the house and its -encompassing landscape. - -When Mrs. Copeland saw Nan approaching, she started across the lot -to meet her. A handsome collie trotted beside her. She had not yet -identified her visitor, and was flinging back an injunction to a -workman as she moved toward the gate. She wore a dark skirt, blue -waist, and heavy shoes, and a boy’s round felt hat. A pair of shabby -tan driving-gloves covered her hands. - -“Good-afternoon!” said Nan. “Papa and I were passing, and he thought -he’d like to see your place. If you’re busy, please don’t bother.” - -“Oh, I’m glad so see you, Miss Farley; I was just coming to the house. -My pump works badly and we are planning some changes. I’m glad Mr. -Farley is able to be out again.” - -She set the pace with a quick, eager step. Several times she turned -smilingly toward Nan; the girl saw no trace of hostility. To all -appearances Fanny Copeland was a happy, contented woman. The tempests -might vent their spite on her, but she would still hold her head high. -Nan, little given to humility, experienced suddenly a disturbing sense -of her inferiority to this woman whose husband she had allowed to make -love to her. - -“Yes, I get a great deal of fun out of the farm,” Mrs. Copeland was -saying. “I don’t have any time to be lonesome; when there’s nothing -else to do, I can fuss around the garden. And now that I’ve taken up -poultry there’s more to do than ever!” - -“I believe I’d get on better with chickens than with cows,” said Nan. -“They wouldn’t scare me so much.” - -“Oh, cows are adorable! Aren’t these in this pasture beauties!” - -A calf thrust its head through the bars of the fence, and Fanny patted -its nose. Nan asked if they all had names and Mrs. Copeland declared -that naming the calves was the hardest part of her work. - -“I think it’s a mistake for a girl to grow up without knowing how to -earn her own living, and I don’t know a thing!” said Nan impulsively. - -[Illustration: NAN EXPERIENCED SUDDENLY A DISTURBING SENSE OF HER -INFERIORITY TO THIS WOMAN] - -Fanny looked at her quickly. If it was in her mind that the obvious -and expected thing for Nan to do was to marry Billy Copeland, she -made no sign. Nan was amazed to find that she was anxious to appear -to advantage before this woman who had every reason for disliking -and distrusting her, and she was conscious that she had never seemed -so stupid. Her modish gown, her dainty slippers with their silver -buckles, contrasted oddly with Fanny’s simple workaday apparel. She -was self-conscious, uncomfortable. And yet Fanny was wholly at ease, -talking light-heartedly as though no shadow had ever darkened her life. - -They reached the house and found that Farley had braved the steps and -established himself on the veranda. The maid had brought him a glass of -milk which he was sipping contentedly while he ran his eye over a farm -paper. - -“Mrs. Copeland, what will you take for your place?” he demanded. “If -I’d moved into the country when I quit business, the doctors wouldn’t -be doggin’ me to death.” - -“But Miss Farley tells me you are almost well again! It’s fine that -you’ve taken up motoring--a new world to conquer every morning.” - -“I got tired o’ bein’ hitched to the bedpost; that’s all. But I want to -talk farm. It’s a great thing for a woman to run a place like this and -I want you to tell me all about it.” - -He examined and cross-examined her as to the joys and sorrows of -dairying. She replied good-naturedly to most of his questions and -parried the others. - -“Of course, I’m not going to tell you how much I lose a year! Please -keep it a dark secret, but I’m not losing anything; and besides, I’m -having a mighty good time.” - -“Well,” he warned her, “don’t let it put you in a hole. The place may -be a leetle too fancy. You don’t want to make your butter too good; -your customers won’t appreciate it.” - -“You preach what you never practiced,” laughed Nan. “Your rule at the -store was to give full measure.” - -“Well, I guess I held trade when I got it,” he admitted. - -“I’ve been adding another department to the farm,” said Mrs. Copeland. -“I started it early in the summer in the old farmhouse back there that -was on the place when father bought it. Real homemade canned fruit, -pickles, and so on. I’ve set up four girls who’d found life a hard -business, and they’re doing the work with a farmer’s wife to boss them. -It’s my business to sell their products. I’ve interested some of the -farmers’ daughters, and they come over and help the regulars on busy -days. We’re having a lot of fun out of it.” - -Farley was immensely interested. Nan had not in a long time heard him -talk so much or so amiably; he praised and continued to praise Mrs. -Copeland’s enterprise and success; for he had satisfied himself fully -that she was successful. He clearly liked her; her quiet humor, her -grace and prettiness. In his blunt way he told her she was getting -handsomer all the time. She knew how to talk to men of his type and met -him on his own ground. - -He began telling stories and referred to Old Sam Copeland half a dozen -times, quite unconscious that the sometime daughter-in-law of Old Sam -was sitting before him. Nan grew nervous, but Mrs. Copeland met the -situation with perfect composure. - -Finally, when they were about to leave, Eaton appeared. He had walked -over from the Country Club merely, he protested, to refresh himself at -Mrs. Copeland’s buttermilk fountains. He addressed himself cordially -to Farley, whose liking for him was manifest in a brightening of the -old man’s eyes. It was plain that Eaton and Mrs. Copeland were on the -friendliest terms; they called each other by their first names without -mincing or sidling. - -Nan suspected that Eaton had come by arrangement and that in all -likelihood he meant to stay for dinner; but already the lawyer was -saying, as he saw Farley taking out his watch:-- - -“I’m going to beg a lift into town from you plutocrats. I thought I -could stay me with flagons of buttermilk and catch the interurban that -gallops by at five fifty; but I made a miscalculation and have already -missed the car.” - -“I can send you in,” said Mrs. Copeland, “if it isn’t perfectly -convenient for Mr. Farley.” - -“Of course Eaton will go with us,” said Farley cordially. “It’s time to -move, Nan.” - -While Eaton helped him down the steps, Mrs. Copeland detained Nan for -glimpses of the landscape from various points on the veranda. - -“It was nice of you to stop; I think we ought to know each other -better,” said Fanny. - -“Thank you!” said Nan, surprised and pleased. “It won’t be my fault if -we don’t!” - -As they crossed the veranda their hands touched idly, and Mrs. Copeland -caught Nan’s fingers and held them till they reached the steps. This -trifling girlish act exercised a curious, bewildering effect upon Nan. -She might have argued from it that Mrs. Copeland didn’t _know_--didn’t -know that she was touching the hand of the woman who was accused of -stealing her husband’s affections. - -“I don’t see many people,” Mrs. Copeland was saying; “and sometimes I -get lonesome. You must bring your father out again, very soon. He can -ride to the barn in his machine and see my whole plant.” - -“He would like that; he’s one of your warmest admirers, you know.” - -“We always did seem to understand each other,” she laughed; “probably -because I always talk back to him.” - -[Illustration: “I’M NOT LOSING ANYTHING; AND BESIDES, I’M HAVING A -MIGHTY GOOD TIME”] - -“He’s much gentler than he looks or talks; and he means to be kind and -just,” replied Nan, knowing in her heart that she had frequently -questioned both his kindness and his justice. “I hope you will stop -and see us, very soon. Papa’s getting too much of my company; it would -cheer him a lot to see you.” - -“I never make calls, you know,” said Mrs. Copeland, smiling, “but I’m -going to accept your invitation.” - -Bitterness and resentment, traces of which Nan had sought in this -cheery, alert little woman, were not apparent. Her kindness and -sweetness and tolerance, as of the fields themselves, impressed Nan -deeply. - -In saying good-bye Nan impulsively put out both hands. - -“I wish we could be good friends!” she exclaimed. - -Her face flushed scarlet the moment she had spoken, but Fanny’s manner -betrayed no agitation. - -“Let’s consider that we’re already old friends,” she responded, smiling -into the girl’s eyes. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -A COLLECTOR OF FACTS - - -When Jerry came in “off the road” Saturday, he found a note from Eaton -asking him to call at his office that evening. To comply with this -request, Jerry was obliged to forego the delights of a dance at the -Little Ripple Club to which he had looked forward with the liveliest -anticipations all the week. But Eaton was not, in Amidon’s estimation, -a person to whom one telephoned regrets with impunity, and at eight -o’clock he knocked at Eaton’s door on the fifteenth floor of the White -River Trust Building and was admitted by the lawyer in person. - -Eaton’s office always exerted a curious spell on Jerry’s imagination. -This was attributable in some measure to the presence of cabinets -filled with models of patentable and unpatentable devices--queer -contrivances with each its story of some inventor’s success or failure. -The most perfect order was everywhere apparent. Books from the ample -library were never strewn about in the manner of most law offices, and -Eaton’s flat-top desk in the last room of the suite was usually clear; -or if papers were permitted to lie upon it, they were piled evenly and -weighted with a smooth stone that was never visible unless in use. -The file-cases (of the newest and most approved type) contained not -only letters, legal papers, and receipts, but, known to no one but the -girl who cared for them, newspaper clippings and typewritten memoranda -on a thousand and one subjects that bore no apparent relation to the -practice of law. - -Facts were Eaton’s passion; with facts, one might, he believed, conquer -the world; indeed, he was capable of demonstrating that all the battles -in history were lost or won by the facts carried into the contest by -the respective commanders. He had so often disturbed the office of the -Commissioner of Patents with his facts that the public servants in -charge of that department were little disposed to risk a brush with him -on points that involved facts, facts that seemed, in his use of them, -to glitter like the lenses of his eyeglasses. - -He seated himself in his office chair--a leathern affair with a high -back--and bade Amidon shed his coat and be comfortable. - -“Smoke?” he suggested, opening a drawer containing cigars and -cigarettes. Jerry hated ready-made cigarettes, but he was afraid to -produce the “makings” before Eaton, who had once complained that the -odor of the tobacco he affected was suggestive of burning jimson -weed. Eaton produced a glass ash-tray, and filled a pipe with the -deliberation he brought to every act. - -“Business is bad, I suppose, as usual,” he remarked leadingly. - -“Rotten! The shark that runs the credits has cut off one or two of my -easiest marks; but I managed to end last month with a ten-per-cent -advance over last year’s business, and that helps some.” - -“You have spoken well, Amidon. I suppose you were received with joyous -acclaim by the boss, and urged to accept a raise in wages?” - -“Stop kidding me! I’m sensitive about my wages. They still pretend -they’re just trying me out--not sure I’ll make good and that sort of -piffle!” - -“That sort of piffle” was a phrase he had taken over bodily from -Eaton’s familiar discourse. So sensitive was he to Eaton’s influence -that he imitated, with fair success, the unruffled ease that was -second nature to the lawyer. He was also practicing Eaton’s trick of -blinking before uttering a sentence, and then letting it slip with a -casual, indifferent air. Eaton had used this in the cross-examination -of witnesses to good purpose. Amidon had exercised it so constantly -in commercial and social conversation that he had to be on guard lest -Eaton, whose discernment seemed to him to partake of the supernatural, -should catch him at it and detect its spuriousness. - -“Won a case somewhat in your line the other day; defended a trade-mark -of the Pomona Velvet Complexion Cream, warranted to remove whole -constellations of freckles in one night. Seductive label, showing a -lovely maiden unfreckling herself before a mirror; bottle of Pomona in -her hand. Basely and clumsily imitated by a concern in Kansas that’s -been feloniously uttering a Romona Complexion Cream. The only original -Pomona girl held the bottle in her right hand; label on Romona nostrum -showed it clenched in her left.” - -“Hard luck!” said Amidon, deeply interested. “We’ve been pushing that -Kansas beautifier--a larger discount for the jobber than the Pomona. -Reckon we’ll have to chuck it now. I suppose the judge didn’t know -Pomona removes the cuticle--hasn’t the real soothing effect of the -Romona.” - -“I’ll mention that to the district attorney and he can pass it on to -the government inspectors. I’m annoyed by your revelation. Shock to my -conscience--defending a company that poisons the young and beautiful of -the republic.” - -“Now that you know what a swindle you defended, I suppose you’ll turn -back your fee--if you’ve got it?” - -“Retainer of a thousand dollars,” Eaton replied easily; “it would -be immoral to return it, thus increasing the dividends of such an -unscrupulous corporation. However, I’ll consider giving half of it to -the Children’s Aid Society.” - -It was pleasant in any circumstances to sit in Eaton’s presence, to -enjoy his confidence; and yet nothing so far disclosed justified -Jerry’s relinquishment of the Little Ripple Club dance. - -“Which of our noble streams did you follow this trip--the Pan-haunted -Wabash or the mighty Ohio, sacred to the muses nine?” - -Allusions of this sort, to which Eaton was prone, were Jerry’s despair. -He felt that it would be worth subjecting one’s self to the discomforts -of a college education to be able to talk like this, easily and -naturally. But he was aware that Eaton was driving at something; and -while it was the lawyer’s way to lead conversations into blind alleys, -he always arrived somewhere and fitted a key into the lock that had -been his aim from the start. - -“I shook hands with the trade along the Ohio this trip. I can tell -you it’s lonesome at night in those river burgs; the folks just sit -and wait for the spring flood--and even _it_ fails sometimes. They -turn the reel once daily in the movies, and the whole town’s asleep at -nine-thirty.” - -“A virtuous and home-loving people, but crime occasionally disturbs -the peace. Murders should always occur along navigable streams, so -the victim can be sent cruising at once toward New Orleans and the -still-vexed Bermoothes.” - -Amidon thought he caught a gleam; but experience had taught him the -unwisdom of anticipating the unfolding of Eaton’s purposes. - -“Oh, there’s always a lot of crooks loafing along the river; they keep -their skins filled with whiskey and they fish and shoot muskrats and do -a little murdering on the side.” - -“Interesting type,” said Eaton musingly. “If you were at Belleville -this week, you must have heard of a murder down there--man found -stabbed to death in a house-boat.” - -Jerry grinned, pleased with his own perspicacity in having surmised the -object of the interview. Murder was not, Amidon would have said, within -the range of Mr. John Cecil Eaton’s interests; and yet this was not the -first time that the lawyer’s inquiries had touched affairs that seemed -wholly foreign to his proper orbit. - -“I was there the day after they found the body. They had already -arrested the wrong man and turned him loose--as usual. They always do -that; and they’ll probably pick up some tramp who was visiting old -college friends in New York when the murder was committed and indict -him so the prosecuting attorney can show he’s on the job.” - -“You shouldn’t speak in that manner of sworn officers of the law,” -Eaton admonished. “Better that forty innocent men should be hanged than -that one guilty man escape.” - -Jerry fidgeted nervously as Eaton’s glasses were turned for a full -minute upon the ceiling. - -“A Cincinnati paper printed an item yesterday about that murder case, -mentioning the arrest of a suspect at Henderson on the Kentucky shore.” -Eaton hesitated. “The suspect’s name was Corrigan. You have known -Corrigans, perhaps?” - -There was a faint tinkle in the remote recesses of Jerry’s -consciousness as the shot, so carelessly fired, reached the target. - -“The name’s common enough; I’ve known a number of Corrigans.” - -“But,” the lawyer continued, “there have been instances of Corrigans -ceasing to be Corrigans and becoming something else.” - -“You mean,” Amidon replied, meeting Eaton’s eyes as they were bent -suddenly upon him, “that a Corrigan might become a Farley. Am I right?” - -“Quite right. I was just wondering whether you had picked up anything -about this particular case down along the river. I have no interest in -it whatever--only the idlest curiosity. I happened to recall that Miss -Farley had been a Corrigan; I have a note of that somewhere.” - -He swung his chair round and surveyed the file-cases back of him. His -gaze fell upon a drawer marked _F_, as though he were reading the -contents through the label--a feat which Amidon thought not beyond -Eaton’s powers. - -Jerry resented the idea that Nan Farley might still be affected by -the lawless deeds of any of her kinsfolk; he became increasingly -uncomfortable the more he reflected that the lawyer, with all his -indifference, would not be discussing this subject unless he had some -reason for doing so. - -“It was stated that this particular Corrigan had wealthy -connections--that always sounds well in such news items, as though -rich relations were a mitigating circumstance likely to arouse public -sympathy. Mere snobbishness, Amidon; and snobbishness is always -detestable. If that particular Corrigan hopes to obtain help from a -sister now known as Farley, it occurred to me that I ought to possess -myself of the fact. You understand that what we’re saying to each other -is entirely _sub rosa_. We’ve never happened to speak of Miss Farley; -but having been connected with the Copeland-Farley Company before -Farley retired, you probably have heard of her. A very interesting -girl--slightly spoiled by prosperity, but really refreshingly original. -Do you mind telling me whether you have any reason for believing that -the particular Corrigan arrested down there as a suspect, and with -those wealthy connections so discreetly suggested in the newspaper, is -related in any way to Nan Farley?” - -“Well, there was a Corrigan boy, considerably older than I am--probably -about thirty now, and not much to brag of. I’ve asked about him now and -then when I dropped off at Belleville, and I never heard any good of -him--just about the kind of scamp that would mix up in a cutting scrape -and get pinched.” - -“And who, having been pinched,--what we may call a pinchee, one who -has been pinched,--might perhaps remember that he had a prosperous -sister somewhere and appeal to her for help? Such things have -happened; it would be very annoying for a young woman who had -emerged--risen--climbed away from her state of Corriganism, so to -speak, to have her relationship with such a person printed in the -newspapers of her own city. I merely wish to be prepared for any -emergency that may arise. Not, of course, that this is any of my -business; but it’s remarkable how other people’s affairs become in a -way our own. Somebody has remarked that life is altogether a matter of -our reciprocal obligations. There’s much truth in that, Amidon.” - -Jerry did not wholly grasp this, but he confirmed it with a nod. Now -that Nan Farley had been mentioned, he hoped Eaton would drop life’s -reciprocal obligations and talk of her; and he began describing his -meeting with her, in such manner as to present his quondam schoolmate -in the most favorable light. - -Eaton listened to this recital with as much interest as he ever -exhibited in anything that was said to him. He smiled at the young -fellow’s frank acknowledgment that it was in a spirit of the most -servile imitation that he had gone forth with his fly-box. The ways in -which Amidon aped him amused Eaton. He addressed him as “Amidon,” or as -“my dear Amidon,” or “my dear fellow,” and talked to him exactly as he -talked to his cronies at the University Club; for while he was looked -upon as an aristocrat,--the last of an old family that dated back to -the beginnings of the town,--at heart he was the soundest of democrats. -Jerry’s meeting with Nan on the river bank seemed to him the most -delightful of confrontations, and he sought by characteristic means to -extract every detail of it. - -“Well, sir, after she had been so nice and turned to go, she swung -round and came back--actually came back to shake hands! I call that -pretty fine; and me just a little scrub that was only a bunch of -freckles and as tough a little mutt as ever lived when she used to know -me. Why, if she’d said she never heard of me, she’d have put it over -and I couldn’t have said a word!” - -“She mentioned the meeting to me a little later,” observed Eaton -carelessly. - -“Like thunder she did!” exploded Jerry. “So you knew all about it and -let me go ahead just to kid me! Well, I like that!” - -“Merely to get as much light on the subject as possible. We stumble -too much in darkness; the truth helps a good deal, Amidon. Miss -Farley spoke of you in terms that would not have displeased you. I -assure you that she had enjoyed the interview; her description of it -was flattering to your tact, your intuitive sense of social values. -But it was all very sketchy--you’ve filled in important omissions. -For instance, the giving of her hand, as an afterthought, was not -mentioned; but I visualize it perfectly from your narrative. We may -read into that act good-fellowship, graciousness, and all that sort of -thing. She’s a graceful person, and I can quite see her extending a -perfectly gloved hand--” - -“Wrong for once; she hadn’t on any gloves! But she had a handkerchief. -It was drying on a bush.” - -“Ah! That is very important. Tears, perhaps? Her presence alone on the -shore rather calls for an explanation. If she had gone down there by -herself to cry, it is imaginable that life hadn’t been wholly to her -taste earlier in the afternoon.” - -“She didn’t look as though she had ever cried a tear in her life, and -why should she?” - -“The Irish,” replied Eaton reflectively, “are a temperamental race. -I had knowledge of her--remote but sufficient--before she sought the -cool, umbrageous shore. Her companions were the gayest, and they -doubtless bored her until a mood of introspection seized her--sorrow, -regret, a resolve to do quite differently. Very likely you were a -humble instrument of Providence to win her back to a good opinion -of herself. So she seemed quite jolly and radiant? Conceivably your -appearance caused her to think of her blessings--of her far flight from -those scenes your presence summoned from the past.” - -“Well, she’s a fine girl all right,” Amidon commented to cover his -embarrassment at being unable to follow Eaton in his excursion into the -realm of psychology. “You wouldn’t have thought that girl, born in a -shack with as good-for-nothing folks as anybody ever had, would grow -up to be about the finest living girl! I guess you’d hunt pretty hard -before you’d find a girl to touch her.” - -“I’ve thought of that myself, though not in quite your felicitous -phrases.” - -“Don’t rub it in!” Amidon protested. “I guess the less I think about a -girl like that the better for me. And I guess there’s plenty of fellows -got their eye on her. I’ve heard some talk at the store about her and -the boss.” - -“She doesn’t lack admirers, of course. When you say ‘boss,’ you refer, -I assume, to Mr. Copeland?” - -Eaton looked up from the polishing of his glasses--a rite performed -with scrupulous care. The vague stare of his near-sighted eyes, -unprotected by his glasses, added to a disinterestedness expressed -otherwise by his careless tone. - -“Well,” Amidon began, defensively, “Copeland is the boss, all -right,--that is, when he’s on the job at all. He’s some sport, but when -he calls me into his pen and goes over my orders, he knows whether I’m -on the right side of the average. Only he doesn’t do that with any of -the boys more than once in two months. He doesn’t quite get the habit; -just seems to think of it occasionally.” - -“Capacity without application! Unfortunate, but not incurable. To be -sure, an old business like Copeland-Farley is hard to kill. Billy -Copeland’s father had the constructive genius, and Farley had the -driving power. It’s up to Billy not to let the house die on his hands. -Trouble is, the iron diminishes in the blood of a new generation: too -easy a time of it, soft-handed, loss of moral force, and that sort of -thing.” - -“I guess Copeland travels a pretty lively clip, all right,” ventured -Amidon, not without a tinge of pride in his boss. “He and Kinney are -pace-setters; they’ve got plenty of gasoline in the buggy and like to -burn it. The boss may be a sport, but he’s a good fellow, anyhow. I -guess if he wants to marry Miss Farley he’s got a right to.” - -He uttered this tamely, doubtful as to how his guide and mentor might -receive it, but anxious to evoke an expression. - -“A trifle weak, but well-meaning,” remarked Eaton, as though he -had been searching some time for a phrase that expressed his true -appraisement of Copeland. “It’s deplorable that fellows like that--who -really have some capacity, but who are weak-sinewed morally--can’t -be protected from their own folly; saved, perhaps. Our religion, -Amidon, is deficient in its practical application. A hand on your -boss’s shoulder at the right moment, a word of friendly admonition, -might--er--save him from a too-wasteful expenditure of gasoline. If I -had the gift of literary expression, I should like to write a treatise -on man’s duty to man. It’s odd, Amidon,” he went on, refilling his -pipe, “that we must sit by--chaps like you and me--and see our brothers -skidding into the ditch and never feel any responsibility about them. -Doubtless you and I are known to many of our friends as weak mortals, -in dire need of help,--or, perhaps, only a word of warning that the -bridges are down ahead of us would suffice,--and yet how rarely do we -feel that hand on the shoulder? We should be annoyed, displeased, hot -clean through, if anybody--even an old and valued friend--should beg us -to slow down. It’s queer, Amidon, how reluctant we are to extend the -saving hand. Timidity, fear of offending and that sort of thing holds -us back. It becomes necessary to perform our Christian duty in the -dark, by the most indirect and hidden methods.” - -Amidon frowned, not sure that he understood; and he hated himself when -he did not understand Eaton. Not to grasp his friend’s ideas convicted -him of stupidity and ignorance. Religion in Amidon’s experience meant -going to church and being bored. He remembered that the last time he -had visited a church he had gone to hear a girl acquaintance sing -a solo. She sang very badly, indeed, and he had been depressed by -the knowledge that she was spending for music lessons wages earned -as a clerk at the soap and perfumery counter in a department store. -Eaton’s occasional monologues on what, for a better name, he called -his friend’s religion, struck him as fantastic; he was never sure that -Eaton wasn’t kidding him; and the suspicion that you are being kidded -by a man at whose feet you sit in adoration is not agreeable. But Eaton -had become intelligible again. - -“I’ve sometimes wondered whether Copeland shouldn’t be saved--a good -subject for experiment, at least. To demonstrate that we have the -courage of our convictions we must take a hard nut to crack. Queer -thing, that religious effort, as we now see it, is directed solely to -the poor and needy--the down-and-outers. Take a man of the day laborer -type, the sort that casually beats his wife for recreation: gets clear -down in the gutter, and the Salvation Army tackles his case--sets -him up again; good work! Great institution--the Army. But you take -the men who belong to clubs and eat course dinners; they don’t beat -their wives--only say unpleasant things to them when the bills run too -high; when such fellows get restless, absorb too much drink, neglect -business, begin seeing their bankers in the back room--where’s your -man, society, agency, to put the necessary hand on that particular -shoulder? What we do, Amidon, when we see such a chap turning up Monday -morning with a hang-over from Saturday night, is to remark, ‘Too bad -about Tom’--or ‘Dick’ or ‘Harry’--and then go to the club and order a -cocktail. That’s how we meet our reciprocal obligations!” - -There seemed nothing that Amidon could add to this; but plainly it was -“Billy” Copeland, who was in Eaton’s mind, and no imaginary Tom, Dick, -or Harry; so he ventured to remark:-- - -“Well, I guess the boss hasn’t let go yet; he’ll pull up. He’s the best -man on the street to work for--when you can feel you _are_ working for -him.” - -“Pleasanter to work for a boss than the boss’s creditors, of course. -And minor stockholders sometimes get anxious and cause trouble.” - -These utterances were like important memoranda jotted down on the -margin of a page whose text is of little value in itself. Amidon stared -blankly. - -“Well, I don’t know about that; I guess the house has always made -money. We do more business than any other drug house in the State.” - -“An excellent business, of course. And we’d imagine that a man falling -heir to it would take pride in holding on to it. But if he doesn’t, -somebody else will take the job. I’ve seen the signs change on a good -many business houses in my day. Your boss has taken several little -flyers on the outside since his father died; he’s rather fascinated -with the idea of being vice-president of new concerns: minor trust -companies, doubtful manufacturing schemes, and that sort of thing. -All this is entirely in confidence; I’m using you as an incentive to -thought. Kindly consider that my reflections are all _inter nos_. That -murder business got us started--but of course, it hasn’t anything to do -with your boss. It had occurred to me, though, that both you and I may -have certain reciprocal obligations in some of these matters we have -touched on. One never can tell where the opportunity to serve--to lay -that friendly hand on a particular shoulder--may present itself!” - -During a rather long silence Amidon pondered this, wholly mystified -as to just what he or John Cecil Eaton had to do with the affairs -of William B. Copeland, a gentleman whose shoulder did not, on the -instant, seem to present itself as a likely object for the laying on of -hands. But Eaton was saying:-- - -“Coming to the matter of outside investments, there’s Kinney’s ivory -cement. The Kinney Manufacturing Company’s a client of mine, and it -wouldn’t be proper for me to express an opinion even to you, Amidon, on -the stability of its patents.” - -“Well,” said Amidon, “everybody thinks Kinney’s making all the money -there is; he’d have to, to put as much jam on his bread as he’s -spreading. I meet his road men now and then, and they sob because -they can’t fill orders. They’re not looking for new business; they’re -shaking hands with the customers they’ve already got and telling ’em to -sit at the freight house until the factory catches up with orders. And -before he hit that cement, Kinney was bookkeeper in a brickyard!” - -“Have a care, Amidon! You must be careful of your facts even in social -conversation. Mr. Kinney had a small interest in a brickyard, which -is very different. By the way, your opportunities for cultivating Mr. -Copeland’s acquaintance are rather restricted? Except on those rare -occasions when he summons you to make sure your orders cover your -expense account, you don’t see much of him?” - -“Oh, he used to give me a jolly occasionally before I went on the -road--ask me why our ball team was glued to the tail of the league and -things like that. Once he asked me to look up a good chauffeur for -him--and I got him a chap who’d been a professional racer. I guess that -made a hit with him.” - -“An assumption not wholly unwarranted. I hope he finds the chauffeur -satisfactory?” - -“I guess he does; he must like him, for he bails him out about once a -week when he gets pinched for speeding.” - -“Rather unfortunate that you’re not an inside man, so you could observe -the boss more closely; not, of course, to the extent of exercising an -espionage--but it might be possible--er--” - -“Well, I can have an inside job if I want it. My being on the road -was just a try-out, and I’m not so keen about hopping ties with the -sample-cases. If I’m going to tackle the reading you’ve laid out for -me, I’ll have to change my job. The head stock-man’s quitting to go -into heavy chemicals on his own hook; I guess I could get his place.” - -“Don’t refuse it without full consideration. My attitude toward you -thus far has been wholly critical; I’ve refrained from compliments; but -it would interest me to--er--see what you can do with your brains. I -suggest that you learn everything there is about the business outside -and in: become indispensable, be tolerant of stupidity, forbearing -amid jealousy, and indifferent to contumely; zealous, watchful, polite, -without, let us say, sissiness. Manners, my dear boy, are appraised far -too low in our commercial life.” - -The grin occasioned by these injunctions died on Amidon’s face as he -realized that the lawyer was in earnest; but he was very much at sea. -Eaton was a busy man, as his generous office space and the variety of -his paraphernalia testified; just why he had sought an interview, for -the sole reason, apparently, of extracting a little information and -giving a little advice, caused Amidon to wonder. He was still wondering -when Eaton rose and glanced at the tiniest of watches, which he carried -like a coin in his trousers pocket and always looked at as though -surprised to find he had it. - -“Time for me to be off; arguing a case in Pittsburg Monday.” - -He opened a bag that lay beside him on the floor, pulled a packet from -a drawer and dropped it in, and told Jerry he might, if he had nothing -better to do, accompany him to the station. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -AN ERROR OF JUDGMENT - - -Nan stood at her window watching a man turn out of the walk that led -from the front door to the street. Her eyes followed him until the -hedge hid him from sight, and then she sat huddled in the window-seat, -breathing hard from her run upstairs. She went to her desk and -glanced at a page of the pass-book of a trust company that showed the -withdrawal on June 29 of one thousand dollars from her savings account. -There remained a balance of sixteen hundred, and she verified the -subtraction before thrusting the book into the bottom of a drawer under -a mass of invitations she meant at some time to file in a book she kept -as a record of her social activities. - -She knew that she had made a mistake, and she was considering the -chances of discovery with a wildly beating heart. The man she had just -closed the door upon had paid two calls on successive days. He had -represented himself as the attorney for her brother, held on a charge -of murder at Belleville. He had plausibly persuaded her that it was -only fair for her to help her brother in his distress; that he was the -victim of unfortunate circumstances, but that an investment of one -thousand dollars for his defense would save her the humiliation of -having one of her own flesh and blood convicted of a murder for which -he was in no wise responsible. It had been intimated in discreet terms -that her relationship to the prisoner could be hidden; it would even be -denied if necessary. - -She knew now that she should not have yielded; that in all fairness -to her foster-father she should have reported this demand to him. In -secretly giving money that represented Christmas and birthday gifts -through half a dozen years, for the defense of a man she had not heard -of since the beginning of her life with the Farleys, she justified -herself with the thought that it was kinder to her foster-father, in -his invalid condition, to keep the matter from him. She experienced a -sudden revulsion of feeling the moment the money passed from her hands -in the ten one-hundred-dollar bills the man had specified. - -Farley had been seeing much of his lawyer since the row over the Kinney -luncheon. While his wrath at her duplicity seemed to pass, she assumed -that he had not forgotten his threat to disinherit her if she married -Copeland. - -She was unwontedly attentive, spending much time reading to him or -playing cards. She knew that he liked having young people about, and -she asked to his room some of the girls and young men who called on -her. She exercised all her arts, which were many, to keep him cheerful, -and if he realized that the change had been abrupt, and that it dated -from his outburst against Copeland, he made no sign. She mustn’t stay -in too much, he said; he didn’t want to be a burden to her. - -Eaton had called shortly after his talk with her on the golf links, but -on a night when Farley was receiving the attentions of his masseur. He -had spent the evening and had been at pains to make himself agreeable. -Now that Copeland had been thrust into the background, it occurred to -her that Eaton was worth cultivating. We all maintain more or less -consciously a mental list of people on whom we feel that we may rely in -difficulties; it had occurred to Nan that in a pinch Eaton would be a -friend worth having. - -While it was wholly unlikely that Farley would ever learn of her -transaction with the stranger, it was nevertheless a possibility that -would hang over her as long as he lived. She sought comfort in the -reflection that the amount was small, and that Farley had never stinted -her; moreover, that it was her own money, subject to her personal -check; but there was little consolation to be had from such reasoning. -She must talk to some one, and before dinner she telephoned Eaton and -asked him to come up. - -Farley had spent two hours with his lawyer that day, and from the -fact that two of his old friends had arrived hurriedly in answer to -telephonic summons, she judged that he had been making a new will and -that these men had been called to witness it. - -He ate his prescribed supper, grumbling at its slightness, and watched -her consume her ampler meal with his usual expressions of envy at her -appetite. - -“If I could eat like that, I’d be well in a week; it’s all rubbish, -this infernal diet!” - -“But we tried disobeying the doctor the other night when the nurse was -out, and you didn’t sleep a wink. You’ll have to be good until the -doctor discharges you!” - -“Don’t be silly!” he snapped. “They know mighty well they can’t cure -me; they’re just hangin’ on to me as long as they can for what they get -out of it. But I may fool ’em yet! My grandfather lived to be ninety -and died then from bein’ kicked by a horse; and my own father got up to -seventy-eight, and that gives me eight years more,” he ended defiantly. - -“But you worked harder than they did, papa; you never used to come home -to dinner until seven.” - -“Of course I didn’t!” he flared. “These young fellows that think four -hours make a day’s work are fools; you won’t see them gettin’ very far -in the world, spendin’ their time flyin’ around in automobiles and -playin’ golf all day!” - -“Well, of course, some of the young men don’t amount to much,” she -admitted conciliatingly; “but there are others who work like nailers. -I suppose Mr. Eaton works as hard as any man in town; and he doesn’t -need to.” - -“Doesn’t need to?” Farley caught her up. “Every honest man works; a -man who doesn’t work’s a loafer and very likely a blackguard. John -Eaton works because he has the brains to work with! He’s a rare man, -John Eaton. There ain’t many men like John, brought up as he was, with -everything easy; but he’s bucklin’ down to hard work just the same, -like the man he is. You say he’s comin’ up? Well, we’ll let him do the -talkin’. Maybe he can get a laugh out o’ me; he says some mighty funny -things--and they’re mostly true.” - -He began feeling about for the evening paper that he had dropped at his -side when his tray was brought in. - -“Just find the market page and read through the local stock-list. I -noticed they’ve put a new figure on White River Trust; I used to be a -director in that company. What’s that? Two hundred eighty-five? Let me -see, that’s fifteen dollars more than it was last January when I bought -fifty shares at two-seventy. She’ll go three hundred in five years. -It’s the safest buy in town.” - -His long conference with his lawyer had left him tired and irritable. -His doctor had repeatedly counseled Nan and the nurse to keep him -quiet. As they seemed to be on perfectly safe ground, she began reading -the financial comment preceding the general stock and bond list, and -finding that he was interested, she followed it with the letter of a -firm of brokers that buoyantly prophesied a strong upward movement in -the immediate future. She thought he was listening attentively when he -began murmuring half to himself:-- - -“Two-eighty-five; she’s bound to go to three hundred. Hey? What’s that -rubbish you’re readin’? Wall Street letter? What do I care what a lot -of infernal gamblers say about a better tone in the market! Those -fellows down there don’t produce anything; it’s the boys out here that -grow the corn and feed the pigs that put value in the paper those -fellows down there gamble in! Put that paper down; I want to talk a -little business. How much money you got?” - -The question was like a blow in the face. Her wits danced nimbly in her -effort to find an answer, to decide just how to meet the issue. - -“Do you mean the housekeeping money?” she asked faintly. - -Since Mrs. Farley’s death she had paid the household bills from a -sum deposited to her credit the first of every month. Beyond asking -occasionally how the bills were running, Farley had never questioned -her as to her expenditures. There was a special allowance and a -generous one for her clothing, and when she asked for additions to -the household money to renew linen or pay for repairs, it was always -readily forthcoming. - -“No, no!” he ejaculated impatiently. “I don’t mean the house money. -How much you got in the trust company--the savings you’ve been gettin’ -three per cent on? You must have over two thousand dollars there. I -been meanin’ to ask you about that; you’ve got too much to keep at -three per cent, and we ought to put it into securities of some kind. -Run along and get your pass-book. If you haven’t got enough to buy ten -shares of White River Trust stock, I’ll bring it up a little so you can -have an even number.” - -He was absorbed in mental calculations and did not notice the -reluctance with which she rose and walked toward her room. The trust -company required that books be presented when withdrawals were made, -and she remembered the appearance of the teller’s notation. Farley -had never looked at her pass-book since the day she brought it home -and proudly displayed it. It was the unkindest fate that had turned -his mind upon it at this juncture, and she canvassed all possible -explanations: necessary expenditures in excess of her household and -personal accounts; unusual repairs which she might pretend she had not -wanted to trouble him with in his illness; or benevolences--the latter, -she fancied, more likely to appease than the others in view of his own -generosity to causes that appealed to him. She decided that a frank -confession followed by an appeal to sentiment was the likeliest means -of staying his anger. - -She waited twisting her hands nervously, while he examined the book. - -“What’s this? What’s this mean, Nan? You took out a thousand dollars in -one lump--to-day! My God, what does this mean? What kind of investments -you makin’, Nan? Yesterday you had with interest--lemme see--twenty-six -hundred dollars, and now you’ve cut it down to sixteen hundred! What -you spendin’ that money for, girl?” - -“Well, papa,” she began with the best air of frankness she could -summon, “something very strange and sad has happened. I meant to tell -you all about it just as soon as you were stronger, but I’m glad to -tell you now, for I know you will understand and sympathize--as you’ve -always done whenever I’ve had my little troubles--” - -He seemed to be taking this in good part until “troubles” caused him to -sniff. - -“Troubles! What troubles you ever had? I guess there ain’t a girl in -town that’s had less trouble than you have!” - -“Of course, I didn’t mean it that way, papa; I mean only the little -things, little mistakes and slips I’ve made that you and mamma have -always been kind about. No girl was ever treated as kindly as you have -treated me. And I mean always to be perfectly frank with you; and I’m -going to be now.” - -“Well,” he said impatiently. - -She felt that her contemplated explanation had been well chosen, but -she must be adroit, risking no word that might spoil the effect of her -disclosure. - -She knelt beside him and began in a tone that was eloquent of humility, -yet with a confidence that she hoped would not be lost upon him. - -“You see, papa, when you brought me home with you, and you and mamma -began caring for me, I was just a poor little waif, ready for an orphan -asylum. My father and mother would never have been able to do anything -for me if they had lived; and if it hadn’t been for you and mamma, I’d -never have known any of the things I’ve learned through you. I might -have been a dining-room girl right now in some cheap hotel if you -hadn’t opened your doors and your hearts to me. And that has made me -appreciate my blessings--all the comforts and luxuries you have given -me. And it has made me feel, more than you may imagine, for people not -so lucky as I am--the under dog that gets kicked by everybody. And even -when people are wicked and do evil things, I think we ought to think -kindly of them and help them when we can. I know you and mamma always -practiced that. And I’ve tried to; I really have!” - -She lifted her eyes and there were tears in them, that seemed to be -born of a deep compassion, a yearning toward all the poor and erring -among mankind. Farley was not unmoved by this demonstration; he shifted -his legs uneasily under the light pressure of her arms. Her spell upon -him had never been more complete; she felt that she might risk much in -the mood to which she had brought him. - -“And you know, papa, I have thought a great deal about my brother--who -drifted away with the flood. I haven’t seen him since father and mother -died. Tom is much older than I am, and the poor boy never had any -chance. I hadn’t even heard of him since you brought me away until the -other day. And he’s in trouble, very deep, serious trouble, papa; he’s -been arrested--I’m sure not for anything he really did; but being poor -and without friends it was perfectly natural for him to ask me to help -him. I think you will agree to that. And he sent his lawyer to ask me -for money to use in defending him. I meant to tell you all about it -when you were well; I felt sure I was doing right and that you’d be -glad to have me help him; and it’s all so horrible--” - -She felt his form grow rigid, felt his hands roughly push her away, as -he blurted hoarsely:-- - -“Blackmail! My God, it’s blackmail--or else you’re lyin’ to me!” - -She rose and faced him tearfully. - -“It’s the truth!” she declared. “He’s my brother--the only one of my -family that’s left. You wouldn’t have me refuse to help--” - -“Help him! Turn a thousand dollars of your savings over to a worthless -whelp that’s got into jail! How do you know he’s your brother?--a man -that waits all these years before he shows himself and then plumps down -on you for a thousand dollars! I tell you it’s blackmail, blackmail! -And you hide all this from me just as though I hadn’t any right to know -what kind o’ trouble you get mixed up in! Ain’t you got sense enough -to know you’re touchin’ bottom when you give up money that way? What’s -he threatened you with? You tell me everything there is to know about -this, and I’ll find out mighty quick whether a contemptible scoundrel -can come to my house and carry away a thousand dollars!” - -Farley glared at her unpityingly while she told her story, which seemed -preposterously weak when reduced to plain terms. She sobbingly admitted -her fear of newspaper notoriety, her wish to shield him from the shame -of her connection with a man awaiting trial for murder. There was no -mercy in his eyes; he was outraged that she had again deceived him. - -“Afraid o’ havin’ your name in the papers, were you? Just as though -blackmailers didn’t always use that club on the fools they rob! And how -many times do you think a man like that will come back, now he knows -you’re easy--now you’ve gone into business with him?” - -The maid knocked at the door and announced Eaton, but Farley gave no -heed. - -“Payin’ blackmail! You’ve got yourself into a nice mess! And after all -I’ve done to protect you and make a decent woman of you, you’re scared -to death of havin’ some of your relations go to jail--just as though -you hadn’t turned your back on the whole set when we brought you here -and gave you our name. That _ought_ to have made you respectable, if -it didn’t! Afraid of newspapers, afraid of jackleg lawyers! It’s the -rottenest case of blackmail I ever heard! And here I’ve been proud to -think that we’d pulled you out of the river mud and made a high-minded -woman of you, that could stand up with any girl anywhere!” - -She waited listening to his deep breaths, watching his tremulous hands; -and then without attempting to answer his indictment, she said meekly:-- - -“Of course, it was a mistake, papa. I ought to have told you about it; -but it’s my trouble--you must remember that! The shame of the exposure -would be something I’d have to bear alone; that was the way I looked at -it; and I didn’t want you to have the worry of it when you were just -beginning to get well.” - -His thoughts had wandered away from her, playing about her offense in -its practical and legal aspects. When she ventured to remind him of -Eaton’s presence in the house, he made no reply. The silence became -intolerable and she stole from the room. