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diff --git a/7153-0.txt b/7153-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..68f844f --- /dev/null +++ b/7153-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6898 @@ +Project Gutenberg's Elder Conklin and Other Stories, by Frank Harris + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Elder Conklin and Other Stories + +Author: Frank Harris + + +Release Date: December, 2004 [EBook #7153] +This file was first posted on March 18, 2003 +Last Updated: March 8, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ELDER CONKLIN AND OTHER STORIES *** + + + + +Produced by Blain Nelson, Eric Eldred, Charles Franks and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + + + +ELDER CONKLIN + +AND OTHER STORIES + + +By Frank Harris + + +New York + +Macmillan And Co. + +And London 1894 + + +_All rights reserved_ + +COPYRIGHT, 1894, + +BY MACMILLAN AND CO. + + * * * * * + +CONTENTS + + +ELDER CONKLIN + +THE SHERIFF AND HIS PARTNER + +A MODERN IDYLL + +EATIN' CROW + +THE BEST MAN IN GAROTTE + +GULMORE, THE BOSS + + + + + +ELDER CONKLIN. + +As soon as the Elder left the supper-table his daughter and the new +schoolmaster went out on the stoop or verandah which ran round the +frame-house. The day had been warm, but the chilliness of the evening +air betokened the near approach of the Indian summer. The house stood +upon the crest of what had been a roll in the prairie, and as the two +leant together on the railing of the stoop, they looked out over a small +orchard of peach-trees to where, a couple of hundred yards away, at the +foot of the bluff, Cottonwood Creek ran, fringed on either bank by the +trees which had suggested its name. On the horizon to their right, away +beyond the spears of yellow maize, the sun was sinking, a ball of orange +fire against the rose mist of the sky. When the girl turned towards him, +perhaps to avoid the level rays, Bancroft expressed the hope that she +would go with him to the house-warming. A little stiffly Miss Conklin +replied that she'd be pleased, but-- + +“What have I done, Miss Loo, to offend you?” the young man spoke +deprecatingly. + +“Nothin', I guess,” she answered, with assumed indifference. + +“When I first came you were so kind and helped me in everything. Now for +the last two or three days you seem cold and sarcastic, as if you were +angry with me. I'd be sorry if that were so--very sorry.” + +“Why did you ask Jessie Stevens to go with you to the house-warmin'?” + was the girl's retort. + +“I certainly didn't ask her,” he replied hotly. “You must know I +didn't.” + +“Then Seth lied!” exclaimed Miss Conklin. “But I guess he'll not try +that again with me--Seth Stevens I mean. He wanted me to go with him +to-night, and I didn't give him the mitten, as I should if I'd thought +you were goin' to ask me.” + +“What does 'giving the mitten' mean?” he questioned, with a puzzled air. + +“Why, jest the plainest kind of refusal, I guess; but I only told him +I was afraid I'd have to go with you, seein' you were a stranger. +'Afraid,'” she repeated, as if the word stung her. “But he'll lose +nothin' by waitin', nothin'. You hear me talk.” And her eyes flashed. + +As she drew herself up in indignation, Bancroft thought he had never +seen any one so lovely. “A perfect Hebe,” he said to himself, and +started as if he had said the words aloud. The comparison was apt. +Though Miss Loo Conklin was only seventeen, her figure had all the +ripeness of womanhood, and her height--a couple of inches above the +average--helped to make her look older than she was. Her face was more +than pretty; it was, in fact, as beautiful as youth, good features, and +healthy colouring could make it. A knotted mass of chestnut hair set off +the shapely head: the large blue eyes were deepened by dark lashes. The +underlip, however, was a little full, and the oval of the face through +short curve of jaw a trifle too round. Her companion tried in vain to +control the admiration of his gaze. Unelated by what she felt to be +merely her due, Miss Conklin was silent for a time. At length she +observed: + +“I guess I'll have to go and fix up.” + +Just then the Elder appeared on the stoop. “Ef you're goin',” he said +in the air, as his daughter swept past him into the house, “you'd better +hitch Jack up to the light buggy.” + +“Thank you,” said the schoolmaster; and for the sake of saying +something, he added, “What a fine view.” The Elder paused but did not +answer; he saw nothing remarkable in the landscape except