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -WELCOME CALLERS - - -Nan decided to explain to Eaton that Farley’s illness had taken a turn -for the worse and that he had been abusing her as a relief from his -suffering. She was surprised to find two men in the parlor, the second -of whom she did not at once recognize as Jerry. - -“I’ve taken the liberty,” Eaton began, “of bringing Mr. Amidon along. -Thought you wouldn’t mind, particularly as I couldn’t have come myself -without him. He dropped in just as I was leaving and seemed greatly -depressed; I hadn’t the heart to leave him. Depression is his normal -state--no serenity, no hope, no vision!” - -Amidon grinned during this explanation, realizing that its lack -of veracity was, in the circumstances, peculiarly Eatonesque and -attributable to his friend’s wish to relieve Nan of embarrassment. They -had been uncomfortable from the moment the maid admitted them and they -became conscious of the discord above. Words and phrases of Farley’s -furious arraignment had reached them and there was no escaping the -conclusion that she had been the object of the castigation. Jerry, -acting on his own impulses, would have grabbed his hat and bolted. It -was only the demeanor of his idol, placidly staring at the wall, that -held him back. The call had been suggested by Eaton as a gay social -adventure, but it was disconcerting to find a girl whose good fortune -had seemed so enviable with tears in her eyes, nervously fingering -a moist handkerchief, and Jerry’s wits were severely taxed by his -efforts to meet a situation without precedent in his experience. Once -he had called on a girl whose father came home drunk and manifested -an ambition to destroy the furniture and use the pieces in the -chastisement of his daughter, and Amidon had enjoyed a brief, decisive -engagement with the inebriated parent and had then put him to bed. But -there was nothing in that incident that bore in the slightest degree -upon the difficulties of people who lived in the best street in town, -where, he had always assumed, the prosperous householders dwelt in -peace and harmony with their fortunate families. - -“I’m glad to see you, both of you,” she said, with all the assurance -she could muster. “Papa’s been having a bad time; you must have heard -him talking. He’s very angry. I wish you’d go up, Mr. Eaton, and see if -you can’t talk him into a better humor.” - -“If you think it’s all right--” Eaton began dubiously; but he was -amused at Nan’s cheerful willingness to turn her angry foster-parent -over to him for pacification. It was like Nan! - -“Oh, he’d been looking forward to seeing you,” she answered quite -honestly. “These spells don’t last long; the very sight of you will -cheer him.” - -She did not, however, offer to accompany him to Farley’s room, but -discreetly left him to test the atmosphere for himself. - -“Well,” Jerry remarked, when he was alone with Nan, “Pittsburg put it -over on New York to-day. Three to nothing!” - -He gave the score with a jubilant turn to the “nothing,” as though -Pittsburg’s success called for universal rejoicing. - -Nan, intent upon catching some hint of the nature of Eaton’s reception, -merely murmured her mild pleasure in this news. She was satisfied, from -the calm that reigned above, that Eaton had begun well, and that under -the spell of his presence Farley would soon be restored to tranquillity. - -“Sorry Mr. Farley is having a bad time,” Jerry went on, thinking the -invalid’s outbreak required at least a passing reference. “You know -down at the store the boys still talk about him. Somebody’s always -telling how he used to do things, and the funny things he used to say. -When I first struck the plant, he used to scare me to death, sticking -his nose in the shipping-room without notice and catching the boys -larking. Once I had gone to the mat with a plumber that was looking -for a gas-leak, and the boss came in and got us both by the collar -and threw us down the stairs like a pair of old shoes. I thought I -was a goner for sure when he sent for me to come to the office that -night and asked me who started the trouble. I told him the plumber -said whenever he found gas-leaks in jobbing houses he always reckoned -somebody was getting ready to collect the insurance. Uncle Tim--that’s -what the boys call him--asked me if I’d hit him hard, and I told him I -guess he’d have considerable business with the dentist, all right. Just -for that he raised my wages a dollar a week! Say, can you beat it!” - -He snapped his fingers and shook his head impatiently. - -“Isn’t that rank--just after Cecil lectured me all the way up here -about cutting out slang! I promised him solemnly before we started that -I wouldn’t say _say_; and here I’ve already done it! How do you learn -to talk like white folks, anyhow? I suppose you got to be born to it; -it must be like swimming or rowing a boat, that you learn once and -always catch the stroke right.” - -“Oh, I shouldn’t worry about that,” replied Nan consolingly. “I use a -good deal of slang myself; and at school my English teacher said it -wasn’t such a sin if we used it as though we were quoting--we girls -held up two fingers--so!” - -“That sounds reasonable, all right; I must tell my noble knight about -that. It seems sometimes as though I just couldn’t get a ball over the -plate--there I go again! And Cecil warned me specially against talking -like a bleacher hoodlum when we got here.” - -“Oh, that’s not worth bothering about. I’m so glad to see you that I -could cry for joy. If you hadn’t come when you did, I don’t know what -might have happened.” - -He had been trying to direct the talk into other channels, and her -remark puzzled him. That this wholly charming, delightful Nan could -have given her benefactor cause for the objurgations he had heard -poured out upon her was unbelievable. Still, it was rather pleasant -than otherwise to find that she was human, capable of tears, and it was -not less than flattering that she should invite his sympathy. - -“Well,” he began cautiously, “I guess we all have our troubles. Life -ain’t such an easy game. You think you’re sailing along all right, -and suddenly something goes wrong and you’ve got to climb out and -study astronomy through the bottom of the machine. Why,” he continued -expansively, finding that he had her attention, “when I first went on -the road I used to get hot when I struck some mutt who pulled lower -prices on me or said he was over-stocked. But you don’t sell any -goods by getting mad. I picked up one of these ‘Keep Smiling’ cards -somewhere, and when I got blue I used to take a sneaking look at it and -put on a grin and tell the stony-hearted merchant the funniest story -I could think of and prove that our figures f.o.b. Peanutville were -cheaper, when you figured in the freight, than Chicago or Cincinnati -prices. I’ve made a study of freight tariffs; I can tell you the -freight on white elephants all the way from Siam to Keokuk and back to -Bangkok. I’ve heard the old boys down at the store talk about Farley -till I know all his curves. Farley’s all right; there’s nothing the -matter with Uncle Tim; only--you don’t want to shift gears on him too -quick. You’ve got to do it gentle-like.” - -Nan smiled forlornly, but Amidon was glad that he could evoke any sort -of smile from her. - -“It was all my fault,” she said. And then with a frankness that -surprised her she added: “I had deceived him about something and he -caught me at it. He gave me a big blowing-up, and I deserved it.” - -“Well, I wouldn’t say _that_; but, of course, playing the game straight -was always a big card with him. I guess Cecil will smooth him down.” - -She was surprised to find herself talking to him so freely; his -eagerness to take her mind away from the unpleasant episode with -Farley gave her a comforting sense of his native kindliness. Her heart -warmed with liking for him as she reappraised his good looks, his -well-scrubbed appearance of a boy turned out for his first party by -a doting mother; his general air of wholesomeness and good humor. He -had known hard knocks, she did not question, but the bruises were well -hidden. With all his slanginess and volubility there was a certain -high-mindedness about him to which, in her hunger for sympathy, she -gave fullest value. - -He was afraid of her further confidences; afraid that she would -disclose something she would regret later, and this he foresaw might -embarrass their subsequent relations. She had been humiliated by -Farley’s abuse, and it was not fair, he argued, to take advantage of -her present state of mind by allowing her to tell more of the trouble. -But he was not able at once to change the current of her thoughts. - -“You know,” she said, sitting up straight and folding her hands on her -knees, “I’ve been thinking a lot of things since I saw you out there -by the river--about old times, and wondering whether it was good or -bad luck that took me away from Belleville and brought me up here. -I’d have been better off if I’d stayed there. I’d probably have been -washing dishes in the Belleville hotel if the Farleys hadn’t picked me -up, a dirty little beggar, and tried to make something decent out of -me! I’m saying that to you because you know all about me. You’ve made -your own way, and you’re a lot happier than I am, and you’re not under -obligations to anybody; and here I am trying to climb a ladder my feet -weren’t made for!” - -“Cut all that out!” he expostulated. “Just because Uncle Tim’s been a -little fretful, you needn’t think everything’s gone to the bow-wows. -And as for staying in Belleville, why, the thought of it gives me -shivers! There ain’t any use talking about that.” - -Her face expressed relief at the vigor with which he sprang to her -defense, and he plunged ahead. - -“Say, speaking of dining-room girls, there was a girl at that -Belleville hotel that was some girl for sure. She was fruit to the -passing eye, and a mutt carrying samples for a confectionery house -called her Gladys one day, her real name being Sarah, and asked her -how she’d like going to the movies with him after she got the dishes -washed; and she landed one order of poached cold-storage eggs on his -bosom the neatest you ever saw. Some men never learn how to size up -character, and any fool could ’a’ told that that girl wasn’t open to a -jolly from a sweet-goods peddler who’d never passed that way before. -Sarah’s mother owns the hotel, and Sarah only helps in the dining-room -Saturday nights to let the regular crockery-smasher off to punch the -ivories for the Methodist choir practice. I was sitting next that chap -and he thought he’d show me what a winner he was. I’m not justifying -Sarah’s conduct, and about a half-portion of the golden side of that -order caught me on the ear. I merely mention it to show you that you -had better not think much of the life of the dining-room girl, which -ain’t all the handbills make out.” - -“I hope,” remarked Nan, “that she didn’t break the plate!” - -“No more,” he came back promptly, “than you could break a ten-dollar -bill at a charity fair. That’s another thing I learned from Cecil. -He got me to take a stroll with him through a charity bazaar last -winter--just to protect him from the snares of the huntress, he said. -He started in with ten tens and had to borrow five I was hiding from -my creditors before we got back to the door. And all we carried out of -the place was a pink party-bag Cecil handed a tramp we found freezing -to death outside and hoping a little charity would ooze through the -windows.” - -“I was at the fancy-work counter at the fair,” said Nan, “and I -remember that Mr. Eaton bought something. I didn’t see you, though.” - -“I noticed that you didn’t; I was plumb scared you might! There I go -again! _Plumb scared!_ Oh, Cecil, if you had heard me then!” - -He was wondering just how he happened to be sitting in a parlor on a -fashionable street, talking to the only girl he had ever known whose -name figured in the society columns, quite as jauntily as he talked -with any of the stenographers or salesgirls he knew. He was confident -that parlor conversation among the favored of heaven was not of the -sort he had, in his own phrase, been “handing out.” This thought gave -him pause. He shook his cuffs from under the sleeves of his blue serge -coat with a gesture he had caught from Eaton, and felt nervously of the -knot of his four-in-hand. - -Nan was asking herself whether the fact that a young fellow of Amidon’s -deficiencies could interest and amuse her wasn’t pretty substantial -proof that he was the kind of young man the gods had designed for her -companions. A year ago she would have resented his appearance in the -house; to-night she had a feeling that his right to be there was as -sound as her own. A different fling of the dice, and it might have been -he whom the Farleys rescued from poverty and obscurity. - -In spite of his absurdities, she was conscious of definite manly -qualities in him. Several times she caught him scrutinizing her -sharply, as though something about her puzzled him and gave him -concern. His manners were very good--thanks, perhaps, to his adored -Eaton; and she liked his clean, fresh look and good humor. After her -talk with Eaton on the golf links, she had wondered whether the lawyer -wasn’t making a butt of him; but she dismissed this now as unjust to -Eaton, and as appraising Amidon’s intelligence at too low a figure. -During this reverie he waited patiently for her to speak, imagining -that her mind was still upon her troubles, and when the silence became -prolonged he rallied for a fresh attack. - -“If you’d rather read,” he remarked, “we’ll hang up the silence sign -the way they have it in the library reading-room and I’ll say prayers -till Cecil comes down.” - -“Oh, pardon me!” she laughed contritely. “You see I am treating you as -an old friend. Why don’t you go on and talk. You’ve had ever so many -interesting adventures, and I need to be amused. Please don’t think I’m -always like this; I hope you’ll see me some time when I’m not in the -dumps.” - -“I should be afraid to,” he retorted boldly; and then feeling that -Eaton would have spurned such banality, ejaculated: “Oh, rot! Let me -scratch that out and say something decent. Just for instance,”--and his -face sobered,--“I think you’re nice! You were perfectly grand to me -that day down on the river. I told Cecil about that, and I could see it -made a hit with him; it set me up with him--that a girl like you would -be polite to a scrub like me.” - -“Don’t be foolish,” she said. “I’m not proud of myself: I’m a failure, -a pretty sad fizzle, at that.” - -She ignored his rapid phrases of protest and asked him how much time he -spent in town. - -“Well, I’m likely to spend a good deal, from now on. The boss has been -shaking things up again, and he called me in by telephone yesterday and -changed my job. That’s the way with him; he won’t show up sometimes -for six weeks, and then he gets down early some morning and scares -everybody to death. - -“I thought I was settled on the road for the rest of my life, and -now he’s made a job for me to help the credit man--who doesn’t want -me--and take country customers out to lunch. A new job made just for -my benefit. And all because of a necktie Cecil gave me. The boss saw -me sporting it one day and asked me where I got it. I had to make a -show-down, and he thought I was kidding him. You see Cecil’s about -the last man he’d ever think of giving me presents. If I’d laid that -necktie on any other living human being, it wouldn’t have cut a bit of -ice; but when I said, as fresh as paint, ‘John Cecil Eaton picked that -up in New York for me,’ he laughed right out loud. ‘What’s the joke?’ -I asked him; and he says, ‘Oh, Eaton never gave me any haberdashery, -and I’ve known him all my life.’ And like the silly young zebra I -am, I came back with, ‘Well, maybe that’s the reason!’ You’d have -thought he’d fire me for that; but it seemed to sort o’ make us better -acquainted. He’s the prince, all right!” - -She had been trying, more or less honestly, to put Copeland out of her -mind. Her knowledge of him as a business man had been the haziest; one -never thought of Billy Copeland as a person preoccupied with business. -She was startled when Amidon asked abruptly:-- - -“Of course, you know the boss?” - -It was possible that Amidon had heard the gossip that connected her -name with his employer’s, and she answered carelessly:-- - -“Oh, yes; I know Mr. Copeland.” - -“I guess everybody knows William B.,” said Amidon. “He’s got the -pep--unadulterated cayenne; he isn’t one of these corpses that are -holding the town back. He’s a live wire, all right.” - -Then, realizing that he had ventured upon thin ice in mentioning -Copeland, he came back to shore at once. - -“Cecil said that this being my first call, about thirty minutes would -do for me, so I guess it’s time for me to skid. He must be handing out -a pretty good line of talk on the upper deck.” - -She begged him not to leave her alone, saying that Farley lived by -rules fixed by his doctor and that the nurse was likely to interrupt -the call at any minute. As he stood uncertain whether to go or wait for -Eaton, they heard the lawyer saying good-bye, and in a moment he came -down. - -Nan looked at him quickly, but was able to read nothing in his -impassive face. - -“I hope you two have been getting better acquainted,” Eaton remarked. -“Mr. Farley and I have had a splendid talk; I never found him more -amusing. One of the most interesting men I ever knew! What have you -been talking about? The silence down here has been ominously painful!” - -“Mr. Amidon has been telling me of the egg-throwing habits of the -waitresses in my native town. Life here in the city is nothing to what -it is down on the river. He’s almost made me homesick!” - -“My dear Amidon,” said Eaton severely, “have you been telling that -story--in a private house? I thought when I brought you here you’d be -on your good behavior. I’m sorry, Nan; I apologize for him. Of course, -he mustn’t come back; I’ll see to it that he doesn’t.” - -“Don’t be cruel!” laughed Nan. “We got on beautifully!” - -They heard Farley’s groans and mutterings as the nurse put him to bed, -and it seemed necessary to refer to him again before the men left. - -“You won’t mind, Nan,” said Eaton, “if I say that Mr. Farley told me -the cause of your little difficulty; I know the whole story. I think he -probably won’t mention it to you again. I asked him not to. Just go on -as though nothing had happened. It was unfortunate, of course; but I’ve -persuaded him that your conduct is pardonable--really quite admirable -from your standpoint. If anything further arises in regard to it, I -wish you’d communicate with me, immediately.” - -Ignoring her murmurs of gratitude, he turned to Jerry. - -“Amidon, at this point we shake hands and move rapidly up the -street. And, Nan, you needn’t be troubled because Mr. Amidon heard -the last echoes of your difficulty. He’s perfectly safe,--discreet, -wise,--though you’d never guess it. You may safely assume that he heard -nothing. We must have some golf, you and I. My game’s coming up!” - -She went with them to the street door, where Amidon, in executing a -final bow, nearly fell backward down the steps. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -MRS. COPELAND’S GOOD FORTUNE - - -Now that they had the car, Farley insisted that Nan should go to -market. His wife, like all the thrifty housewives of the capital, had -always gone to market, and he thought the discipline would be good for -Nan. He liked to accompany her and watch the crowd while she was doing -her errands. - -One Saturday, as Nan returned to the machine, with the chauffeur -following with the basket, she found Fanny Copeland seated in the car -beside Farley. - -“Look here, Nan; I’ve picked up a surprise for you! We’re goin’ to take -Mrs. Copeland home to lunch.” - -“I don’t know whether you are or not,” said Mrs. Copeland. “This is my -busiest day and I’ve got to catch the twelve-o’clock interurban for the -farm.” - -“Don’t worry about that; we’ll send you home all right,” said Farley. - -“Then I’m not going to have anything to say about it at all!” laughed -Mrs. Copeland. “All right; if my cows die of thirst, I’ll send you the -bill.” - -“You do that, and it will be paid,” Farley assented cheerfully. - -“But I’ve got to stop at the bank a moment--” - -“I suppose,” said Nan, “you want to get rid of the money I just paid -at your stand for two yellow-legged chickens--you can see the legs -sticking out of the basket.” - -Mrs. Copeland had failed to act upon Nan’s invitation to call upon -her--a delinquency to which she referred now. - -“I really meant to come, but I’ve been unusually busy. I carry on just -enough general farming to be a nuisance; and dairying requires eternal -vigilance.” - -“That’s because you’ve got a standard,” said Farley, with his blunt -praise. “You’ve got the best dairy in Indiana. The state inspectors -have put it strong.” - -“Oh,” said Mrs. Copeland lightly, “they gave me a better report than I -deserve just for being a poor, lone woman!” - -Farley’s admiration for Mrs. Copeland was perfectly transparent. -It was Fanny’s efficiency, her general competence, Nan reflected, -quite as much as her good looks and cheerfulness, that attracted her -foster-father. Several times lately he had quoted what Bill Harrington, -the banker, had said of her--that she was the best business man in -town. And there was also Farley’s contempt for Copeland, which clearly -accentuated his liking for Billy’s former wife. - -At the bank door Farley remembered that he had a check to cash and -asked Nan to attend to it for him. As Mrs. Copeland and Nan mounted -the bank steps together, they ran into Billy Copeland emerging in deep -preoccupation. The juxtaposition of the two women plainly startled him. -He took off his hat, mumbled something, and stood staring after them. -Then his gaze fell upon Farley, bending forward in the touring-car and -watching him with his small, sharp eyes. He instantly put on his hat -and crossed the walk. - -“Good-morning, Mr. Farley,” he said cordially, offering his hand. “I’m -glad to see you out again.” - -“Oh, I’m not dead yet,” growled Farley. “I’ve decided to hang on till -spring anyhow.” - -His tone did not encourage conversation. His face was twisted into a -disagreeable smile that Copeland remembered of old, and there was a -hard, ironic glitter in the gray eyes. Farley had witnessed the meeting -on the bank steps with relish, and was glad of this opportunity to -prolong his enjoyment of his former associate’s discomfiture. - -“I’m sure you’ll see many more springs, Mr. Farley. That’s a good -machine you’ve got there. The fact that you’ve taken up motoring has -given a real boost to the auto business. The agents are saying that if -you’ve got in line there’s no reason for anybody to hold back.” - -The old man grunted. - -“I had to have air; I knew all the time that was what I needed; these -damned doctors only keep people in bed so they can bulldoze ’em -easier.” - -Copeland was attempting to be friendly, but Farley was in no humor to -meet his advances. - -“That last payment on the sale of my stock is due September first. I -won’t renew it,” he said sharply. - -“I hadn’t asked for an extension,” Copeland replied coldly. - -“All right, then; that will be the end of _that_.” - -Farley’s tone implied that there might be other matters between them -that this final payment would still leave open. - -Copeland’s ready promise that the twenty-five thousand would be paid -irritated Farley, who saw one excuse for his animosity vanishing. He -leaned forward and pointed his finger at Copeland, who was backing -away, anxious to be gone before his former wife reappeared. - -“You’re ruinin’ the house! You’re lettin’ it go to hell--the business -your father and I made the best jobbin’ house in this State! You’re a -drunkard and a gambler, but, damn your fool soul, there’s one thing -you can’t do--you can’t marry that little girl o’ mine! If you’ve got -that up your sleeve, be sure there’s no money goes with her for you to -squander! Remember that!” - -It was the busiest hour of the day and the street was thronged. -Pedestrians turned and stared curiously. Copeland raged inwardly at his -stupidity in giving Farley a chance to abuse him publicly. - -“You’re very unjust to me,” he said hotly. “I’ve known Nan ever since -she was a child and never had any but a friendly feeling for her. I -haven’t seen her for weeks. Now that I know how you feel toward me, I -have no intention of seeing her.” - -“I guess you won’t see her!” Farley snorted. “Not unless you mean to -make her pay for it!” - -Mrs. Copeland and Nan appeared at the bank entrance at this moment and -witnessed the end of the colloquy. Copeland lifted his hat to Farley -and walked rapidly away without glancing at them. - -Farley became cheerful immediately, as he usually did after an -explosion. This opportunity for laying the lash across Billy Copeland’s -shoulders had afforded him a welcome diversion; and the fact that -Copeland had seen his former wife in Nan’s company tickled his sardonic -humor. He made no reference to Copeland, but began speaking of a new -office building farther down the street. It was apparent that neither -Nan nor Fanny shared his joy in the encounter and they attacked the -architecture of the new building to hide their discomfort. - -Nan appeared the more self-conscious. She was thinking of Billy. He -had turned away from the machine with a crestfallen air which told her -quite plainly that Farley had been giving him a piece of his mind. And -Nan resented this; Farley had no right to abuse Billy on her account. - -When they reached the house she took Fanny upstairs. If the glimpse of -Copeland on the bank steps had troubled Mrs. Copeland she made no sign. -Her deft touches with the comb and brush, as she glanced in the mirror, -her despairing comments upon the state of her complexion, which, she -averred, the summer suns had ruined; her enthusiasm over Nan’s silk -waist, which was just the thing she had sought without avail in all the -shops in town,--all served to stamp her as wholly human. - -“But clothes! I hardly have time to think of them; they’re an enormous -bother. And I wear the shoes of a peasant woman when I come to town, -for I have to cut across the fields when I leave the interurban and I -can’t do that in pumps! You see--” - -The shoes really were very neat ones, though a trifle heavy for -indoors. Nan instantly brought her shiniest pumps, dropped upon the -floor and substituted them for Fanny’s walking-shoes. It flashed -through her mind that Fanny Copeland inspired just such acts. - -“You have the slim foot of the aristocrat,” observed Fanny. And then -with a wistful smile she leaned toward the girl and asked, “Do you mind -if I call you Nan?” - -Nan was touched by the tone and manner of her request. Of course there -was no objection! - -“I always knew I should like you,” said Fanny. “Of course, I haven’t -seen much of you lately, but I hear of you from a very ardent admirer: -John Eaton talks of you eloquently, and to interest John Eaton is a -real achievement! I’m afraid I bore him to death!” - -“I can’t believe it; he never lets himself be bored; but like everybody -else, I’m never quite sure I understand him.” - -“Oh, I tell him that’s one of his poses--baffling people. He surrounds -himself with mystery, but pretends that he doesn’t. If he were a gossip -he’d be horrible, for he knows everything about everybody--and knows it -first!” - -“He’s the kindest of mortals,” Nan observed. “He’s always doing nice -things for people, but he has to do them in his own peculiar way.” - -“Oh, John has the spirit of the true philanthropist; his right hand -never knows, you know--” - -“He’s a puzzle to the people he’s kindest to, sometimes, I imagine,” -said Nan. - -She laughed as she thought of Amidon, and Fanny appealed for -illumination as to what amused her. - -“Oh, I was thinking of his protégé--a young man named Amidon. He and -I were kids together, back in my prehistoric days. He never had any -advantages--if you can say that of a boy who’s born with a keen wit and -a sense of humor. He does something at the Copeland-Farley store--went -in as errand boy before papa left. They had him on the road for a -while, but he’s in the office now. Mr. Eaton has taken a great shine -to him and Jerry imitates him killingly. That fine abstracted air -of Mr. Eaton’s he’s got nearly perfect; and he does the mysterious -pretty well, too. But he’s most delicious when he forgets to Eatonize -himself and is just natural. He’s quite short--which makes him all the -funnier--and he wears tall, white-wing collars _à la_ Eaton.” - -“Tell me more!” said Fanny. “How old is the paragon?” - -“About twenty-five, I should say, figuring with my own age as a -basis. He looked like a big boy to me in my river days. Mr. Eaton -has undertaken his social and mental rehabilitation and the effects -are amazing. They came to the house together to call, and I’ve -rarely been more entertained than by Jerry while his good angel was -upstairs talking to papa. He’s trying to avoid any show of emotion -just like his noble example, but once in a while he forgets himself -and grins deliciously. After a round of high-brow talk, he drops into -reminiscence and tells the most killing stories of the odd characters -he’s met in his travels with the sample-case. It can’t be possible that -Mr. Eaton hasn’t introduced him to you?” - -“He hasn’t, and I’m going to complain about it bitterly,” said Mrs. -Copeland, amused by Nan’s enthusiasm. - -“You should, for Jerry is a nice boy, and very wise and kind.” - -“The only one of his benefactions he ever confided to me was the case -of a girl--the daughter of an old friend who had fallen on evil times. -He wanted to send her to college, and I became the visible instrument, -so he needn’t appear in the matter himself. The girl graduated last -year and, like a fraud, I had to go down to Vassar and pose as her good -angel. She’s a great success and is to teach somewhere, I think. But--I -shouldn’t be telling you this!” - -“Oh, it’s quite safe! I value his friendship too much to do anything to -displease him.” - -“Well, things like that ought to be told,” remarked Fanny reflectively; -“particularly when some people think John Eaton cold and selfish.” - -Luncheon interrupted these confidences. Farley had not been to the -dining-room for several months and he made much of the occasion. - -“This is a celebration for me, too,” said Fanny. “I’ve just had a piece -of good fortune. Nobody knows of it yet; you’re the first people I’ve -told! You know I haven’t many friends to confide in. An aunt of mine -has just died and left me some money. In fact, there’s a great deal of -it; I’m richer than I ever expected to be.” - -“Good! Good!” Farley ejaculated, interested and pleased. - -“It’s fine,” said Nan; “and it’s nice of you to tell us about it.” - -Nan was afraid that Farley would demand the amount of the legacy, but -evidently Fanny knew he would be curious as to all the details, and -she went on to explain that it was her mother’s sister, the last of the -family, who had died recently in Ohio and left her all her property. - -“I have visited her every year or two since I was a child and knew her -very well, but I never had any idea she meant to do this. It will take -some time to settle it up, but there’s as much as two hundred thousand -dollars in sight--maybe fifty more. She was a dear old woman; I’m so -ashamed of myself that I wasn’t kinder to her, but she was difficult to -handle--hadn’t left home for years, though she used to write to me two -or three times a year. So there! That’s why I’m running into the bank -these days, to ask Mr. Harrington about investments.” - -“If you take his advice,” said Farley emphatically, “you’ll never lose -any of that money!” - -“Then what’s to become of the farm?” asked Nan. - -“Oh, I shall run it just the same. I’d rather lose that legacy than -give it up. An unattached woman like me must have something to amuse -herself with.” - -“That’s a lot o’ money; a whole lot o’ money,” said Farley; “and I’m -mighty glad you’ve got it.” - -Nan saw a gleam in his eye and a covert smile playing about his lips. -He chuckled softly. - -“Two hundred; two hundred fifty; that’s a whole lot o’ money; and you -don’t want to let any of these sharks around here get it away from -you; they’ll be after you all right. But I guess you’ll know how to -handle ’em,” he added with satisfaction. - -When Fanny was ready to go he called for his car and he and Nan drove -home with her. - -That night, after the nurse had put him to bed, Nan heard an unusual -sound from his room. She crossed the hall and stood in the doorway a -moment. He was muttering to himself and chuckling. - -“Picked up two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, just like findin’ -it! Turned her out; got rid of her! Well, that’s a hell of a joke on -you, Billy Copeland!” - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -A NARROW ESCAPE - - -On a rainy evening in mid-September, a salesman for an Eastern -chemical firm invited Amidon to join him in a game of billiards at the -Whitcomb House. As Russell Kirby was one of the stars of the traveling -fraternity, Jerry was greatly honored by this attention. Moreover, when -he hung up his coat in the billiard room and rolled up the sleeves of -his silk shirt, the traveler’s arms proved to be thoroughly tanned--and -this impressed Jerry as indicating that Kirby indulged in the -aristocratic game of golf and did not allow the cares of business to -interfere with his lawful amusements. Kirby played very good billiards, -and did not twist his cigar into the corner of his mouth when he made -his shots, as most of Jerry’s friends did. - -“The lid’s on a little looser in your town than it was last winter,” -remarked the envied one, sipping a ricky. “I suppose by following our -noses we could strike a pretty stiff game without going out into the -wet.” - -“Oh, there’s always more or less poker around here,” replied Jerry, -unwilling to appear ignorant of the moral conditions of his own city. - -He chalked his cue and watched Kirby achieve a difficult shot. -Billiards afforded Jerry a fine exercise for his philosophic temper, -steady hand, and calculating eye. He had developed a high degree of -proficiency with the cue in the Criterion Billiard Parlors. It was a -grief to him that in trying to live up to Eaton he had felt called upon -to desert the Criterion, where the admiration of lesser lights had been -dear to his soul. - -“Big Rodney Sykes is here,” Kirby remarked carelessly. “They chased him -out of Chicago that last time they had a moral upheaval.” - -Jerry was chagrined that he knew nothing of Big Rodney Sykes, -presumably a gambler of established reputation. To be a high-salaried -traveler, with a flexible expense account, was to be in touch with -the inner life of all great cities. Jerry’s envy deepened; it availed -nothing that he could beat this sophisticated being at billiards. - -“Rather tough about that boss of yours,” Kirby continued. “It’s fellows -of his size that Big Rodney goes after. A gentleman’s game and no -stopping payment of checks the next morning.” - -“Oh, the boss is no squab; I guess he’s sat in with as keen sharps as -Sykes and got out with carfare home,” replied Jerry. - -“Of course; but on a hot night like this many a good man feels the -need of a little relaxation. It just happened”--he prolonged the -deliberation of his aim to intensify Jerry’s curiosity--“happened I saw -Copeland wandering toward Sykes’s room as I was coming down.” - -“I guess the boss knows a thing or two,” replied Jerry easily, in a -tone that implied unlimited confidence in Copeland. - -He was consumed with indignation that Kirby should be able to tell him -anything about Copeland. It had been done, too, with a neatness of -insinuation that was galling. - -“Well, I guess,” persisted Kirby, “you miss old Uncle Tim at the store. -I used to have many a jolly row with Uncle Tim; he was one man it -never paid to fool with; but he was all right--just about as clean-cut -and straight a man as I ever fought discounts with. Uncle Tim was a -merchant,” he ended impressively as he bent over the table. - -In calling Farley a merchant with this air of finality he implied very -clearly that William B. Copeland was something quite different, and -Jerry resented this imputation as a slur upon his house. Much as he -admired Kirby’s clothes and metropolitan ways, he hated him cordially -for thus speaking of Copeland, who was one of Kirby’s important -customers. Mere defeat was no adequate punishment for Kirby; Jerry -proceeded to make a “run” that attracted the admiring attention of -players at neighboring tables and precluded further discussion of -Copeland. - -At midnight Kirby said he had had all the billiards he wanted and -invited Jerry to his room. - -“I always like to tell people about their own town and I’ll show you -where they’re piling up the chips,” he remarked. - -His room was opposite the elevator on the seventh floor, and having -unlocked his door he piloted Jerry round a corner and indicated three -rooms which he said were given over to gambling. - -“If you give the right number of taps that first door will open,” said -Kirby, “but as an old friend I warn you to keep out.” - -As they were turning away a telephone tinkled faintly in one of the -rooms and they heard voices raised excitedly, accompanied by the bang -of over-turned furniture. - -“They’ve got a tip the cops are coming or there’s a fight,” said Kirby. -“Here’s where we fade!” - -He led the way quickly back to his room, dragged Jerry in, and shut the -door. - -While the sounds of hasty flight continued, the elevator discharged -half a dozen men and they heard the hotel manager protesting to the -police that it was an outrage; that the rooms they were raiding had -been taken by strangers, and that if there was anything wrong he wasn’t -responsible. - -A few minutes later the return of the prisoners to the elevator -announced the success of the raid. Several of them were protesting -loudly against riding to the police station in a patrol wagon; others -were taking the whole matter as a joke. Above the confusion Copeland’s -voice rose drunkenly in denunciation of his arrest. - -Kirby, anxious not to be identified even remotely with the sinners who -had been caught in their transgressions, had taken off his coat and was -lighting a cigar. - -“Try one of these, Amidon. We’d better sit tight until the cops get out -of the building. Nice town this! Gambling in respectable hotels. No -doubt all those fellows are leading citizens, including--” - -At this instant the electric lights were extinguished. The darkness -continued and Jerry opened the door and stuck his head out. Half the -prisoners had been sent down and the remainder were waiting for the -elevator to return. They growled dismally and somebody said it was a -good chance to give the cops the slip. - -One of the policemen struck a match and held it up to light the -entrance to the car. Jerry’s eyes ran quickly over the group facing -the shaft, but he recognized none of the men. As the match died out a -prolonged, weary sigh near at hand caused him to start. Some one was -leaning against the wall close beside him. He reached out, caught the -man by the arm, drew him into the room and softly closed the door. - -Kirby demanded to know what Amidon had done, and during the whispered -explanation the globes began to brighten. Jerry jumped for the switch -and snapped off the lights. He climbed on a chair and surveyed the hall -through the transom. The last officer was stepping into the elevator, -and some one demanded to know what had become of Billy Copeland. - -“Oh, he went down in the first load,” replied another voice. - -Then the door clanged and the hall was quiet. - -“Turn on the lights,” commanded Kirby. - -Copeland sat on the bed, staring at them foolishly. - -“Wherenell am I?” he asked blinking. “Thiss jail or somebody’s parlor?” - -“Your nerve, young man,” Kirby remarked to Jerry, “leaves nothing to be -desired. I suppose it didn’t occur to you that this is my room?” - -“Oh, that will be all right. If the cops ain’t back here in ten -minutes, they’ll probably think he’s skipped; and they won’t waste time -looking for him; they know they can pick him up to-morrow, easy enough.” - -“Zhat you, Kirby, good old boy; right off Broadway! Kind of you, ’m -sure. Good boy, Amidon; wouldn’t let your boss get hauled off in patrol -wagon. Raise wages for that; ’preciate it; mos’ grateful!” - -“All right; but please stop talking,” Jerry admonished. “We’ll all get -pinched if the cops find out you’re here.” - -“Los’ five thous; five thou-sand dollars; hons’ to God I did!” - -Copeland’s face was aflame from drink and the heat, and unable to -comprehend what had happened to him he tumbled over on the bed. Kirby -eyed him contemptuously and turned upon Amidon angrily. - -“This is a nice mess of cats! Would you mind telling me what you’re -going to do with our fallen brother? Please remember that reputation’s -my only asset, and if I get arrested my house might not pass it off as -a little joke!” - -“Oh, cheer up and be a good sport! I know the boys at the desk -downstairs and I’m going to tell ’em you’ve cleared out to make way for -an old comrade of the Army of the Potomac. I’ll have you moved, and -then I’ll put the boss to bed.” - -“Anything to please you,” said Kirby ironically, as Copeland began -to snore. “Your boss is lying on my coat and I hope you’ll have the -decency to pay for pressing it!”... - -At ten the next morning Amidon called at the Whitcomb and found -Copeland half dressed. He had telephoned to his house for toilet -articles and clean linen and presented the fresh and chastened -appearance with which he always emerged from his sprees. - -“I thought I’d drop in,” said Jerry, seating himself in the window. - -“Been to the store?” asked Copeland from before the mirror where he was -sticking a gold safety pin through the ends of a silk collar. - -“Yes; I took a look in.” - -“Any genial policeman lying in wait for me?” - -“Nothing doing! Everything’s all fixed.” - -“Fixed? How fixed?” - -“Oh, I know the way around the pump at the police court, and I had a -bum lawyer who hangs out there make the right sign to the judge. You -owe me forty-seven dollars--that includes ten for the lawyer.” - -“Cheap at the price,” remarked Copeland. He had taken a check book from -the table and was frowningly inspecting the last stub. - -“I didn’t come to collect,” said Jerry. “Any old time will do.” - -“How did the rest of the boys come out?” asked Copeland, throwing the -book down impatiently. - -“Oh, the big sneeze from Chicago got a heavy soaking. The judge took -it out on him for the rest of you. Wouldn’t do, of course, to send -prominent business men to the work-house. All fined under assumed -names.” - -“Rather expensive evening for me. Much obliged to you just the same for -saving me a ride in the wagon.” - -“Oh, that was easy,” said Jerry. “By the way, I guess we’d better slip -my lawyer friend another ten. He dug this up for you--no questions, no -fuss; all on the dead quiet.” - -He drew from his trousers pocket a crumpled bit of paper and handed it -to Copeland. - -Jerry was not without his sense of the dramatic. He rolled a cigarette -and watched Copeland out of the corner of his eye. - -“See here, Jerry,” said Copeland quickly, “I don’t know about this. If -I gave that check, and I know I did, I’ve got to stand by it. It’s not -square--” - -“Oh, I wouldn’t burst out crying about that!” remarked Jerry easily. -“Five thousand is some money, and the Chicago shark was glad enough to -have the check disappear from the police safe. You were stewed when you -wrote the check; and besides, it was a crooked game. Forget it; that’s -all!” He stretched himself and yawned. “Can I do anything for you?” - -“It seems to me,” said Copeland, “that you’ve done about enough for -me for one day,--kept me out of jail and then saved me five thousand -dollars!” - -“We do what we can,” replied Jerry. “Keep us posted and when in doubt -make the high sign. You’d better keep mum about the check. The deputy -prosecutor’s a friend of mine and I don’t want to get him into trouble.” - -“It makes me feel a little better about that check to know that it -wasn’t good when I gave it,” remarked Copeland dryly. “I’ve only got -about a hundred in bank according to my stubs.” - -“I was just thinking,” said Jerry, playing with the curtain cord, “as -I came down from the police court, that five thousand per night swells -the overhead considerable. This isn’t a kick; I just mention it.” - -Copeland paused in the act of drawing on his coat to bestow a -searching glance upon his employee. He shook himself into the coat and -rested his hand on the brass bedpost. - -“What’s the odds?” he asked harshly. “I’m undoubtedly going to hell and -a thousand or two, here and there--” - -“Why are you going?” asked Jerry, tying a loop in the curtain cord. - -Copeland was not prepared for this; he didn’t at once correlate -Amidon’s question with his own remark that had inspired it. - -“Oh, the devil!” he ejaculated impatiently; and then he smiled ruefully -as he realized that there was a certain appositeness in his rejoinder. - -The relations of employer and employee had been modified by the -incidents of the night and morning. Copeland imagined that he was -something of a hero to his employees, and that Jerry probably viewed -the night’s escapade as one of the privileges enjoyed by the more -favored social class. Possibly in his own way Amidon was guilty of -reprehensible dissipations and therefore disposed to be tolerant of -other men’s shortcomings. At any rate, the young fellow had got him -out of a bad scrape, and he meant to do something for him to show his -gratitude. - -“Well, a man’s got to let loose occasionally,” he said, as he began -collecting his toilet articles. - -“I suppose he has,” Amidon admitted without enthusiasm. - -“I guess I ought to cut out these midnight parties and get down to -business,” said Copeland, as though recent history called for some such -declaration of his intentions. - -“Well, it’s up to you,” Jerry replied. “You can let ’er slide if you -want to.” - -“You mean that the house is sliding already?” Copeland asked. - -“It’s almost worse than a slide, if you want to know. But I didn’t come -here to talk about that. There’s plenty of others can tell you more -about the business than I can.” - -“But they don’t,” said Copeland, frowning; “I suppose--I suppose maybe -they’re afraid to.” - -“I guess that’s right, too,” Jerry affirmed. - -“Well, you’re in a position to learn what’s going on. I want to push -you ahead. I hope you understand that.” - -“Oh, you treat me all right,” said Jerry, but in a tone that Copeland -didn’t find cheering. - -“I mean to treat everybody right at the store,” declared Copeland -virtuously. “If any of the boys have a kick I want them to come -straight to me with it.” - -Jerry laid his hand on the door ready for flight and regarded Copeland -soberly. - -“The only kick’s on you, if you can bear to hear it. Everybody around -the place knows you’re not on the job; every drayman in the district -knows you’re out with a paintbrush every night, and the solid men -around town are saying it’s only a matter of time till you go broke. -And the men down at the store are sore about it; it means that one of -these mornings there’ll be a new shift and they’re likely to be out of -a job. Some of them have been there a long time, and they don’t like to -see the old business breaking down. And some of them, I guess, sort o’ -like you and hate to see you slipping over the edge.” - -During this speech Copeland stood with his cigarette-case half opened -in his hand, looking hard at the top button on Amidon’s coat. - -“Well,” he said, thrusting a cigarette into his mouth and tilting it -upwards with his lips while he felt for a match, “go on and hand me the -rest of it.” - -“I guess that’s about all from me,” replied Jerry, “except if you want -to bounce me right now, go ahead, only--let’s don’t have any hard -feeling.” - -Copeland made no reply, and Jerry went out and closed the door. Then -in a moment he opened it, saw Copeland staring out across the roofs in -deep preoccupation, and remarked, deferentially:-- - -“I’ll carry your bag down, sir. Shall I order a taxi?” - -“Never mind,” said Copeland, with affected carelessness; “I’ll attend -to it. I’m going to the store.” - - - - -CHAPTER X - -THE AMBITIONS OF MR. AMIDON - - -No other branch of commerce is as fascinating as the wholesale drug -business. A drug stock embraces ten thousand small items, and the -remote fastnesses of the earth are raked to supply its necessities. -The warehouses are redolent of countless scents that pique a healthy -curiosity; poppy and mandragora and all the drowsy sirups of the world -are enlisted in its catalogue. How superior to the handling of the -grosser commodities of the wholesale grocery line! How infinitely more -delightful than distributing clanging hardware or scattering broadcast -the unresponsive units of the dry-goods trade! - -Such, at least, were Jerry Amidon’s opinions. Jerry knew his way around -the store--literally. He could find the asafœtida without sniffing his -way to it. He had acquired a working knowledge of the pharmacopœia, and -under Eaton’s guidance he purchased a Latin grammar and a dictionary, -over which he labored diligently in the midnight hours. His curiosity -was insatiable; he wanted to know things! - -“Assistant to the President” was the title bestowed upon him by -his fellow employees. By imperceptible degrees he had grown into -a confidential relationship with Copeland that puzzled the whole -establishment. The latest shifts had been unusually productive of -friction, and Amidon had found his new position under the credit man -wholly uncomfortable. Having asserted his authority, Copeland gave no -heed to the results. The credit man was an old employee, very jealous -of his prerogatives, and he had told Jerry in blunt terms that he had -nothing for him to do. The auditor thereupon pounced upon him and set -him to work checking invoices. - -Jerry wrote a good hand and proved apt, and as a result of this contact -with the office he absorbed a vast amount of information pertaining -to the business to which, strictly speaking, he was not entitled. -Copeland, seeing him perched on a stool in the counting-room, asked -him what he was doing there, and when Jerry replied that he was just -helping out for a day or two, Copeland remarked ironically that he -guessed he’d better stay there; that he’d been thinking for some time -that fresh blood was needed in that department. - -No one else entered Copeland’s office with so much assurance. If Jerry -hadn’t been so amiable, so willing to help any one who called for his -assistance, he would have been cordially hated; but Jerry was a likable -fellow. He prided himself on keeping cheerful on blue Mondays when -everybody else about the place was in the doldrums. - -The auditor sent him to the bank frequently, and he experienced a -pleasurable sensation in walking briskly across the lobby of the -Western National. He knew many of the clerks he saw immured in the -cages; some of them were members of the Little Ripple Club, and he made -a point of finding out just what they did, and incidentally the amount -of their salaries, which seemed disgracefully inadequate; he was doing -quite as well himself. He liked to linger in the bank lobby and talk to -people. He had hit on the happy expedient of speaking to men whether -he knew them or not; he argued that in time they would ask who he was, -which was a surer way of impressing himself upon them than through -formal introductions. - -Ambition stirred in the bosom of Jeremiah A. Amidon. He lavished his -admiration upon the “big” men of the “street”--in the main they were -hard workers, and he was pretty well persuaded of the virtue and reward -of industry. - -Nearly all the leading manufacturers and merchants were stockholders -in banks. The fact that Copeland enjoyed no such distinction troubled -Jerry. He studied the stock-list, hoping to see something some day that -he could buy. - -The local stock exchange consisted of three gentlemen calling -themselves brokers. Whenever they met by chance on the steps of the -Western National or in a trolley going home, the exchange was in -session. The “list” must be kept active, and when there were no -transfers the brokers could trade a few shares with one another to -establish a price. These agitations of the local bourse would be duly -reported on the market page of the newspapers--all but the number of -shares changing hands! “A better tone prevailing”; “brisk demand for -tractions”; “lively trading in industrials” would soberly greet the eye -of students of local financial conditions. - -Foreman, one of the brokers, who had been haunting the store for -several days looking for Copeland, accosted Jerry in the bank one -afternoon. - -“Your boss doesn’t sit on his job much,” Foreman remarked. “I’m getting -tired chasing him.” - -“He’s off motoring with Kinney--they’re looking for a place to start -another cement mill. Why don’t you call for me when you honor the -house?” - -“Oh, my business with Copeland is too trifling to trouble you about,” -the broker remarked ironically. “You haven’t any money, have you?” - -Jerry bent his ear to catch the jingle of coin inside the cages. - -“Oh, if you want to borrow, Copeland-Farley ain’t a pawnshop.” - -“I guess C-F doesn’t _lend_ much; it’s the biggest borrower on the -street,” said Foreman. - -“Every big jobber is a heavy borrower. It’s a part of the game,” Jerry -replied. Foreman’s anxiety to find Copeland had piqued his curiosity. -“Of course, if your business with the boss can wait--” - -“It’s a trifling matter, that will probably annoy him when I mention -it. I’ve got twenty shares of Copeland-Farley for sale. I thought he -might want to pick ’em up.” - -“Must be a mistake,” replied Jerry indifferently; “there’s never any of -our stock for sale.” - -“No; I suppose you’ve got most of it yourself downstairs in the safety -vault!” - -“Come through and pour the dope!” said Jerry, grinning cheerfully. - -“Well, I’ve got ’em all right. An old party named Reynolds up at Fort -Wayne had twenty shares and his executors wrote me that Copeland ought -to have a chance to buy ’em. I’ve worn myself out trying to find your -boss. I don’t know who’d buy if he didn’t. The things you hear about -your house are a little bit scary: trade falling off; head of the -company drinking, gambling, monkeying with outside things, like Kinney -cement--” - -“Well, well!” Jerry chirruped; “you’re just chuck full of sad tidings.” - -“Of course, you know it all; but maybe you don’t know that Corbin & -Eichberg are cutting into your business. There will be an involuntary -consolidation one of these days and Copeland-Farley will be painted off -the sign.” - -“You’re the best little booster I’ve heard sing this week! What’ll you -take for the stock?” - -“Par.” - -“Sold! Bring your papers here to-morrow at two and I’ll give you the -money.” - -Jerry had heard some one say that it was what you can do without money -that proves your mettle in business. He had one thousand dollars, that -represented the savings of his lifetime. The second thousand necessary -to complete the purchase he borrowed of Eaton--who made the advance not -without much questioning. - -“Very careless on Copeland’s part, but to be expected of a man who -takes only a fitful interest in his business. You have about one -thousand dollars! All right; I’ll lend you what you need to buy the -stock. But keep this to yourself; don’t turn in the old certificate for -a new one--not at present. Wait and see what happens. Copeland needs -discipline, and he will probably get it. Kinney and Copeland seeing -much of each other?” - -“Well, they’re off on a business trip together.” - -“I mean social affairs. They haven’t been driving peaceful citizens -away from the Country Club by their cork-popping quite so much, have -they? I thought not; that’s good. The general reform wave may hit them -yet.” - -“On the dead, I think Copeland’s trying to cut out the early morning -parties,” said Jerry earnestly. “He’s taken a brace.” - -“If he doesn’t want to die in the poorhouse at the early age of fifty, -he’d better!” Eaton brushed an imaginary speck off his cuff as he -asked, “How much did your boss give you of the five thousand you got -back for him out of that poker game?” - -Amidon fidgeted and colored deeply. - -“Just another of these fairy stories!” - -“Your attempt to feign ignorance is laudable, Amidon. But my -information is exact. Rather neat, particularly lifting him right out -of the patrol wagon, so to speak. And recovering the check; creditable -to your tact--highly so!” - -Jerry grinned. - -“Oh, it was dead easy! You see, after helping the gang lick you in the -primaries last May, they couldn’t go back on me.” - -“If you turned your influence to nobler use, this would be a very -different world! Let us go back to that Corrigan matter--you remember?” -asked Eaton, filling his pipe. “You probably noticed that the gentleman -who was arrested for murder down there was duly convicted. His lawyer -didn’t do him much good. No wonder! I never saw a case more miserably -handled--stupid beyond words.” - -“You wasn’t down there!” exclaimed Jerry, sitting up straight. - -“_Were_, not _was_, Amidon! I should think you’d know I’d been in the -wilderness from my emaciated appearance. Believe I did say I was going -to Pittsburg, but I took the wrong train. Met some nice chaps while I -was down there,--one or two friends of yours, road agents, pirates, -commercial travelers, drummers,--I beg your pardon!” - -Jerry was moved to despair. He would never be able to surround himself -with the mystery or practice the secrecy that he found so fascinating -in Eaton. He had not imagined that the lawyer would bother himself -further about Corrigan. He had read of the conviction without emotion, -but it would never have occurred to him that a man so busy as Eaton or -so devoted to the comforts of life would spend three days in Belleville -merely to watch the trial of a man in whom he had only the remotest -interest. - -“They soaked him for manslaughter. I guess he got off easy!” - -“He did, indeed,” replied Eaton. “When did you see Nan last?” - -“I’ve been there once since you took me, and the old man sent down word -he wanted to see me. He was feeling good and lit into me about the -store. Wanted to know about everything. Some of the fellows Copeland -has kicked out have been up crying on Farley’s doorstep and he asked -me how the boss came to let them go. He sent Nan out of the room so he -could cuss better. He’s sure some cusser!” - -“Amidon!” Eaton beat his knuckles on the desk sharply, “remember you -are speaking English!” - -“You’d better give me up,” moaned Jerry, crestfallen. - -“You are doing well. With patience and care you will improve the -quality of your diction. No reference to the Corrigan matter, I -suppose,--either by Farley or Nan?” - -“Not a word. It was the night I read about the end of the trial, but -nothing was said about it.” - -“She needn’t have worried,” Eaton remarked. “She was a very foolish -little girl to have drawn her money out of the bank to hand over to a -crooked lawyer.” - -“I suppose you coaxed the money back--” - -“Certainly not! It might have been amusing to gather Harlowe in for -blackmail; but you can see that it would have involved no end of -newspaper notoriety; most disagreeable. I had the best opportunities -for observing that fellow in his conduct of the case; in fact, I had -a letter to the judge and he asked me to sit with him on the bench. -There’s little in the life or public services of Jason E. Harlowe that -I don’t know.” He lifted his eyes to the solid wall of file-boxes. -“H-66 is filled with data. Jason E. Harlowe,” he repeated musingly. “If -I should die to-night, kindly direct my executor to observe that box -particularly.” - -“I’ve heard of him; he ran for the legislature last year and got -licked.” - -“By two hundred and sixteen votes,” added Eaton. - -“What’s your guess about that thousand bucks? Corrigan must have put -Harlowe up to it.” - -“He did not,” replied Eaton, peering for a moment into the bowl of his -pipe. “It was Mr. Harlowe’s idea--strictly so. And I’m ready for him -in case he shows his hand again. Farley has some relations down that -way, a couple of cousins at Lawrenceburg. Do you follow me? Harlowe -may have something bigger up his sleeve. He ranges the whole Indiana -shore of the Ohio; business mostly criminal. The more I’ve thought of -that thousand-dollar episode, the less I’ve liked it. I take a good -deal of interest in Nan, you know. She’s a little brash and needs a -helping hand occasionally. Not that I’m called upon to stand _in loco -parentis_, but there’s something mighty appealing in her. For fear you -may misunderstand me, I assure you that I am not in love with her, or -in danger of being; but her position is difficult and made the more -so by her impulsive, warm-hearted nature. And it has told against -her a little that the Farleys were never quite admitted to the inner -circle here. This is a peculiar town, you know, Amidon, and there’s a -good deal of caste feeling--deplorable but true! You and I are sturdy -democrats and above such prejudices, but there are a few people amongst -us who never forget what you may call their position. Unfortunate, but -it’s here and to be reckoned with.” - -“Well, I guess Nan’s as good as any of them,” said Amidon doggedly. - -“She is! But it’s the elemental strain in her that makes her -interesting. She’s of the race that believes in fairies; we have to -take that into account.” - -Amidon nodded soberly. He had seen nothing in Nan to support this -proposition that she believed in fairies, but the idea pleased him. - -Eaton’s way of speaking of women was another thing that impressed -Jerry. It was always with profound respect, and this was unfamiliar -enough in Jerry’s previous existence; but combined with this -reverential attitude was a chivalrous anxiety to serve or protect them. -The girls Jerry had known, or the ones he particularly admired, were -those endowed with a special genius for taking care of themselves. - -“Nan,” Eaton was saying, “needs plenty of air. She has suffered from -claustrophobia in her life with the Farleys. Oh, yes; claustrophobia--” - -He paused to explain the meaning of the word, which Jerry scribbled -on an envelope that he might remember it and use it somewhere when -opportunity offered. - -“I’m glad Farley talked to you. You will find that he will ask to see -you again, but be careful what you say to him about the store. He’ll be -anxious to worm information out of you, but he’s the sort to distrust -you if you seemed anxious to talk against the house or the head of it, -much as he may dislike him.” - -“I guess that’s right,” said Jerry. “He asked about the customers on -the route I worked last year and seemed to know them all--even to the -number of children in the family.” - -“You’ve been back once since we called together? Anybody else -around--any signs that Nan is receiving social attentions?” - -“I didn’t see any. She’d been reading ‘Huck Finn’ to the old gent when -I dropped in.” - -“Isolated life; not wholesome. A girl like that needs to have people -about her.” - -“Well,” Jerry ejaculated, “she doesn’t need a scrub like me! I felt -ashamed of myself for going; and had to walk around the block about -seven times before I got my nerve up to go in. It’s awful, going into a -house like that, and waiting for the coon to go off to see whether the -folks want to see you or not.” - -“The trepidation you indicate is creditable to you, Amidon. Your social -instincts are crude but sound. Should you say, as a student of mankind -and an observer of life, that Nan is pining away with a broken heart?” - -“Well, hardly; she was a lot cheerfuler than she was that first time, -when you went with me.” - -“Thanks for the compliment! Of course, you get on better without me. -’Twas always thus! Well, that first time was hardly a fair example of -my effect upon womankind. The air was surcharged with electricity; Nan -had made a trifling error of judgment and had been brought promptly to -book. I’ve always rather admired people who follow their impulses; -it’s my disposition to examine my own under the microscope. Don’t check -yourself too much: I find your spontaneity refreshing, particularly -now that your verbs and nouns are more nearly in agreement. You say -Copeland and Kinney are off motoring, to look at a new factory?” He -lifted his eyes to one of the file-boxes absently. “I wish they’d wait -till we get rid of that suit over Kinney’s patents before they spread -out. The case ought to be decided soon and there are times--” - -He rose quickly, walked to the shelves and drew down a volume in -which he instantly became absorbed. Then he went back to his desk and -refilled his pipe deliberately. - -“I think,” he remarked, “that we shall win the case; but you never can -tell. By the way, what is your impartial judgment of the merits of -Corbin & Eichberg--rather wide-awake fellows, aren’t they?” - -As Jerry began to express scorn by a contemptuous curl of the lip and -an outward gesture of his stiffened palm, Eaton reprimanded him sharply. - -“Speak judicially; no bluster; none of this whang about their handling -inferior goods. The fact is they are almost offensively prosperous and -carry more traveling men after ten years’ business than Copeland-Farley -with thirty years behind them.” - -“Well,” Jerry replied meekly, “I guess they are cutting in a little; -Eichberg had made a lot of money before he went into drugs and they’ve -got more capital than C-F.” - -“That increases the danger of the competition. Eichberg is a pretty -solid citizen. For example, he’s a director in the Western National.” - -“I guess that won’t help him sell any drugs,” said Amidon, who resented -this indirect praise of Corbin & Eichberg. - -“Not directly; no.” And Eaton dropped the subject with a finality Jerry -felt bound to accept. - -Foreman had intimated that in due course Copeland-Farley would -be absorbed by Corbin & Eichberg; possibly the same calamity was -foreshadowed in Eaton’s speculations. - -Before he returned to his boarding-house Jerry strolled into the -jobbing district and stood for some time on the sidewalk opposite -Copeland-Farley’s store. His twenty shares of stock gave him an exalted -sense of proprietorship. He was making progress; he was a stockholder -in a corporation. But it was a corporation that was undoubtedly going -to the bad. - -It was quite true that Corbin & Eichberg were making heavy inroads -upon Copeland-Farley trade. They were broadening the field of their -operations and developing territory beyond the farthest limits to which -Copeland-Farley had extended local drug jobbing. It was not a debatable -matter that if Copeland persisted in his evil courses the business -would go by the board. - -Copeland hadn’t been brought up to work; that was his trouble, Jerry -philosophized. And yet Copeland was doing better. As Jerry thought of -him his attitude became paternal. He grinned as he became conscious of -his dreams of attempting--he, Jeremiah Amidon--to pull Billy Copeland -back from the pit for which he seemed destined, and save the house of -Copeland-Farley from ruin. - -He crossed the street, found the private watchman sitting in the open -door half asleep, roused him, and gave him a cigar he had purchased for -the purpose. - -Then he walked away whistling cheerfully and beating the walk with his -stick. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -CANOEING - - -Life began to move more briskly for Nan. She was not aware that certain -invitations that reached her were due to a few words carefully spoken -in safe quarters by Eaton. - -One of the first large functions of the dawning season was a tea given -by Mrs. Harrington for a visitor. Mrs. Harrington not only asked Nan -to assist, but she extended the invitation personally in the Farley -parlor, much to Nan’s astonishment. - -One or two young gentlemen who had paid Nan attentions when she first -came home from school looked her up again. John Cecil Eaton was highly -regarded by the younger men he met at the University Club, and was -not without influence. A reference to Nan as an unusual person; some -saying of hers, quoted carelessly at the round table, was instrumental -in directing attention anew to her as a girl worth knowing. If any -one said, “How’s her affair with Copeland going?” Eaton would retort, -icily, that it wasn’t going; that there never had been anything in it -but shameless gossip. - -Jerry now reserved his Thursday evenings for Nan: not for any -particular reason except that Eaton had taken him to the Farleys on a -Thursday and from sentimental considerations he consecrated the day -to repetitions of the visit. Nan was immensely kind to him; it was -incredible that a girl so separated from him by immeasurable distances -should be so cordial, so responsive to his overtures of friendship. -Once she sent him a note--the frankest, friendliest imaginable note--to -say that on a particular Thursday evening she could not see him. His -disappointment was as nothing when weighed against his joy that she -recognized his claim upon that particular evening and took the trouble -to explain that the nurse would be out and that she would be too busy -with Farley to see him. He replied with flowers--which brought him -another note. - -He had laid before her all his plans for self-improvement and her -encouragement was even more stimulating than Eaton’s. She fell at times -into a maternal attitude toward him, scolding and lecturing him, and he -was meek under her criticism. - -Nan felt more at home with him than with any other young man who -called on her. With some of these, whose mothers and sisters had been -treating her coldly, she felt herself to be playing a part--trying to -assume a dignity that was not naturally hers in order that they might -give a good account of her at home. With Jerry she could be herself -without dissimulation. When it came to mothers, he remembered her -mother perfectly and she remembered his. In a sense she and Jerry were -allies, engaged in accommodating themselves to a somewhat questioning -if not hostile atmosphere. In all her acquaintance he was the one -person who could make the necessary allowances for her, who was able to -give her full credit for her good intentions. - -On his seventh call he summoned courage to ask her to join him on a -Saturday afternoon excursion on the river. - -“The foliage is unusually beautiful this year,” he suggested with his -air of quoting, “and it’ll be too cold for canoeing pretty soon.” - -“I’m afraid--” Nan began. - -“I knew you’d say that; but you’re as safe in my boat as in your own -rocking-chair.” - -“I wasn’t going to say that,” laughed Nan. “I was going to say that I -was afraid you wouldn’t enjoy the foliage so much if I were along.” - -He saw that she was laughing at him. Nan and Eaton were the only -persons whose mirth he suffered without resentment. - -“I’ll have to ask papa about it; or maybe you’ll ask him.” - -“I’ve already asked him.” - -“When did you ask him?” - -“About ten minutes ago, just before I came downstairs. I told him two -good stories and then shot it in quick. He said he thought it would do -you good!” - -“I like your nerve! Why didn’t you ask me first?” - -“Because it was much more proper for me to open negotiations with the -man higher up. I hope you appreciate my delicacy,” he added, in Eaton’s -familiar, half-mocking tone, which he had caught perfectly. - -“You’re so thoughtful I suppose you’ve also arranged for a chaperone?” - -“The canoe,” he replied, “is more comfortable for two.” - -“Two have been in it rather often, I suppose.” - -“Yes; but that was last summer. I’ve seen everything different this -season. I practiced casting on a day in June and met with an experience -that has changed the whole current of my life.” - -“I hope it changed your luck with the rod! You got snagged on -everything that would hold a hook, but I must say that you bore your -troubles in a sweet spirit.” - -“I learned that early in the game. Even if you refused my invitation -I’d try to bear up under it.” - -“I think I’ll decline, then, just to see how you take it.” - -“Well, it’s only polite to say it would be a blow. I have a pocketful -of strychnine and it might be unpleasant to have me die on the -doorstep.” - -“I could stand that probably better than the neighbors could. You’d -better try a poison that’s warranted not to kill on the premises.” - -Jerry tortured himself with speculations as to whether he should hire -a taxi to transport them to the Little Ripple Club, but finally -decided against it as an unwarranted extravagance, calculated to arouse -suspicion in the mind of Farley. However, when he reached the house at -two o’clock on Saturday, Nan announced that the nurse was taking her -place as Farley’s companion for his regular drive and that they would -carry them to the club. This arrangement caused his breast to swell. - -“That will give my credit a big boost; you’ll see a lot of the boys -drop dead when we roll up with Uncle Tim.” - -Farley alighted to inspect the clubhouse and the fleet of canoes that -bobbed at the landing. It was a great day for Jerry. - -“There’s something nice about a river,” said Nan, as Jerry sent his -maroon-colored craft far out into the stream. “Ever since I came away -I’ve missed the old river at Belleville.” - -This was one of the things he liked about Nan. She referred often to -her childhood, and it even seemed that she spoke of it with a certain -wistfulness. - -“The last girl I had out here,” Jerry said as he plied his blade, “was -Katie McCarthy, who works in the County Treasurer’s office--mighty -responsible job. I used to know Katie when she stenogged at four per -for a punk lawyer, but I knew she was better than that, so I pulled a -few wires and got her into the court-house. Katie could be cashier in -a bank--she’s that smart! No; not much to look at. I studied Katie’s -case a good deal, and she’d never make any headway in offices where -they’d rather have a yellow-haired girl who overdresses the part and is -always slipping out for a retouch with the chamois. It’s hard to find a -job for girls like Katie; their only chance is some place where they’ve -got to have a girl with brains. These perfumed office darlings, that’s -just got to go to vaudeville every Monday night so they can talk about -it the rest of the week, never get anywhere.” - -“My heart warms to Katie. I wonder,” murmured Nan lazily, as Jerry -neatly negotiated a shallow passage between two sandbars, “if I had to -do it--I wonder how much I could earn a week.” - -“Oh, I guess you’d make good all right. You’ve got brains and I’ve -never caught you touching up your complexion.” - -“Which isn’t any sign I don’t,” she laughed. “I’ve all the necessary -articles right here in my sweater pocket.” - -“Well, somebody has to use the talcum; we handle it in carload lots. -It’s one of the Copeland-Farley specialties I used to brag about -easiest when I bore the weighty sample-case down the line. It was a -good stunt to ask the druggist to introduce me to some of the girls -that’s always loafing round the soda-counter in country-town drug -stores, and I’d hand ’em out a box and ask ’em to try it on right -there. It cheered up the druggist and the girls would help me pull a -bigger order than I’d get on my own hook. A party like that on a sleepy -afternoon in a pill-shop would lift the sky-line considerable.” - -“Well, if you saw me in a drug store wrestling with a chocolate sundae -and had your sample-case open and were trying to coax an order out of a -druggist, just how would you approach me?” - -“I wouldn’t!” he responded readily. “I’d get your number on the quiet -and walk past your house when your mother was sitting on the porch all -alone, darning socks, and I’d beg her pardon and say that, having heard -that her daughter was the most beautiful girl in town, Copeland-Farley -had sent me all the way from the capital to ask her please to accept, -with the house’s compliments, a gross of our Faultless Talcum. If -mother didn’t ask me to supper, it would be a sign that I hadn’t put it -over.” - -“But if father appeared with a shotgun--” - -“I’d tell him it was the closed season for drummers, and invite him -down to the hotel for a game of billiards.” - -“You think you always have the answer, don’t you?” she taunted. - -“I don’t think it; I’ve got to know it!” - -“Well, I haven’t seen you miss fire yet. My trouble is,” she -deliberated, touching the water lightly with her hand, “that I don’t -have the answer most of the time.” - -“I’ve noticed it sometimes,” replied Jerry, looking at her quickly. - -It was unseasonably warm, and he drove the canoe on to a sandy shore -in the shade of the bank. He had confessed to himself that at times, -even in their juvenile badgering, Nan baffled him. From the beginning -of their acquaintance he had noted abrupt changes of mood that puzzled -him. Occasionally, in the midst of the aimless banter in which they -engaged, she would cease to respond and a far-away look would come into -her violet eyes. One of these moods was upon her now. - -“Do you remember the shanty-boat people down along the river? I used -to think it would be fun to live like that. I still feel that way -sometimes.” - -“Oh,” he answered indulgently, “I guess everybody has a spell of that -now and then, when you just want to sort of loaf along, and fish a -little when you’re hungry, and trust to luck for a handout at some back -door when you’re too lazy to bait the hook. That feeling gets hold -of me lots of times; but I shake it off pretty soon. You don’t get -anywhere loafing; the people that get along have got to hustle. Cecil -says we can’t just mark time in this world. We either go ahead or slide -back.” - -“Well, I’m a slider--if you can slide without ever getting up very far!” - -“Look here,” he said, drawing in the paddle and fixing his eyes upon -her intently, “you said something like that the first night Cecil -took me up to see you, and you’ve got a touch of it again; but it’s -the wrong talk. I’m going to hand it to you straight, because I guess -I’ve got more nerve than anybody else you know: you haven’t got a -kick coming, and you want to cut all that talk. Uncle Tim gets cross -sometimes, but you don’t want to worry about that too much. He used to -be meaner than fleas at the store sometimes, but the boys never worried -about it. He’s all sound inside, and if he riles you the best thing to -do is to forget it. You can’t please him all the time, but you can most -of the time, and it’s up to you to do it. Now, tell me to jump in the -river if you want to, but it was in my system and I had to get it out.” - -“Oh, I know I ought to be grateful; but I’m wrong some way.” - -“You’re all right,” he declared. “Your trouble is you don’t have enough -to do. You ought to get interested in something--something that would -keep you busy and whistling all the time.” - -“I _don’t_ have enough to do; I know that,” she assented. - -“Well, you ought to go in good and strong for something; that’s the -only ticket. Let’s get out and climb the bank and walk awhile.” - -She had lost her bearings on the river, but when they had clambered to -the top of the bank she found that they were near the Kinneys’. The -road was a much-frequented highway, and she was sorry now that they had -left the canoe; but Jerry, leading the way along a rough path that -clung close to the river, continued to philosophize, wholly unconscious -of the neighborhood’s associations for Nan. - -Where the margin between the river and the road widened they sat on a -log while Jerry amplified his views of life, with discreet applications -to Nan’s case as he understood it. He was a cheery and hopeful soul, -and in the light of her knowledge of him she marveled at his clear -understanding of things. He confided to her that he meant to get on; he -wanted to be somebody. She was wholly sympathetic and told him that he -had already done a great deal; he had done a lot better than she had; -and it counted for more because no one had helped him. - -As they passed the Kinneys’ on their way back to the canoe, a roadster -whizzed out of the gate and turned toward town. They both recognized -Copeland. As he passed, his eyes fell upon them carelessly; then he -glanced back and slowed down. - -“Now we’re in for it!” said Nan uncomfortably. - -“I guess I’m the one that’s in for it,” returned Jerry ruefully. - -Copeland left his car at the roadside and walked rapidly toward them. -He nodded affably to Jerry and extended his hand eagerly to Nan. - -“This is great good luck! Grace is at home; why didn’t you come in?” - -“Oh, Mr. Amidon is showing me the river; we just left the canoe to -come up for a view from the bank.” - -“Why not come back to Kinneys’; I want to see you; and this is a fine -chance to have a talk.” - -Jerry walked away and began throwing pebbles into the river. - -“I can’t do that. And I can’t talk to you here. Papa drove me out and -he’s likely to come back this way.” - -“You seem to be pretty chummy with that clerk of mine,” Copeland -remarked. - -“I am; it began about sixteen years ago,” she answered, with a laugh. -“We rose from the same ash-dump.” - -He frowned, not comprehending. She was about to turn away when he began -speaking rapidly:-- - -“You’ve got to hear me, Nan! I haven’t bothered you for a long time; -you’ve treated me pretty shabbily after all there’s been between us; -but you can square all that now. I’m in the deepest kind of trouble. -Farley deliberately planned to ruin me and he’s about done it! I’ve -paid him off, but I had to pledge half my stock in the store with the -Western National to raise the money, and now my notes are due there and -they’re going to pinch me. Eichberg is a director in the bank and he -means to buy in that stock--you can see the game. Corbin & Eichberg are -scheming to wipe me out and combine the two houses. And Farley’s put -them up to it!” - -His face twisted nervously as he talked. He was thinner than when -she saw him last, but he bore no marks of hard living. His story was -plausible; Farley had told her a month ago that he had got his money -out of Copeland, but it hadn’t occurred to her that the loan might have -been paid with money borrowed elsewhere. - -“Of course, you won’t lose the business, Billy. It wouldn’t be square -to treat you that way.” - -“Square! I tell you it was all framed up, and I’ve reason to know that -Farley stands in with them. It’s a fine revenge he’s taking on me for -daring to love you!” - -She shook her head and drew further away from him. - -“Now, Billy, none of that! That’s all over.” - -“No; it isn’t over! You know it isn’t, Nan! I’ve missed you; it cut -me deep when you dropped me. You let Farley tell you I was all bad -and going to the dogs and you didn’t even give me a chance to defend -myself. I tell you I’ve suffered hell’s torments since I saw you last. -But now I want you to tell me you do care. Please, dear--” - -His voice broke plaintively. She shook her head. - -“Of course we were good friends, Billy; but you knew we had to quit. It -was wrong all the time--you knew that as well as I do.” - -“I don’t see what was wrong about it! It can’t be wrong for a man -to love a woman as I love you! If you hadn’t cared, it would be a -different story, but you did, Nan! And you’re not the girl I know you -to be if you’ve changed in these few weeks. I’ve got a big fight on and -I want you to stand by me. Kinney’s in all kinds of trouble with the -cement business. If he goes down, I’m ruined. But even at that you can -help me make a new start. It will mean everything to have your love and -help.” - -He saw that his appeal had touched her. She was silent a moment. - -“This won’t do, Billy; I can’t stand here talking to you; but I’m sorry -for your troubles. I can’t believe you’re right about papa trying to -injure you; he’s too fond of the old business for that. But we were -good pals--you and I. I’ll try to think of some way to help.” - -He caught her hands roughly. - -“I need you; you know I love you! Farley’s told you I want to marry you -for his money; but you can’t tell anything about him. Very likely he’ll -cut you out, anyhow; he’s likely to do that very thing.” - -She lifted her head and defiance shone for an instant in her eyes. - -“I’ll let you hear from me within a week; I must have time-- But keep -up your spirits, Billy!” - -The distant honking of a motor caused her to turn away quickly. Amidon -had settled himself halfway down the bank and she called to him and -began the descent.... - -If Jerry had expressed his feelings he would have said that Copeland’s -appearance had given him a hard jar. It was annoying, just when -you have reached the highest aim of your life, to have your feet -knocked from under you. To have your boss spoil your afternoon with -the prettiest girl in town was not only disagreeable, but it roused -countless apprehensions. - -For the afternoon _was_ spoiled. Nan’s efforts to act as though -nothing had happened were badly simulated, and finding that she lapsed -frequently into long reveries, Jerry paddled doggedly back to the -clubhouse. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -LAST WILLS AND TESTAMENTS - - -From the beginning of his infirmities Farley’s experiments in -will-writing had taxed the patience of Thurston, his lawyer. Within -two years he had made a dozen wills, and he kept them for comparison -in a secret drawer of Mrs. Farley’s old sewing-table in his room. -He penciled cryptic marks on the various envelopes for ease of -identification, and he was influenced often by the most trivial -circumstances in his revisions. If Nan irritated him, he cut down her -legacy; when things went happily, he increased it. He was importuned -to make bequests to great numbers of institutions, by men and women he -knew well, and his attitude toward these changed frequently. There was -hardly a phase of the laws of descent that Thurston had not explained -to him. - -A few days after her river excursion, the colored man-of-all-work -handed Nan an envelope that had dropped from Farley’s dressing-gown as -it hung on a clothes-line in the backyard for its periodical sunning. -The envelope was unsealed. In the upper left-hand corner was the name -and address of Thurston and in the center were four small crosses in -pencil. Nan thrust it into a bureau drawer, intending to restore it -to the dressing-gown pocket when she could do so without attracting -Farley’s attention. - -Her eyes fell upon it that night as she was preparing for bed. She laid -it on her dressing-table and studied the queer little crosses as she -brushed her hair. - -Copeland had complained of Farley’s hardness, and if Billy had told -the truth about the plight to which he had been reduced by Farley’s -refusal to renew the last notes for the purchase money, the complaint -was just. She crouched on a low stool before the table and gazed into -the reflection of her eyes. - -She played idly with the envelope, resisting an impulse to open it -for a glance at the paper that crinkled in her fingers. She had been -very “good” lately, and to pry into affairs that Farley had sedulously -kept from her was repugnant to her better nature.... Farley’s abuse -of her on the day of the luncheon, and his rage over her payment of -the thousand dollars for the defense of her brother came back to her -vividly. He had threatened to make it impossible for Billy to profit by -marrying her.... She had a right to know what provision Farley meant -to make for her. If in the end he intended to throw her upon her own -resources or to provide for her in ways that curtailed her liberty, -there was every reason why she should prepare to meet the situation. - -The paper slipped from the envelope and she pressed it open. - - I, Timothy Farley, being of sound mind,-- - -She had never seen a will before, and the unfamiliar phraseology -fascinated her. - - ... in trust for my daughter, Nancy Corrigan Farley, for a period - of twenty years from my decease, or until the death of said Nancy - Corrigan Farley, should said death occur prior to the expiration - of said twenty years, the sum of one hundred thousand dollars. The - income from said sum shall be paid to the said Nancy Corrigan Farley - on the first day of each calendar month.... - -Two hundred thousand dollars he gave outright to the Boys’ Club -Association; fifty thousand to the Children’s Hospital; and ten -thousand each to five other charitable organizations.... - -One hundred thousand dollars in trust! An income of five or six -thousand--less than half the cost of maintaining the Farley -establishment, exclusive of her personal allowance for clothes! And -this was Farley’s idea of providing for her. She had always heard that -the act of adoption conferred all the rights inherent in a child of -the blood; it was inconceivable that Farley would deal in so miserly a -fashion with his own daughter. - -The will was dated June 17, a week after the row over Copeland. She had -heard that Farley’s property approximated a million, and on that basis -she was to pay dearly for that day at the Country Club! - -The trusteeship,--in itself an insult, an advertisement of Farley’s -lack of confidence in her,--was to continue for what might be all -the years of her life, restricting her freedom, fastening hateful -bonds upon her. In case she married and died leaving children, the -trusteeship was continued until they attained their majority. A paltry -hundred thousand, and Farley’s lean hand clutched even that! - -Two hundred thousand for the Boys’ Club--just twice what he gave -her--and without restrictions! The Farleys’ love for her was now -reduced to exact figures. Her foster-father meant to humiliate her -in the eyes of the world by a niggardly bequest. And he had been -protesting his love for her and permitting her to sacrifice herself for -him! - -The revelations of the will reinforced Copeland’s arraignment of Farley -as a harsh and vindictive man, who drove hard bargains and delighted in -vengeance. - -She lay awake for hours, torturing herself into the belief that she was -the most abused of beings. Then her better nature asserted itself. She -reviewed the generosity and kindness of her foster-parents, who had -given her a place in the world to which she felt, humbly, that she was -not entitled. A hundred thousand dollars was more money than she had -any right to expect; and the trusteeship was only a part of Farley’s -kindness--a device for safeguarding and protecting her. - -Then she flew to the other extreme. He had brought her up as his own -child, encouraging a belief that she would inherit his whole fortune, -and now he was cutting her off with something like a tenth and -contemptuously bidding her beg for alms at the door of a trust company! - -She stared into the dark until the light crept through her blinds. Then -she slept until the nurse called her at eight. - -“Mr. Farley’s waiting for you to have breakfast with him; how soon can -you be ready?” - -“Isn’t he so well?” Nan asked quickly. - -“Nothing unusual; but he seemed tired after his ride yesterday and had -a bad night.” - -Nan, sitting up in bed, thrust her hand under her pillow and touched -the will guiltily. - -“I suppose,” she said, as the nurse crossed to the windows and threw -up the shades, “that he may have a relapse at any time. The doctor -prepared me for that. Please order breakfast sent up and tell papa I’ll -be ready in five minutes.” - -In her broodings of the night she had dramatized herself as confronting -him in all manner of situations, but she was reluctant to face him -now. She jumped out of bed, fortified herself for the day with a cold -shower, and presented herself to him in a flowered kimono as the maid -was laying the cloth on the stand by his bed. - -“Well, Nan,” he said wearily, “I hope you had a better night than I -did.” - -“Oh, I don’t need much sleep,” she answered. “Edison says we all sleep -too much, anyhow.” - -“That’s a fool idea. The doctor’s got to give me the dope again if I -have another such night. I guess there wasn’t anything I didn’t think -of. Lyin’ awake is about as near hell as I care to go.” - -The querulousness manifest in the worst period of his illness had -returned. He grumbled at the nurse’s arrangement of his pillows and -asked for a tray in bed, saying he didn’t feel equal to sitting at the -table. - -“You sit there where I can look at you, Nan.” - -She was aglow from her bath and showed no trace of her sleepless night. -It was pathetically evident that her presence brought him pleasure and -relief. He had been very happy of late, accepting fully her assurance -that everything was over between her and Copeland. Her recent social -activities and the fact that some of the “nice people” were showing a -renewed interest in her added to his satisfaction. He bade her talk as -he nibbled his toast and sipped his milk. - -“I read the newspaper an hour ago clear through the births and deaths -and didn’t see anything very cheerful. You been followin’ that Reid -will case up at Cleveland? I guess you don’t read the papers much. -You never did; but you ought to keep posted. Well, that’s a mighty -interestin’ case. I guess the lawyers are goin’ to get all the money. -I knew old Reid, and he was as sane a man as ever lived. There ain’t -much use in a man tryin’ to make a will when they’re sure to tear it to -pieces.” - -Nan looked at him quickly. It was possible that he had missed the will -and was speaking of wills in general as a prelude to pouncing upon her -with a question as to whether she had seen it. But he was not in a -belligerent humor. He went on to explain the legal points involved in -the Reid case. - -“If a lot o’ rascally lawyers get hold o’ my property, I won’t just -turn over in my grave; I’ll keep revolvin’! Reid tried to fix things so -his children wouldn’t squander his money. His daughters married fools -and he wanted to try and protect ’em. And just for that they’ve had the -will set aside on the ground that Reid was crazy.” - -Nan acquiesced in his view of this as an outrage. And she really -believed that it was, as Farley spoke of it. - -“I sometimes wonder whether it ain’t better just to let things go,” he -continued. “I been over this will business with Thurston a thousand -times, and I’m never sure he knows what he’s talkin’ about. Wills made -by the best lawyers in the country seem to break down; there ain’t -nothin’ sure about it.” - -“Well, I wouldn’t worry about that, papa. Mr. Thurston ought to know -about those things if anybody does.” - -Ordinarily he would have combated this, as he combated most emphatic -statements; but his willingness to let it pass unchallenged convinced -her that there had been a sharp change for the worse in his condition. - -It was the way of her contradictory nature to be moved to pity for him -in his weakness, and a wave of tenderness swept her. After all, if he -wished to cut her off with a hundred thousand dollars and give the rest -to charity he had a right to do it. - -She took the tray from the bed, smoothed the covers and passed her cool -hand over his hot forehead. - -“Please, papa,” she said, “don’t bother about business to-day. Miss -Rankin says it’s only a cold, but she’ll have to report it to the -doctor. I’m going to telephone him to drop in this morning.” - -He demurred, but not with his usual venomous tirade against the whole -breed of doctors. - -“All right, Nan,” he said, clinging to her hand. “And I wish you’d tell -Thurston to come in this afternoon. I want to talk to him about some -matters.” - -“Well, we’ll see the doctor first, papa. We can have Mr. Thurston in -any time.” - -She knelt impulsively beside the bed. - -“I want you to know, papa, about wills and things like that, that -I don’t want you to bother about me. I hope we’re going to live on -together for long, long years. And anything you mean to do for me is -all right.” - -She hardly knew herself as she said this. It was an involuntary -utterance; something she could not have imagined herself saying a few -hours earlier as she lay in bed hating him for his meanness. - -“Well, dear, I want to do the right thing by you. It’s worried me a -lot, tryin’ to decide the best way. I don’t want to leave any trouble -behind me for you to settle. And I don’t want to do anything that’ll -make you think hard o’ me. I want to be sure you never come to want: -that’s what’s worried me. I want you to be happy and comfortable, -little girl.” - -“I know you do, papa,” she replied. “But don’t bother about those -things now.” - -The nurse came in to take his temperature. Nan went to her room for -the will and, feigning to be straightening some of the things in his -closet, she thrust the paper into the dressing-gown pocket. - -An hour later the Kinney’s chauffeur left a note from Grace:-- - - Come out this afternoon at any hour you can. Telephone me where - to meet you downtown and I’ll bring you out in the car. I needn’t - explain why, but after Saturday you’ll understand. - -The doctor found nothing alarming in Farley’s condition, but ordered -him to remain in bed for a few days. He said he must have sleep and -prescribed an opiate. - -At three o’clock Nan left the house. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -A KINNEY LARK AND ITS CONSEQUENCES - - -“It’s certainly good to see you again!” Mrs. Kinney exclaimed as Nan -met her by arrangement at a confectioner’s. “How much time are you -going to give me?” - -“Oh, I haven’t any,” laughed Nan. “I’ve run away. Papa isn’t so well -to-day and couldn’t take his drive as usual, so I’m truanting--and very -naughty. I must be back in the house before five.” - -“Well, when I got your message I telephoned Billy to come to the house -and he’ll be there as soon as we are. He’s been in the depths for -weeks. You know you had got a mighty strong hold on dear old Billy, and -when you dropped him it hurt. And we’ve all missed you!” - -The Kinneys and their friends had missed her; they had missed her dash, -her antics--the Nan she had resolved to be no more. But it was pleasant -to be in Mrs. Kinney’s company again. She was a simple, friendly soul -who liked clothes and a good time; her capacity for enjoying anything -serious was wholly negligible. - -“I knew, of course, that Billy was back of your invitation. I saw him -Saturday--quite accidentally, and he was bluer than indigo.” - -“He spent Sunday with us and told us all about meeting you. He was -perfectly furious because you were out skylarking with one of his -clerks! But he got to laughing about it,--told us some funny stories -about your new suitor,--Jerry, is that the name?” - -“Mr. Jeremiah Amidon, please,” laughed Nan. “It was killing that Billy -should find me out canoeing with him. Jerry and I were kids together, -and he’s grown to be a great consolation to me.” - -“He must be a consolation to Billy, too; he says the youngster’s trying -to reform him!” Grace suddenly clasped Nan’s hand. “You ought to take -charge of Billy! He’s awfully in love with you, Nan. He’s going to urge -you to marry him--at once. That’s why--” - -“No! No! I’ll never do it,” cried Nan despairingly. - -It was another of her mistakes, this yielding to Copeland’s demand -for an interview that could have but one purpose. She was thoroughly -angry at herself, half angry at Mrs. Kinney for acting as Copeland’s -intermediary. - -Copeland was pacing the veranda smoking a cigarette when they reached -the house. - -“It’s mighty nice of you to come, Nan,” he said. - -“I’ve heard, Billy, that the haughty John Eaton’s rather attentive to -the late Mrs. Copeland,” said Grace, when they had gathered about the -tea-table. “She was among those present at a little dinner he gave at -the University Club the other night in honor of that English novelist -who’s visiting here.” - -“You’re bitter because he left you out,” said Copeland indifferently. - -“Oh, my bitterness won’t hurt Fanny. I suppose you’ve heard that she’s -come into a nice bunch of money--something like a quarter of a million!” - -Copeland’s surprise was evident. - -“That sounds like a fairy story; but I hope it’s true.” - -“I know it’s true,” said Nan quietly. “Mrs. Copeland told me herself.” - -Mrs. Kinney had risen to leave them and Copeland had crossed the room -to open the door for her. They were arrested by Nan’s surprising -confirmation of this report that Mrs. Copeland had come into an -unexpected inheritance. Nan vouchsafed nothing more; and at a glance -from Copeland Grace left them. - -“I didn’t know you and Fanny were seeing each other these days,” he -remarked as he sat down beside her. “Something new, isn’t it?” - -“Well, papa always admired her and he took me out to see her a little -while ago, and then that day you saw her with us at the bank he -insisted on taking her home for luncheon. She told us then about the -money.” - -Copeland smiled grimly. - -“Of course, you know what it means--Farley’s sudden affection for -Fanny?” - -“Oh, he used to see a good deal of her, didn’t he, when you were first -married?” - -“Mrs. Farley and Fanny exchanged a few calls and we were there -for dinner once, while you were still away at school. But this is -different; he’s throwing you with her for a purpose, as you ought to -see. It does credit to the old man’s cunning. He thinks that if you -become good friends with Fanny, he can be sure you’ve dropped me.” - -“Rubbish! Papa has always liked her; he likes the kind of woman who can -run a farm and make money out of it; he thinks she’s a good example for -me!” - -“Don’t let him fool you about that!” he said petulantly. “He’s an old -Shylock and he’s about taken the last ounce out of me. Paying him that -last twenty-five thousand has put me in a bad hole. And it’s pure -vengeance. If he wasn’t afraid you were going to marry me, he would -never have driven me so hard. He thinks if he can ruin me financially -you’ll quit me for good. It was understood when I bought him out that -he’d be easy about the payments. There’s a frame-up between him and -Corbin & Eichberg to force me out of business. And he’s been calling -some of the old employees up to see him, and encouraging Amidon to -trot up there so he can worm things out of him. I don’t think he gets -anything out of Jerry,” he added, taking warning of a resentful gleam -in Nan’s eyes. “I think the boy’s loyal to me; in fact”--he grinned -ruefully--“he’s full of an ambition to make a man of me! But you must -see that it’s all a game to draw you away from me. Farley’s not the -sort of man to waste time on a youngster like Amidon for nothing, and -this throwing you in Fanny’s way is about as smooth a piece of work as -I ever knew him to do.” - -“You’re exaggerating, Billy; and as far as Jerry is concerned, papa -likes him; he always takes an interest in poor boys. And the fact that -Jerry came from down there on the river where he had his own early -struggles probably makes him a little more sympathetic with him.” - -“The old gentleman’s sympathies,” said Copeland, bending forward and -meeting her gaze with a significant look, “are likely to cost you a -whole lot of money, Nan.” - -“Just how do you make that out, Billy?” - -“All the hospitals and charitable concerns in town have been working -on Farley to do something for them in his will, and I heard yesterday -that he’s promised to do something big for the Boys’ Club people. -You’ve probably seen Trumbull at the house a good deal--he’s the kind -of fellow who’d make an impression on Farley. I got this from Kinney. -He gave them some money last year and they put him on the board of -directors. They’re all counting on something handsome from the old -man. I assume he hasn’t told you anything about it; it wouldn’t be like -him to! He means to die and let you find out just what his affection -for you comes down to in dollars.” - -“Well, he has a right to do what he likes with his money,” Nan replied -slowly, repeating the phrase with which she had sought to console -herself since the will fell into her hands. “I suppose he thinks he’s -done enough for me.” - -The phrases of the will danced before her eyes: Copeland’s intimations -squared with the facts as she knew them to be; she had seen tangible -proof of their accuracy. - -“We have to admit that he’s been kind to you, but he hasn’t any right -to bring you up as his daughter and then cut you off. You stand in law -as his own child, and if he should die without making a will, you’d -inherit everything.” - -“Well, the law hasn’t made me his own child,” said Nan bitterly. - -Seeing her resentment, and feeling that he was gaining ground, he -proceeded cautiously. - -“I suppose he’s likely to have a sudden call one of these days?” - -“Yes; or he may live several years, so the doctor told me. But I don’t -want to think of that. And I don’t like to think of what he may do or -not do for me,” she added earnestly. - -“Of course you don’t!” he assented. “But he hasn’t any right to stand -between you and your happiness. If he had the right feeling about you, -he’d want to see you married and settled before he dies. I suppose he’s -never told you what he meant to do for you?” - -“No. But he’s told me what he wouldn’t do if I married you; he laid -that down in the plainest English!” - -“I don’t doubt it; but no man has a right to do any such thing. Just -why he hates me so I don’t understand. It oughtn’t to be a crime to -love you, Nan.” - -His hand touched hers, then clasped it tightly. - -“I don’t see why we should be talking of these things at all,” he went -on. “I love you; and I believe that deep down in your heart you love -me. You’re not going to say you don’t, Nan?” - -“You know I’ve always liked you a lot, Billy,” she answered evasively. - -“Before Farley got the idea that I wanted to marry you for his money -and abused me and made you unhappy, you cared; you can’t deny that. And -I don’t believe his hatred of me really made any difference.” - -It was the wiser course not to abuse Farley. He felt that he was -winning her to a yielding mood, and his hopes rose. - -She withdrew her hand suddenly and bent her eyes upon him with -disconcerting intentness. - -“Please tell me, Billy, the real truth about your trouble with Fanny?” - -The abruptness of her question startled him. The color deepened in his -face and he blinked under her searching gaze. She had never before -spoken of his trouble with his former wife. - -“That,” he said rallying quickly, “is all over and done. It hasn’t -anything to do with you and me.” - -“Yes, Billy; I think it has! If you’re really serious in wanting to -marry me, I think I ought to know about that.” - -“I don’t see how you could doubt my seriousness; you’ve been the one -serious thing in my whole life!” - -“But Fanny--” she persisted, gently touching his hands that were -loosely clasped on his knee. - -“Oh, the trouble was that we were never suited to each other. She’s -quiet, domestic--a country-town girl, and never fitted into things -here. She wanted to sit at home every evening and sew and expected me -to wait around for her to drop a spool so I could get excitement out of -scrambling for it. And she didn’t like my friends, or doing the things -I like. Her idea of having a gay time was to go to the state fair once -a year and look at live stock! I think she hated me toward the end.” - -“But that other story about her--about another man; she doesn’t look -like that sort of woman, Billy.” - -He shrugged his shoulders impatiently. - -“That wasn’t in the case at all. The divorce was given for -incompatibility. Whatever else there may have been didn’t figure. I -made it as easy for her as possible, of course. And I’ve no doubt she -was as glad to quit as I was!” - -“But you didn’t think--you didn’t honestly believe--” - -“Well, I thought she was interested in Manning; and we had some trouble -about that. He used to come here a good deal. He was an old friend of -mine and his business brought him to town pretty often for a couple of -years. He’s a fellow of quiet tastes--just her sort--and I hoped when -I got out of the way she’d marry him. I want you to be satisfied about -everything, Nan. I tell you everything’s over between Fanny and me.” - -She rose and took a turn across the room, paused at the window, glanced -out upon the lawn and the strip of woodland beyond. He became impatient -as the minutes passed. Then she faced him suddenly. - -“It’s no use, Billy,” she said. - -He was eagerly protesting when Mrs. Kinney appeared at the door. - -“What are you two looking so glum about? You need cheering up and I’ve -got a fine surprise for you!” - -“I must go,” said Nan, relieved at the interruption. - -“Not much, you’re not! Bob has just telephoned that the Burleys of -Chicago are in town and they’re coming out for dinner. And I’ve -telephoned the Liggetts and the Martins and George Pickard and Edith -Saxby and the Andrews. It will be like old times to have the old crowd -together once more!” - -“Of course, Nan will stay! She’s been making me miserable lately and -that will help her square herself,” said Copeland. - -“I must go, really,” Nan reiterated, suspecting that the party had been -arranged in advance. - -“Please don’t!” cried Copeland. “You can telephone home that you’ve -been delayed--you can arrange it someway.” - -“When I went downtown on an errand! I don’t see it!” - -“Dinner’s at six; the Burleys have to go into town early,” said Mrs. -Kinney. - -“Oh, let her go!” exclaimed Copeland. “Our Nan isn’t the good sport she -used to be, and she doesn’t love any of us any more. She’s gone back on -all her old friends.” - -“Oh, no, she hasn’t. I never knew her to take a dare! I don’t believe -she’s going to do it now.” - -Nan surveyed them defiantly and looked at her watch. - -She felt that she had finally dismissed Billy, and her last word to him -had left her elated. It might be worth while to wait, at any hazard, to -ease his discomfiture, and to show the Kinneys and their friends that -she had not cut them; and, moreover, she was unwilling to have them -know how greatly her old freedom was curtailed. The time had passed -quickly and she could not reach home before seven even if she left -immediately. Miss Rankin had covered up her absences before and might -do so again. - -“Let me telephone and I’ll see how things are going.” - -The nurse’s report was reassuring. Farley, who had rested badly for -several nights, was sleeping. He might not waken for an hour--perhaps -not for several hours. Miss Rankin volunteered to explain Nan’s absence -if he should call for her. - -“All right, Grace, you may a lay a plate for me!” she announced -cheerfully. “But I must be on my way right after dinner. You understand -that!” - - * * * * * - -“It’s great to see you on the good old cocktail route again, Nan!” -declared Pickard. “We heard you’d taken the veil!” - -The cocktails were passed before they went to the table; there were -quarts for everybody, Grace assured them. The men had already fortified -themselves downtown against any lack of an appetizer at the house. -Mocking exclamations of surprise and alarm followed Nan’s rejection of -her glass. - -“That’s not fair, Nan!” they chorused, gathering about her. “You used -to swallow six without blinking an eye.” - -“She’s joined the crape-hangers for sure! I didn’t think it of our -Nan!” mourned Pickard. - -“Oh, anything to stop your crying!” Nan took the glass Kinney had been -holding for her. “There! I hope you’re satisfied. It’s silly to make so -much fuss about a mere cocktail. No, thanks; not another! There’s no -point in taking the same dare twice!” - -At the table the talk at once became animated. Nan had been away from -them so long that she had half forgotten their range of interests. -Burley’s expensive new machine, in which he had motored down from -Chicago; “shows” they had seen; a business scheme--biggest thing -afoot, Burley threw in parenthetically, with a promise to tell Kinney -more about it later; George Pickard’s attentions to the soubrette in -a musical comedy, and references to flirtations which the married men -present had been engaging in--these things were flung upon the table to -be pecked at and dismissed. - -“You people are the only real sports in this dismal swamp of a town! I -don’t know how you live here among so many dead ones!” said Burley. - -Kinney declared that he intended to move to New York as soon as he got -rid of his patent suits; he was tired of living in a one-horse town. -This suggested a discussion of the merits of New York hotels--a subject -which the Kinneys everywhere west of Manhattan Island find endlessly -exciting. - -When champagne was served, Burley rose with elaborate dignity and -invited the other men to join in a toast to the ladies; they were the -best girls in America; he defied anybody to gainsay him. He wished they -might all travel about together all the time hitting only the high -places; and he extended a general invitation to the company to meet him -at Palm Beach the next winter for what he promised should be a grand -time. - -“He’d make it Japan if he’d only had a few more drinks,” his wife -remarked to Nan. - -By the time salad was served George Pickard thought it well to justify -his reputation as a “cut-up.” His father, a successful lawyer, had left -him a comfortable fortune which George was rapidly distributing. George -had rebelled against the tame social life of the town in which he was -born; he was bored by respectability, and found the freedom of the -Kinneys’ establishment wholly to his liking. He went to the living-room -for the victrola and wheeled it in, playing the newest tango, to a -point just behind Nan’s chair. - -“Got to have music; got the habit and can’t eat without music!” - -This was accepted as a joke until Copeland protested that he couldn’t -stand the noise and began struggling with Pickard, who bitterly -resented his effort to push the machine out of the room. The music was -hushed presently and Pickard resumed his seat with the understanding -that he might play all he pleased after dinner. - -“And we’ll have a dance--I haven’t danced a step in ages!” cried Nan, -entering into the spirit of the occasion. - -She had always excused their vulgarity on the ground that they were at -least cheerful, and that probably they were just as good as the people -who frowned upon them. Their admiration was evident from the frequency -with which they invited her opinion on the questions under discussion; -and it was a relief to escape from the invalid air of home and from -what she had convinced herself was Farley’s hostility. - -Several times her fingers touched the stem of her wineglass, only to be -withdrawn quickly. Copeland, sitting beside her, noticed her indecision -and drew the glass toward her. - -“Just one, for old times’ sake, Nan?” - -“All right, Billy!” - -She emptied her glass, and then, turning to Copeland, laid her fingers -lightly across the rim. - -“That’s all; not another drop!” she said in a low tone. - -He laughed and held up his glass for inspection; he had barely touched -his lips to it. - -“I had only one cocktail and I haven’t taken any of this stuff,” he -said with a glance that invited approval. “I can do it; you see I can -do it! I can do anything for you, Nan!” - -The furtive touch of his hand seemed to establish an understanding -between them that they were spectators, not participants in the revel. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration: THE FURTIVE TOUCH OF HIS HAND SEEMED TO ESTABLISH AN -UNDERSTANDING BETWEEN THEM THAT THEY WERE SPECTATORS, NOT PARTICIPANTS -IN THE REVEL] - -“I know you can, and you must, Billy.” - -The noise and confusion increased. Edith Saxby had begun to cry--Nan -remembered that Edith usually cried when she was tipsy. She was -bewailing the loss of her salted almonds which she charged Andrews with -appropriating. Andrews thereupon went to the sideboard and brought the -serving-dish of almonds and poured the contents upon the girl’s head. - -Pickard leaned across the table to wipe away her tears with his napkin. -In attempting this feat he upset the wine-glasses of his immediate -neighbors, causing a wild scamper to escape the resulting deluge. -Liggett and Burley retaliated by pushing him upon the table, where he -crowned himself with the floral centerpiece. Boisterous expressions of -delight greeted this masterstroke. - -“This is getting too rotten!” shouted Copeland. - -He seized Pickard and dragged him from the table amid general protests. - -“Biggest joke of all,” cried Kinney, pointing at Copeland, “that -Billy’s sober. Everybody else drunk, but Billy sober’s a judge!” - -Mrs. Liggett, a stout blonde, shrilly resenting this as an imputation -upon her character, attempted to retaliate by slapping Kinney, who -began running round the table to escape her. This continued with the -others cheering them on until she tripped and fell headlong amid -screams of consternation from the women and roars of delight from the -men. - -“This is what I call a real ball!” declared Burley. - -After Mrs. Liggett had been carried to a divan in the hall to -recuperate, they decided that the possibilities of the table had been -exhausted and returned to the living-room where the victrola was again -set going. - -Nan, lingering in the hall, found Andrews beside her. - -“Always meant to tell you I loved you, Nan; now’s a good time,” he -blurted. “No girl like you, Nancy!” - -His wife appeared suddenly at the door and screamed at him to behave -himself, while the others laughed loudly. - -“Rules all suspended to-night; nobody going to be jealous!” cried -Burley encouragingly. - -“Got to kiss me, Nan,” Andrews resumed; “kiss everybody else but you -never--” - -She pushed him away in disgust. Kinney entertainments, viewed soberly, -clearly lacked the zest she had found in them when exhilarated. She -looked at her watch. She must leave immediately. Copeland beckoned to -her and she turned to him with relief. - -“It’s half-past eight, Nan; how soon must you go?” - -“At once; I shouldn’t have stayed in the first place.” - -“Well, I’ll be glad enough to shake this bunch! Get your things and -I’ll go for the car.” - -He had been a very different Billy to-night. It was clear that he meant -to be kind and considerate. The butler passed them bearing a jingling -tray to answer a demand for high-balls from the living-room. Billy was -the only sober man in the company, and she gave him full credit for his -abstemiousness. They were calling her insistently to come and do some -of the “stunts” that she had always contributed to their parties. - -She walked to the open door and laughed at them mockingly. - -“I’m all in, dead tired! Billy’s going to take me home!” - -The sight of them, flushed, rumpled, maudlin, increased her desire to -escape as quickly as possible. She bade them good-night amid their loud -reproaches, went for her hat and coat, and was soon in Copeland’s white -roadster spinning toward town. - -“Well, Nan, this is fine. We can go on with our talk now.” - -“But we finished that, Billy. We can’t go back to it again!” - -“Oh, yes, we can; there’s only one way to end it! That sort of -thing”--he jerked his head toward the Kinneys’--“isn’t for you and me. -I’ve cut it out; passed it up for good. I’m going to live straight and -try to get back all I’ve lost: I know everybody’s down on me--waiting -to see me take the count. But with you everything will be different. -You know that; you understand it, Nan!” - -Nan’s thoughts were sober ones. She did like Billy; his good conduct -at the party was encouraging; he could be a man if he would. He was a -boy--a big, foolish boy, kind of heart, and generous, with a substratum -of real character. The actual difference in years did not matter -greatly; he was as slim and trim as a youngster just out of college. -From the beginning of their acquaintance they had got on amazingly -well together. And he loved her; she was honestly convinced of this. -Like many young girls she had found the adoration of an older man -flattering. A Farley had been cruelly unjust to her; there was always -that justification. Even after she had given him her solemn assurances -that she would not marry Billy, he had deliberately planned to give the -bulk of his fortune to charity. - -After the scenes at the Kinneys’ she found infinite relief and comfort -in the rush of the cool night air, and in the bright shield of stars -above. Billy was the only person in all the world who cared, who -understood! In her anxiety to be just, she gave to his good conduct -during the evening an exaggerated importance and assured herself that -there was a manliness in him that she had never appreciated. - -“Dear old Billy!” she said softly, and laid her hand lightly on his arm. - -“Oh, Nan!” - -With a happy laugh he brought the machine to an abrupt stop. - -“Dear little girl! Dear little Nan!” he murmured, his arms clasping -her. “You belong to me now; nobody’s ever going to take you away from -me. I love you; you’re dearer to me than all the world; and I’m so -happy and proud!” - -They talked for a time in subdued tones of the future. Yes; she had -made the great decision. It seemed, now that she had given her word, -that it had been inevitable from the beginning. There would be no more -uncertainty, no more unhappiness. His arms were a happy refuge. No one -had ever been as kind to her as he had been. She no longer questioned -his good faith, or doubted his love. - -“Oh, Billy, we must hurry! I’m in for a bad time, if I’m caught.” - -When she reached the house the nurse let her in. Farley had wakened -once and asked for her, Miss Rankin said, but he had been satisfied -with an explanation that Nan had gone early to bed. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -BILLS PAYABLE - - -At six o’clock every morning Mr. Jeremiah Amidon’s alarm-clock sent -him trotting down the hall of his boarding-house to the bathroom for -an immersion in cold water. When he had carefully dressed himself, he -pulled weights for ten minutes, and thus refreshed and strengthened was -able to wring a smile from the saddest boarder at the breakfast table. - -He now opened the office mail. No one knew who had conferred this -responsibility upon him; all that any one knew about the matter was -that Jerry got down first and had the job done usually by eight -o’clock. He did it well; there was no denying that. It was the only -way, he told Copeland, that you could keep track of the business. -He assumed also the task of replying to complaints of protesting -customers, and carried the replies to Copeland to sign. The errors, -omissions, and delays complained of became, under Jerry’s hand, -a matter of chagrin and personal grief to the head of the house. -These literary performances were in a key of cheerful raillery, made -possible by his knowledge of the domestic affairs or social habits of -the kicking customer. Where there was real ground for complaint and -the patron was a valued one, Jerry telegraphed an apology. Copeland -demurred at this. - -“What if that fellow does get a damaged shipment occasionally?” said -Copeland, frowning over one of these messages; “he’s one of the slowest -customers on our list. It wouldn’t be any great calamity if we lost -him.” - -“He’s slow all right,” Jerry admitted, “but he’s dead sure; and he has -an old uncle who owns about a section of the fattest bottom land on the -Wabash. When the old gent dies, Sam’s going to put up a building for -himself and build a drug store that will be more beautiful than Solomon -in full evening dress.” - -“These old uncles never die,” observed Copeland dryly, handing back the -telegram. - -“Sam’s will. He’s mostly paralyzed now and it won’t be long till we get -an order for a new stock. Sam was in town last week and talked over the -fittings for his new store. You’ll find seven dollars in my expense -account that covers victuals and drink I threw into Samuel; but I paid -for the tickets to the Creole Queens Burlesque out of my own pocket -so’s to bring down my average.” - -“All right; let ’er go,” laughed Copeland. - -No one else in the establishment ever joked with Copeland. His father -had been a melancholy dyspeptic; and the tradition of Farley’s bad -temper and profanity still caused the old employees to walk softly. -Copeland found Jerry’s freshness and cheek diverting. Jerry, by -imperceptible degrees, was infusing snap into the organization. And -Copeland knew that the house needed snap. - -“About telegrams: I guess we do more telegraphing than any house on -the street!” Jerry informed him. “You can send a jolly by lightning -anywhere in Indiana for a quarter; and nothing tickles one of these -country fellows like getting a telegram.” - -“You’ve got to consider the dignity of the house just a little bit; try -to remember that.” - -“Our game,” replied Jerry confidently, “is to hold the business -we’ve got and get more. The old system’s played out. This isn’t the -only house that feels it,” he added consolingly. “Everybody’s got to -rustle these days. We’re conservative, of course, and deliver the -goods straight every time, but we must keep shooting pep into the -organization.” - -Jerry had gone to the private office with one of his sugar letters, as -he called his propitiatory masterpieces, on the day after Copeland’s -meeting with Nan at the Kinneys’. - -“By the way, Jerry,” said Copeland, as Amidon turned to go, “what’s -this joke you’ve put over in the Bigger Business Club? I didn’t tell -anybody I wanted to be president. I was never in the club-rooms but -once and that was to look at that billiard table I gave the boys.” - -Jerry ran his finger round the inside of his collar and blinked -innocently. - -“It was just an uprising of the people, Mr. Copeland. The boys had -to have you. You got two hundred votes, and Sears, of the Thornwood -Furniture Company, was the next man with only sixty-two.” - -“You did that, you young scoundrel,” said Copeland good humoredly, “and -I suppose you gave ‘The News’ my picture to print in their account of -the hotly contested election!” - -“No, sir; I only told the reporter where I thought he would find one.” - -The Bigger Business Club was an organization of clerks and traveling -men, that offered luncheon and billiards and trade journals in a suite -of rooms in the Board of Trade Building. It took itself very seriously, -and was highly resolved to exercise its best endeavors in widening the -city’s markets. Incidentally the luncheon served at thirty cents was -the cheapest in town, and every other Saturday night during the winter -there was a smoker where such subjects as “Selling Propositions,” “The -Square Deal” and “Efficiency” were debated. - -“Well, now that you’ve wished it on me, what am I going to do about it?” - -“Your election scores one for the house and, of course, you’re going -to take the job. The directors meet once a month, and you’ll have to -attend some of the meetings; and you ought to turn out at a few of -the smokers, anyhow. It will help the boys a lot to have you show an -interest.” - -Copeland’s face became serious. He swung round in his chair and stared -at the wall for a moment. - -“You think I might do those young fellows some good, do you?” he -demanded bitterly. “Well, you seem to have a better opinion of me than -most people. I’m much obliged to you, Jerry. If you’re going up there -for lunch to-day I’ll go along.” - -Copeland had ceased to be amused by Jerry’s personal devotion; there -was something the least bit pathetic in it. If any one else had taken -the trouble to make him president of a club of clerks and drummers he -would have scorned it,--but no one else would have taken the trouble! -He was satisfied of that. - -Copeland was at last thoroughly sobered by his financial situation. For -two years the drug business had been losing steadily. Farley’s strong -hand was missed; in spite of his animosity toward Farley, Copeland -realized that his father’s old partner had been the real genius of the -business. - -His original subscription of fifty thousand dollars for Kinney’s -cement stock had been increased from time to time in response to the -importunities of the sanguine and pushing Kinney until he now had three -hundred thousand dollars invested. The bank had declined to accept -his cement stock as collateral for the loan he was obliged to ask to -take up Farley’s notes and had insisted that he put up Copeland-Farley -stock, a demand with which he had reluctantly complied. - -One hundred thousand dollars of paper in the Western National matured -on the 1st of November, only five days distant. Copeland was pondering -a formidable list of maturing obligations that afternoon when Eaton -appeared at the door of his private office. Copeland had never had -any business with Eaton. Though Eaton was defending Kinney’s patents, -Copeland had never attended any of their conferences and the lawyer’s -attenuated figure and serious countenance gave him a distinct shock. - -It was possible, if not likely, that Farley had got wind of Nan’s -interview with him and had sent the lawyer with a warning that -Nan must be let alone. Eaton would be a likely choice for such an -errand--likelier than Thurston. Copeland had always found Eaton’s -gravity disconcerting; and to-day the lawyer seemed unusually sedate. - -“Hope I haven’t chosen an unfortunate hour for my visit? I don’t have -much business down this way and I’m never sure when you men on the -street are busy.” - -“Glad to see you at any time,” Copeland replied with a cordiality he -did not feel. - -“We don’t seem to meet very often,” remarked Eaton. “I used to see you -at the University Club in old times, but you’ve been cutting us out -lately.” - -“I don’t get there very often. The Hamilton is nearer the store and -it’s a little more convenient place to meet anybody you want to see.” - -“I shall have to quit the University myself if the members don’t -stop napping in the library after luncheon,” remarked Eaton musingly. -“Rather a dim room, you remember? Only a few afternoons ago a fellow -was sprawled out on a divan sleeping sweetly and I sat down on -him--very annoying. The idea of gorging yourself so in the middle of -the day that you’ve got to sleep it off is depressing. I suppose we can -be undisturbed here for a few minutes?” - -“Yes; we’re all right here,” Copeland assented with misgivings. He -thrust the list of accounts payable into a drawer, and waited for Eaton -to unfold himself. - -“I come on a delicate matter, Copeland; business that is rather out of -my line.” - -“I hoped you’d come to tell me we’d got a decision in the cement case. -It would cheer us a good deal to know that Kinney’s patents have been -sustained.” - -“I’m sorry we haven’t got a decision yet. But I’m reasonably sure of -success there. If I hadn’t had faith in Kinney’s patents I shouldn’t -have undertaken to defend them. We ought to have a decision now very -shortly; any day, in fact.” - -“Well, Kinney isn’t worrying; he’s been going ahead just as though his -rights were founded on rock.” - -“I think they are. It might have been better policy not to extend the -business until we had clearance papers from the highest court, but -Kinney thought he ought to push on while the going’s good. He’s an -ambitious fellow, and the stuff he makes is in demand; but you know -more about that than I do.” - -“To be frank about it, I’d be glad to clear out of it,” said Copeland. -“But I can’t desert him while his patents are in question--the stock’s -unsalable now, of course.” - -“There was a time when we might have compromised those suits on fairly -good terms; but I advised Kinney against it. The responsibility of -making the fight is mine. And,” Eaton added with one of his rare -smiles, “I shall owe you all an apology if I get whipped.” - -Copeland shrugged his shoulders. His uncertainty as to the nature of -Eaton’s errand caused him to fidget nervously. - -“As I said before,” Eaton resumed, “my purpose in coming to see you -is wholly out of my line. In fact, I shan’t be surprised if you call -it sheer impudence; but I wish to assure you that I come in the best -spirit in the world. I hope you will understand that.” - -Copeland was confident now that Eaton brought some message from Farley. -There was no other imaginable explanation of the visit. He was thinking -hard, and to gain time he opened his top drawer and extended a box of -cigars. - -“No, thanks,” said Eaton, staring absently at the cigars. “To repeat, -Copeland, my errand isn’t an agreeable one, and I apologize for my -presumption in undertaking it.” - -Copeland chose a cigar carefully and slammed the drawer on the box. -Perhaps Farley had chosen Eaton as a proper person to marry Nan; she -liked him; Eaton had always had an unaccountable fascination for women. -He became impatient for the lawyer to continue; but Eaton had never -been more maddeningly deliberate. - -“May I assume, for a moment, Copeland, that you have obligations -outstanding that cause you, we will say, temporary embarrassment? -Just a moment, please!” Copeland had moved forward suddenly in his -chair with resentment burning hot in his face. “The assumption may be -unwarranted,” Eaton continued; “if so, I apologize.” - -Copeland thrust his cigar into his mouth and bit it savagely. Farley -had undoubtedly taken over the maturing notes at the Western National -and had sent Eaton to taunt him with the change of ownership. -Eaton removed his eyeglasses and polished them with the whitest of -handkerchiefs. His eyes, unobscured by the thick lenses, told Copeland -nothing. - -“I may have misled you into thinking that my errand is purely social. -I shall touch upon business; but I am not personally concerned in it -in any way whatever. You might naturally conclude that I represent -some corporation, bank, or trust company. I assure you that I do not. -It may occur to you that Mr. Farley sent me, but he has not mentioned -you to me in this, or in any other connection remotely bearing upon my -errand. You may possibly suspect that some one near you--some one in -your office, for example--has been telling tales out of school. I will -say explicitly that young Amidon, while a friend of mine, and a boy I -particularly like, has given me no hint--not even the remotest idea--of -any such state of things. I hope you are satisfied on those points?” - -Many persons at different times in John Cecil Eaton’s life, enraged by -his cool, unruffled demeanor, had been moved to tell him to go to the -devil; but no one had ever done so. Copeland did not do so now, though -he was strongly impelled to violent speech. - -“I will go the length of saying that you are in considerable danger -right now,” Eaton went on as Copeland continued to watch him -impassively. “If the Western National should foreclose on your stock, -you would be pretty nearly wiped out of this old concern, that was -founded and conducted for years by your father and is still identified -with his name. I am in a position to pay those notes and carry -them--carry renewals until you can take them up. I will say frankly -that I don’t consider them a good investment, and I have said so to the -person I represent; but to repeat again, I am not here as a lawyer or -business man. My purpose is wholly friendly, and quite disinterested. -I should merely go to the bank and take up the notes--thus destroying -the hopes of certain gentlemen--your competitors in business--who -entertain the cheerful idea of buying in your stock and putting you -out of business. That would be a calamity--for you; and it would be -deplorable to have an old house like Copeland-Farley lose its identity.” - -Copeland was still silent. He had caught at one motive for this -visit after another, but Eaton had disposed of all of them. Eaton’s -reputation as a man of strict--of rather quixotic--honor did not -encourage the belief that he would deliberately lie. But there was a -trap concealed somewhere, Copeland reflected; he resolved not to be -caught. If he effected an immediate marriage with Nan, Farley would, -he believed, do something handsome for her. He would storm and bluster -in his usual way; but he would hardly dare go the length of cutting -her off entirely. It was conceivable that he might advance money to -save Copeland-Farley from catastrophe. There was a vein of sentiment -in Timothy Farley; brought face to face with the idea of having the -business he had done so much to establish eliminated, it was wholly -possible that he would come down handsomely if Nan were introduced into -the situation as a factor. - -Copeland was irritated by Eaton’s cocksure manner--a manner well -calculated to cause irritation. Men did not make such offers from -purely philanthropic motives. Eaton, moreover, was no friend of -his; they hardly spoke the same language. Nan, he still suspected, -was somehow the object and aim of these overtures. His mind worked -quickly. He meant to marry Nan at once, within a few days if his plans -succeeded, and he was not to be frustrated by any scheme for placing -himself at the mercy of a new and concealed creditor. - -“I’m much obliged to you, Eaton,” he answered steadily; “but I’m not -quite all in yet. I can’t imagine where you got that idea. If I didn’t -know you were a gentleman I should be pretty hot. Things have been a -little tight with me, I confess; but that’s largely due to cutting down -my capital in the drug business to back up what I had invested with -Kinney. I’m working out satisfactorily and don’t need help; but I’m -obliged to you just the same.” - -Eaton nodded reflectively; his face betrayed no surprise. - -“It might be possible, of course, for me to buy those maturing notes -without your knowledge or consent. But I thought it would look -better--help your credit, in other words--if you took them up yourself. -You can see that.” - -Copeland had already thought of this; the idea did not add to his -comfort. The mystery that enveloped Eaton enraged him; business was not -done in this way. If anybody wanted to put one hundred thousand dollars -into the drug house, there were direct businesslike ways of suggesting -it. He tipped himself back in his chair and pointed the unlighted cigar -he had been fumbling at a calendar that hung on the wall over his desk. - -“My paper in the Western National isn’t due for five days: I dare -them to sell it--to you or anybody else! As you know perfectly well, -it would be bad banking ethics for a bank to sell the paper of an -old customer. It isn’t done! I’ve about made up my mind to quit the -Western, anyhow. Those fellows over there think they’ve got the right -to sweat every customer they’ve got. They’re not bankers; they’ve got -the souls of pawnbrokers and ought to be making loans on household -goods at forty per cent a month.” - -“That,” replied Eaton calmly, “has nothing to do with the matter in -hand. I understand that you decline my offer, which is to take up the -Western’s notes.” - -“You’re right, mighty right! You wouldn’t accept such an offer -yourself, Eaton. If I were to come to you with a mysterious offer to -advance you money, you’d turn me out of your office.” - -“Very likely,” Eaton assented. “And I don’t undertake to defend the -idea; I confess that it’s indefensible. As I understand you, you’ve -passed on the matter finally.” - -“I have,” replied Copeland sharply. - -Eaton rose. He bent his gaze with an absent air upon the calendar, as -though surprised to find it there. Then, seeming to recall that he had -finished his errand, he walked to the door. - -“Thank you very much, Copeland,” he said; and passed out. - -Jerry Amidon paused in the act of shaking hands with a country customer -to stare at the departing figure, but Eaton stalked austerely into the -street quite unmindful of him. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -FATE AND BILLY COPELAND - - -When Nan left Copeland the night of the Kinney party she promised to -call him the next day. As telephoning from home was hazardous, she -made an excuse for going downtown and called from a department store. -Copeland was not in, and she repeated her call several times without -reaching him. Copeland, if she had known it, was in the directors’ room -at the Western National, discussing his affairs with the president. - -She had a superstitious awe of petty frustrations of her plans -and hopes. The Celt in her was alert for signs and miraculous -interventions. It occurred to her that perhaps the angels of light or -darkness were bent upon interfering; the idea kindled her imagination. - -In the street she ran into Fanny Copeland. To meet Billy’s former wife, -just when she was trying to perfect plans for marrying Billy, was -altogether dismaying. - -“You dear child, I’m so glad to see you!” cried Fanny, taking both -Nan’s hands. “I was just wondering whether I had time to run up to the -house. How is Mr. Farley?” - -“Papa hasn’t been quite so well,” Nan answered; “but it’s only a -slight cold. I had to come downtown on an errand,” she explained. - -She experienced once more a feeling of self-consciousness, of -unreality, in meeting Fanny face to face: within a day or two she -might be another Mrs. Copeland! And yet Billy had once loved this -woman, undeniably; and she had loved him--she might, for all Nan knew, -still love him. She envied the little woman her equanimity, her poise, -her good cheer. If she were only like that, instead of the wobbly -weather-vane she knew herself to be! Why hadn’t she a firm grip on life -instead of a succession of fatuous clutches at nothing! Nan wished, as -she had wished a thousand times, that troublesome problems would not -rise up to vex her. - -The Farley chauffeur had run his machine to the sidewalk to pick her up. - -“I hope your father will be better soon,” said Fanny. “Give him my -love, won’t you?” - -Nan’s eyes followed her as the car got under way. - -When she reached home she met a special delivery messenger at the door. -Her heart jumped; it was a note from Billy, who had risked sending her -a message that might very easily have fallen under her foster-father’s -eye. She thrust it into her pocket unopened and ran upstairs. - -“Well, you’re back again, are you?” Farley said harshly. - -“Yes, papa; I had an errand I couldn’t put off.” - -“It’s always been a mystery to me,” he grumbled, “what women find to -trot downtown for so much.” - -“Pins!” she replied lightly. “We always need little things. I met Mrs. -Copeland--looking for pins, too; so you see I’m not the only one.” - -“You saw _her_, did you?” he asked with a show of eagerness. - -“Yes; I met her as I was coming out of Sterling’s. She was just -starting home.” - -“I’d been hoping she’d stop in to see me, but she’s a busy woman.” - -“She has a lot to do, of course. If you’d like to see her I’ll -telephone her to come in for luncheon to-morrow.” - -He appeared to be pondering this and his hands opened and shut several -times before he answered. - -“No; never mind. She’s busy and it really doesn’t matter.” He stared -vacantly at the ceiling for a moment. “I guess that’s all fixed now,” -he added musingly, apparently forgetting her. - -She was anxious to be off to her room to read Billy’s note; but she -lingered, curious as to what further he might have to say about Fanny. - -“You like that woman, don’t you, Nan? You and she get on--you haven’t -found any traces of ill-feeling toward you?” - -His small gray eyes were bent upon her with an odd expression of -mingled hostility and kindness. - -“Of course I like her, papa; and I believe she likes me. There’s no -reason why she shouldn’t like me!” - -“No reason!” he caught her up contemptuously. - -She knew that he was thinking of Billy. His face twitched as a wave of -anger seized him. - -“That man is a scoundrel!” he blurted. “If he hadn’t been he’d never -have treated that woman as he did!” - -“It doesn’t seem to worry her much!” she flashed back at him. “I don’t -know a happier woman anywhere!” - -She realized instantly that the remark was unfortunate. He pointed a -shaking finger at her. - -“That woman,” he said, pronouncing the words with ominous deliberation, -“ought to get down on her knees every night and thank God that she’s -rid of him! That great bully, that worthless loafer! But I’ll show him -a few things! If that blackguard thinks he can put anything over on me -he’ll find that I’m smarter than he thinks I am! You remember that!” - -“You must be quiet, Mr. Farley,” admonished Miss Rankin, who had -been standing by the window; “the doctor said you weren’t to excite -yourself.” - -“I’m not excited,” he flared. “Doctors and lawyers make a nice mess of -this world. They don’t any of ’em know anything!” - -He gave himself an impatient twitch and several documents slipped from -under his pillow. He clutched them nervously and thrust them back. - -Nan was jubilant for a moment in the knowledge that she knew what those -documents contained--devices for humiliating her after he was gone. If -only he knew how little she cared! He thought of nothing but his money -and means of keeping it from her. - -“Go away; I want to think,” he said gruffly. - -Nan was grateful for this dismissal, and a moment later had softly -closed her door and was eagerly reading Copeland’s message. It covered -three letter-sheets and the daring of its contents caused her heart to -beat wildly. - -What he proposed was immediate marriage. There was to be a military -wedding that night at the church in the next block. Nan, he assumed, -would attend. At the end of the ceremony she had merely to pass out -of the church and his machine would be waiting around the corner. -She could pack a suit-case, ostensibly filled with articles for the -cleaner’s, and he would have a messenger call for it. They would run up -to Lafayette, where he had a married cousin who would have a minister -ready to marry them; then take a train for Chicago and return the next -day and have it out with Farley. - -Nan had never shared Copeland’s faith in the idea that once they were -married they might safely rely on Farley’s forgiveness. Farley’s -passionate outbreaks at the mere mention of Copeland pretty effectually -disposed of that hope. But that was not so important, for, in spite -of Farley’s unfavorable opinion of Copeland’s business capacity and -Billy’s own complaint of hard times, she had an idea that Copeland was -well off, if not rich. To outward appearances, the drug business was -as flourishing now as in the days when Farley was still active in its -affairs. It was the way of business men to “talk poor” even when they -were most prosperous; this had, at least, always been Farley’s way. - -The gaunt figure in the room across the hall rose wraithlike before -her, giving her pause. Yes, the Farleys had been kind to her; they -had caught her away from the world’s rough hand and had done all that -it was in their power to do to make a decent, self-respecting woman -of her. Her advantages had been equal to those enjoyed by most of -the girls she knew. Many people--the town’s “old stock,” Farley’s -substantial neighbors--would see nothing romantic or amusing in her -flight with Copeland. They would call her the basest ingrate; she -could fancy them saying that blood will tell; that after all she was a -nobody, a girl without background or antecedents, whom the Farleys had -picked up, out of the kindness of their simple hearts, and that she had -taken the first chance to slap them in the face. - -Then she remembered the will that had given her the key to Farley’s -intentions. Possibly the new will, which Thurston had brought to the -house that day, cut her expectations to an even lower figure.... - -It pleased her to think that she was studying the matter -dispassionately, arguing with herself both for and against Billy’s -plan. It was more honest to marry Copeland now and be done with it -than to wait and marry him after Farley’s death. This she found a -particularly satisfying argument in favor of marrying him at once. Her -histrionic sense responded to the suggestion of an elopement; it would -be a great lark, besides bringing her deliverance from the iron hand -of Farley. Yes; she would do it! Her pulses tingled as she visualized -herself as the chief figure in an event that would stir the town. It -was now four o’clock. Copeland had written that at five a messenger -would call for her suit-case, and all she had to do was to step into -his car when she came out of the church. - -She was downstairs listening for the bell when the messenger rang. As -she handed him the suit-case she felt herself already launched upon a -great adventure. While she was at the door the afternoon paper arrived -and she carried it up to Farley and read him the headlines. - -She had her dinner with him in his room. There was a pathos in his lean -frame, his deep-furrowed brow, in the restless, gnarled hands. She was -not so happy over her plans as she had expected to be. She kept saying -to herself that it wasn’t quite fair--not an honest return for all the -kindnesses of her foster-parents--to run away and leave this broken old -man. As she thought of it, every unkind word he had said to her had -been merited; she had lied to him, disobeyed him, and tricked him. - -“What’s the matter with your appetite, Nan?” he asked suddenly. “Seems -to me you’ve looked a little peaked lately. Maybe you don’t get enough -exercise now we’ve got the machine.” - -“Oh, I’m perfectly well,” she replied hastily. - -“Well, you’ve been cooped up here all summer. You’d better take a trip -this winter. We’ll keep a lookout for somebody that’s goin’ South and -get ’em to take you along.” - -“Oh, that isn’t necessary, papa. I never felt better in my life.” - -“Isn’t this the night for that Parish girl’s wedding?” he asked later. - -“Yes; I thought I’d go,” she answered carelessly. “It’s at the -Congregational Church, and I can go alone.” - -“All right; you be sure to go. You never saw an army wedding? I guess -’most everybody will be there.” - -When he reminded her that it was time to dress she answered -indifferently that she didn’t care to go to the reception, and that the -gown she had on would be perfectly suitable. - -“I’ll just watch the show from a back seat, papa; you can see a wedding -better from the rear, anyhow.” - -“Well, don’t hurry back on my account.” - -She had been afraid that he would raise some objection to her going -without an escort; but he made no comment. - -She ran her eyes over the things in her room--photographs of girls she -had known at boarding-school, trifles for the toilet-table that had -been given her on birthdays and holidays. It was a big comfortable -room, the largest bedroom in the house, with a window-seat that had -been built specially for her when she came home from school. She -glanced over the trinkets that littered the mantel, and took from -its leathern case a medal she had won in school for excellence in -recitations. On the wall hung a photograph of herself as Rosalind, a -part she had played in an out-of-doors presentation of “As You Like -It.”... - -She must leave some explanation of her absence--so she sat down at her -desk and wrote:-- - - _Dear Papa_:-- - - Please don’t be hard on me, but I’ve run away to marry Mr. Copeland. - We are going to Lafayette to his cousin’s and shall be married at - her house to-night. I hope you won’t be hard on me; I shall explain - everything to you when I see you and I think you will understand. We - shall be back very soon and I will let you know where I shall be. - -She hesitated a moment and then closed with “Your loving daughter, -Nan.” She thrust this into an envelope, addressed it in a bold hand to -Timothy Farley, Esq., and placed it under a small silver box on the -mantel. - -She stood a moment at the door, then closed it softly and went in to -say good-night to Farley. He took the hand on which she had half-drawn -her glove and held it while his eyes slowly surveyed her. - -“I didn’t know whether you’d wear a hat to an evening wedding. I never -know about those things.” - -“Oh, this is such a foolish little thing, papa; you’d hardly call it a -hat,” she laughed. - -“Well, don’t let one of those army officers pick you up and carry you -off. I want to hold on to you a little longer.” - -As she bent to kiss him tears sprang to her eyes. Face to face with it, -there was nothing heroic, nothing romantic in abandoning the kindest -friend she was ever likely to know, and in a fashion so shamelessly -abrupt and cruel. - -“Good-night, papa!” she cried bravely and tripped downstairs, humming -to keep up her courage. - -She absently took her latch-key from a bowl on the hall table and did -not remember until she had thrust it into her glove as she went down -the steps that she would have no use for it. It was the finest of -autumn nights and many were walking to the church; there was a flutter -of white raiment, and a festal gayety marked the street. She waited -for those immediately in sight to pass before leaving the yard and -then walked toward the church. - -She eluded an officer resplendent in military dress who started toward -her and stole into the nearest seat. The subdued happiness that seemed -to thrill the atmosphere, the organist’s preludings, the air of -expectancy intensified her sense of detachment and remoteness. - -The notes of the “Lohengrin” march roused her from her reverie and she -craned her neck for a first sight of the attendants and the bride. - -Just before the benediction she left, and was soon in the side -street where Billy was to leave his car. She had expected him to -be in readiness, but he had evidently waited for the end of the -ceremony--which seemed absurd when they were so soon to have a wedding -of their own! It was inconsiderate of him to keep her waiting. The -street began to fill and she loitered, ill at ease, while the organ -trumpeted joyfully. - -Then she saw the familiar white roadster, with Billy in the chauffeur’s -seat, turning into the side street where several policemen were -already directing the movements of the parked carriages and motors -toward the church entrance. His overcoat was flung open and the light -of the lamp at the intersecting streets smote upon his shirt bosom. -It was ridiculous for him to have put on evening clothes and a silk -hat when he had a long drive before him! The policemen bawled to him -not to interfere with the traffic. Ignoring their signals he drove -his car forward. Nan watched with mounting anger the disturbance he -was creating. The crowd that had assembled in the hope of catching a -glimpse of the bride now found Copeland and his altercation with the -police much more diverting. - -“Billy Copeland’s drunk again,” some one behind Nan remarked -contemptuously. - -The white car suddenly darted forward and crashed into a motor that -was advancing in line toward the corner, causing a stampede among the -waiting vehicles. - -While the police were separating the two cars, Nan caught sight of -Eaton, who seemed to be trying to persuade the policemen of Copeland’s -good intentions. Billy’s voice was perfectly audible to the spectators -as he demanded to be let alone. - -“They haven’t got any right to block this street; it’s against the law -to shut up a street that way!” - -The policemen dragged him from the seat and a chauffeur from one of -the waiting cars jumped in and backed the machine out of the way. Nan -waited uncertainly to see what disposition the police were making of -Billy; but having lifted the blockade they left him to his own devices. -He had been drinking; that was the only imaginable explanation of his -conduct, and her newly established confidence in him was gone. However, -it would be best to wait and attempt to speak to him, as he might -mingle in the crowd and make inquiries for her that would publish the -fact that they had planned flight. - -Suddenly she heard her name spoken, and turned to find Eaton beside her. - -“Too bad about Copeland,” he remarked in his usual careless fashion; -“but one of those policemen promised to see that he went home.” - -She was bewildered by his sudden appearance. Eaton never missed -anything; he would certainly make note of her gown and hat as not -proper for occasions of highest ceremony. Nor was it likely that he had -overlooked the two suitcases strapped to the rear of Billy’s car. - -“Looked for you all over the church, and had given you up,” Eaton was -saying. “You can’t say no--simply got to have you! Stupid to be pulling -off a wedding the night we’re dedicating the new swimming-pool at -the Wright Settlement House. Programme all shot to pieces, but Mamie -Pembroke’s going to sing and you’ve got to do a recitation. Favor -to an old friend! They dumped the full responsibility on me at six -o’clock--six, mind you!” - -Nan bewildered, uncertain, suffered him to pilot her round the corner, -wondering how much he knew, and trying to adjust herself to this new -situation. A car that she recognized as the Pembrokes’ stood at the -curb. - -“Oh, come right along, Nan; there’s no use saying you won’t!” cried -Mamie Pembroke. - -The Pembrokes were among those who had dropped her after she became -identified with the Kinneys, and her rage at Copeland was mitigated by -their cordiality. - -“Hello, Mamie! What on earth do you want with me!” - -“Oh, it’s a lark; one of this crazy Eaton man’s ideas.” - -Nan knew that she had been recognized by many people, and that even if -Copeland had not made a fool of himself the elopement was now out of -the question. She felt giddy and leaned heavily on Eaton’s arm as he -helped her into the car. - -“You were alone, weren’t you, Nan?” Eaton asked as the machine started. - -“Yes,” she faltered, settling back into a seat beside Mrs. Pembroke. - -“Then we’d better stop at your house so Mr. Farley won’t be troubled -about you.” - -As she had not meant to return at all, it seemed absurd to go back now -to say that she was going to a settlement house entertainment and would -be home in an hour or so. The telltale letter could hardly have been -found yet and she must dispose of it immediately. The car whirled round -to the Farleys’ and Nan let herself in with her key. - -Farley was awake, reading a magazine article on “The Ohio in the Civil -War.” - -“Back already! Getting married doesn’t take long, does it?--not as long -as getting out of it!” - -“Oh, the wedding was stunning!” she cried breathlessly. “I never saw so -much gold braid in my life. I’m going with the Pembrokes and Mr. Eaton -down to dedicate a swimming-pool at the Wright Settlement House. I just -stopped to tell you, so you wouldn’t worry.” - -“Tom Pembroke going down there?” he growled. “I thought that tank was -for poor boys. What’s Eaton got to do with it?” - -She explained that Eaton was substituting for the president of the -Settlement House Association, who had been called from town, and that -he had asked her to recite something. - -“Well, ‘The Ole Swimmin’ Hole’ will come in handy. I always like the -way you do that. Run along now!” - -She darted into her room and found the letter just as she had left -it on the mantel. She tore it into strips and threw them into -her beribboned waste-paper basket. Her revulsion of feeling was -complete. It was like waking from a nightmare to find herself secure -amid familiar surroundings. She turned to Farley’s room again and -impulsively bent and kissed him. - -“Ain’t you gone yet?” he demanded, with the gruffness that often -concealed his pleasure. - -“I’m off for sure this time,” she called back. “Thanks for suggesting -‘The Ole Swimmin’ Hole’--that’s just the thing!” - -They found the hall packed with an impatient crowd. Eaton led the -way to the platform and opened the exercises without formality. The -superintendent of the house dealt in statistics as to the service -rendered by the Settlement. Mamie Pembroke sang “The Rosary” and -responded to an encore. - -Nan had not faced so large an audience since her appearance as Rosalind -at school. She drew off her gloves before her name was announced, and -as she stood up put aside her hat. At least half a dozen nationalities -were represented in the auditorium; and she resolved to try first -a sketch in which an Irishman, an Italian and a German debated in -brisk dialogue the ownership of a sum of money. She had heard it done -in vaudeville by a comedian of reputation and had mastered it for -dinner-table uses. She had added to it, recast, and improved it, and -she now gave it with all the spirit and nice differentiation of which -she was capable. Eaton, who had heard her several times before, was -surprised at her success; she had taken pains; and how often Eaton, in -thinking of Nan, had wished she would take pains! - -There was no ignoring the demand for more, and she gave another comic -piece and added “The Ole Swimmin’ Hole” for good measure. She received -her applause graciously and sat down wondering at her own happiness. -Mrs. Pembroke patted her hand; she heard somebody saying, “Yes, -Farley’s daughter,--adopted her when she was a child!” - -Eaton was announcing the close of the programme. It was his pleasant -office, he said, to deliver the natatorium that had been added to the -Settlement House into the keeping of the people of the neighborhood. - -“Many lives go to the making of a city like this. Most of you know -little of the men who have built this city, but you profit by their -care and labor as much as though you and your fathers had been born -here. It is the hope of all of us who come here to meet you and to help -you, if we can, that you may be builders yourselves, adding to the -dignity and honor and prosperity of the community. - -“Now, only one man besides myself knows who gave the money for the -building of the swimming-pool. The other man is the donor himself. He -is one of the old merchants of this city, a man known for his honesty -and fair dealing. He told me not to mention his name; and I’m not going -to do it. But I think that if some one who is very dear to him--the -person who is the dearest of all in the world to him--should hand the -keys to the superintendent, I should not be telling--and yet, you would -understand who this kind friend is.” - -He crossed the platform and handed Nan a bunch of keys. - -“I’m sure,” he said, turning to the interested spectators, “that you -will be glad to know that the keys to the bathhouse have come to you -through Miss Farley.” - -Tears sprang to Nan’s eyes as she rose and handed the keys to the -superintendent amid cheers and applause. She was profoundly moved by -the demonstration. They did not know--those simple foreign folk who -lifted their faces in gratitude and admiration--that an hour earlier -it had been in her heart to commit an act of grossest ingratitude -against their benefactor. She turned away with infinite relief that the -exercises were over, and followed the rest of the visitors to inspect -the house. It was like Farley not to tell any one of his gift; and she -felt like a fraud and a cheat to stand in his place, receiving praise -that was intended for him. - -On the way home she was very quiet. The many emotions of the day had so -wearied her that she had no spirit to project herself into the future. -And it seemed futile to attempt to forecast a day’s events, when she -had, apparently, so little control of her own destiny. - -“Hope Mr. Farley won’t abuse me for giving him away?” Eaton -remarked, as he left her at the door. “But the temptation was too -strong--couldn’t resist putting you into the picture. Your recitations -made a big hit; and those people are real critics!” - -She lay in the window-seat till daybreak, dreaming, staring at the -stars. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -AN ABRUPT ENDING - - -Nan sang as she dressed the next morning. The gods had ordained -that she shouldn’t marry Billy, and after her uncertainties on that -point she was relieved to find that the higher powers had taken the -troublesome business out of her hands. She was surprised at her -light-hearted acceptance of the situation. She hadn’t married Billy and -she sang in the joy of her freedom. - -Just as she was ready to leave her room the maid brought up a special -delivery letter from Copeland. It had been posted at six o’clock. She -tore open the envelope and read frowningly:-- - - _Dear Nan_:-- - - Sorry about the row at the church last night. Never occurred to me - that there’d be such a jam. I hung around the neighborhood as long as - I could, hoping to find you. But it will be nicer, after all, to make - the run by daylight. Telephone me where we can meet this morning, say - at ten. I shall be at the office early and shall expect to hear from - you by nine-thirty. For God’s sake, don’t fail me, Nan! - -This was scrawled in pencil on Hamilton Club paper. She propped it -against her dressing-table mirror and stared at it wonderingly. It -did not seem possible that she had ever contemplated running away with -Billy. The remembrance of him as he sat in his car, quarreling with the -police, with the eyes of a hundred people upon him, sickened her. - - Either you love me, Nan, or you don’t; you either have been fooling - me all along or you mean to stand by me now and make me the happiest - man alive.... - -She smiled at Billy’s efforts to be pathetic--a quizzical little smile. -The paper smelt odiously of tobacco smoke. She tore the note to pieces -and let them slip slowly from her hand into her waste-basket. No; she -did not love Billy. Only a few hours earlier she had been ready to run -away with him; but that was all over now. She was sorry for Billy, -but she did not love him. How could she have ever been foolish enough -to think she did! But why, she wondered, was she forever yielding to -impulses from which a kind fate might not always protect her? “You -little fool!” she ejaculated. A moment later she stood smiling in -Farley’s door. - -“Nan, look here what they say about you in the paper!” he said, -glancing at her over his spectacles. “I told Eaton not to blab about -that swimmin’-tank business and here they’ve got us all in the paper!” - -“Oh, if only you could have been there, papa!” - -She saw that he was pleased. He bade her ring for the maid to bring -up their breakfast; he wanted to know all about the exercises at the -Settlement House. - -“I guess you made a hit all right,” he said proudly, after making her -read the account aloud. “I never liked your sayin’ pieces in public; -but I guess if you can tickle a crowd like that I ain’t got any right -to kick.” - -The reporter had built his story around her; and had done full justice -to her part in the surprise of the evening. Her recitations were -praised extravagantly as worthy of a professional; “it is unfortunate,” -ran the article, “that Miss Farley’s elocutionary talents are so rarely -displayed in public.” - -It was compensation for much greater catastrophes than the loss of -Billy Copeland to find Farley so pleased. - -“It’s kind o’ nice to do things like that--to do things for people,” -Farley remarked wistfully, after subjecting Nan to a prolonged -cross-examination. “I’m sorry now I didn’t tell you about that swimmin’ -pool. You’ve got a mighty kind heart, Nan. I used to think I wouldn’t -make any will, but let what I’ve got go to you, and leave it to you to -help some of these schemes for the poor. You know you’ve worried me -sometimes--we won’t talk about that any more; I guess it’s all over -now.” - -The questioning look he bent upon her gave her conscience a twinge. -If Billy hadn’t become embroiled with the police she would not be -listening to Farley’s praise! - -“Yes, papa; it’s all over,” she replied softly, and bent down and -kissed him. - -When later she called Copeland on the telephone it was to laugh at -their misadventure--it seemed safer to make light of it. - -“Please forget all about it, Billy. It wasn’t my fault or yours either; -it was all wrong any way. No--” - -He was talking from his desk at the store and as he began to argue she -dismissed him firmly. - -“Please don’t be cross, Billy. You ought to be as glad as I am that we -didn’t do it. No; never again! Cheer up; that’s a nice boy!” - -She hung up on his angry reply. - -Nan spent all day at home virtuously addressing herself to household -affairs, much to the surprise of the cook and maid. - -Mamie Pembroke stopped to leave a huge bunch of chrysanthemums for Mr. -Farley. He sent for her to come to his room and asked her all about -the evening at the Settlement House. Mamie’s appearance added to his -happiness. He had been deeply grieved when Mamie and the Harrington -girls dropped Nan; it was a good sign that they were beginning to -evince a renewed interest in her. He attributed the change in their -attitude to Nan’s abandonment of Copeland and the Kinneys, never -dreaming in his innocence of the quiet missionary work that Eaton had -been doing with the cautious mothers of these young women. - -“You’d better give Nan some work to do on some of your charity schemes, -Mamie. She’s been shut up here with me so much she hasn’t got around -with the rest of you girls as I want her to.” - -“Oh, don’t think I do so much! Mamma does it for the whole family. I’m -sure Nan does as much as any of the girls.” - -“Thanks for your kind words, Mamie; you know perfectly well they -dropped me from the Kindergarten Board for cutting all the meetings. -But I think we all ought to help in these things. It certainly opened -my eyes to see that crowd down there last night; I had no idea the -Settlement had grown so big.” - -“I wish you and Mamie would go down and look at the Boys’ Club -sometime. They’ve only got a tumble-down house, but they’re talkin’ of -doin’ something better. A poor boy has a mighty hard time. When I was a -boy down on the Ohio--” - -The story was a familiar one to Nan, and as he talked her thoughts -reverted to the will in which his provisions for the Boys’ Club had so -angered her. - -All day she marveled at her happiness, her newly-awakened -unselfishness. In her gratitude for what she sincerely believed to have -been a providential deliverance from Copeland she voluntarily gave the -nurse the night off. - -Her good cheer had communicated itself to Farley. The nurse was a -nuisance, he said, and he would soon be well enough to dispense with -her altogether. Over the supper they ate together in his room she -exerted herself to amuse him and he proved unusually amiable. The -afternoon paper’s account of his gift of the swimming-pool revived this -as a topic of conversation. - -“I haven’t done as much as I ought to for the poor and unlucky. I -expect they’ve called me a pretty hard specimen; and I’ve turned down -lots of these people that’s always chasin’ round with subscription -papers. But I always had an idea I’d like to do something that would -count. I’m sorry now I didn’t give those Boys’ Club folks a boost while -I could see the money spent myself. I’ve tried makin’ wills and ain’t -sure about any of ’em. I got a good mind to burn ’em all, Nan, and -leave it up to you to give away what you think’s right. Only I wouldn’t -want you to feel bound to do it. These things don’t count for much -unless you feel in your heart you want to do ’em.” - -She tried to divert his thoughts to other channels, but he persisted -in discussing ways and means of helping the poor and unfortunate. -She was surprised at his intimate knowledge of local philanthropic -organizations; for a number of them he expressed the greatest contempt, -as impractical and likely to do harm. Others he commended warmly and -urged her to acquaint herself with their methods and needs. - -“We ought to do those things ourselves, while we’re alive. You can’t -tell what they’ll do with your money after you’re dead,” he kept -repeating. - -She wondered whether he regretted now having made the will that -had caused her so much anguish. Perhaps.... But her resentment had -vanished. His solicitude for friendless boys, based upon his own -forlorn youth, impressed her deeply. It was out of the same spirit -that he had lifted her from poverty--she had even greater cause for -gratitude and generosity than he, and she said so in terms that touched -him. - -“You mustn’t think of those things any more, papa,” she said finally. -“If you have a bad night, Miss Rankin will give me a scolding. I’m -going to read you something.” - -“All right,” he acquiesced. “To-morrow I’ll talk to you some more about -my will. It’s worried me a whole lot; I want to do the right thing, -Nan; I want you to know that.” - -“Of course I know that, papa; I’d be a mighty stupid girl if I didn’t; -so don’t waste your strength arguing with me. You’ve been talking too -much; what shall I read?” - -“Don’t read me any of this new-fangled stuff. Take down ‘Huck Finn’ and -read that chapter about the two crooks Huck meets on the river. You -ain’t read me that lately.” - -He lay very quiet until she had finished the chapter. - -“Much obliged,” he said absently. “You run along now. I’ll be all -right.” - -In the hall she met the maid coming to announce a caller. - -Jerry, chastely attired in a new fall suit, greeted her with the -ambassadorial dignity that he assumed for social occasions, with -apologies to J. C. E. He could bow and shake hands like his idol and -mentor, and though his manner of speech was still his own, he had -greatly subdued its original violences. The area of collar and cuff -that could be sustained on a salary lately increased to eighty dollars -a month might provoke smiles; but Jerry was not troubled. By discreetly -soliciting custom for a tailor who made a twenty-five dollar suit -which only the most sophisticated sartorial critic could distinguish -from a sixty-dollar creation, he got his clothes at a discount. While -he had not yet acquired a dress-suit or a silk hat, he boasted a -dinner-coat and a cutaway. He had dedicated the latter by wearing it -boldly to Christ Church, where he was ushered to the third pew from -the chancel and placed beside a lady whose kneelings and risings he -imitated sedulously. This was Eaton’s church, and while that gentleman -was not present on that particular morning, a tablet commemorating -his father’s virtues (twenty years warden and vestry-man) gave Jerry -a thrill of pride and a sense of perspective. His mother had been a -Campbellite, and a vested clergy and choir, sprung upon him suddenly, -had awed him to a mood of humility. - -“I’d been wondering as I came up what I’d do if you were out: I -couldn’t decide whether to jump in the river or lie down in the middle -of the street and be killed by a large, fat auto. Nan,”--he held her -hand and gazed into her face with tragic intensity,--“Nan, you have -saved my life!” - -She met him promptly on his own ground. - -“I should have worn mourning for you, Jerry; you may be sure of that.” - -“The thought seems to give you pleasure. But I like you best in -blue--that suit you had on the day we paddled up the river still haunts -me.” - -“Oh, that was a last year’s bird-nest. I have a lot better clothes than -that, but I don’t wear them to picnics.” - -“You’d be dazzling in anything; I’m dead sure of that!” - -He ran on in his usual key for some time, and then rose abruptly and -walked toward her. - -“Are we quite alone?” he whispered tragically. - -“We are,” she replied, imitating his tone. “I hope you don’t mean to -rob the house.” - -“No,” he replied; “I didn’t come to steal; I’ve brought you a large -beautiful present.” - -This she assumed to be the preliminary to a joke of some kind. - -“I left it behind that big rosebush in the yard and I’ll bring it -in--nobody likely to come--no?” - -“No; the nurse is out and I just now heard the maid climbing the back -stairs to her room.” - -A smothered “Oh!” greeted him as he reappeared bearing the suit-case -she had entrusted to Copeland’s messenger the day before. He placed it -quietly by the door, a little shame-facedly, in spite of his efforts to -pass the matter off lightly. Nan flushed, staring at him defiantly. - -“I saw this down at the works and I just thought I’d bring it up. -Maybe,” he said reflectively, “it ain’t yours; but I thought I’d take a -chance.” - -“N. F.” neatly printed on the end of the bag advertised its ownership -to any observant eye. - -“You and I are good friends, I hope,” she said uneasily. - -“Don’t be silly, Nan; if we’re not, what are we?” - -This was not a question she cared to debate; the immediate matter was -the narrowness of her escape from a marriage with Copeland and just -what she should tell Jerry about it. - -“If you know about--_that_--” - -“I make it my business never to know anything! I don’t want to know -anything about that bag. So we’ll just forget it.” - -Seeing that her eyes rested nervously on the suit-case, he carried it -into the hall out of range of any chance caller’s eyes. - -“Thank you,” she said absently as he came back. He began speaking -volubly of the delights of “Ivanhoe” which Eaton had lately given him -to read. - -“How many people know about--_that_?” she demanded, breaking in sharply -upon his praise of Scott. - -“Oh, the bag? Not a soul; I told you not to worry about that. I found -it behind the door in his private office. Purely accidental--honest, -it was! He wasn’t feeling well to-day,” he added. “He hung around the -store all morning looking pretty glum and didn’t show up at all this -afternoon. I went to the club and fished him out about six o’clock and -took him home in a taxi. That’s all.” - -Reduced to terms, Billy had characteristically celebrated the failure -of the elopement by continuing the drunk he had begun the night before. -Her good luck had not deserted her if no one but Jerry knew that her -suit-case, packed for flight, had stood all day in Copeland’s office. -Jerry’s intuitions were too keen for her to attempt dissimulation. It -would be better to confess and assure herself of his secrecy. - -“You don’t need to worry about that little matter, Nan,” Jerry -continued reassuringly. “Nobody’s going to know anything about it. -Nobody _does_ know anything about it--” - -“Mr. Eaton?” she suggested faintly. - -“I haven’t seen Cecil for two days. I’ve told you all there is to -tell. I don’t know any more and I don’t want to know. Now, forget it! -Only”--he deliberated a moment and then added brokenly--“only, for -God’s sake, don’t ever try it again!” - -It flashed upon her suddenly that the presence of her suit-case in -Copeland’s office was susceptible of grave misconstruction. - -“I’m going to tell you the whole story, Jerry; I think I’ll feel -happier if I do.” - -“Well, you don’t have to tell me anything; remember that!” - -“Maybe not, Jerry. But I feel that having known me away back in the old -times, you’ll understand better than anybody else.” - -There was an appeal in this that filled his heart with pride. He was -struck with humility that a girl like Nan should confide in him. He had -not yet recovered from his surprise that she tolerated him at all. - -“Please don’t think I was going to do anything wrong, Jerry,” she said -pleadingly; “we were to have been married last night; it wasn’t--it -wasn’t anything worse!” she faltered. - -“Nan!” he gasped; “don’t say things like _that_! I wouldn’t think it--I -hadn’t thought it of him! And you--!” - -“Well, you might have thought it,” she said, with a despairing note; -“but you didn’t because you’re my good friend and a gentleman.” - -He was so astounded by her unsparing self-condemnation that he almost -missed this heart-warming praise. She hurried on with the story, tears -filling her eyes. It was an undreamed-of thing that he should see his -divinity weep. For the first time in his life he felt that he, too, was -capable of tears. But he must restore her equanimity, and before she -concluded he had decided to pass the whole thing off as a joke. - -“Forget it, Nan! You never really meant to do it, anyhow. If Cecil -hadn’t turned up, it’s a safe bet you’d have weakened before you got -into the boss’s machine. It was a good joke--on the boss; that’s all -I see in it. Come on, now, and give a merry ha-ha. The only sad thing -about it is that it put the boss on the blink all day. If he’d been a -real sport he wouldn’t have let you escape so easy; looks as though he -wasn’t exactly crazy about it himself!” - -“Oh, you think he wasn’t!” she flared. - -“I thought I’d get a rise out of you with that! Take it from me, if I’d -framed up a thing like that I’d ’ve pulled up large shade trees and -upset tall buildings putting it over. But all you’ve got to do is to -charge it up to profit and loss. Hereafter you’d better not make any -engagements without seeing me,” he concluded daringly. - -“There may be something in that,” she laughed. “I’m glad I told you, -Jerry. It helps a lot to tell your troubles to some one--and you don’t -think much worse of me?” - -“Oh, too much sympathy wouldn’t be good for you!” he said, looking at -her fixedly. “Your trouble is, Nan, if you will take it from an old -friend, that you’ve had too soft a time. You need a jar or two to make -you watch the corners. So do I; so does everybody! When things come -easy for me I get nervous. I’ve got to have something to fight; but I -don’t mean punching heads; not any more. Cecil says his great aim in -life is to teach me to fight with my brains instead of my fists and -feet. But it’s hard work, considering the number of heads there are -that need punching.” - -She was touched by his anxiety to serve her, to see her always in -the best possible light. He was a comforting person, this Jerry. His -philosophy was much sounder than her own; he was infinitely wiser. He -had done much better with his life than she had with hers, and the -advantages had been so immensely in her favor! There was no one else -in the world, she reflected, to whom she could confide as in him. She -marveled that she trusted him so implicitly--and he knew how little she -merited trust! A sudden impulse carried her across the room to where he -stood fingering a book. - -“You are very good to me, Jerry!” she said with deep feeling. - -Her hand touched his--a light, caressing stroke; then she sprang away -from him, abashed. The color mounted to his face, and he thrust the -hand awkwardly into his pocket. The touch of her hand had thrilled him; -a wave of tenderness swept him. - -“I want to be good to you; I want to help you if I can,” he said simply. - -But he was afraid of Nan in tears, and there were tears in the eyes -with which she now regarded him. She turned away, slipping her -handkerchief from her sleeve. This would never do. He waited a moment, -then began talking, as though nothing had happened, of old times on the -river, of steamboat men and their ways, in the hope of restoring her -tranquillity. - -“I guess I had my share of fun down there; if I could be a kid again -I’d want to be born right down there on the old Ohio. I remember once--” - -A muffled crash in the room above sent her flying into the hall and -upstairs. - -“Papa!” she called, standing in the doorway of Farley’s room and -fumbling for the electric button. - -As the ceiling lights flooded the room she called loudly to Jerry. - -Farley lay on the floor in a crumpled heap. The crash that had -accompanied his collapse had been due to the overturning of the -electric table lamp, at which he had caught as he felt himself falling. - -Jerry was already on his knees beside the prone figure. - -Nan snatched the receiver of the telephone from its bracket and called -the regular physician; and then, remembering another doctor who lived -just around the corner, she summoned him also. Amidon lifted Farley and -placed him on the bed. While waiting for her numbers she told him where -to find a restorative the doctor had provided for emergencies, and -before she finished telephoning he had tried vainly to force a spoonful -of the liquid between Farley’s lips. - -“It’s no use,” said Jerry, placing his hand over the stricken man’s -heart. - -“No! No! It can’t be possible!” Nan moaned. “He’d been so well to-day!” - -In a few minutes both physicians were in the room. They made a hurried -examination, asked a few questions, and said there was nothing to be -done. - -The indomitable spirit of Timothy Farley had escaped from its -prison-house; what was mortal of him remained strangely white and -still. Nan, kneeling beside the bed, wept softly. Her foster-mother had -died after a brief illness and she had experienced no such shock as -now numbed her. She had, after all, been closer to Farley than to his -wife. Mrs. Farley, with all her gentleness and sweetness, had lacked -the positive traits that made Timothy Farley an interesting, masterful -character. - -“There will be things to do,” Amidon was saying gently. “Do you mind -if I tell Mr. Eaton? He’d want to know.” - -“No; I should like him to come,” she replied. - -Jerry went below with the physicians and called Eaton on the telephone -in the lower hall. - -Nan rose and began straightening the room. Farley had evidently drawn -on his dressing-gown with a view to remaining up some time, and had -walked to the quaint little table that had so long stood near the -window. Nan saw now what had escaped her when she rushed into the room. -The oblong top of the table had been so turned that it disclosed a -compartment back of the trio of drawers in which Mrs. Farley had kept -her sewing articles. Four long envelopes lay on the lid; two others had -fallen to the floor and lay among the debris of the lamp. At a glance -she saw that these were similar to the ones she had seen Farley hiding -on several occasions, and the counterpart of the envelope containing -the will she had read with so much concern. One of the envelopes was -torn twice across, as though he had intended disposing of it finally. -The others were intact. - -She gathered them all together and thrust them back into the table; -then ran her fingers along the underside of the lid until she found a -tiny catch. Noting the position of this, she drew the top into place, -satisfied herself that the spring had caught, and rose just as Jerry -came back. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -SHADOWS - - -Nan lay on her bed, fully dressed, on the evening of the day of the -funeral, listening to the sounds of the street with an uncomfortable -sense of strangeness and isolation. The faint tinkle of the bell roused -her and the maid came up bearing Eaton’s card. She had told the girl to -excuse her to callers, but Eaton sent word that he wished particularly -to see her. She appeared before him startlingly wan and white in her -black gown. - -“I knew you wanted to be alone, Nan, but there’s a matter I must speak -to you about, and I thought it best to do it at once. I shan’t bother -you long. I left a dinner at the Lawyers’ Club to run up for a minute; -in about an hour I shall be making a speech; so you needn’t prepare for -a long visit!” - -“I’m glad you came. It’s much harder than I thought it would be. I’m -sorry I didn’t keep Mrs. Copeland or one of the girls with me.” - -“Of course, you’re bound to feel it. It came as a great shock to all of -us. A man like your father can’t pass out of the world without being -missed--very deeply missed. He was a real person; a vivid personality. -It has done me good to hear the fine things said of him; the crowd here -at the services showed that he had been held in very deep affection by -all sorts of people.” - -There was a moment’s silence. The tears had come into her eyes and he -waited for her to control herself. - -“I shouldn’t be troubling you if I hadn’t felt that my business--if it -can be called business--was urgent. I’m taking the liberty of an old -friend--of yours and of Mr. Farley’s.” - -“Oh, there can’t be any question of liberty!” she protested. “You’re -always so thoughtful, so kind!” - -“My purpose is in no sense professional,” he continued. “Mr. Thurston -was Mr. Farley’s lawyer and he will no doubt confer with you at once -on business matters. He’s an excellent man; wholly trustworthy. No one -stands higher at our bar.” - -“Yes; I know papa had every confidence in him,” Nan replied, wondering -what Eaton, who looked very distinguished in his evening clothes, could -have to say to her. - -“It’s in relation to that little difficulty--an unfortunate but wholly -pardonable mistake you made--you see I speak frankly--in reference to a -man named Harlowe, a lawyer from the south part of the State, in regard -to a demand he made on you some time ago. Mr. Farley explained about -it--all that he knew.” - -Nan clenched her hands tightly and drew a deep breath. It was -inconceivable that that specter could reappear to trouble her. - -“Yes,” she whispered faintly; “I remember. I was so grateful to you -for your help that night. I don’t know what would have happened if you -hadn’t come just then. Papa was very bitter about what I did, and of -course it was cowardly of me; and very stupid, not to have advised with -some one.” - -“You did what seemed perfectly justifiable at the moment; Mr. Farley -saw it that way afterward.” - -“He never spoke to me about it again; I have you to thank for that.” - -“No; it was Mr. Farley’s aim to be just. Now, about this Harlowe: I -don’t want to alarm you, but I have found it best to be prepared for -difficulties even where there’s only a remote chance of having to -confront them. I merely want you to know that if that man turns up -again I’m ready for him. I have, in fact, accumulated a considerable -amount of data that can be used against him if he makes another move. -He’s an unscrupulous blackguard, a disgrace to the profession.” - -“But that case against my brother is all over now. He couldn’t ask for -more money?” - -“Not in that particular way,” Eaton replied slowly; “but having -succeeded once in frightening money out of you, he might try it again. -I suppose Mr. Farley never told you what I discovered--established -with documentary proof that I have safely put away in my office--that -the Corrigan this Harlowe pretended to represent was not in fact your -brother.” - -He went on quickly, ignoring the astonishment and bewilderment written -on her face. - -“That man was no more your brother than he is mine--you need have no -doubts about it. Harlowe’s client went to the penitentiary--quite -properly, no doubt. The poor fellow never knew how he had been -used--never heard of that money! I take off my hat to Brother -Harlowe--a shrewd scoundrel. It’s because I respect his talents that -I’ve taken so much pains to look him up! Possibly you won’t hear from -him at all; then again, you may. I’ve given some study to the peculiar -moral nature of persons like Harlowe, and I won’t deny that it would -please me to have a chance at him--though, of course, Mr. Thurston -would be quite as competent to deal with the case as I am. My aim would -be to get rid of him quietly, perhaps by methods that wouldn’t appeal -to Mr. Thurston. Please listen to him carefully, if he should come to -you. Concede nothing, but let him go as far as he will. That’s all, I -think. Pardon me if I look at my watch.” - -“It’s very kind of you to warn me,” she said, with feeling. “It’s -horrible to know there are people plotting against you in the dark. I -was ashamed of myself for yielding as I did when that man came to me; I -knew right away that I had made a mistake.” - -“Well, as our friend Mr. Amidon would remark, forget it! forget it! We -all make mistakes. I wish I had never made a worse one than that little -slip of yours,” he added kindly. - -She had always been amused by Eaton’s oddities, his mysteriousness; -but in this hour of dejection his sympathy and friendliness warmed her -heart. She rose and stood before him, her hands clenched at her sides, -and demanded passionately:-- - -“Why am I always doing the wrong thing? Why do I escape so often when I -have every intention of doing what I know to be wrong? I suppose if I’d -waited another day I shouldn’t have sneaked my money out of the trust -company and turned it over to that man! But I’ve had escapes I don’t -understand; something gets in the way and I don’t--I _can’t_--do things -I fully mean to do! And I look back and shudder. Why is that--can you -tell me?” - -He lifted his arm with one of his familiar gestures and inspected his -cuff-links absently. - -“You’re seeing things a little black now, that’s all, Nan. When you -gave up that money you thought it was the right thing to do. You saw -the mistake yourself the moment after it was done. That’s just our -human frailty. It’s our frailties that make life the grand fight it is!” - -“That’s not very consoling,” she replied, with a rueful smile. “I -suppose we never know how much we count in other people’s lives. Oh, I -don’t mean that I do--except to do harm; I was thinking of you!” - -His eyeglasses gleamed as he bent her a swift glance. - -“I--I’d be very happy to think I’d been of use to somebody.” - -“Oh, you saved me once from going clear over the brink! You didn’t know -that, did you?” she cried earnestly. - -“I most certainly did not!” - -“If you don’t know,” she said gravely, “I shall never tell you. Are you -really sure you don’t know what I’m talking about?” - -“My dear Nan, why do you ask me if I guess things--when facts are the -consuming passion of my life! If I was ever of the slightest service to -you it was unconscious good fortune on my part. And I hope there may -be many such occasions! But, Nan,”--he waited until he was quite sure -of her attention,--“Nan, we can’t rely too much on the man on shore in -emergencies. He won’t always reach us in time. We’ve got to mind the -thin ice ourselves--skate away as soon as we hear it cracking! We can’t -trust to chance. Luck supports sound judgment--mainly. And we’ve got to -fight our own battles.” - -“But if you’re a worthless, wobbly person like me, what are you going -to do?” she demanded. - -“Cease wobbling! Good-night!” - -Eaton had not been gone more than five minutes when a light knock on -the glass panel of the front door startled her. The clocks through -the house had just struck ten and she had dismissed the maid for the -night. The rap was repeated more loudly, and stealing to the door she -drew back a corner of the curtain and peered out. Copeland stood in the -entry, plainly revealed by the overhead light; his hand was lifted for -another knock. - -Her heart throbbed with fear and anger. Billy had no right to come at -this hour in this furtive fashion--and on this day, of all days, to the -house of the man who had so cordially hated him. She waited a moment -hoping he would go away, but he began beating upon the glass. - -This clearly would not do, and she drew back the bolt and opened the -door a few inches. - -“Please go away! You have no right to come here at this time of night!” - -He seized the door as she was about to close it and forced his way past -her. - -“I’ve got to see you a minute--just a minute,” he said eagerly. “It’s -a matter of importance or I shouldn’t have come to-night. I thought it -best not to wait. It’s really a serious matter, Nan!” - -“You have no right to come at all,” she replied angrily. “What if the -neighbors saw you! they know I’m alone. You know this won’t do; please -go, Billy!” she pleaded. - -“I suppose,” he said, walking toward the parlor, “that it’s all right -for John Eaton to come when he pleases, but not for me.” - -“That was very different; he rang the bell and the maid let him in! And -he came on a business matter. You can’t stay, Billy; you understand -that. You must go at once!” - -“Well, I came earlier, but saw Eaton’s silk hat bobbing in and I’ve -been hanging around waiting for him to go. I didn’t care to meet -him here; and as far as business is concerned, maybe mine’s just as -important as his. You’ll have to take my word for that.” - -His manner and tone were amiable. There clearly was nothing to be -gained by debating the question of his right to be there, but she -remained resolutely in the parlor door, trying to devise some means of -getting rid of him. - -“You’ll have to be quick, then,” she said, without relaxing her -severity. - -“Yes; I understand that, Nan,” he agreed readily. “It’s about -the property--no--don’t stop me!” he exclaimed as she cried out -impatiently. “You have certain rights and it’s the business of your -friends to see that you get them. Another day and it will be too late.” - -“I’m to see Mr. Thurston to-morrow; everything’s in his hands; you have -nothing to do with it!” - -He took a step toward her and his voice sank to a whisper. - -“That’s just it! Everything is not in his hands. That’s what I want to -tell you.” - -She stared at him blankly. His excited manner aroused her curiosity as -to what he might have to say, but it was unlikely that he knew anything -of importance about Farley’s affairs. - -“They’re saying downtown that Farley was a crank about will-making; he -made a lot of wills and kept them hid. Thurston’s let that out himself. -If you know this, we can drop that part of it.” - -She made no reply, and her silence encouraged him to go on. - -“The fact is, as we all know,” he began ingratiatingly, “that -Farley wasn’t himself at all times. He probably made wills that he -destroyed--or meant to destroy. It’s wholly possible that he vented -his wrath on you at times by cutting down what he meant to give you, -and the next day he’d be sorry for it. That would be like him. In old -times at the store he used to blow up with fury one minute and be -as tame as a lamb the next. But there’s no reason--there’s not the -slightest reason why you should suffer if he died leaving a will lying -around that might rob you of your just inheritance--that didn’t really -express his normal attitude toward you. He never meant to be mean to -you; I’m satisfied of that; but if there are some of those wills here -in the house--you would have a right, considering his condition and all -that--you would have a right--you see--” - -He had been watching her narrowly for some sign of interest or -encouragement, but finding neither he broke off without saying just -what it might be right for her to do. However, while he waited a quick -flutter of her lids indicated that she comprehended. Their eyes met -in a long gaze. Her face grew white and her lips opened several times -before any sound came from them. He had drawn closer, but he stepped -back as he saw horror and repugnance clearly written in her face. - -“You have no right to talk to me like this! It’s too shameful, too -terrible!” she gasped. - -“Please, Nan, don’t take it that way,” he begged. - -“How else can I take it! To think that you should believe me capable of -that, Billy!” - -“If I hadn’t known that he had treated you like a brute and that he -always carried his vindictiveness to the limit, I shouldn’t be here. -I don’t want to see you cut off with little or nothing when the whole -estate ought to be yours--_will_ be yours if you don’t make a fool of -yourself! He had no right to bring you up as his daughter and then -leave you with nothing. Thurston isn’t going to protect your interests; -he merely did from time to time what Farley told him to do, and you -won’t get any help out of him. If there are different wills hidden -about--you may know where he hid them--” - -He threw out his arms with a gesture meant to demonstrate the ease with -which matters might be taken into her own hands. In the sobering hours -that had followed Farley’s death only his great kindness and generosity -had been in her thoughts. The enormity of what Copeland proposed grew -upon her. She bestirred herself suddenly. She must not let him think -that she was tolerating his suggestion for an instant. - -“I’m sorry you thought that kind of thing would appeal to me! That’s -your idea of me, is it?” - -“I’m appealing to your good sense, Nan; in a few hours it will be too -late, and if you know where he kept his papers, you can easily look -them over and satisfy yourself as to just what he meant to do; and then -you can do as you like. His last will would stand; maybe you don’t know -that; and if it’s in the house, why shouldn’t you, at least, have a -look at it?” - -“I wouldn’t--I _couldn’t_ do such a thing!” she cried. - -“If there shouldn’t be any will at all,” he resumed, with his eyes -fixed upon her intently, “then you would inherit everything! The -adoption made you his child in law; there wouldn’t be any way of -escaping that. It’s these wills that you’ve got to fear--the whims, the -sudden vindictive anger of an old man who really meant to do the right -thing by you. Neither he nor his wife had any near kin; there would be -nobody to share with you in case there proves to be no will at all!” - -“You make it perfectly plain what it would be possible for me to -do!” she replied with quivering lips. “That seems to be all you have -to say--and it’s enough! I want you to leave this house, and be quick -about it!” - -“But, Nan, you are taking this all wrong! It’s not as though you were -robbing other people: you certainly have a better right to the money -than anybody else. Suppose that in one of his mental lapses he had -willed the greater part of his fortune to some silly charity; all the -rest of your days you’d be sorry you hadn’t done what you could to -protect yourself.” - -“Please go,” she urged in a plaintive whisper, “so I can forget that -you’ve been here!” - -“Of course I’ll go,” he assented. “If I hadn’t felt that you looked to -me at least as a friend, I shouldn’t have come. And if there’s anything -to be done it must be done quickly--that’s as plain as daylight.” - -He advanced this in a crisp, businesslike tone, as though there were -nothing remarkable in his suggestions. She was already wondering, as he -meant she should, whether, after all, there was anything so enormous in -the idea. Fear stole into her heart; it would be unsafe to listen to -anything further lest he persuade her of the justice of his plan. But -he dropped the matter instantly, wisely calculating that he had said -enough. - -“You know, Nan, that nobody is as interested in your happiness as I am. -If I didn’t care so much--if I didn’t hope that you cared, I shouldn’t -have come here to-night; I shouldn’t have dared!” - -She made no response, but stared at him with widely distended eyes. Her -silence made him uneasy. Her black gown had strangely transformed her. -She was not the Nan who had promised to marry him--who would now, but -for his folly, be his wife. He walked to the door and then said in the -low tone he had employed from the beginning,-- - -“There are other things I want to speak of, but I know this is not -the time. I shall hope to see you again soon, and please try to think -better of me, Nan!” - -She remained where she had stood throughout the interview until she -heard the iron gate click behind him. - -She put out the lights and climbed the stairs slowly. The loneliness -that had stifled her before Eaton’s appearance had deepened. She passed -through the silent upper hall and locked herself in her room, resolved -not to leave it until the world woke to life again. - -“No! No! No!” she moaned aloud to fortify her resolution.... - -At one o’clock she was still awake, questioning, debating with herself, -while strange shadow-shapes danced in the surrounding blackness. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -NAN AGAINST NAN - - -Was Billy right, after all? - -The question haunted her insistently. She lighted the lamp by her bed -and tried to read, but the words were a confused jumble. She threw down -her book impatiently. If only she had kept Fanny Copeland in the house -or had given the papers hidden away in the old table to Eaton to carry -away, she would have escaped this struggle. - -Her thoughts were fixed upon Eaton for a time. He had enjoined her to -take a firmer hold of herself. She readily imagined what his abhorrence -would be of the evil thing Copeland had proposed.... - -But, after all, Farley had meant to treat her generously, as Copeland -had said, and if in some angry mood he had rewritten his will to reduce -his provision for her, there was no reason why she shouldn’t seize an -opportunity to right a wrong he never really intended.... - -She rose, drew on her kimono, snapped on all the lights and found that -it was only half-past one. She assured herself that she would not open -the door of Farley’s room; and yet, the thought kept recurring that no -one would ever know if she read those wills and destroyed them. The -fear that she might yield chilled her. She became frantic for something -to do and set herself the task of putting the drawers of her desk in -order. Some letters that Mrs. Farley had written her while she was at -boarding-school caught her eye. - -Yes, the Farleys had been kind, even foolishly indulgent. She read in -her foster-mother’s even, old-fashioned hand:-- - - Don’t worry about your money, dear. I suppose when you go into town - you see a lot of little things that it’s nice for a girl to have. - We want you to appear well before the other girls. I’m slipping a - twenty-dollar bill into this letter just for odds and ends. Don’t say - anything to papa about it, as I would rather he didn’t know I send - you money. - -A little later she turned up a letter of Farley’s in which he had -enclosed a fifty-dollar bill as an addition to her regular allowance. -In a characteristic postscript he enjoined her not “to tell mamma. She -thinks you have enough money and it might make her jealous!” - -She closed the drawer, leaving it in worse confusion than before. -Comforts and luxuries were dear to her. She had enjoyed hugely her -years at boarding-school. To be set adrift with a small income while -the greater part of Farley’s money went to philanthropy--maybe Billy -was right, after all!... - -Two o’clock. She was in Farley’s room, crouched in a low rocker with -her arms flung across the table in which the papers were hidden. Her -heart beat furiously, and her breath came in quick gasps. She had -decided now to read the wills; it would do no harm to have a look at -them. If everything was to be taken away from her, she might as well -know the worst and prepare for it. - -Her fingers sought the catch that released the spring; the top turned -easily. The papers lay as she had left them the night Farley died. She -folded the open ones and thrust them into their envelopes. She counted -them deliberately; there were six, including the one that had fallen -from the dressing-gown, which she identified by the crosses on the -envelope.... - -If there should be no will, Copeland had said, all the property would -go to her as the only heir. There was a grate in the room with the fuel -all ready for lighting. It would be a simple matter to destroy all -the wills. She could explain the burnt-out fire to the maid by saying -that the house had grown cold in the night and that she had gone into -Farley’s room to warm herself. She was surprised to find how readily -explanations covering every point occurred to her. The very ease with -which she thought of them appalled her. No doubt it was in this fashion -that hardened criminals planned their defense.... - -She struck a match and touched it to the paper under the kindling. -The fire blazed brightly. She was really chilled and the warmth was -grateful. As she held her hands to the flames she surveyed the trifles -on the mantel and her gaze wandered to a portrait of Mrs. Farley which -had been done from photographs by a local artist after her death. The -memory of her foster-mother’s simple kindliness and gentleness gave her -a pang. She turned slowly until her eyes rested upon the bed in which -Farley had suffered so long. She went back to the beginning and argued -the whole matter over again. - -As at other times, in moods of depression, she thought of the squalor -of her childhood; of her father, Dan Corrigan, trapper, fisherman, -loafer, brutal drunkard. She gazed at her white, slim fingers and -recalled her mother’s swollen, red hands as she had bent for hours -every day over the wash-tub. Her mother had been at least an honest -woman, who had addressed herself uncomplainingly to the business of -maintaining a home for her children. - -All that the Farleys had done in changing her environment to one of -comfort and decency and educating her in a fashionable school with the -daughters of gentlefolk had not affected the blood in her. She had not -been worthy of their pity, their generosity, their confidence. Yet it -had meant much to these people in their childlessness to take her into -their hearts and give her their name. Farley’s ideas of honor had been -the strictest; the newspapers in their accounts of his career had laid -stress on this. And how he would hate an act such as she meditated, -that would prove her low origin, stamp her as the daughter of a -degenerate!... - -Still, there was no reason why she shouldn’t read the wills. She -returned to the table, drew one of them out, played with it for a -moment uncertainly, then thrust it back. - -It was Nan against Nan through the dark watches of the night. If she -yielded now she would never tread firm ground again. Once this trial -was over, she would be a different woman--better or worse; and she must -reach a decision unaided. She buried her face in her arms to shut out -the light and wept bitterly in despair of her weakness.... - -Four o’clock. A sparrow cheeped sleepily in the vines on the wall -outside the window. Farley had liked the sparrows and refused to have -them molested. They were “company,” he said, and he used to keep crumbs -of bread and cake for them.... - -She lifted her head, and confidence stole into her heart. She had not -done the evil thing; she had not even looked at the sheets of paper -that recorded Farley’s wavering, shifting faith in her. - -“Why don’t you do it? You are a coward; you are afraid!” - -Her voice sank to a whisper as she kept repeating these taunts. Then -she was silent for a time, sitting with arms folded, her eyes bent -unseeingly upon the envelopes before her. There could be no happiness -in store for her if she yielded. She saw herself carrying through life -the memory of a lawless act dictated by selfishness and greed. Suddenly -she rose and walked to the bed; and her voice rang out with a note of -triumph, there in the room where Farley had died:-- - -“I have not done it; I will not do it!” - -The sound of her voice alarmed her, and she glanced nervously over her -shoulder. Then she laughed, struck by the thought that if Farley’s -spirit lurked there expecting to see her yield, it was a disappointed -ghost! - -“You silly little fool,” he had often said to her in his anger. Well, -she was not so wicked as he had believed; but she thought of him now -without bitterness. - -Wings fluttered; the sparrows began a persistent twitter. - -Light was creeping in under the shades. She returned to the table, -stared at it, frowning, drew away quickly, ran to the door, and glanced -back breathlessly. She walked back slowly, turned the papers over, -peered into the drawer to make sure that she had overlooked nothing. - -She took up the wills that recorded Timothy Farley’s doubts and -uncertainties and wavering generosities, dropped them into the little -well in the table and drew the top into place. - -A feeling of exaltation possessed her as she heard the click of the -spring. This, perhaps, was the reward of righteousness. “We’re all -happier,” the simple-hearted Mrs. Farley used to say, “when we’re -good!” - -She stood very still for a minute, stifling her last regret. Then she -turned to the window and opened it, unfastened the shutters, and thrust -her hands out into the gray light. A farmer’s wagon, bound for market, -passed slowly by, the driver asleep with a lighted lantern on the seat -beside him. - -She remained there for a quarter of an hour listening to the first -tentative sounds of the new day. The newspaper carrier threw the -morning paper against the door beneath the window, unconscious that -she saw him. She closed the window, crept back to her room and threw -herself exhausted on her bed.... - -Outside Farley’s windows the sparrows chirruped impatiently for crumbs -from the hand that would feed them no more. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -NOT ACCORDING TO LAW - - -Nan was reading the newspaper report of Eaton’s speech over her coffee -when at nine o’clock he called her on the telephone. - -“Your speech sounds fine, though I don’t understand all the jokes,” she -said. “But I’m sure you made a hit.” - -“Not so sure of it myself, Nan. But please listen to me carefully. Our -friend from the southern part of the State is here. I have him marked -at his hotel. He has probably come to see you. Let him say all he has -on his mind, then report to me. You will probably hear from Thurston, -too, during the day. He’s trying a case this morning. But our brother -from the South comes first. Don’t let him frighten you; just listen and -encourage him if necessary to show what he’s up to this time.” - -“Very well,” she replied, though the thought of facing Harlowe alone -filled her with misgivings. - -Mrs. Copeland was on the wire immediately afterward, to ask if she -could be of any service. Then Thurston’s clerk called her to make an -appointment for three o’clock. - -The night’s vigil had left its marks upon her. She was nervously alert -for the day’s developments, but nothing could be worse than the long -struggle against temptation. She had, she fancied, considered every -possibility as to the future and she was prepared for anything that -might befall her. She was happy in the thought that she faced the world -with a clean conscience; never in her life had she been on so good -terms with herself. - -She was standing at the parlor window when at eleven a familiar figure -entered the gate. Harlowe, tall, slightly stooped, advanced to the -door. She called to the maid not to trouble to answer the ring and let -the man in herself. - -He began with formal condolences on what he called “her irreparable -loss.” - -“Much as we may be prepared for the death of a loved one, it always -comes with a shock. I sympathize with you very deeply, Miss Farley.” - -She murmured her thanks and bade him be seated. She wished she had -asked Eaton to be present at the interview, which he had forecast with -a prescience that justified all her faith in his unusual powers. - -“I came as quickly as possible after hearing of Mr. Farley’s death, in -the hope of being of some service to you--of avoiding any difficulties -that might possibly arise with reference to the settlement of Mr. -Farley’s affairs.” - -She nodded, and remembering Eaton’s injunction, gave him strict -attention. - -“I hope,” he went on, “that my handling of the very distressing and -delicate matter that brought me here last June won your confidence to -such an extent--” - -He paused, watching her narrowly for any sign of dissent. - -“I appreciated that, Mr. Harlowe; it was very considerate of you to -come to me as you did.” - -“I didn’t report on that case further, feeling that it might embarrass -you, assuming that the whole matter was strictly between ourselves.” - -“Quite so,” she agreed. - -“I was distressed that after all our interest, and your own generosity, -we could not save your unfortunate brother. Still, it’s something that -we were able to secure what was a light sentence--taking everything -into consideration. Only circumstantial evidence, to be sure, but it -pointed very strongly to his guilt. You doubtless read the result in -the papers?” - -“Yes, I followed the case,” she answered. “And I’m sure you did the -best you could.” - -His solemnity would have been amusing at any other time. He clearly had -no idea that she had learned of his duplicity in taking money from her -for the defense of a Corrigan who was in no manner related to her. - -“I assume,” he said, “that no steps have yet been taken to offer for -probate any will Mr. Farley may have left. I had hoped to see you -first; this accounts for my visit to-day. I thought it best to see you -before going to Mr. Thurston. Mr. Joseph C. Thurston was, I believe, -Mr. Farley’s attorney?” - -“Yes. He was one of papa’s best friends and he had charge of his -affairs as far back as I can remember.” - -“An excellent man. There’s no better lawyer in the State,” Harlowe -responded heartily. “But I occasionally find it best to deal directly -with a client. We lawyers, you know, are sometimes unwisely obstinate, -and lead our clients into unnecessary trouble. As you are the person -chiefly concerned in this matter, I came directly to you. I did this -because in that former matter you were so quick to see the justice of -my--er--request.” - -Her amazement at his effrontery almost equalled her curiosity as to -what lay behind his deliberate approaches. - -“It is generally known that Mr. Farley was a man of violent temper,” -he went on. “Some of his old friends on the river remember him well, -and you may never have known--and I am sorry to be obliged to mention -so unpleasant a fact--that his mother died insane. That is a matter of -record, of course. The malady from which Mr. Farley suffered for many -years is one that frequently affects the mind. No doubt living with him -here, as you did, you noticed at times that he behaved oddly--didn’t -conduct himself quite normally?” - -Remembering Eaton’s instructions she acquiesced without offering any -comment. His designs, she now assumed, were not personal to herself, -but directed against Farley’s estate. - -“I represent two cousins of Mr. Farley’s who live in my county. Very -worthy men they are; you may have heard Mr. Farley speak of them.” - -“Yes; I knew about them. I sent them telegrams advising them of his -death.” - -“That was very thoughtful on your part, Miss Farley, and they -appreciate it. But by reason of their poverty they were unable to -attend the funeral. They asked me to thank you for thinking of them. -Several times during the past twenty years Mr. Farley had advanced them -small sums of money--an indication of his kindly feeling toward them.” - -“I didn’t know of that; but it was like papa.” - -“In case Mr. Farley left a will, it is my duty to inform you, that -you may have time for reflection before taking up the matter with -Mr. Thurston, that we are prepared to attack it on the ground of Mr. -Farley’s mental unsoundness. I assume, of course, that Mr. Farley made -a handsome provision for you, but quite possibly he overlooked the -natural expectations of his own kinsfolk.” - -She merely nodded, thinking it unnecessary to impart information while -he continued to show his hand so openly. - -“You have probably understood, Miss Farley, that in case your -foster-father died intestate, that is to say, without leaving a will in -proper form, you would, as his heir, be entitled to the whole of his -property.” - -“Yes; I think I have heard that,” she answered uneasily. - -The cold-blooded fashion in which he had stated his purpose to contest -the will on the ground of Farley’s insanity had shocked her. Copeland -had suggested the same thing, but it was a preposterous pretension -that Timothy Farley’s mind had been affected by his long illness. Even -the assertion that his mother had been a victim of mental disorder, -plausibly as he had stated it, would hardly stand against the fact that -Farley’s faculties to the very end had been unusually clear and alert. - -“In case there should be no will,” Harlowe continued, “your rights -would rest, of course, upon your adoption. It would have to be proved -that it was done in accordance with law. The statutes are specific as -to the requirements. I’m sorry, very sorry indeed, my dear Miss Farley, -that in your case the law was not strictly complied with.” - -“I don’t know what you mean; I don’t understand you!” she faltered. - -“Please don’t be alarmed,” he went on, with a reassuring smile. “I’m -sure that everything can be arranged satisfactorily; I am not here to -threaten you--please remember that; I merely want you to understand my -case.” - -“But my father never dreamed of anything of that kind,” she gasped; -“it’s impossible--why, he would never have made a mistake in so -serious a matter.” - -“Unfortunately, we are all liable to err, Miss Farley,” he answered, -with a grotesque affectation of benevolence. “And I regret to say that -in this case the error is undeniable. What Mr. Farley’s intentions -were is one thing; what was actually done to make you his child in law -is another. We need not go into that. It is a legal question that Mr. -Thurston will understand readily; the more so, perhaps,” he added with -faint irony, “because he was not himself guilty of the error, not being -Mr. Farley’s attorney at the time the adoption was attempted.” - -The room swayed and she grasped the arms of her chair to steady -herself. The man’s story was plausible, and he spoke with an easy -confidence. All Farley’s deliberation about the disposal of his -property would go for naught; her victory over the temptation to -destroy his wills had been futile! - -“Please don’t misunderstand me, Miss Farley,” the man was saying. -“My clients have no wish to deprive you wholly of participation in -the estate. And we should deplore litigation. In coming to you now, -I merely wish to prepare you, so that you may consider the case in -all its aspects before taking it up with your lawyer. No doubt a -satisfactory settlement can be arranged, without going into court. I -believe that is all. Henceforth I can’t with propriety deal directly -with you, but must meet your counsel. I assume, however, that he -will not wholly ignore your natural wish to--er--arrange a settlement -satisfactory to all parties.”... - -The door had hardly closed upon him before she was at the telephone -calling Eaton, and in half an hour he was at the house. Harlowe’s words -had so bitten into her memory that she was able to repeat them almost -_verbatim_. Eaton listened with his usual composure. It might have -seemed from his manner that he was more interested in Nan herself than -in her recital. She betrayed no excitement, but described the interview -colorlessly as though speaking of matters that did not wholly concern -her. When she concluded Eaton chuckled softly. - -“You’re taking it nobly,” were his first words; “I’m proud of you! You -see, I had expected something of the sort--prepared for it, in fact, -right after this fellow got that thousand dollars out of you. He’s -crafty, shrewd, unscrupulous. But you have nothing to worry over. He -came to you first and at the earliest possible moment in the hope of -frightening you as he did before, hoping that you’d persuade Thurston -to settle with him. As for Farley’s incompetence to make a will, that’s -all rubbish! His mother suffered from senile dementia--no symptoms -until she was nearly ninety. Every business man in town would laugh at -the idea that Tim Farley wasn’t sane. He was just a little bit saner -than most men. His occasional fits of anger were only the expression of -his vigorous personality; wholly characteristic; nothing in that for -Harlowe to hang a case on. - -“But this point about the adoption is more serious. When I was down -there watching Harlowe defend the man he pretended to you--but to -nobody else--was your brother, I looked up those adoption proceedings, -out of sheer vulgar curiosity. The law provides that adoption -proceedings shall be brought in the county where the child resides, and -that the parents appear in court and consent. Your parents were dead, -and Mr. Farley’s petition was filed in this county after you had been a -member of his household for fully two years. - -“I seriously debated mentioning these points to Thurston, after my -visit down there, but on reflection decided against it. Contrary to -the common assumption the law is not an ass--not altogether! I can’t -imagine the courts countenancing an effort to set aside this adoption -on so flimsy a pretext. Mr. Farley not only complied with the law to -the best of his belief, but let the world in general understand that he -looked on you as his child and heir.” - -“That’s what every one believed, of course,” Nan murmured. - -“I dare say there’s a will,” Eaton continued. “Thurston may have -to defend that--but you may rely on him. I have already made an -appointment to meet him at luncheon to turn over to him all my data. -I’ll say to you in all sincerity that I don’t see the slightest cause -for uneasiness. If there’s a valid will, that settles the adoption line -of attack, though this man may go the length of trying to annul it on -the insanity plea, merely to tie up the estate until you pay something -to these cousins to get rid of him.” - -“There is a will; there are a number of them, I think,” said Nan -soberly. - -“Mr. Farley told you about them--let you know what he was doing?” - -“No; he never spoke of them, except in general terms. I used to see him -hiding them; once one dropped out of his dressing-gown.” She hesitated; -then added quickly: “I read that one before putting it back. I know -I shouldn’t have done it, but I did--as I’ve done a good many things -these last two years I shouldn’t!” - -“Don’t be so hard on yourself! It was quite natural for you to look at -it.” - -“The night he died,” she went on breathlessly, “he had been looking at -a number of wills he kept hidden in mamma’s old sewing-table. I put -them back in the drawer. I suppose Mr. Thurston will ask for them when -he comes.” - -“Yes; he should see all such papers. You must tell him everything you -know that relates to them.” - -“I almost burnt them all up last night,” she exclaimed in a strange, -hard tone. “That one I read made me angry. I thought it niggardly -and unjust. And--some one told me”--in her eagerness to make her -confession complete she nearly blurted out Copeland’s name--“that if -there should be no will I’d inherit everything. And last night I fought -that out. And it was a hard fight; it was horrible! But for once in -my life I got a grip on myself. You may remember saying to me, ‘Don’t -wobble.’ Well, I wobbled till I was dizzy--but I wobbled right! And now -that that’s over, I believe--though I’m afraid to say it aloud--that -I’m a different sort of a girl some way. I hope so; I mean to be very, -very different.” - -“You poor, dear, little Nan,” he said softly. “I’m proud of you--but -not very much surprised!” - -“But you see it doesn’t count, anyhow,” she said, smiling, pleased and -touched by his praise. “If there’s a will, it’s bad; if there isn’t, -I’m not to be considered!” - -“Don’t belittle your victory by measuring it against mere money. As for -those purely business matters, they’ll be attended to. You’re not going -to be thrown out on the world just yet.” - -“I shouldn’t cry--not now--if it came to that! Now that I know what -they mean, I think I rather like these little wars that go on inside -of us. But I tell you it was good to see the daylight this morning and -know I could pass a mirror and not be afraid of my own face!” - -“It is rather nicer that way; much nicer,” he said, with his rare -smile. “I’m glad you told me this. I see that I don’t need to worry -about you any more.” - -“You haven’t really been doing that?” - -“At times, at times, my dear Nan,” he said, looking at her quizzically, -“you’ve brought me to the verge of insomnia!” - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -THE COPELAND-FARLEY CELLAR - - -At twelve o’clock on the night of Nan’s prolonged struggle, Jerry, -having walked to the station with a traveling man of his acquaintance, -paused at the door of Copeland-Farley, hesitated a moment, and then let -himself in. He whistled a warning to the watchman, as was his habit -when making night visits to the establishment. Hearing no response, he -assumed that the man was off on his rounds and would reach the lower -floor shortly. - -He opened his desk and busied himself with some memoranda he had made -from the books that afternoon. There was no denying that the house -was in a bad way; the one hundred thousand dollars of notes carried -by the Western National matured the next day, and in addition to -these obligations the Company was seriously behind in its merchandise -accounts. - -A quarter of an hour passed, and the watchman made no sign. Jerry -closed his desk, walked back to the elevator-shaft, and shouted the -man’s name. From the dark recesses of the cellar came sounds as of some -one running, followed by a stumble and fall. He called again, more -loudly, but receiving no response, he ran to the stairway, flashed on -the lights, and hurried down. - -His suspicions were aroused at once by a heap of refuse, surmounted -by half a dozen empty boxes, piled about the wooden framework of the -elevator-shaft. - -The room where oils, paints, ethers, acids and other highly inflammable -or explosive stock was stored was shut off from the remainder of the -cellar by an iron door that had been pushed open. As he darted in -and turned on the lights, he heard some one stealthily moving in the -farther end of the room. - -Seizing a fire-extinguisher he bawled the watchman’s name again and -plunged in among the barrels. A trail of straw indicated that the same -hand that had piled the combustibles against the shaft had carried -similar materials into the dangerous precincts of the oil room. In a -moment he came upon a barrel of benzine surrounded with kindling. - -He decided against calling for help. No harm had yet been done, and -it was best to capture the guilty person and deal with him quietly if -possible. He kicked the litter away from the barrel and waited. In a -moment a slight noise attracted his attention, and at the same instant -a shadow vanished behind an upright cask. He waited for the shadow to -reappear, advancing cautiously down the aisle with his eyes on the -cask. - -“Come out o’ that!” he called. - -A foot scraped on the cement floor and definitely marked the cask as -the incendiary’s hiding-place. He jumped upon a barrel, leaped from it -to the cask, and flung himself upon a man crouched behind it. They went -down together with Jerry’s hand clutching the captive’s throat. - -“Good God!” he gasped, as he found himself gazing into Copeland’s eyes. - -The breath had been knocked out of Billy and he lay still, panting -hard. His right hand clenched a revolver. - -“Give me that thing!” - -Jerry wrenched it from Copeland’s convulsive clutch, thrust it into his -coat pocket, and stood erect. - -“I’m very sorry, sir,” he said. - -“Damn’ near shootin’ you, Jerry,” drawled Copeland, sitting up and -passing his hand slowly across his face; “damn’ near! Gimme your hand.” - -Jerry drew him to his feet. Copeland rested heavily on the cask and -looked his employee over with a slow, bewildered stare. - -“Might ’a’ known I couldn’t pull ’er off! Always some damn’ fool like -you buttin’ into my blizness. ’S _my_ blizness! Goin’ do what I damn’ -please with _my_ blizness. Burn whole damn’ thing down ’f want to. I’m -incenjy--what you call ’m?--incenjyary,--what you call ’m--pyromaniac. -Go to jail and pen’tenshary firs’ thing I know.” - -“Not this time,” said Jerry sternly. “I’m going to take you home.” - -“Home? Whersh that?” asked Copeland, grinning foolishly. - -“Well, I guess a Turkish bath would be better. Where’s Galloway?” - -“Gall’way’s good fellow; reli’ble watchman. Wife’s sick; sent him home -with my comp’ments. Told ’im I’d take full reshponshibility.” - -“You didn’t expect to collect the insurance on that story, did you? You -must have a low opinion of the adjusters. I’ll fire Galloway to-morrow -for leaving you here in this shape.” - -“Not on yer life y’ won’t! Silly old man didn’t know I wuz loaded. -Came on me sud’ly--very sud’ly. Only had slix slocktails--no; thass -wrong; thass all wrong. You know what I mean. Effect unusual--mos’ -unusual. Just a few small drinks at club. Guess I can’t carry liquor’s -graceful-ly as I used to. Billy Copeland’s no good any more. Want lie -down. Good place on floor. Nice bed right here, Jerry. Lemme go t’ -sleep.” - -He grasped the edge of the cask more firmly and bent his head to look -down at the heap of straw he had been planting round it when Amidon -interrupted him. - -“Not much I won’t! But before we skip I’ve got to clean up this trash. -Steady, now; come along!” - -He seized Copeland’s arm and forced him to the stairway, where he left -him huddled on the bottom step. - -“No respec’ for head of house; no respec’ whatever,” Copeland muttered. - -Jerry bade him remain quiet, and began carrying the straw and boxes -back to the packing-room. He swept the floor clean, and when he was -satisfied that no telltale trace remained he got Copeland to the -counting-room and telephoned for a taxi. - -“Goin’ to be busted to-morrow; clean smash. You made awful mistake, -Jeremiah, in not lessing--no, not lesting me burn ’er up. Insurance’d -help out consid’ble. Need new building, anyhow.” - -“I guess we don’t need it that bad,” remarked Jerry, rolling a -cigarette. He called the police station and asked for the loan of an -officer to do watchman duty for the remainder of the night; and this -accomplished he considered his further duty to his befuddled employer. - -Now that the calamity had been averted, his anger abated. Copeland’s -condition mitigated somewhat the hideousness of the crime he was about -to commit. Only his desperate financial situation could have prompted -him to attempt to fire the building. Jerry’s silence and unusual -gravity seemed to trouble Copeland. - -“Guess you’re dis’pointed in your boss, Jeremiah. Don’ blame you. -Drunken fool--damn’ fool--incenjy-ary; no end bad lot.” - -“Put your hat on straight and forget it,” remarked Jerry. - -He telephoned to Gaylord, an athletic trainer who conducted a Turkish -bath, and told him to prepare for a customer. He knew Gaylord well, -and when they reached his place Jerry bade him stew the gin out of -Copeland and be sure to have him ready for business in the morning. -While Copeland was in the bath, Jerry tried all the apparatus in the -gymnasium and relieved his feelings by putting on the gloves with -Gaylord’s assistant. After all the arts of the establishment had been -exercised upon Copeland and he was disposed of for the night, Jerry -went to bed.... - -In the morning Gaylord put the finishing touches on his patient and -turned him out as good as new. It had occurred to Amidon that Copeland -might decide to avoid the store that day. He was relieved when he -announced, after they had shared Gaylord’s breakfast, that he would -walk to the office with him. - -“Guess I’ll give the boys a jar by showing up early,” he remarked. - -It was a clear, bracing morning, and Copeland set a brisk pace. He was -stubbornly silent and made no reference to the night’s affair until -they reached the heart of the city. Then he stopped suddenly and laid -his hand on Jerry’s arm. - -“Jerry, I never meant to do that; for God’s sake, don’t believe I -did!” he broke out hoarsely. “I was troubled about the business, and -some other things had worried me lately. I took too many drinks--and -I’d never meant to drink again! I wouldn’t have tried that sober--I -wouldn’t have had the nerve!” - -“It was the drink, of course,” Jerry assented. “It’s all over now. -You’d better forget it; I’m going to!” - -“I wish to God I could forget it!” - -Copeland shrugged his shoulders impatiently, then drew himself erect -and walked on more quickly. Jerry cheerfully changed the subject, and -when they were near the store dived into an alley that led to the -rear door of Copeland-Farley to avoid appearing before the clerks in -Copeland’s company. - -Copeland remained in his room all morning, summoning the auditor from -time to time to ask for various data. He called Jerry once and bade him -make every effort to find Kinney by telephone. Kinney was in New York; -had been there for a week. Copeland smiled sardonically at this news. - -“All right. I knew he’d been away, but the fool said he’d be back -to-day,” he said spitefully. “That’s all!” - -At two o’clock he put a bundle of papers into his pocket and walked -toward the Western National. The bookkeepers exchanged meaningful -glances and Jerry imagined that even the truckmen loading freight -appeared depressed. Copeland’s desperation had been expressed vividly -enough in his drunken attempt to burn the store. And now, if the -Western National refused to extend his loans, Copeland-Farley might -cease to exist. Jerry’s usual nonchalance left him. He failed to seize -a chance to “land” on a drummer from a New York perfumery house who was -teasing him for the latest news of Main Street.... - -At three o’clock Eaton called Jerry on the telephone. - -“I want to see Copeland; please call me the minute he comes in,” said -the lawyer. - -Shortly before four Copeland came back and walked directly to his -office. There was another exchange of glances along the accountants’ -desks, where the clerks bent with affected diligence over their books. - -The auditor was summoned again, carried a book into Copeland’s room, -and reappeared instantly. The air was tense. It was a source of relief -to Jerry to hear Eaton’s voice as he reported Copeland’s return. - -“Watch him,” said the lawyer, with his usual calmness; “and don’t let -him leave the store.” - -As Jerry nervously watched the door for Eaton’s appearance, Louis M. -Eichberg, of Corbin & Eichberg, entered and asked for Copeland. The -bookkeepers exchanged glances again and bent over their ledgers with -renewed zeal. The door of the private office closed upon Eichberg. It -snapped shut sharply--ominously, Jerry thought. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -A SOLVENT HOUSE - - -“I’ve bought in your stock,” Eichberg was saying to Copeland. “You put -up fourteen hundred and eighty-five shares with the Western National -and I’ve bought ’em in at private sale under your collateral agreement. -As I understand it there are fifteen shares held by employees to -qualify as directors. I guess there won’t be any trouble about them, -and we’ll let ’em stand for the present.” - -“Those men paid for their stock and you have no right to touch it,” -said Copeland. “The stock in this company has an actual value of two -hundred dollars a share--” - -“Rubbish! Your capital’s shrunk till you can’t see it any more.” - -“Don’t you believe it! The house was never as sound as it is to-day. -I hope you don’t think I’m going to stand by and let the Western sell -me out on a small loan in this high-handed fashion! It’s a frame-up, a -conspiracy to clean me out. I’ve still got a majority of the stock, and -I’ll give you a run for your money before you get through with me!” - -“Keep your temper, Copeland! I don’t like doing this, but it’s better -for me to have the business than to let it peter out, the way it’s -doing. I’ll even say that after we consolidate I’ll be glad to make a -place for you in the house.” - -“Oh, you needn’t trouble!” returned Copeland hotly. “You’re not going -to get rid of me so easy!” - -“All right! Just how much stock do you think you’ve got?” asked -Eichberg with a faint ironic smile. - -“I’ve got fifteen hundred shares; the bank understood that when I -refused their demand for a majority,” Copeland replied, frowning over -the stock-ledger. - -“That shows how much you know about your own business! There’s twenty -shares out of your half that I’ve been trying to lay my hands on for -two months. It was a deal Farley made the last year he was down here -with a Fort Wayne jobber named Reynolds that he bought out after your -father died. I know because we tried to buy up Reynolds ourselves, but -old Uncle Tim went us one better. There wasn’t much to the business, -but the good-will was worth something and Farley let Reynolds have -twenty shares just to beat us out of the sale. Farley had sense! When -Reynolds died his executor sold the stock to somebody here. Foreman -handled it, but he won’t tell me who he sold to. I know you didn’t get -it! Foreman says he spent a month last summer lookin’ for you to give -you a chance to buy the stock, but he couldn’t get hold of you. You -were always off sportin’ with Kinney!” - -Copeland had forgotten about the Reynolds shares. He mentally cursed -Farley for not reminding him of them; Farley had never dealt squarely -with him! Very likely he had personally told Eichberg and the Western -National of the Reynolds shares. It was galling to be obliged to learn -from Eichberg things he should have known himself. He had flattered -himself that in persuading the bank to accept fourteen hundred and -eighty-five shares as collateral instead of the majority for which -demand had been made at first, he had shown his business sagacity; but -evidently Eichberg had known of the Reynolds shares all along. - -“I don’t intend that what’s left of this business shall go to the bad,” -said Eichberg. “Either you come to terms, and let ’em know outside that -we’ve arranged a merger in a friendly way, or I’ll call up my lawyer -and tell him to apply for a receiver.” - -Outside, the interested and anxious clerks and stenographers, cold -with excitement, watched their associate, Mr. Jeremiah Amidon, who was -inviting the wrath of the gods by knocking upon Copeland’s door. When -he entered in response to an angry bellow, they expected to see him -reappear instantly, possibly at the end of William B. Copeland’s foot. -To their chagrin Amidon remained in the private office for some time; -and they judged from the sudden quiet that followed his disappearance -that he was exerting a calming influence upon Copeland and his -visitor.... - -“I beg your pardon,” Jerry remarked while Copeland and Eichberg glared -at him. - -To Copeland the sight of Jerry was an unwelcome reminder of the -previous night. His remorse over his effort to burn the store -vanished; if it hadn’t been for this meddlesome cub he wouldn’t now be -entertaining Eichberg in his office! - -“Well, what does the boy want?” demanded Eichberg, when Copeland found -it impossible to express his wrath at Jerry’s intrusion. - -Eichberg knew Jerry perfectly well; everybody in the street knew Jerry! -And it was the basest insult to refer to him as the boy. - -“Excuse me, Mr. Eichberg! I just wanted to hand a memorandum to Mr. -Copeland.” - -He drew from his pocket the certificate he had purchased from Foreman, -and handed it to Copeland, who snatched it from him with an angry snarl. - -“Where did you get this?” he asked faintly after a glance at the paper. - -“Oh, it just blew in my way early in the fall. I never bothered to get -a new certificate, but I’ll turn it in right now.” - -He pulled out a fountain pen, removed the cap deliberately, and wrote -his name in the blank space above the executor’s endorsement. This -done, he brushed an imaginary speck from his cuff, as he had seen Eaton -do, and went out, closing the door softly. - -“Well, here’s the answer, Eichberg,” said Copeland, with affected -nonchalance; “here are those Reynolds shares.” - -“How did that damn’ little fool get this?” demanded Eichberg, after a -careful scrutiny of the certificate and endorsements. - -“Oh, he’s a useful little damn’ fool! He’s always picking up -something,” replied Copeland coolly. - -“I suppose it was all set up,” Eichberg sneered. “Why didn’t you come -right out and say you had that stock, and save my time? It’s worth -something if yours ain’t! You’ll either sell me that stock or I’ll have -the court throw you out. It’s up to you!” - -“I told you the truth about these shares,” said Copeland, whose good -humor was returning. “I’m ashamed to say I’d clean forgotten them; but -you see stock never figured much in our corporation; it’s always been -a sort of family affair. I have no idea where Amidon got Reynolds’s -shares--that’s straight! He’s always doing something he isn’t paid for. -And you see it isn’t quite so easy to clean me out. But I take off my -hat to you; you’re a business man!” - -Hope had risen in him. In spite of his futile efforts to tide over -the crisis there was still the remote chance that Kinney, who always -seemed able to borrow all he wanted for his own purposes, might extend -a helping hand. His change of manner had its effect on Eichberg. - -“The stock doesn’t cut any ice,” he fumed. “I’m not goin’ to have a -hundred thousand dollars in a concern that’s losin’ money like this -one! That statement you showed the bank was rotten! You ain’t got any -credit; and you know mighty well you can’t go on here. You’ll either -come to terms or I’ll get a receiver to-morrow. That’s all there is of -that!” - -He clapped on his hat and turned to the door just as it opened upon -Eaton. - -“I’ll look in again in the morning, Copeland,” said Eichberg in a loud -tone. “You just think over that matter, and I guess you’ll see it my -way.” - -“Never put off till to-morrow what you can do to-day,” remarked Eaton, -projecting himself into the office. “I’ll close the door if you don’t -mind, Copeland. And, Mr. Eichberg, please wait a moment.” - -“If you’re his lawyer, you don’t want me here. I’ve said all I’ve got -to say to Copeland,” Eichberg answered. But he waited, glowering at -Eaton, who removed his overcoat, placed it carefully on a chair, and -began drawing off his gloves. - -“Mr. Eichberg, they told me a moment ago at the Western National that -certain stock held as collateral for maturing Copeland-Farley notes had -been bought by you. Is that true?” - -“That’s correct! I guess it was all regular,” Eichberg snapped. - -“We’ll come to that presently. You have now in your possession through -that purchase fourteen hundred and eighty-five shares of stock?” - -“Right!” ejaculated Eichberg loudly. - -Eaton raised his hand, glanced intently at the palm, and then, with one -of his familiar tricks, bent his gaze directly upon Eichberg. - -“Being a competitor of Copeland-Farley and a director of the bank, you -have naturally--quite naturally--thought it would be a good investment -to own a large block of the stock? And it undoubtedly occurred to you -that a combination of Copeland-Farley with Corbin & Eichberg would -be highly advantageous? In fact, you thought you had more stock than -Copeland owns, and that you could come in here and discharge him like a -drayman!” - -“That’s my business! You haven’t explained yet how you come to be -buttin’ in here.” - -“Presently--presently!” replied Eaton soothingly. - -His calm demeanor and refusal to lift his voice further infuriated -Eichberg, who breathed hard for a moment, then pointed a stubby -forefinger at the lawyer as his wrath found utterance. - -“Copeland-Farley’s ruined--busted! If you’ll take a look at their last -statement you’ll see they can’t pull out!” - -“You anticipate me,” replied Eaton gently. “The fact is I had meant to -buy that stock myself, but the bank’s haste to turn it over to you has -spoiled that. I was annoyed--greatly annoyed--when I found awhile ago -that the stock had been sold--sold, in violation of the stipulation--on -the bank’s usual form--that three days’ grace were to be given to the -debtor to release his collateral. I don’t believe the Comptroller would -like that. I shall consider seriously bringing it to his attention.” - -“What good would three days have done him?” cried Eichberg. “The sooner -he’s put out the better. His accounts payable are goin’ to bring his -general creditors down on him in a few days! Don’t you suppose I know? -Haven’t they been telegraphin’ me from all over the country for months -askin’ about this house?” - -“And, of course,” said Eaton softly, “you did all you could to -protect your competitor--neighborly feeling, and that sort of thing. -Well, it will be a great relief to you to know that those accounts -will be paid to-morrow--just as soon as the exchange window of your -piratical bank is opened. There’s a hundred thousand dollars to the -credit of Copeland-Farley over there right now. I know, because I -went in a quarter of an hour ago and made the deposit. This house is -solvent--absolutely solvent. Moreover, Copeland’s stock in the Kinney -Ivory Cement Company is now marketable. I take some pride in that fact -myself--immodestly, I dare say, and yet--I am only human!” - -He drew a telegram from his waistcoat pocket and handed it to Copeland. - -“That patent case was decided to-day--in favor of Kinney. Copeland, I -congratulate you!” - -Copeland read the message, and looked dully from Eaton to Eichberg. -He was roused by Eichberg, who had no difficulty in expressing his -emotions. - -“You fool,” he shouted, shaking his fist in Eaton’s face. “If you’re -tellin’ the truth, what do you mean to do about my stock?” - -Eaton was drawing on his gloves without haste. His face expressed the -mildest surprise at Eichberg’s perturbation. - -“My dear Mr. Eichberg, you were in such a rush to buy the Western’s -collateral that I’m surprised that you should trouble me--a casual -acquaintance--with such a question.” - -“It’s a cheat; it’s a swindle! If there’s any law for this--” - -He flung out of the office and tramped heavily to the front door, while -the clerks, worn with the many agitations of the day, stared after him -mutely. - -“In the morning,” Eaton was saying to Copeland, “I’ll have fuller -details of the decision, but there’s no doubt about it--we’ve won on -every point. Allow me to congratulate you!” - -Copeland half rose to take his proffered hand; then with a groan he -sank back and buried his face in his hands. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -NULL AND VOID - - -“Those documents have a familiar look,” remarked Thurston with a smile -as Nan placed the packet of wills on the table beside him in the Farley -parlor. “Mr. Farley was hard to please; I’ve learned a lot about -will-writing just from studying the different schemes he proposed from -time to time.” - -Nan described the manner in which she had found the wills on the night -of Farley’s death. - -“He was evidently troubled about them and got out of bed to look them -over. This one, that I found lying open on the table, is torn across as -though he had begun to destroy it when the end came.” - -“Very likely that was his intention,” Thurston replied. “I had just -written a new will for him, but it wasn’t signed--not unless he -executed it that same afternoon. Perhaps you know about that?” - -“No one was here, I’m sure,” said Nan, after a moment’s consideration. -“The nurse was off duty; she left for the evening at four o’clock, and -I’m sure the servants weren’t in his room. I carried up his dinner tray -myself.” - -“It’s hardly possible he had signed that last will. I was always -present on such occasions and I got the witnesses. When I called now -and then with a couple of his friends, or telephoned for them, there -was a will to be signed. You probably understood that.” - -He began opening the papers, glancing quickly at the last sheet of -each will, and turning them face down on the table. The torn one he -scrutinized more carefully, and returned to it for further examination -when he had disposed of the others. Nan watched him nervously. He was -a small, slight man of sixty, with a stiff gray mustache and a sharp, -rasping voice. It would not have been easy to deceive Thurston if she -had destroyed the wills; she could never have gone through with it! - -She felt that she had touched with her finger-tips the far horizons -and knew at last something of the meaning of life. She had subjected -herself to pitiless self-analysis and stood convicted in her own -conscience of vanity, selfishness, and hardness. The recollection of -her gay adventures with the Kinneys and her affair with Copeland had -become a hideous nightmare. Not only was she ashamed of her dallying -with Billy, but she accused herself of having exerted a baneful -influence upon him. In all likelihood he would never have sunk so low -as to propose the destruction of Farley’s will but for his infatuation -for her. - -Farley’s death had in itself exercised a chastening effect upon her. -She was conscious of trying to see herself with his eyes and fortify -herself with something of the stern righteousness that made him, in the -retrospect, a noble and inspiring figure. The upturned faces at the -Settlement haunted her; there was a work for her to do in the world -if only she could lay her hands upon it! In this new mood the life of -ease which money would secure weighed little against self-dependence -and service. Money had ceased to be an important integer in her -calculations. - -Having concluded his examination of the papers, the lawyer lifted his -head with an impatient jerk, then sighed, and began smoothing the open -sheets into a neat pile. - -“Those wills are worthless, Miss Farley,--not one of them can be -probated. The testator’s signatures and the names of the witnesses have -been scratched out!” - -In proof of his statement he extended one of the wills, pointing to the -heavy cross-crosses at the bottom of the sheet. - -“You have no idea when he did this--you weren’t present, I suppose?” - -“No; he used to do his writing at the table where he hid the wills. He -occasionally wrote a letter or a check there; but I never saw him open -the table. I never knew of that inner compartment till the night he -died.” - -“Oh, I know that table very well; he had shown me the hidden drawer and -explained how to open it. But this is most unfortunate, deplorable! I -kept in touch with his doctor about his condition and feared something -like this might happen. And he dreaded it himself--was afraid he might -die some time without leaving just the will he had determined to make. -I account for all the wills I wrote for him but the last. The last time -I was here I brought a new will, which I don’t find among these. Are -you sure you haven’t overlooked it?” - -She was quite sure of it, but after she had described in minute detail -the events of the last afternoon of Farley’s life, to confirm her -statement that no one who could have acted as witness had visited -Farley, she took the lawyer upstairs to examine the table for himself. -They broadened the scope of the search, but without success. - -“For the present I think it best for you not to read those wills,” -he said, when they had returned to the parlor. “They represent Mr. -Farley’s changes of feeling in regard to many things--including -yourself. A little later I shall be glad to submit them to you. The -important thing just now is the threat of this man Harlowe to attack -your rights under the adoption. Mr. Eaton and I have already discussed -that. Now that we’re pretty sure there’s no will, this may give us some -trouble, but with characteristic thoroughness Mr. Eaton has prepared -for just this emergency. His reasons for not telling me earlier about -these things are sound enough--his fear of disturbing Mr. Farley -unnecessarily. He would undoubtedly have wanted a proceeding brought to -correct the adoption, but that could only have advertised the error, -and Mr. Farley might have died before we finished it. Still, if I -had known I should have taken care that he didn’t die intestate. But -from what Mr. Eaton tells me, this man is all primed to attack any -will that might have been left, on the ground of Mr. Farley’s mental -incapacity--which is ludicrous, of course. There was never a saner man; -and yet his eccentricities might be magnified before a jury--you never -can tell. On the whole, Mr. Eaton’s silence was justified. But our next -step must be carefully considered. In the mean time--” - -He paced the floor, considering means of relieving her anxiety. - -“Of course, while these things are pending we shall arrange for your -maintenance, on the old basis, in this house. No one can pretend that -Mr. Farley didn’t have every intention of providing for you generously. -It’s only fair to tell you this, that even when he seemed to waver at -times he never cut your legacy below a hundred thousand dollars; and -I know he regretted the comparative meagerness of that--tripled the -amount in the very next will he made! You need have no fears, Miss -Farley,” he went on reassuringly. “But you are entitled to your own -counsel; it’s only right that I should say this to you immediately; -and I suggest that you ask Mr. Eaton to represent you. I hope you will -confer with him at once.” - -He bowed with old-fashioned formality. He was more troubled than he -cared to have Nan know, and her silence disconcerted him. But her face -expressed neither disappointment nor alarm. She stood erect by the -table, an intent look in her eyes. Not wishing to leave her weighed -down by the uncertainties of her future, he said briskly:-- - -“You mustn’t bother yourself about these matters, Miss Farley. In the -end you will find yourself a rich woman. So--” - -He waved his hand as the preliminary to a quick exit, but she called -him back. He did not like being called back; now, he thought, there -would be the tears he dreaded. - -“You don’t understand,” she said quietly. “I ought to have made it -clear in the first place, but I didn’t know just how--or when--to say -it. I can’t--I will not take any of Mr. Farley’s money--not even if the -law should give it to me.” - -He looked at her with the mute appeal of the deaf when they fail to -catch a meaning. - -“Really, Miss Farley--” - -“I won’t take one cent of Mr. Farley’s money,” Nan repeated firmly. - -“I can’t blame you for being disappointed--for resenting what may -appear to be a lack of consideration on his part for your comfort--” - -“Oh, it isn’t that! I wouldn’t have you think _that_! I’m sure he -meant to do what was right--what was generous! You don’t know how glad -I am that our last day together was a happy one--we had never been on -better terms. It’s not that I have any unkind feeling toward papa; it’s -all myself. The Farleys were only too kind to me. I went my own way and -it made me selfish--and pretty hard, too, I’m afraid. Papa knew it; and -you know yourself how little he trusted me. And he was right about me: -I didn’t deserve his confidence. But I’m going to begin all over again, -as I couldn’t if I began fighting for this money. I can see now that -money can’t make me happy. I’m going to work; I’m going to stop living, -as I always have, just for myself: I’m going--I’m going to think about -the rest of the folks a lot!” - -“The folks?” repeated Thurston feebly. “What folks?” - -“Oh, everybody! The down-and-outers--girls like me who get a bad start -or make mistakes!” - -Thurston’s brows worked convulsively. He had been prepared for anything -but this. - -“Do I--do I understand you to mean that, even if this estate could be -turned over to you to-morrow, you’d decline to receive it? It can’t be -possible--” - -“Yes; that’s what I mean!” she cried eagerly. “I’ve thought it all out -and have made up my mind about it. I don’t want to be considered in -anything that has to do with papa’s property.” - -“But, my dear child, you can’t--you _can’t_ abandon your claims in any -such fashion! It’s my duty--I owe it to my friend and client to see -that his wishes are fulfilled. Why--” - -“Well,” she persisted, “between all those wills you can’t tell what -he wanted--only that I was a great problem to him. I caused him a -great deal of unnecessary worry and heartache. I hope this isn’t going -to cause you any trouble--” And she smiled in spite of herself at -his consternation, as indicated by the twitching of his brows. And -there _was_, she realized, something absurd to her cool statement to -a hard-headed lawyer that she renounced claims whose validity he was -in duty bound to support. The situation was too much for him; he must -escape as quickly as possible from this young woman who brushed away a -fairly tangible fortune as a waiter clears away bread crumbs. - -“Really, Miss Farley--” he began; but, thinking of nothing further to -say, he backed awkwardly into the hall. - -She helped him into his coat and opened the street door. He hurried off -without saying good-bye, clasping Timothy Farley’s wills tightly under -his arm. - -A light snow was falling; Nan stood on the steps and lifted her hot -face to the fluttering flakes. She watched Thurston until he turned the -corner and then went to the telephone. - -In a moment she was connected with Mrs. Copeland at the farm. “I want -a job,” she was saying in a cheerful tone; “yes, that’s it--a chance to -work. You told me the other day you needed some one to look after your -business at the market-house. I’m applying for the job. Oh, no! I’m not -fooling; I want that place! Well, I want to see you, too; I’ll be out -early in the morning!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - -IN TRUST - - -“Copeland Farm Products” in blue letters against a white background -swung over Nan’s head on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday mornings in -the city market-house. On those days she left Mrs. Copeland’s farm at -five o’clock with the day’s offerings and by six the stand was in order. - -An endless, jostling throng surged by, and every sale she effected, -every negotiation for the future delivery of an order, had all the -joy of an adventure. Her immediate neighbors were a big-fisted -German gardener and a black-eyed Italian girl who sold fruits and -vegetables. When business lagged, the German chaffed her about her -wares or condoled with her when some frugal marketer priced her butter, -sniffed, and departed. Nan commanded a meager knowledge of Italian and -flung a phrase at her dark-eyed neighbor now and then in the spirit -of comradeship which the place encouraged. She liked her “job.” She -assured herself that she had never had so much fun in all her life, and -that never again would she eat the bread of idleness. - -But it had not proved so easy as she imagined it would be to slip out -of her old life into the new. If she had left the Farley house preceded -by a brass band and had marched round the monument and the length of -Washington Street before taking her place in the market, her flight -could hardly have attracted more attention. - -The town buzzed. The newspapers neglected no phase of Nan’s affairs, -nor did they overlook her as she stood behind the counter dispensing -“Copeland Farm Products.” She was surprised and vexed by her sudden -notoriety. A newspaper photographer snapped her, in her white sweater -and blue-and-white tam o’shanter, passing eggs over the counter. The -portrait bore the caption, “Miss Nancy Farley in a New Rôle,” and was -supplemented by text adorned with such sub-headings as “Renounces her -Fortune” and “Throws Away a Million Dollars.” To be thus heralded was -preposterous; she had merely gone to work for reasons that were, in any -view of the matter, her own private affair. But public sentiment was -astonishingly friendly; even those who had looked askance at her high -flights with the Kinney crowd said it was an outrage that Farley had -failed to provide for her decently. - -Fanny, thinking at first it was only a joke, a flare of temperament -(references to her temperament had begun to pall upon Nan!), had -welcomed Nan to her house and given her charge of the market-stand; but -it was not without difficulty that she persuaded the girl to occupy her -guest-room and share her meals. - -“You’d better scold me when I make mistakes, for if I find I don’t suit -I’ll fire myself,” Nan declared. “And if I have to leave you, I’ll go -to clerking in a department store. I just mention this so you won’t be -too polite. This isn’t any grandstand play, you see; I’m serious for -the first time in my life!” - -It was certain, at any rate, that Copeland Farm Products were sold with -amazing ease. When it became known that Nan Farley had become Mrs. -Copeland’s representative “on market,” there was lively competition for -the privilege of purchasing those same “products.” Fanny complained -ruefully that the jellies, jams, and pickles created by the young -women in her industrial house would be exhausted before Christmas and -that nothing would remain to sell but butter and eggs. Nan suggested -orange marmalade and a cake-baking department to keep the girls at work -during the winter, and on the off days she set herself to planning the -preparation of these “specialties.” Mrs. Farley’s cooking lessons had -not gone for naught; Nan could bake a cake in which there was no trace -of “sadness,” and after some experiments with jumbles and sand-tarts -she sold her first output in an hour and opened a waiting list. - -Mrs. Copeland told Eaton at the end of the second week that she had -never known the real Nan till now. There was no questioning the girl’s -sincerity; she had cut loose from her old life, relinquished all hope -of participating in Farley’s fortune, and addressed herself zealously -to the business of supporting herself. She became immediately the -idol of the half-dozen young women in the old farmhouse, who thought -her an immensely “romantic” figure and marveled at her industry and -resourcefulness. - -“Splendid! Give her all the room she wants,” Eaton urged Mrs. Copeland. -“She’s only finding herself; we’ll have the Nan she was meant to be the -first thing we know.” - -“I didn’t know all these nice church-going people would come to condole -with me, or I’d have left town,” Nan confided to Fanny. “These women -who wouldn’t let their daughters associate with me a year ago can’t -buy enough eggs now to show how much they sympathize with me. If they -don’t keep away, I’m going to raise the price of their eggs, and that -will break their hearts--and the eggs! But do you know,” she went -on gravely, “I’ve never been so happy in my life as I am now! And I -wouldn’t have anybody think it was out of pique, or with any unkind -feeling toward papa,”--tears shone in her eyes as the word slipped -from her tongue,--“but I tell you nobody ever could have made a nice, -polite girl out of me. I was bound to get into scrapes as long as I -hadn’t anything really to do but fill in time between manicuring and -hair-washing dates. There’s a whole lot in that old saying about making -a silk purse out of a sow’s ear: it can’t be did!” - -“If you talk that way,” Fanny laughed, “I shall turn you out of my -house. I don’t want you to think I approve of what you’re doing. I’m -letting you do it because I’m scared not to!” - -“You’d better be--for if you hadn’t taken me in, I should have gone -on the stage,--honestly, I should,--in vaudeville, most likely, doing -monologues right between the jugglers and the trained seals.”... - -On Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays Mr. Jeremiah A. Amidon found it -convenient to visit the market-house as early as seven-thirty (in spite -of pressing duties at the store), to make sure, he said, that Nan, and -the farmhand who drove her in and helped arrange the stock, had safely -passed all the railroad crossings on the way to town. Jerry was a -consoling person and unobtrusively thoughtful and helpful. And in his -way he was almost as keen as Eaton. Jerry did not require explanations, -and nothing is so wholly satisfactory as a friend who understands -without being told. - -“Little girl, if your eggs are guaranteed under the Pure Food Act, I’ll -take one--the large size.” - -“You’ll find the hard-boiled eggs at the lunch counter in the next -aisle, little boy,” Nan answered. “How is John Cecil?” - -“Working himself to death. You’ve driven him to it!” - -“I hope you two are not abusing me; how about it?” - -“No; not vocally. Cecil’s shut up in his office every night, getting -ready to clean up those cousins of Farley’s down on the river, but he -doesn’t say anything. Look here, Nan, we’ve got a line of cold cream -and other toilet marvels--stuff you could handle here as a side line. -Let us send you up a bunch to put next to that pink jelly. It’s high -grade and we’ll make it to you at the right price.” - -“Not on your life, Jerry. Drugs and hand-made country butter can’t -associate. You’d better run down to your own little shop now and go to -work.” - -After his morning inspection he was likely to reappear at lunch time, -to see her for a moment before she left for the farm; and he assisted -in balancing her cash when she confessed that it wouldn’t “gee.” His -pride in her was enormous; he was satisfied that there was no other -girl to compare with her. - -Jerry’s admiration was so obviously genuine and supported by so deep -an awe and reverence that no girl could have helped liking it. And -Jerry was unfailingly amusing; his airs and graces, his attempts to -wear a little learning lightly, were wholly transparent and invited -the chaff he welcomed. Nan’s feeling, dating from the beginning of -their acquaintance, that their common origin in the back streets of -Belleville established a tie between them had grown steadily. In all -her late perplexities and self-questioning she had found herself -wondering constantly what Jerry would say, and he had supported her -warmly in her rejection of the estate. - -He had from the first confided his ambitions to her and they were -worthy ones. He not only meant to get on, but he meant to overcome as -far as possible his lack of early advantages. He steadfastly spent -an hour at his Latin every night before he went to bed, with only an -occasional lift from the busy Eaton. “As long as I’ve tackled it, I -might as well keep it up,” he remarked apologetically. “Cecil says my -English is so bad, I’d better learn a few foreign languages to make me -respectable!” - -One noon Nan was munching an apple while waiting for Mrs. Copeland’s -man to carry out the empty crates and boxes, when Jerry appeared, -looking unusually solemn. - -“What’s wrong with the world? You’re not out of work, are you?” she -demanded. - -“I hoped you’d ask me,” he replied, with mock dejection. “The boss has -been making a few changes at the store and I’ve got a new job.” - -“Better or worse?” she asked, with feigned carelessness. - -This was the first time he had referred to Copeland since her removal -to the farm; and there were still vast areas of ignorance and -uncertainty in his mind as to her feeling toward Copeland. - -“Better for me; I don’t know about the house,” he answered. “Hasn’t -anybody told you everything that’s happened down our way?” He -seated himself on the counter and clasped one knee with his gloved -hands. “Well, we’ve reorganized; just about everything’s changed -except the sign. Boss steady as a rock; things rather coming his way -now. You heard about Kinney Cement? There was never any doubt about -Cecil winning the patent cases; and now the boss has sold out his -interest--quit cement for good and all; concentrating on drugs. I guess -he got a good price for his cement stock, too.” - -He waited to see how she was affected by these confidences. - -“The drug business was in a bad way, wasn’t it?” she asked carelessly. - -“Um, well; it did look for a few minutes as though we mightn’t pull -through.” - -She laughed at his lightly emphasized “we.” - -“What are you doing now?--counting money or running the elevator?” - -“Tease me some more! Say, Nan, I’m not kidding you. The boss made a new -job for me; I’m sales manager--going to start out with a suit-case next -week and shake hands with all our customers, just to get in touch. Not -to interfere with our regular salesmen; oh, no! Just asking about the -babies down the line and making the lowly retailer feel that we live -only to please him. Do you get me?” - -“A gleam or two. So Mr. Copeland got out of his troubles, did he? -Well, I’m glad to hear it. He’s too good a fellow to go to the bad.” - -This was spoken carelessly, but with a note of sincerity. Her world had -turned upside-down since her last meeting with Billy. She waited for -Jerry to enlighten her further. - -“He’s all right now; you can bet on that; he’s not going to fool with -his luck any more. It’s funny”--he was finding it difficult to conceal -his embarrassment in speaking of Copeland to Nan--“but the boss and -Cecil are getting chummy. When the pinch came, Cecil was right there; -walked on to the scaffold and saved him after the black cap had been -pulled on and tied under his chin. This is marked private--I don’t -_know_ anything--not a thing!” - -Nan nodded. She did not see very clearly what he was driving at, but -she refused to ask questions. - -“The boss and Cecil are lunching together every day now, and they spend -an hour together. That tickles me,” he ended softly. “I always wished -they’d hit it off together.” - -He glanced at her for her approval of this new combination, which -was hardly more surprising than his own manifestation of feeling. -He evidently derived the deepest satisfaction from the new intimacy -between Eaton and Copeland. The fleeting tenderness and wistfulness in -his candid, humorous eyes touched her. - -“Well!” he exclaimed cheerily, as the driver announced that the -wagon was ready, “do you fly back to the farm, or will you join me in -refreshments at a one-arm sandwichorium? I’ve only got twenty minutes.” - -“I’ll fool you by accepting,” she laughed. “I have some errands to do -and can just about catch the three o’clock interurban.” - -They walked to a lunch room, where he found seats and brought her the -sandwich and coffee she insisted was all she wanted. He was observing -her narrowly for signs of discontent, but she had never seemed happier. -He understood perfectly that she wished her new activities to be taken -as a matter of course, and he carefully refrained from expressing his -great pride in her. As long as she continued to countenance him, he was -satisfied, and she had shown in countless ways that she liked him and -believed in him. - -He introduced her to a bank clerk who paused in his hurried exit to -speak to him and incidentally to have a closer look at Nan. A girl -nodded to him across the room; he explained that she was one of the -smartest girls in town--“the whole show in an insurance office; the -members of the firm don’t turn round unless she says so.” - -“Just think,” Nan remarked, “I might have died without knowing how it -feels to be a poor working girl.” - -“Well, don’t die now that you’ve found it out! It would be mighty -lonesome on earth without you. Have a chocolate eclair,” he added -hastily,--“‘business girl’s special.’” - -“No, thanks. If I don’t turn up to-night with an appetite for dinner -Mrs. Copeland will be scared and send for the doctor.” - -“By the way, I wish you’d casually mention me to that gifted lady; I’d -like to hop off at Stop 3 some evening without being consumed by the -dog. How about it?” - -“Oh, she’ll stand for it! She’ll stand for ’most anybody who shows up -with a clean face and a kind heart. She’s an angel, Jerry. She’s the -finest woman that ever lived!” - -“I’d sort o’ figured that out for myself, just passing her on the -boulevards. I thought I’d try for a rise out of Cecil the other night -and just mentioned her with a gentle o. k. I’d gone up to his office -to see if I could shine his shoes or do any little thing like that for -him, and he looked at me so long I nearly had nervous prostration, -and then he said: ‘My dear boy, the poverty of your vocabulary is a -constant grief to me!’--just like that. I guess he likes her all right.” - -“She has a good many admirers,” Nan replied noncommittally, as she -crumpled her paper napkin. “She can’t help it.” - -“Well, anything Cecil wants he ought to have.” - -“Well, I hope--I should hate to think he couldn’t get anything he -wanted in this world,” said Nan. - -Jerry had been deeply troubled at times by the fear that his adored -Cecil might be interested in Nan, and the smile that accompanied her -last remark was the least bit ambiguous. With all his assurance he -was at heart a humble person, and he never ceased to marvel at Nan’s -tolerance of him. It was not for him to question the ordinances of -Heaven. If Cecil and Nan-- - -Nan began drawing on her gloves. When they reached the street she -explained that she was going to the Farley house to gather up some -of her traps that she had left behind. Fully conscious of his sudden -soberness and perhaps surmising the cause of it, she lightened his -burdened spirit by asking him to come out soon to see her, and boarded -a street car.... - -This was her first visit “home” since she had left the house to go to -Fanny Copeland’s. In her hurried flight she had taken only a trunk -and a suit-case, but her summer gowns and a number of odds and ends -remained to be packed and moved. - -The colored maid, who had only vaguely grasped the meaning of Nan’s -sudden departure, admitted her with joyous exclamations. - -“About time yo’ ’s comin’ back, Miss Nan. Mistah Thu’ston came up heah -and tole me and Joshua to stay right along. I guess Mistah Fa’ley’s -been turnin’ ovah in his grave ’bout yo’ runnin’ away. He was mighty -ca’less not to fix his will the way it ought t’ been. Yo’ ’ll find yo’ -room just the way yo’ left it. Mistah Thu’ston said fo’ me to keep -things shined up just the way they always was.” - -Nan explained that she had merely come to pack her remaining things -and asked Joshua to bring up a trunk from the cellar. She filled -the trunk and added to the summer frocks articles from her desk and -other personal belongings that she wished to keep for their various -associations. - -When she had finished, she crossed the hall to Farley’s room, rather -from force of habit than by intention. She ran her hand across the -shelves that represented his steadfast literary preferences that had -never been altered in her recollection: “Pickwick,” Artemus Ward; a -volume of Petroleum V. Nasby’s writings; Franklin’s “Autobiography”; -Grant’s “Memoirs”; Mark Twain, in well-worn original first editions, -including the bulky “Innocents Abroad” and “Roughing It.” She resolved -to take the “Life on the Mississippi,” from which she had so often -read to him in his last year. She rummaged in the closet for an album -containing crude old-fashioned likenesses of Mr. and Mrs. Farley and -a series of photographs of herself that marked the swift-moving years -from the time she became a member of their household. - -In a last slow survey of the room her eyes fell upon the portrait of -Mrs. Farley that had arrested her with its kind motherly glance on -the night of her temptation. She reflected that her right to remove -anything from the house was questionable, but she meant to ask Thurston -to give her the portrait when the house was finally disposed of. - -As she lifted the frame and shook the wire loose from the hook, a paper -that had been thrust behind the picture slipped over the mantel-edge -with a soft rustling and fell at her feet. She laid the portrait on the -bed and picked up the paper. - -A glance sufficed to tell her that she had found another of Farley’s -wills--possibly the last, for which Thurston had inquired so -particularly. - -She opened it hurriedly and glanced at the last sheet. The spaces -for the signatures of testator and witnesses were blank. It was -only worthless paper, of no value to any one. It seemed a plausible -assumption that Farley, having decided finally that he would have -no use for the earlier wills, had begun to destroy them after first -placing the last one behind the picture to avoid the chance of -confusing it with the others. - -As Nan folded it, a name caught her attention and she began to read. - - I hereby give and bequeath to Frances Hillard Copeland, as trustee, - the sum of five hundred thousand dollars, the same to be held by - said Frances Hillard Copeland, as such trustee, with the following - powers and for the following purposes: ... To pay to my said daughter - upon her marriage the principal of said fund, together with all - accretions thereto; provided, however, that the marriage of my said - daughter shall be with the approval and express consent of said - Frances Hillard Copeland.... - -The room swayed as the meaning of this proviso sank into her whirling -senses. Farley had interposed Fanny between her and Billy--Fanny, -Billy’s former wife! The old man’s hatred of Copeland, his warm -admiration for Fanny, had thus combined to fashion a device that was -almost malevolent in its cunning. She followed Farley’s reasoning -clearly. He had assumed that his own feeling toward Copeland was shared -by Fanny, and that she would never consent to a marriage which, in -the vague prospect, had given him so much concern. He had presumably -promoted the friendly relations between Fanny and her with this end in -view. - -As the first shock of the revelation passed, Nan laughed bitterly. - -“Poor papa!” she murmured. - -He little knew how near she had come to marrying Billy! She gasped as -it occurred to her that Farley might have discussed the matter with -Fanny and persuaded her to accept the trust; but she quickly decided -against this. It was unlikely that Farley had ever spoken to her about -it; and it was inconceivable that Fanny would have consented, when the -purpose was so clearly to make use of her, as Billy’s divorced wife, -to stand between Billy and Farley’s money.... - -She told the servants she would send for her trunk and instructed them -to wrap up Mrs. Farley’s portrait and hold it until she could ask -Thurston’s permission to remove it. She hurried to the car, carrying -the will with her. She must, of course, show it to Thurston, but that -could wait a day.... - -First she would tell Fanny! It was only fair that Mrs. Copeland -should know. Copeland had never been mentioned in their intercourse, -but she would now confess everything that had ever passed between -her and Billy. She would not spare herself. She should have done it -earlier--before Fanny threw the mantle of her kindness and generosity -about her. - -For a month she had been happy in the thought that she had escaped -from all her troubles, and that she was free of the wreckage of her -old life. Now it was necessary to readjust herself to new conditions, -and she resented the necessity that compelled it. Her resolution to -tell Fanny of this last will and of all that lay back of it remained -unshaken as the car bore her homeward. It was the only “square” thing -to do, she repeated to herself over and over again, as she looked out -of the car window upon the gray winter landscape. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - -“I NEVER STOPPED LOVING HIM!” - - -While they were still at dinner, Mrs. Copeland was called to the -telephone. The instrument was in the living-room and Nan could not -avoid hearing Fanny’s share in the conversation. - -“That’s fine--quite splendid!” And then, “I’m so glad! I never can -thank you! Well, of course, no one knows. You’re quite sure? That’s -good; I might have known you’d manage it just right.” - -There was a moment’s silence after she returned to the table. She -dropped a lump of sugar into her coffee and watched the bubbles rise. -Then she lifted her head with a smile. - -“I suppose, Nancy Farley, that God has made better men than J. C. -Eaton--kinder and more helpful men--but I’ve never known them!” - -Her lips twitched and there were tears in her eyes. - -“I suppose it’s his nature to be kind and helpful,” Nan replied. “I’ve -never known any one like him.” - -“The nice thing about him is that he does you a favor quite as though -it were a favor to him. He’s just done something for me that no one -else could have done; there’s no one else I could have asked to do it!” - -She lapsed into reverie, and Nan’s thoughts ranged far. If Fanny and -Eaton loved each other, how perfect it would be! Their telephonic -communications had been frequent of late; nearly every evening Eaton -called her, as though by arrangement, at the dinner hour. From the -character of Fanny’s responses he seemed to be reporting upon some -matter, the nature of which was not apparent, but Fanny always came -from these conferences in good spirits. - -While Fanny was studying the produce market in the afternoon newspaper, -Nan went upstairs to get the will. She had set herself a disagreeable -task, but she did not falter in her determination to go through with -it. She glanced through the will again, rehearsed the story as she -meant to tell it, and returned to the living-room, where Fanny began -reading the day’s quotations from the sheet before her. - -“Nan, if eggs go much higher, we’ll be rich by spring. I’m going to -double the poultry department next summer. They told me I couldn’t make -it pay, and now it’s the best thing I’ve got!” - -Nan liked these quiet evenings. Sometimes the young women from the -farmhouse came in for an hour of music, and Nan occasionally gave some -of her recitations, much to their delight. At other times Fanny retired -to her den to write letters or post her books, leaving Nan to her own -devices. - -To-night Fanny produced some sewing and bade Nan tell her of her day’s -experiences. - -“I hope the long winter evenings out here are not going to bore you, -Nancy,” she remarked, noting the serious look on Nan’s face. “Gracious! -What’s that you have there? It has an official look; we’re not being -sued, are we?” - -“There’s something I have to tell you, Fanny. It’s not a pleasant -subject, and you’ll see in a moment how hard it is for me to tell you. -And you’ll listen, won’t you; you’ll let me tell you everything I have -to say about it?” - -“Of course, Nancy!” said Fanny as Nan knelt beside her. “I should -be sorry if you couldn’t come to me with anything! I hope nothing -disagreeable has happened.” - -“Well, it isn’t pleasant. And to think I have to spoil one of our -evenings by talking of it! We’ve had such good times here. It may be -that you won’t let me stay any longer after you know. I should hate -that; but I should understand it.” - -She touched with a light caress a fold of Mrs. Copeland’s gown, then -withdrew her hand quickly, and began fingering the will nervously. - -“The sooner we get through with it the better, Nancy,” said Fanny -kindly. - -“Well, when I went to the house this afternoon I found that other will, -the last one Mr. Thurston wrote for papa. It was stuck behind mamma’s -picture where he must have put it when he began destroying the other -wills. It isn’t signed, but, of course, I shall have to give it to Mr. -Thurston. Perhaps I shouldn’t have read it, but I did, and I knew right -away that I ought to show it to you. I thought about it all the way out -on the car, and I’m sure it’s the best thing to do.” - -“You poor child! I should think you’d had enough of wills, without new -ones popping out from behind picture frames. If you’re sure you want me -to see it, I’m ready. Let me have it.” - -Nan passed it to her grudgingly and rose and left the room. She waited -in the dark dining-room, watching the headlight of a trolley car as -it neared and passed in the highway below. The time seemed endless. -She heard the rustle of paper as Fanny turned the pages. She was -reading carefully, and as time passed without any sign from her, Nan -knew that she was pondering deeply what she read. Nan remained at the -window, pressing her forehead against the cold pane. Deep dejection -settled upon her; she had made a mistake; it had not been necessary -to make this revelation, which could only cause her dearest friend -unhappiness.... - -She felt suddenly the pressure of a warm cheek against her face. - -“Come, Nancy! Come back to the fire and let us talk about it,” said -Fanny in her usual cheery tone. “Of course, I never knew of this; -never dreamed of any such thing. It’s a strange idea; I didn’t know -such a will could be made; but if it was done with Mr. Thurston’s -counsel, it must be all right. I should have thought, though, that they -would have asked me about it. The responsibility is very great--too -great--for any one to take. But, of course, as the will isn’t signed, -that’s the end of it.” - -Nan turned wonderingly, doubtful whether Fanny had grasped the full -significance of those phrases that touched so nearly her own life. - -“It doesn’t say anything about my giving a bond; I might have -stolen the money!” Fanny continued lightly. “And if I didn’t like -your suitors, I might have played the rôle of the cruel father for -twenty-five years! My! but you’ve had a narrow escape!” - -“Oh, you don’t understand; you don’t understand!” Nan moaned. “Don’t -you see; don’t you _know_ what it all means?” - -“Yes; I think I do, Nancy. But we don’t need to talk of that. It’s only -so much paper, anyhow, and we needn’t bother. The best thing to do is -to forget all about it.” - -“But I can’t let it go this way! You are far too kind! I must tell you -the rest of it--I must tell you what made papa think of this!” - -“But why should we talk of it, Nancy? It’s plain enough, I suppose, -what was in Mr. Farley’s mind; but it’s all over now. It was just a -freak--a grim bit of irony; no doubt, if he had lived, he would have -changed his mind about it. It would have been just as well if you -hadn’t told me; it really wasn’t necessary! I’m sorry you thought it -might make any difference.” - -“Oh, but I had to tell you; I could never have looked you in the face -again if I hadn’t! He was afraid--he had been afraid for more than a -year that--that--” - -She could not say it; she could not bring herself to the point of -putting into words the intent of Timothy Farley’s last will, that was -to make it impossible for her to marry this woman’s divorced husband! -The shame of it smothered her; she wondered that she had ever had the -effrontery to eat Fanny Copeland’s bread and share her fireside. The -very calmness with which Fanny had received the news added to her -discomfort. - -Fanny began moving about the room with her light, graceful step, -touching a book, unconsciously straightening the flowers in a vase -on the table. Then she walked to the fire, where Nan crouched mutely -watching her. - -“Nan, dear, do you want to marry Billy?” she asked, bending down and -resting her hands lightly on Nan’s shoulders. - -No one would have known that this was the first time her former husband -had been mentioned between them. - -“No, no! That’s what makes this so hard--so unjust!” - -“Were you ever--did you ever think you could?” Fanny asked in the same -calm tone, in which there was no hint of accusation. - -“Yes; there was a time, there were times--” - -Fanny was about to resume her idle wandering about the room when Nan -clasped her knees. - -“That’s what I want to tell you; I want to tell you everything from the -very beginning. Please let me! I ought to have told you before I came -here; but I was so eager to come I didn’t think of it; it didn’t occur -to me at all! You see, if I don’t,--if you won’t listen,--I must go -away; I can’t spend another night here. You must see that!” - -“It is like you--it is generous and kind, Nancy, to want to tell me. -But you don’t need to; it’s all right; it’s not a thing that I should -ever have asked; you know that.” - -She drew up a chair and clasped Nan’s hands. - -Nan told the story; told it in all its details, from the beginning of -her acquaintance with Copeland. She took pains to fix dates, showing -that she and Copeland were launched upon a lively flirtation and were -meeting, usually at the Kinneys’, before there had been any hint of a -possible divorce. It had been her fault, her most grievous sin, that -she encouraged Billy’s attentions. They had tickled her vanity. She had -admired “Billy”; he had been a new type of man to her. She described -her deception of Farley as to their clandestine meetings; told of -his wrath when he learned of her disobedience; and, coming to the -frustrated elopement, she made it clear that it was through no fault of -hers that she had not run away with Copeland and married him. - -“But it’s all over; even if it hadn’t been for this--this idea of -papa’s to put you between us--I should never marry Billy. No, no!” she -moaned. “I had decided that before papa died. You know, don’t you,” she -pleaded, with the tears streaming down her cheeks, “that I wouldn’t -have come here, I couldn’t have pretended to be your friend, if I’d -ever meant to do that!” - -“You poor Nancy; you poor, dear, little girl!” Fanny murmured. - -There was a far-away look in her eyes as she slowly stroked the girl’s -hair, but a smile played about her lips. She did not speak again until -Nan’s grief had spent itself. Then she bent to the tear-wet face and -pressed her cheek against it, whispering,-- - -“You poor little dear; you dear little Nancy!” - -“You will let me stay--you will let me stay, after all that?” faltered -Nan. - -“It was fine of you to tell me; you don’t know how grateful I am--and -glad. Of course, you will stay; it would break my heart to lose you -now!” - -Nan drew away and looked long into the steady, tranquil eyes. She had -not been prepared for this. It was beyond comprehension that her story -could be received with so much magnanimity, that forgiveness could be -so easily won. She caught the hands that clasped her face and kissed -them. - -“Oh, you don’t know!” she cried fearfully. “I haven’t made you -understand!” - -“Yes, I understand it all, Nancy; I’d guessed most of it without your -telling me. And it does make a difference; yes, it makes a very great -difference.” And then, feeling Nan’s hands relax their tight hold, -and seeing the fear in her face, she smiled and added, “But not the -difference you think!” - -“Oh, if only you don’t send me away! It was brazen of me ever to come; -I don’t know how you came to take me without a question, when I’d done -you the greatest wrong one woman can do another.” - -“But maybe you didn’t!” said Fanny quickly, with a wistful little -smile. “I’m going to ask you one question, Nancy,--just to be sure. But -you needn’t answer; you won’t feel you must, will you?” - -“Anything--anything!” Nan faltered. - -Fanny turned her head, as though doubting, questioning, and her eyes -were very grave. - -“Then, Nancy, tell me this--and please be very honest, and don’t -trouble about what I may think or feel about your answer--do you--do -you love Billy--now?” - -“No; no! It was never love; it was never really that! His attentions -turned my head, and I hadn’t the sense to keep away from him. It was -all my fault. I’m ashamed to tell you that I was very lonely after I -came home from school--it is ungrateful to be saying it; but I have -always felt uneasy--self-conscious among the people here. I have never -got away from the feeling that whenever they saw me they were saying, -‘That’s the girl the Farleys raked out of the river and did everything -for--and just look at her!’ I couldn’t help that--the feeling that they -knew I was just a waif, a nobody. It made me rebellious and defiant. -Oh, I know it was unjustified and that it’s unkind to speak of it even -to you. And that’s why--one reason, at least--I’ve enjoyed knowing -Jerry so much. Jerry _knows_, and he doesn’t care! He knows every -little tiny thing about me and my people, and how poor and wretched -we were! But Billy--I haven’t any feeling about him now except--just -friendliness--and pity!” - -“Then I’ll tell you something that will show you how very dear you are -to me,” said Fanny,--speaking slowly. “I think it was this that drew -me to you--made me want to be friends with you when Mr. Farley first -brought us together. Oh, Nan,”--her voice sank to a whisper,--“I still -love Billy! I never stopped loving him!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - -COPELAND’S UNKNOWN BENEFACTOR - - -Eaton tore March from his office calendar, crumpled it in his hand, and -glanced out of the window as though expecting to see April’s heralds -dancing over the roofs below. It was nearing five o’clock and his big -desk was swept clear of the day’s encumbrances. He paced the floor -slowly, his gaze ranging the walls with their ranks of file-cases. A -particular box in the “C” section seemed to exert a spell upon him. He -glanced at it several times, then opened a drawer in his desk, peered -in, and absently closed it. He was waiting for Copeland, and as usual, -when he expected a visitor, was planning the interview to its minutest -details. - -Since the reorganization of the Copeland-Farley Company he had -been seeing much of Copeland. The winter had wrought changes in -Billy--changes that at first provoked cynical comment from persons -who had no faith in his reformation. But people were now beginning to -say that they always knew Billy had the right stuff in him. Even the -fact--which was pretty generally known--that Billy had narrowly escaped -disaster didn’t matter particularly. Such fellows were always lucky. If -the decision in the Kinney patent case hadn’t come just when it did, -he would have been down and out; but it _had_ come. Yes; he was a lucky -devil. - -Eaton was breathing easier now, as days passed and Copeland seemed to -have settled into a sober and industrious routine. He was even giving -time to broadening the scope and effectiveness of the Bigger Business -Club, and had accepted a place on the municipal reform committee of -the Chamber of Commerce. Mr. Jeremiah A. Amidon pointed to his boss -with pride. Jerry had risen to the dignity of a standing invitation to -Sunday evening tea at Mrs. Copeland’s and was the proudest and happiest -of Jerries. - -Three slight snarls of a desk buzzer, marked, to the attentive ear, -by an interval between the second and third, spelled Copeland in the -office code. Eaton raised his arm and pressed a button attached to a -swinging cord over his desk. By this system acceptable visitors could -be announced by the girl in the reception room and disposed of at long -range. If Eaton didn’t want to be bothered, he made no response. This -was only one of his many devices for safeguarding his time. When he -was studying a case, he ignored the presence of his most remunerative -clients on the theory that they were unlikely to have anything of -importance to impart. It was a fair assumption that before he undertook -any case he extracted from the client’s head and stored in a file-box -all the information of which that particular client was possessed. -Clients resented this treatment, but as Eaton was admittedly the best -patent lawyer in three States, they were obliged to humor him. - -Copeland entered with a quick, springy step. Jerry had persuaded him to -spend an hour three times a week at Gaylord’s, and as a result Copeland -was in prime condition. He nodded to Eaton and sat down in the chair -the lawyer pushed toward him. - -“The state of your desk fills me with envy; I never get mine as clean -as that. If I turn my back, somebody throws something on it.” - -“Oh, my system has its disadvantages; strangers coming in think I -haven’t any business. You wanted to speak about those notes?” - -“Yes; they’re due to-morrow and I’m ready to take them up. Our -merchandise bills are cleaned up, and my personal obligations are all -taken care of. Our credit’s A 1. The White River National is taking -good care of us and they’re not as fussy as the Western was.” - -“The Western isn’t a bank,” remarked Eaton; “it’s a pawnshop with -a third-degree attachment. About the notes,” he continued, tipping -himself back in his chair and crossing his slender legs, “you don’t -have to pay them to-morrow. They can be carried longer--indefinitely. -It’s just as you say, however. It might be best to accept an extension -of three or six months.” - -“No, thanks! I’ve got the money to pay, and you may be dead sure it’s -a comfortable feeling to know I’ve got it! I hope I’ll never have to -sweat as I did for a year or two.” He frowned, and slapped his gloves -together. “Look here, Eaton, you’re the hardest man to thank I ever -saw, but for God’s sake, don’t ever think I don’t appreciate all you’ve -done for me! You saved me--hauled me out when I was going down for the -last time! I don’t know why you did it; there was no reason why you or -anybody else should have done it.” - -“It’s not I you have to thank; it’s an enlightened judiciary that -upheld Kinney’s patents on Ivory Cement machinery.” - -“There may be something in that,” Copeland admitted, “but there are -other things I want to speak of. I insist on speaking of all of them. -In picking up that Reynolds stock as you did--” - -“Please stick to facts! It was our blithe gazelle Amidon who did that. -I honestly didn’t know it was in existence till he came to me about it. -Thank Jerry!” - -“Thank him! I’m going to fire him if he doesn’t quit working me so -hard,” laughed Copeland. “But you backed him, and advanced him the -money. The way that boy strolled in with that certificate just as -Eichberg was jamming me into a corner is the last thing I’ll think of -when I die.” - -“Strong sense of the dramatic, that Jerry!” observed Eaton musingly. -“Great loss to the stage, his devotion to commerce.” - -“He can sell goods, and he knows how to hypnotize other fellows into -doing it. I’m giving him all the rope he wants. He’s the smartest -youngster on the street, and I’m proud of him. There’s more than that; -I’m going to tell you, because you’ve been mighty good to me and I want -you to know just how desperate I was last November. I want you to know -how near bottom I’d gone. Eaton, I tried to burn the store the night -before the Western notes came due--and I’d have done it--I’d have done -it if Jerry hadn’t stopped me!--God!” he groaned. His frame shook with -repulsion and abhorrence and he turned his head to avoid Eaton’s eyes. - -“It’s a good thing, Copeland,” said the lawyer quietly, “that we’re -not allowed to be as bad as we want to be in this world. No man is -ever that! That, for a lack of a better word, is my religion. Let’s go -back to the notes. You say you prefer to pay them; but that’s wholly -optional. It had occurred to me that you might want to keep the money -in the business, and if you do it’s yours, quite indefinitely.” - -Copeland shook his head and drew out a check. - -“I made a big clean-up on my Cement stock and now that I’m out of it -I’m never going to monkey on the outside again. Here you are, with -interest!” - -Eaton read the check, mentally verified the interest and opened the top -drawer of his desk. - -“There are four notes of twenty-five thousand each,” he remarked, -as he bent over his desk and wrote “Paid” across the four slips of -paper. “They were made to me--you remember? As I told you at the -time, I wasn’t making the advance myself, and I deserve no thanks for -negotiating the loan--none whatever. You’re entitled to the canceled -notes, of course; but perhaps you’ll be satisfied to let me destroy -them here in your presence. The reason for that is that I endorsed the -notes to the person who made the advance, to protect your creditor in -case of my death. That person is very anxious not to be known in the -matter.” - -“I think I ought to know,” Copeland replied. “A debt like that can’t -just be passed over. I’d be more comfortable if I knew.” - -“Perhaps--” began Eaton. - -Copeland shook his head and put out his hand. - -Eaton bent a quick, penetrating glance upon him, then gave him the -notes. Copeland’s face went white as he read the endorsements. - -“Fanny!” he gasped chokingly. He bent forward and grasped Eaton’s arm. -“This is a trick; a ghastly joke! She never would have done it; no -human being would have done this after--after--” - -“No human being--no!” replied Eaton, swinging round in his chair so -that he did not face Copeland for a moment. - -Copeland’s hand shook as he looked again at the endorsements. - -“But, Eaton, you had no right to do it! You knew I wouldn’t have taken -her help--not--after--” - -“No, I knew you wouldn’t. And she knew you wouldn’t. That, of course, -is why she did it in the way she did.” - -The intentness of Copeland’s thought showed in his face; he continued -to turn over the notes in his shaking hands. - -“But you will tell her how beyond any thanks this is--beyond anything -I can do or say!” He bent his head and went on brokenly. “It would be -cruel, Eaton, if it weren’t so kind, so generous, so merciful!” - -“I think you have done enough already to show your appreciation,” -replied Eaton. “I’ll say to you that you’ve done what she expected--and -what, to be frank about it, I did not expect. At least, I wasn’t very -sanguine. You’d gone pretty far--farther than men go and come back -again. You’ve proved your mettle. If you go on as you are, you are -safe. And I’m glad--happier about it than I’ve been about anything in a -mighty long time.” - -“I can’t understand it. I was worse than ever you imagine. I treated -her as a man doesn’t treat his dog!” - -“Yes,” Eaton acquiesced, “it was all that.” - -“And you can see how it leaves me,” Copeland moaned, crumpling the -notes in his hand,--“with a debt these things don’t express; a debt -that can’t be discharged!” - -“There’s something you can do, Copeland, if you will. She hasn’t asked -it; I have no reason to think it has even occurred to her. It’s my own -idea--absolutely--I want you to be sure of that. It strikes me as being -only decent, only just.” - -“Yes, yes!” Copeland eagerly assented. - -“I’m going to speak plainly, Copeland. It’s about Manning. You let -the impression get abroad that your wife had given you cause to doubt -her loyalty. Yes; I know all about it. Manning was your friend, -not hers. The injury was not only to her; it was to that man, too. -Your use of him, to cast suspicion on the woman you had sworn to -shield and protect, was infamous, dastardly! Manning, I have reason -to believe,”--his eyes ranged the file-cases,--“is a gentleman, a -high-minded fellow, who admired your wife only as any friend might be -expected to admire her; but you used him--made him an excuse to hide -your own infamy. You hadn’t the courage to bring him into court; you -merely let some of your new-found friends whisper insinuations that -were more damning than a direct charge of infidelity. Manning cut your -acquaintance, I believe, when he found what you had done. You owe him -an apology, at least. And if you want to act the part of a man, you -will go to Mrs. Copeland and tell her the truth.” - -Eaton’s feelings had for once got the better of him; several times his -voice betrayed deep emotion. He turned toward his desk as the buzzer -sounded a cryptic message. He telegraphed a reply, and a moment later -the sound of steps in the corridor was followed by the closing of a -door. - -“I will do it--I will do it,” said Copeland. “As I began to get my -bearings again, that thing troubled me; it has been in my mind to speak -to you about it. God knows, I want to make reparation for all the evil -I’ve done. I was a brute, a coarse beast. And you’re right that Manning -is a gentleman, and a mighty fine fellow--he never was anything else! -I’ll go to him and be glad to do it. But to see Fanny--that is not so -easy! You can understand that, Eaton. I must have time to think it -over.” - -“I think it best for you to see Mrs. Copeland first,” replied Eaton, -“then Manning.” - -Copeland, pondering with knit brows, nodded a reluctant acquiescence. - -“Well, I will do as you say; but what if she’d refuse to see me? It’s -going to be mighty hard,” he pleaded. - -“It’s conceivable that she’d refuse, of course. She never meant for you -to know of her help, and I’ve broken faith in telling you; but I’ll -take the responsibility of sending you to see her. And I made this -other suggestion--about Manning--with a feeling that sooner or later it -would occur to you. I’m glad you’ve met me in this spirit. It confirms -my impression of you--it satisfies me that I was right in assuming that -once you got back in the straight road you would keep to it.” - -“I’m not going to disappoint you, Eaton. I don’t intend to be pointed -to as a failure in this community. The mistakes I’ve made have been -bad ones--the very worst! God knows, I’m humble enough when I think -of Fanny. It was like her to want to save me. That’s what makes it so -hard--that it was like her to do it!” - -“Yes,” said Eaton gravely; “it was like her.” - -He took his overcoat from a closet and drew it on, mused a moment, -apparently absorbed in contemplation of the interior of his hat. - -“Mrs. Copeland is here, waiting to see me. She came a moment ago and is -in the next room. She had no idea, of course, that you were likely to -be here--rest assured of that. My business with her is not so important -as yours. Come!” - -Copeland, startled, irresolute, followed him to the door of a smaller -room used for consultations. Eaton opened it and stepped back. - -“I shall be dining at the club later, if you care to see me,” he said, -and vanished. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - -JERRY’S DARK DAYS - - -Jerry, who had never been ill in his life, was now experiencing -disquieting sensations which he was convinced pointed to an early -and probably a painful death. He went about his work listlessly, and -from being the cheerfulest person in Copeland-Farley, he became so -melancholy that his fellow employees wondered greatly and speculated -in private as to the cause of the change. Jerry encouraged the thought -of death and blithely visualized the funeral at which Eaton’s pastor -(chastely surpliced and reinforced by a boy choir) would officiate. -He chose the rector of Christ Church because that gentleman had not -been unmindful of his occasional attendance upon services (Jerry had -courageously repeated his first timid visit), and had even made a -memorandum of Jerry’s name and address, with a view to calling upon -him. This attention clearly pointed to the rector as the minister -predestined from the beginning of things to officiate at his funeral, -a function about which he meditated much in a spirit of loftiest -detachment. - -A few people would be sorry when he died, but only a few. The boys -at the store would contribute a wreath; they had done that for a -drayman who had succumbed to pneumonia a short time before; and the -people at his boarding-house would probably grace the last rites -with their presence. Copeland would probably attend; he might even -add dignity to the occasion by acting as pallbearer. One of the girl -stenographers, whose lachrymose facilities had occasionally aroused -his ire, would doubtless weep; she had cried when the drayman died, -though her acquaintance with that person had been the most casual. Nan -might attend the funeral, but he hoped to time his passing so that -the funeral could be held on a market morning, thus giving her a good -excuse for absenting herself. It would be a sad, pitiful funeral, with -only a handful of mourners, as his only living relative was a cousin -in Oklahoma whose exact address he had forgotten. The brief list of -mourners included the billiard-marker at the Whitcomb. Jerry had once -lent him five dollars, which was still carried as an open account and -probably a permanent one; he meant to leave a memorandum of general -forgiveness, including a release of the billiard-marker from any -obligation to pay the five dollars. And he would bequeath him his best -cuff-buttons to show that he had died with no hard feelings against -him. The thought of the meager attendance and of the general gloom -of the affair gave him the keenest satisfaction. No one would care -particularly. - -Jerry’s malady was one of the oldest that afflicts the human race. -Jerry was in love; he was in love with Nan, though he would have -stormed indignantly at any hint of this bewildering circumstance, this -blighting, crushing fact. His first realization that this was the cause -of his trouble fell upon him as he sat one evening in the hotel at -Madison listlessly talking to a dry-goods drummer. Jerry was taking -a run over Copeland-Farley territory to “jolly” the trade, carrying -no samples and soliciting no orders, but presenting himself as the -personal representative of the house, bent upon strengthening social -ties only, and only casually glancing over the shelves to see how much -Copeland-Farley’s competitors were selling. The dry-goods man, noting -Jerry’s unwonted gloom, frankly attributed it to a love affair; and to -find that his condition was perceptible even to the eye of a dry-goods -drummer, for whose powers of discernment he had only the mildest -respect, added considerably to Jerry’s melancholy. - -Nan was not for him; he knew this; there had never been any doubt in -his mind that Eaton and Nan would marry ultimately. Any speculations as -to his own part in Nan’s life, beyond the boy-and-girl comradeship he -had been enjoying, were vain and foolish; they were even disloyal to -Eaton; they were an insult to Nan. Nan had intimated several times that -Eaton was in love with Mrs. Copeland, but now that the black clouds had -risen on his own horizon, Jerry knew the absurdity of this. Eaton had -appeared unusually absent-minded of late, and this marked his friend -as a man in the toils of love. Jerry knew the symptoms! Except for a -passing attachment for a stenographer in a hardware house, who had -jilted him for a red-haired bookkeeper, Jerry had never been in love. -He had grieved over the hardware girl’s perfidy for two, perhaps three, -days. But this was the real thing and a very different matter; he meant -to win the martyr’s wreath by going to his death so heroically that no -one would ever know how he had suffered. - -Returning to town Saturday evening he checked his grip at a hotel -and went to the theater, not for pleasure, but to lose himself among -strangers and enjoy his misery. As he moodily surveyed the assembling -audience a cold hand gripped his heart. Eaton, followed by Mrs. -Copeland, Nan, and a lady he did not know, filed down to the second row -where Eaton always sat. - -Since Farley’s death Nan had attended no entertainments of any kind; -she had refused to accompany Jerry to a concert only a fortnight -earlier. Her presence at the theater with Eaton confirmed his worst -suspicions. Their engagement would doubtless be announced in a day -or two; he must steel himself against this and prepare to offer his -congratulations. The comedy presented was one of the hits of the -season, but its best lines and most amusing situations failed to evoke -a smile from Jerry, who clutched his programme and stared at the back -of Nan’s head. Nan was enjoying herself; from his seat on the back row -he was satisfied of that, and he assured himself that he was glad of -her happiness. At the end of the second act, he left and went to his -room to spend a wretched night. - -Jerry found on his desk Monday morning a note from Eaton, written -several days earlier, asking him to join his theater party and go to -the club later for supper. His sister had come down from Cleveland to -make him a visit, Eaton explained, and he wanted Jerry to meet her. For -an instant the world was the pleasant, cheerful place it had been in -the old days before love darkened his life. Eaton was still his friend; -but only for a moment was the veil lifted. The clouds settled upon -him again, as he grasped the motive behind Eaton’s friendly note--as -though at any time in their intercourse there had been the ghost of a -motive back of anything John Cecil Eaton had ever done for him except -a perfectly transparent, generous wish to be kind to him! But the -coming of the sister (who had never, so far as Jerry knew, visited -Eaton before) could only mean that Eaton wished to introduce Nan to her -as a prospective member of the family. And, proud of his logic, Jerry -reasoned that he was to have been given an opportunity to offer his own -congratulations. - -For a week Jerry kept away from the market-house; Nan knew he had -been out of town, and, failing to see him, would assume that he was -still away. He could not face her; it would be a merciful thing if -he never saw her again. Eaton he would avoid; his friend must never -know of his hopeless passion. Nan and Eaton must begin their married -life wholly ignorant that he had ever looked upon Nan as anything more -than a good friend. Phrases out of novels he had read assisted him in -the definition of his attitude toward her and Eaton. “Unworthy of the -woman he loved,” and “climbed slowly, painfully, to the sublime heights -of a great renunciation.” He _was_ unworthy; he had known that all -along; and he would give her up to his best friend with a beautiful -magnanimity. The fiction with which he was familiar had not lacked in -noble examples of just such splendid sacrifice. If death failed to -end his misery, he would live on, sadly, but manfully, and on every -anniversary of their meeting on the river bank, he would send her a -rose--a single beautiful rose--always exactly the same, and it would -puzzle her greatly and make her wonder; but she would never guess that -it was from one who had loved her in the long ago. - -He had made no sign to Eaton, not even to acknowledge the theater -invitation; and when one day he ran into the lawyer in the bank lobby -he was about to pass him hurriedly when the familiar “Ah, Jerry!” -arrested him. He swallowed hard; it was not easy to meet his friend -with the air of sweet resignation and submission to inexorable fate -that he had been cultivating. - -“An overdraft?” Eaton suggested in his usual tone. “Nothing else could -account for your woeful countenance! I didn’t know you were in town. -Just in, I suppose, from a flight into the remoter recesses of the -Commonwealth.” - -“Well, I’ve been back a few days,” Jerry confessed reluctantly; “but -I’ve been too busy to come around. I meant to call you up about that -invitation; I didn’t get it until after the show.” - -“We missed you; I had wanted you to meet my sister. In fact, I’d rather -prepared her for the meeting--led up to it, warned her of your native -flavor. She’s still with me. You’re working yourself to death; it’s in -your eye. Can’t you come up Tuesday night and dine with us? I’ll see -if we can’t get Mrs. Copeland and Nan to come in. They’ve been seeing -something of Florence. You’ve seen Nan--” - -“No; I haven’t seen her,” Jerry replied, a little resentfully, as -though Eaton ought to know why Nan had become invisible so far as -Jeremiah Amidon was concerned. - -“She’s another victim of overwork,” Eaton remarked carelessly, but -behind his glasses there was a gleam of humor. “Not quarreling, I -hope? I confess that at times Nan is a trifle provoking, but she means -nothing by it. You must give the benefit of all doubts to a girl who is -just emerging from a severe ordeal--settling herself into a new manner -of life. It’s wonderful; really amazing how she’s coming on. We shall -be dining at seven. Please don’t make it necessary for me to explain a -second scorning of my hospitality to my sister. She’d begin to think -you a myth, like Jupiter and the rest of the immortals.” - -“Thanks; I’ll be there,” Jerry answered solemnly. Then he watched -Eaton’s retreating figure shame-facedly. He was acting abominably -toward Eaton. - -The Pembrokes had gone to Florida for the spring months, and Eaton -had taken their house that he might indulge in a round of dinners and -a ball that proved to be the season’s smartest event. These social -activities Jerry had taken as another sign of Eaton’s approaching -marriage. And Jerry had resented, as an attack upon his personal -rights, Eaton’s transfer from the rooms where he had always been so -accessible, to the big house where visitors were received by the -Pembrokes’ butler--a formidable person who, he fancied, regarded him -with a hostile eye. - -Jerry presented himself at the hour appointed, wearing the crown of -his martyrdom, which, if he had known it, was highly unbecoming. As he -had walked around the block twice to prepare himself for the ordeal, -he was late, and stood uncomfortably in the drawing-room door, quite -unnoticed, while the sister (whose back he distrusted) finished a -story she had been telling. But spying him, Eaton rose and greeted him -cordially. - -“Florence, Mr. Amidon; my sister, Mrs. Torrington, Jerry.” - -Mrs. Torrington, a tall, dark woman in her early thirties, graciously -assured him that she had delayed her departure from town until he could -be produced for her edification. - -“I guess you wouldn’t ’a’ missed much,” said Jerry, hating himself -at once for that unnecessary a, from which he had honestly believed -himself permanently emancipated. He shook hands with Mrs. Copeland and -then with Nan--without looking at her. The butler announced dinner, and -he found himself moving toward the dining-room beside Mrs. Torrington. -In her ignorance of the darkness in which he had immersed himself, -she treated him quite as though they were in the habit of meeting -at dinners. It was to his credit that he saw at once that she was -a superior person, though he did not know until later that, as the -wife of a distinguished engineer, she was known in many capitals as a -brilliant conversationalist, with a reputation for meeting difficult -situations. On the way down the hall she spoke of Russia--she had -been telling a Russian story at the moment of his appearance--and her -manner expressed a flattering assumption that he, of course, was quite -familiar with the social life of the Russian capital. - -It was the most informal of dinners; Jerry found himself placed between -Mrs. Torrington and Mrs. Copeland, which left Nan at Eaton’s right. -This arrangement had not been premeditated, but he saw only the darkest -significance in Nan’s juxtaposition to Eaton. She seemed unwontedly -subdued, and averted her eyes when their gaze met. - -“This is the nicest party you’ve had for me, Cecil,” Mrs. Torrington -was saying,--“cozy and comfortable so everybody can talk.” - -Jerry hoped they would talk! (He was watching Mrs. Torrington guardedly -to see which fork she chose for her caviar.) Eaton was unusually grave; -Mrs. Copeland seemed preoccupied; Jerry’s heart ached at the near -presence of Nan. But at a hint from Fanny, Mrs. Torrington returned -to her experiences abroad, and soon had them all interested and -amused. Jerry quickly fell victim to her charm; he had never before -met a woman of her distinction and poise. Even her way of speaking -was different from anything he had been accustomed to--crisp, fluent, -musical. Her good humor was infectious and she quickly won them all -to self-forgetfulness. Mrs. Copeland described an encounter she had -witnessed between a Russian and a Frenchman in a Roman _pension_ where -she had once spent a winter--an incident that culminated in a hasty -exchange of wine-glasses across the table. - -“Ah, Jerry,” remarked Eaton casually; “that leads us naturally to your -pleasing adventures down the road. Florence, if you urge Mr. Amidon he -will tell you of most amazing experiences he has had right here at home -in the pursuit of food.” - -Mrs. Torrington’s fine eyes emphasized her appeal. They would all tell -of the worst food they had ever eaten, she said; she had spent years -collecting information. - -“You may lapse into the vernacular, Jerry,” Eaton added encouragingly; -“we will all understand that you are falling into it merely in a spirit -of realism.” - -“This is tough,” said Jerry, turning to Mrs. Torrington. “Your brother -has told me a hundred times to cut out those stories.” - -“That was only after he had heard them all! And he has been boasting -that he could persuade you to tell them to me. Please! I want to add -them to my collection.” - -“Well, you understand this isn’t my fault--” he began.... - -They were still demanding more stories after the dessert plates had -been removed. He had so far yielded to their friendliness that he -appealed occasionally to Nan, and finally asked her to tell one of -Farley’s stories about the river, which he said he had forgotten. They -remained at table for their coffee to avoid disturbing the good cheer -that now prevailed. - -“Mr. Amidon is up to my highest expectations,” Mrs. Torrington remarked -when they rose. “I’ll stay another week if you’ll give just this same -party again!” - -“We’ve missed you at the farm,” said Mrs. Copeland, as Jerry seated -himself beside her in the library. “And I was just beginning to feel -that we were acquainted! But, of course, you’ve been away. I heard that -from Mr. Copeland.” - -As she mentioned Copeland, she smiled gravely. - -“Well, I have been away, and we’re busier than usual just now,” he -replied, realizing that something had happened in her relations with -Copeland to make possible this careless reference to him. “I guess Mr. -Copeland is working harder than any of us,” he added warmly. - -“Oh, we’re all happier when we’re busy,” she said lightly. - -“Not smoking, Jerry?” asked Eaton, proffering cigars. - -“I’ve quit,” Jerry replied, remembering that he had given up smoking in -his general abandonment of the joys of life. - -Mrs. Copeland left him, making it necessary for him to join Nan, who -had moved a little away from the circle they had formed before the -fireplace. - -“It’s too bad you don’t tell your friends about your troubles,” she -remarked after a moment’s silence. “So many things have happened that -you ought to be very cheerful.” - -“I haven’t been feeling very well,” he answered doggedly. - -“You do look utterly fagged out,” she retorted. “But if I were you I -wouldn’t cut all my friends.” - -“I haven’t cut anybody,” he replied. “I guess I know when to drop -out. I want everybody to be happy,” he said plaintively, feeling his -martyr’s crown pinching his brow. - -“That’s very sweet of you, Jerry. The policeman at the market asked -Saturday what had become of you. Your absence seems to have occasioned -remark, though I hadn’t noticed it myself.” - -“I didn’t suppose you would,” he said, with an effort at bitterness -that was so tame that she laughed. - -“Of course, if you’ve lost interest, it’s all right. I never meant -to bore you. And I’m not complaining. But you haven’t been kind to -Mr. Eaton. I suppose it never occurred to you that he’s taken a good -deal of pains to be nice to you. And just now, just now,”--she added, -lowering her voice,--“we should all be as good to him as we can.” - -He frowned at this. If she and Eaton were in love with each other, he -saw no good reason why he should be sorry for either of them. - -“If I had a chance I could tell you some things,” Nan continued, “but I -suppose it’s just as well to let you read about them in the papers.” - -His spirits sank; he had been scanning the society columns daily -expecting to see the announcement of her engagement. - -“When I’m an old, old woman and living all alone with my chickens -somewhere, I suppose you may come to see me again and tell me about -your troubles.” - -“I won’t,” he replied with a smile he meant to be grim, “because I’ll -be dead.” - -She regarded him with knit brows, puzzled, slightly disdainful. - -“Just when things were a little hard for me, and I have been much -troubled because one of the kindest friends either of us ever had or -could have--” - -She shrugged her shoulders impatiently, and rebuke and indignation were -mingled in the glance she bent upon him. - -“I guess we’re not talking about the same thing,” he said huskily. “You -know I mean to do the square thing, Nan.” - -He was so pathetic that she changed her tone, sorry that she had been -so hard on him. - -“I think you do--usually, Jerry.” - -“And I’ll be out to-morrow night if you’re going to be at home,” he -suggested timidly, her reproach still upon him. - -“Well, if you’re not too tired, or ill, or anything, and can’t think of -anything else to do, come along,” she said. - -Mrs. Copeland called to Nan that it was time to go. They had come in on -the interurban, but Eaton announced his intention of taking them home -in the Pembroke car. - -“There’s no use of my living in all this borrowed splendor unless I use -it. Jerry, please keep the fire burning till I get back.” - -Nan’s smile as she gave him her hand conveyed an apology for her -harshness and sent his spirits soaring. - -“I hope,” remarked Mrs. Torrington, as they heard the car leave the -door, “that you know how fond my brother is of you. You’ve been a great -resource to him; he’s mentioned you often in his letters. You know -Cecil and I are very close, unusually so; and it breaks my heart to see -him--” She waved her hand with a gesture that expressed the futility of -explanations. - -She was taking him for granted as her brother’s friend, not a mere -beneficiary of his big-heartedness. He was aware of something spacious -in her nature; she would brush little things away with a sweep of her -eloquent hands. A wonderful woman was John Cecil’s sister. She was -addressing him as though he were a gentleman, a man of her own world, -instead of the miserable ingrate he knew himself to be. - -“She’s lovely, quite adorable,” Mrs. Torrington continued, as though -speaking of matters they had often discussed before. “I’ll say quite -frankly that I’d been afraid to meet her after what he had written.” - -Jerry sat silent, wondering. Nan had left him mystified. He did not -know what Eaton’s sister was talking about unless it was his love for -Nan. - -“I shall be leaving in a few days; my husband’s business calls him -to China. I want you to keep an eye on Cecil; don’t let him be alone -too much,” she went on. “A man with a sorrow like that in his heart -oughtn’t to be alone. I came here on purpose to see just how the land -lay; I suppose you understand that.” - -He muttered incoherently, touched by her assumption of his sympathy, -her direct, intimate appeal. - -“I felt that I could speak to you quite frankly,” Mrs. Torrington -continued. “No one else seemed quite so accessible, no one really quite -so close to him.” - -“Of course, he has a lot of friends,” said Jerry humbly, and anxious -to respond to the demand this fascinating woman was making upon his -generosity. - -“She’s going back to her husband; of course you know that.” - -There was a degree of indignation in her tone, as though the person of -whom she spoke was doing an unpardonable thing. - -Jerry felt himself shrinking; his hands clutched the arms of his chair -as it dawned upon him that it was Mrs. Copeland--not Nan--of whom -Eaton’s sister was speaking. He was struck with fear lest she should -read his thoughts as he realized how dull, how utterly selfish and -contemptible, had been his apprehensions. - -“I suppose,” said Mrs. Torrington, “that a man as fine as Cecil is -doomed to just this kind of calamity.” - -“I thought maybe it would be Nan,” he faltered. “I know he likes Nan, -and he’s done a lot for her.” - -Mrs. Torrington had been staring musingly into the fire. She turned -toward him absently, and then, catching his meaning, her eyes widened -with surprise. - -“Nan,” she repeated slowly; and then, in her usual brisk tone, “A man -like Cecil can’t be passed on from one affair to another so easily. -And, besides,”--she smiled her charming, irresistible smile,--“that -child is in love with you, you silly boy! It’s in her eyes! That’s the -one hopeful thing about the situation--that together you two will take -good care of him!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - -“JUST HELPING; JUST BEING KIND!” - - -Nan crossed a pasture, whistling. The Holsteins, nibbling the young -grass, lifted their heads and bent their slow, meditative gaze upon -her. She paused to pat one of them on the nose. Nan was growing wise -in dairy lore and knew at sight the heaviest producers of the herd. -She resumed her whistling and went on toward the house, with a pair of -robins hopping before her. June had come and summer sounds and scents -filled the air. - -As she neared the bungalow a motor swept into the driveway and -discharged Eaton and Thurston. - -“A child of the pastures! The daughter of Cincinnatus tripping in from -the fields!” observed Eaton, as he shook hands. - -“Just been tinkering an incubator, if you want the facts--counting -chickens before they’re hatched,” laughed Nan, brushing a straw from -her skirt. - -“We have a small business matter to discuss with you, Nan. We’ll fall -upon it at once if you’re agreeable.” - -“Business!” Nan mocked. “I hoped you’d come to look at the dairy.” - -This was a very different Nan, Eaton reflected, from the Nan of a year -ago. Exposure to wind and sun had already given her a becoming tan. Her -old listlessness, the defiant air she had sometimes worn, had vanished; -she had become alert, self-reliant, resolute. Within the bounds of her -self-respect she meant that the world should like her. A democratic -young person--this new Nan, on good terms with truck farmers, humble -drivers of grocers’ wagons, motormen, and market-house policemen. In -her short skirt and plain blue blouse, she looked less than her years -to-day. - -“We can sit on the veranda if you gentlemen are not afraid of the -country air.” - -“I wouldn’t dare go in after that,” remarked Thurston dryly; “Eaton -already refers to me as his learned senior.” - -“Mr. Eaton is the youngest and the oldest man in the world!” Nan -declared. - -“Well, Miss Farley,” Thurston began, as they gathered about a wicker -table and he drew a formidable bundle of papers from a leathern pouch, -“as we telephoned you yesterday, the opposition of Mr. Farley’s -relatives has been disposed of and your adoption was upheld by the -court. To prevent an appeal, and get rid of them for good, we’ve agreed -on your behalf to pay the two cousins ten thousand dollars apiece. Mr. -Eaton would have preferred to fight it clear through, but I prevailed -on him not to make Brother Harlowe work too hard. You may not know it, -but Eaton is a remarkably belligerent person. There’s no compromise in -him. He’d fight to the last ditch.” - -He looked from Eaton to Nan over his glasses with a twinkle in his eyes. - -“I never saw a fellow I wanted to smash as badly as I do Harlowe,” -Eaton remarked. “He’s the smoothest rascal I’ve ever known.” - -“I don’t see that you’ve been very generous,” said Nan. “How much will -he get as a fee?” - -“About nine tenths of the twenty thousand,” replied Thurston grimly. - -“Rather less than that,” said Eaton, with one of his elusive smiles. “I -started the secretary of the White River Trust Company down to see the -esteemed cousins before we signed the agreement; told him to persuade -them to confide their ill-gotten gains to the company and advised them -to cut off Harlowe with a niggardly ten per cent for his services. I -was afraid to tell you that, Thurston. I knew you would scold me.” - -“Eaton, for combined ingenuity and malevolence, you haven’t an equal!” -declared Thurston, chuckling. - -“I don’t believe it,” cried Nan, glad that the interview was -progressing so cheerfully. - -“Now, Miss Farley,” Thurston resumed, “if there’s anything a lawyer -doesn’t like, it’s an ungrateful client. Mr. Eaton and I have a -sneaking feeling that we’ve done pretty well with this case. The -credit is chiefly his--and I take off my hat to him. We’ve come here -in the hope that we shan’t have to argue with you, but just tell you. -Your scruples against accepting any share in Mr. Farley’s estate, -expressed after his death, did you credit--in a way. But now it’s all -yours; there’s no escape. A considerable amount of income has already -accumulated, and we can arrange payments necessary for your support -to begin at once, though the estate can’t be closed till the year of -administration is up. So far as your ability to earn your own living is -concerned, you have demonstrated that. You have shown a plucky spirit, -and I admire it. I will go further, and say that the community has -supported you strongly, and that your attitude has made many friends -for you. But now--now, we must have no more of this nonsense!” - -He waved his hand to indicate the fields, and glanced meaningfully at -Nan’s heavy walking-shoes, which were disgracefully muddy. - -“But that was settled--once and for all!” Nan replied firmly. “You -mustn’t think me ungrateful for what you’ve done; but I thought that -all out before I came here, and I haven’t had a single regret. If it -isn’t impolite, I’ll say that all I want is to be let alone!” - -“Thurston and I are not sentimentalists,” said Eaton. “We’ve given you -free rein to indulge your whims; but now we’ve come to a point where -we’ve got to take a hand.” - -“But you can’t make me, if I won’t!” laughed Nan. “Just think how -humiliating it would be to back down now after I said I wouldn’t! Worse -than that, think of the effect on these girls we have at work here; -they’d lose their respect for me if they found I wasn’t really as poor -as they are! And there are other reasons, too,” she went on soberly. “I -don’t like to go over this again, but I never deserved anything of the -Farleys. I’ve got my conscience to live with, and I could never get on -with it if I allowed myself to take money which papa knew it was best -for me not to have. I’m serious about this. He knew me better than I -knew myself. You understand what I mean--” - -“I don’t understand it in the way you mean, Nan,” Eaton answered; “but -let’s not argue it. Let’s be practical. Has it occurred to you that -something has to be done with this property? The lawful heir can’t just -walk off and leave an estate like this. It will be confiscated by the -State--thrown into the treasury and spent by a lot of politicians if -you refuse it. Take the money and buy a lot of farms with it or spend -it on working girls as much as you like--but please don’t talk any more -about refusing it.” - -Eaton had spoken lightly, but she saw that he was very much in earnest. -The contingency he suggested had not, in fact, occurred to her. She had -assumed from the beginning that the adoption would be nullified and -that Farley’s money would be divided among the obscure and shadowy -cousins; and this abrupt termination of the case brought her face to -face with an unforeseen situation. Thurston was quick to take advantage -of her silence. - -“You have to consider, Miss Farley, what your foster-father’s feelings -would be. He was a just man, and all the wills he considered from -time to time prove that he never had the slightest intention of -disinheriting you. Even in the last will creating the trusteeship, -he made you his sole heir; it was really the most generous of all! -Oh, yes,” he exclaimed hastily, as Nan colored deeply, “there was, I -suppose, a certain bitterness behind that. I want to say to you again -that I did my best to dissuade him from that step. I was confident -he would change his mind about it, as he had about so many other -things in his varying moods and tempers; and that he would realize -its unkindness. We have no right to assume that when he hid that will -behind his wife’s picture, he had any intention of executing it. It’s -an open question and it’s only fair to give him the benefit of the -doubt.” - -“That’s true enough,” Nan assented; “but when I read that will and -found how bitter he had been, I knew I had done the right thing in -refusing to take anything!” - -“I don’t agree with you,” Thurston continued patiently. “You must -be just; you must remember that that was the act of a man near his -death--nearer than any of us imagined. He didn’t have a chance to -change his mind again. It’s unjust to his memory to leave him in the -wrong utterly, as you will if you persist. There has already been a -great deal of talk about this attack on the adoption--people have been -blaming him for not guarding against the possibility of any such thing. -You see public sentiment is behind you! And in spite of anything you -may say, your act would have the appearance of pique; it would be like -slapping a dead man in the face!” - -“Mr. Thurston is right, Nan,” said Eaton. “There is not only Mr. -Farley’s memory as a kind and just man to protect, but you must guard -yourself against even the appearance of resentment. The only thing you -have to consider is Mr. Farley’s conscientious desire to provide for -you, which was manifest at all times. As Mr. Thurston says, that last -will gave you absolutely everything, cutting out all the bequests he -had made at other times to benevolence and charity. My dear Nan, your -scruples are absurd! You haven’t any case at all! The idea of letting -the property Timothy Farley spent a laborious lifetime accumulating go -to the State is horrible. I can readily imagine what his feelings would -be! Why, my dear Nan, rather than let that happen, Thurston and I will -steal the whole thing ourselves!” - -She received this with a grudging smile. What they said about the -injustice to Farley of a refusal impressed her, but her resolution was -still unshaken. And there was a stubborn strain in her of which she had -only lately been aware. - -She reached for a pencil, and Eaton pushed a pad of paper toward -her. She began jotting down Farley’s various bequests to charity, as -provided in the series of wills, pausing now and then to refer to -Thurston for items she only imperfectly remembered. - -The total was three hundred and fifty thousand dollars. She tapped the -paper reflectively. - -“Of course,” remarked Thurston anxiously, as he saw what was in her -mind, “you are not bound by any of the legacies in those unsigned -wills. Not one of the wills contained all those bequests, so your total -doesn’t represent what he meant to dispose of in that way. And his last -will is evidence that he had wholly changed his mind about them.” - -“We are bound to accept that last will as convincing proof of his very -great confidence in Miss Farley,” said Eaton quickly, “rather than as -an expression of distrust.” - -“We all know perfectly well what he meant by that,” Nan replied. “But I -don’t want you to think I have any feeling about it.” - -They nodded gravely as she glanced at them appealingly. - -“I can see,” she went on hurriedly, “that my refusal to accept anything -at all might look like resentment; that it would be in a way unjust to -him.” She turned for a glance over the fields, as though seeking their -counsel. “Papa really wanted to help people who hadn’t a chance; he was -only hard on the idle and shiftless. If he hadn’t been big-hearted and -generous, he never would have taken me up as he did. And mamma was like -him. I feel strongly that even if he did change his mind sometimes, his -wish to help these things--the Boys’ Club, the Home for Aged Women, and -all the rest--should be respected.” - -“That can’t be done unless you take the whole,” said Eaton quickly. -“But you needn’t decide about it now.” - -“Yes; you should wait a few years at least!” added Thurston, crossing -his legs nervously. - -“And since I’ve been out here and have learned about the girls Mrs. -Copeland is training to take care of themselves, I’ve thought of some -other things that might be done,” said Nan, ignoring their manifest -unwillingness to acquiesce in the recognition of Farley’s vacillating -benefactions. “There ought to be, in a town like this, a home and -training school for girls who start the wrong way, or make mistakes. We -haven’t anything that quite fills that need, and there are a good many -such girls. A hundred thousand dollars would provide such a place, and -it ought to have another hundred thousand for endowment. Mrs. Copeland -and I have talked of the need for such a school. It would be fine to -start something like that! And you know,” she added, “I might have -been just such a girl myself!” - -Thurston turned to Eaton helplessly. - -“It’s as plain as daylight,” Eaton remarked, amused by the despair in -his associate’s face, “that you will soon pauperize yourself at this -rate. It’s only fair to tell you that the estate shrank on a rigid -appraisement of Mr. Farley’s property. The million the newspapers -mentioned has dwindled to about eight hundred thousand. If you give -away all that’s mentioned in those wills and start this girls’ home, -you won’t be able to keep more than three automobiles for yourself.” - -“Oh, the proof of the pudding is in the eating--and I know it’s good!” -Nan laughed. “I stuffed myself so long without thinking about my hungry -neighbors that it won’t hurt me to pass the plate down the table!” - -“Well, the main thing,” said Thurston, “is to get your assurance that -you’ll accept the estate under your rights as Mr. Farley’s adopted -daughter. I suppose we can’t prevent your giving it away without having -you declared insane!” - -“I dare you to try it!” Then, more serious than at any time during the -interview, she said: “You’ll have to let me reason it out my own way. -It was only a piece of luck that I wasn’t thrown into an orphan asylum -or left to die on the river bank when the Farleys gave me a home. I -shall never forget that--never _again_,” she added with deep feeling. -“The least I can do is to pass my good luck on. I’ve thought all that -out, so please don’t make me talk of it any more!” - -Then, as the men rose to leave, Fanny appeared, and urged them to -remain to dinner. Thurston pleaded an engagement in town; Eaton said he -would stay. - -“You’ve broken that man’s heart, Nan,” Eaton remarked, as Thurston -rolled away in his machine. - -“What did you do to him, Nancy?” asked Fanny. - -“She scared him to death! He’s convinced that she’s headed for an -insane asylum--that’s all,” chuckled Eaton. “Mere altruism doesn’t -interest Thurston; he thinks it just a sign of weak character--worse -than a weak chin.” - -“I’ve always thought,” said Fanny, as her arm stole around Nan, “that -Nancy has a very nice chin.” - -“I might go further,” Eaton remarked daringly, “and say that the face -in its entirety is pleasant and inspiring to look at!” - -“Stop teasing me!” cried Nan, “or I’ll run out to the barn and cry.” - -They were still talking in this strain when Copeland’s machine appeared -in the driveway. - -“I didn’t tell you that we’re having a party to-night,” said Fanny. -“Unless I’m mistaken, Mr. Amidon is driving that machine.” - -She walked to the veranda rail and looked expectantly toward the -approaching car. Though Billy had lately paid a visit to the farm, Nan -had not met him. Fanny, with her usual frankness, had warned Nan of the -expected visit, and Nan had carefully kept out of the way. She had not -seen Billy since the night he proposed the destruction of Farley’s will. - -Copeland jumped from the machine and ran up the steps, while Jerry -disposed of the car. He shook hands with Fanny, and then turned toward -Nan inquiringly. - -She was already walking toward him. - -“I’m glad to see you, Billy.” - -“I’m glad to see you, Nan,” he said, and added in a slightly lower -tone, “I’m glad to see you _here_.” - -“And I’m glad to see you--here!” - -Both knew what was in the other’s thoughts. Copeland bowed slightly, -and crossed to Eaton, who was gazing fixedly at the gathering glories -of the sunset. - -Jerry, in a gray suit, and the very tallest collar he could buy, now -added himself to the group. He bent over Mrs. Copeland’s hand with his -best imitation of Eaton’s manner, and then, as he raised his head, -looked around furtively to see whether his mentor was watching him. - -The laughter that greeted this had the effect of putting them all at -ease. - -“I knew Jerry could do it,” said Nan, “but I didn’t suppose he would -dare try it in his Cecil’s presence.” - -“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” remarked Eaton, feigning -indignation at their treatment of his protégé. “If you’re not satisfied -with Jeremiah’s manners, we’ll both go home.” - -Nan ran away to change her clothes and reappeared just as dinner was -announced. - -“Please sit wherever you happen to be,” said Fanny, as they reached the -dining-room; and then, as they sat down, she bit her lip and colored, -finding that it fell to Copeland’s lot to sit opposite her. Eaton, -noticing her embarrassment, immediately charged Copeland Farms with -responsibility for the high cost of living. - -“You must watch Nan carefully, Mrs. Copeland. She’s grinding the face -of the poor. I heard Mrs. Harrington complaining bitterly last night -about the price she has to pay for such trifling necessities as eggs -and butter. You’re going to bring a French Revolution on this country -if you’re not careful. And there will be eggs thrown that don’t bear -the Copeland Farm’s stamp.” - -“I refuse to have this suit spoiled with any other kind,” Jerry -protested. “Speaking of eggs--” - -“No, you don’t!” Nan interrupted. “You can’t tell any of your -country-hotel egg stories here. I refuse to hear them.” - -“All right, then; we’ll drop the eggs. I was shaking hands with old -friends on the lower Wabash last week and struck three slabs of -cocoanut pie in three days. I’m going to make a map of the pie habits -of the Hoosiers and send it out as a Copeland-Farley advertisement. -I’ve been all over the State lately, and I’ve never found cocoanut pie -north of Logansport, and you never find it east of Seymour going south. -Down along the Ohio you can stand on hotel porches in the peach season -and see thousands of acres of peaches spoiling on the trees, and you go -inside and find dried-peach pie on the programme. And you have to eat -it or take sliced bananas or hard chunks of canned pineapple. No wonder -traveling men go wrong! I wonder at times at my own pure life!” - -It was evident that they liked Jerry. They encouraged him to talk, and -he passed lightly from Praxiteles, whom he had just discovered in a -magazine article, to the sinfulness of the cut-price drug store, which -he pronounced the greatest of commercial iniquities. - -After coffee on the veranda, Eaton quietly disappeared. Then Jerry and -Nan went off for a stroll, leaving Copeland and Fanny together. - -“I guess that’s coming out all right,” remarked Jerry, indicating the -veranda with a wave of his straw hat. “But it’s tough on Cecil. I’ve -been wondering whether _she_ knows how it’s going to hit him.” - -“Oh, I hope not! But that’s something we’ll never know.” - -“Of course, Cecil needn’t have done all the things he did to bring them -together again. He might have let the boss go by the board. It wasn’t -just money that saved the boss! it was John Cecil’s strong right arm!” - -“And yours, too, Jerry! Oh, yes; I know more about it than you think I -do. You helped--you did a lot to save him.” - -“Well, if I did,” he admitted grudgingly, “that was Cecil, too. I’d -been busy rustling for myself--never caring a hang for the other -fellow--till Cecil got hold of me. I’ve wondered a good deal how he did -it--a scrub like me!” - -“Don’t be foolish, Jerry; it had to be in you first. But he does make -people want to be different. He’s certainly affected me that way.” - -“Oh, you!” he exclaimed disdainfully. - -“Well, don’t you ever think I’m proud of myself, Jeremiah Amidon!” She -paused abruptly at the edge of a brook that tinkled musically on its -way to the river. “I’m only just beginning to try to be self-respecting -and decent and useful; I think it’s going to be a lot of fun if I ever -get started.” - -“Well, I hope to see you on the cars sometimes. I’ve got the same -ticket, but I’m not sure it’s good on the limited. I’m likely to be -chucked at the first tank.” - -They jumped the brook and followed a cow path across a broad pasture, -talking of old times on the Ohio, and of Farley, of whom Jerry always -spoke in highest reverence, and then of his own prospects. - -Both were subdued by the influences of the night. The stars hung near; -it seemed to Jerry that they had stolen closer to earth to enfold Nan -in their soft radiance. A new idea had possessed him of late. His heart -throbbed with it to-night. - -“In a place like this,” he began slowly, “you think a lot of things -that wouldn’t strike you anywhere else.” - -“It’s just the dear country lonesomeness. I come out here often in the -evenings; used to in the winter, when the snow was deepest. I love all -this--” She stretched out her arms with a quick gesture comprehensive -of the star-hung fields. - -Jerry’s dejection increased. The more he saw of Nan the less he seemed -to count in her affairs. A Nan who tramped snowy fields and took -counsel of the heavens was beyond his reach--immeasurably beyond. - -“I don’t take hold of things the way you do, Nan. Being out here just -makes me lonesome, that’s all. I’ve got to be where I can see electric -signs spelling words on tall buildings. Just hearing that trolley -tooting away over there helps some; must be because it’s going toward -the lights.” - -“If you feel so terribly, maybe we’d better go back!” she said -tauntingly and took a step downward. - -“Don’t do that again! If you leave me here in the dark I’ll be scared -to death.” - -“That _would_ be a blow to the human race,” she mocked. - -“Well, I’ve had blows enough!” - -“You hide the scars well--I can say that!” she flung back. - -“Listen, Nan--” - -“I thought John Cecil had broken you of the ‘listen’ habit.” - -“Forget it! You know perfectly well what I want to tell you!” - -“Then, why do we linger? We really must go!” - -“My business is selling goods and it’s a rule of the game never to let -a customer turn his back on you.” - -“All right; you go first!” - -“Nan”--he drew nearer and planted himself in her path--“you can’t -go--not till I’ve promised to marry you!” - -This reversal of the established formula evoked a gay laugh; but she -did not attempt to pass him. - -“I never meant to ask you; I was afraid you’d marry me for my money and -I want to be loved for myself alone! And don’t think I’d be mentioning -it now if I wasn’t so lonesome I could cry! If you’re going to take -that money, it’s all off, anyhow. I can’t afford to have anybody -questioning my motives. As far as loving you’s concerned, I started -full time that first day we met on the river bank, when you pulled my -fly out of the tree. I might just as well have told you then--and I -wish I had!” - -“Well, you needn’t scold me about it now!” - -“I’m not scolding. I’m just telling you what you missed!” - -“Why don’t you give me another chance? I know I’m only a poor working -girl--” - -“Nan, I wish you were that!” he cried earnestly. “But all that money’s -coming to you now. I wouldn’t have the nerve--” - -“It would be the first time your nerve ever failed!” Then, fearing she -had wounded him, she added quickly, “Of course, I didn’t mean that.” - -“Nan!” - -“Well, don’t cry, little boy!” - -“Nan!” - -“Yes, Jerry.” - -“I love you, Nan!” he said gently. “I wish you cared even a little bit.” - -“It’s a good deal more than that, Jerry.” - -He took her hands and kissed them. There was a great awe in his heart. - -“Nan, this doesn’t seem right, you being you; and you know what I am!” - -“I think I know what you are, Jerry,--you’re fine and loyal and good!” - -“I’m going to try to be,” he said humbly. - -“And you’ve helped me more than I could make you understand, from that -very first day we met, when I hated myself so! You brought back the -old days; everything that has happened since has made me think of you. -You were the only person around here who really knew all about me--just -what I came from, and all that. And it helped me to see how bravely you -were fighting your own way up. I had the chance forced on me that you -made for yourself. And I made a mess of everything! Oh, Jerry!” - -She clung to him, crying. As he kissed away her tears, the touch of her -wet cheek thrilled him.... - -“We mustn’t be so happy we can’t remember other people,” she said as -they loitered hand in hand toward the house. - -“I guess that’s the only way, Nan. That’s what Cecil’s always saying. -And I guess he’s about right about everything.” - -Eaton passed them, unconscious of their nearness. He walked with head -erect, as one who has fought and won a good fight. A sense of all his -victory had cost him was in both their hearts. There was an infinite -pathos in his figure as he strode through the dusk, returning to the -woman he loved and to the man he had saved and given back to her. - -“It’s tough on Cecil,” said Jerry chokingly. “It doesn’t seem quite -square, some way--I mean the Copelands hitting it off again.” - -“Well, we may be sure he doesn’t feel that way,” Nan answered. “It’s -all come out the way he wanted it to. He brought them together.” - -[Illustration: THE TOUCH OF HER WET CHEEK THRILLED HIM] - -“It’s funny, Nan; but I’m never dead sure I catch Cecil’s drift--the -scheme or whatever it is he works by. I can’t find it in the books he -gives me to read.” - -“It isn’t in books, Jerry; it’s in his heart--just helping; just being -kind!” - - -THE END - - - - -The Riverside Press - -CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS - -U . S . 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