the Indian +corn and the fruit, and the words “fine view” conveyed no definite +meaning to him; he went on towards the stables. + +The taciturnity of the Elder annoyed Bancroft excessively. He had now +passed a couple of weeks as a boarder with the Conklins, and the Elder's +unconscious rudeness was only one of many peculiarities that had brought +him to regard these Western folk as belonging almost to a distinct +species. George Bancroft was an ordinary middle-class Bostonian. He +had gone through the University course with rather more than average +success, and had the cant of unbounded intellectual sympathies. His +self-esteem, however, was not based chiefly on his intelligence, but on +the ease with which he reached a conventional standard of conduct. Not +a little of his character showed itself in his appearance. In figure he +was about the middle height, and strongly though sparely built. The head +was well-proportioned; the face a lean oval; the complexion sallow; +the hair and small moustache very dark; the brown eyes inexpressive +and close-set, revealing a tendency to suspiciousness--Bancroft prided +himself on his prudence. A certain smartness of dress and a conscious +carriage discovered a vanity which, in an older man, would have been +fatuous. A large or a sensitive nature would in youth, at least, +have sought unconsciously to bring itself into sympathy with strange +surroundings, but Bancroft looked upon those who differed from him in +manners or conduct as inferior, and this presumption in regard to the +Conklins was strengthened by his superiority in book-learning, the +importance of which he had been trained to over-estimate. + +During their drive Miss Conklin made her companion talk of Eastern life; +she wanted to know what Chicago was like, and what people did in New +York. Stirred by her eager curiosity, Bancroft sketched both cities +in hasty outline, and proceeded to tell what he had read and heard of +Paris, and Rome, and London. But evidently the girl was not interested +by his praise of the art-life of European capitals or their historical +associations; she cut short his disquisition: + +“See here! When I first seed you an' knew you was raised in Boston, an' +had lived in New York, I jest thought you no account for comin' to this +jumpin'-off place. Why did you come to Kansas, anyway, and what did you +reckon upon doin'? I guess you ain't goin' to teach school always.” + +The young man flushed under the frankness of the girl's gaze and +question, and what appeared like contempt in her opinion of him. Again +he became painfully conscious that there was a wide social difference +between Miss Conklin and himself. He had been accustomed to more +reticence, and such direct questioning seemed impertinent. But he was so +completely under the spell of her beauty, that he answered with scarcely +visible hesitation: + +“I came out here because I wanted to study law, and wasn't rich enough +to do it in the East. This school was the first position offered to me. +I had to take it, but I intend, after a term or two, to find a place in +a lawyer's office in some town, and get admitted to practice. If I'd had +fifteen hundred dollars I could have done that in Boston or New York, +but I suppose it will all come right in time.” + +“If I'd been you I'd have stayed in New York,” and then, clasping her +hands on her knee, and looking intently before her, she added, “When +I get to New York--an' that won't be long--I'll stay there, you bet! +I guess New York's good enough for me. There's style there,” and she +nodded her head decisively as she spoke. + +Miss Loo and Bancroft were among the latest arrivals at the Morrises'. +She stood beside him while he hitched Jack to a post of the fence amidst +a crowd of other horses, and they entered the house together. In +due form she presented the schoolmaster to Mr. and Mrs. Morris, and +smilingly produced three linen tablecloths as her contribution to the +warming. After accepting the present with profuse thanks and unmeasured +praise of it and of the giver, Mrs. Morris conducted the newcomers +across the passage into the best sitting-room, which the young folk had +already appropriated, leaving the second-best room to their elders. + +In the small square apartment were some twenty boys and girls, ranging +between sixteen and twenty-two years of age. The boys stood about at +one end of the room, while the girls sat at the other end chattering +and enjoying themselves. Bancroft did not go among those of his own +sex, none of whom he knew, and whom he set down as mere uncouth lads. He +found it more amusing to stand near the girls and talk with them. By so +doing he unconsciously offended the young men. + +Presently a tall youth came towards them: + +“I guess we'd better play somethin'?” + +“Forfeits! Mr. Stevens,” was a girl's quick reply, and it was arranged +to play forfeits in a queer educational fashion. First of all Mr. +Stevens left the room, presumably to think. When he came in again he +went over to Miss Conklin and asked her to spell “forgive.” After a +moment's pause she spelt it correctly. He retired slowly, and on +his return stopped again in front of Miss Conklin with the word +“reconciliation.” She withstood the test triumphantly. Annoyed +apparently with the pains she took, Mr. Stevens, on his next entrance, +turned to a pretty, quiet girl named Miss Black, and gave her +“stranger,” with a glance at Bancroft, which spread a laugh among the +boys. Miss Black began with “strai,” and was not allowed to go on, for +Mr. Stevens at once offered his arm, and led her into the passage. + +“What takes place outside?” asked Bancroft confidentially of the girl +sitting nearest to him, who happened to be Miss Jessie Stevens. She +replied with surprise: + +“I guess they kiss each other!” + +“Ah!--Now I understand,” he said to himself, and from that moment +followed the proceedings with more interest. He soon found that +successive pairs called each other out in turn, and he had begun to tire +of the game, when Miss Jessie Stevens stopped before him and pertly gave +the word “friendship.” Of course he spelt it wrongly, and accompanied +her outside the door. As he kissed her cheek, she drew away her head +quickly: + +“I only called you out to give you a chance of kissin' Loo Conklin.” + +He thought it wiser not to reply to this, and contented himself with +thanking her as they entered the room. He paused before Miss Conklin, +and gave her “bumpkin,” adding, by way of explanation, “a rude country +fellow.” She spelt it cheerfully, without the “p.” When the mistake was +made plain to her, which took some little time, she accepted his arm, +and went with him into the passage. He kissed her more than once, +murmuring, “At last, Miss Loo!” She replied seriously: + +“See here! You're goin' to get into a fuss with Seth Stevens if you call +me out often. And he's the strongest of them all. You ain't afraid? O.K. +then. I guess we'll pay him out for lyin'.” + +On returning to the room, Bancroft became conscious of a thinly veiled +antagonism on the part of the young men. But he had hardly time to +notice it, when Miss Loo came in and said to him demurely, “Loo.” He +spelt “You.” Much laughter from the girls greeted the simple pleasantry. + +So the game, punctuated by kisses, went on, until Miss Loo came in +for the fourth time, and stopped again before Bancroft, whereupon Seth +Stevens pushed through the crowd of young men, and said: + +“Miss Loo Conklin! You know the rule is to change after three times.” + +At once she moved in front of the stout youth, Richards, who had come +forward to support his friend, and said “liar!” flashing at the same +time an angry glance at Stevens. “Lire,” spelt Richards painfully, and +the pair withdrew. + +Bancroft went over to the men's corner; the critical moment had come; +he measured his rival with a glance. Stevens was tall, fully six feet +in height, and though rather lank, had the bow legs and round shoulders +which often go with strength. + +As he took up his new position, Stevens remarked to a companion, in a +contemptuous drawl: + +“Schoolmasters kin talk an' teach, but kin they fight?” + +Bancroft took it upon himself to answer, “Sometimes.” + +“Kin you?” asked Stevens sharply, turning to him. + +“Well enough.” + +“We kin try that to-morrow. I'll be in the lot behind Richards' mill at +four o'clock.” + +“I'll be there,” replied the schoolmaster, making his way again towards +the group of girls. + +Nothing further happened until the old folk came in, and the party broke +up. Driving homewards with Miss Conklin, Bancroft began: + +“How can I thank you enough for being so kind to me? You called me out +often, almost as often as I called you.” + +“I did that to rile Seth Stevens.” + +“And not at all to please me?” + +“Perhaps a little,” she said, and silence fell upon them. + +His caution led him to restrain himself. He was disturbed by vague +doubts, and felt the importance of a decisive word. Presently Miss +Conklin spoke, in a lower voice than usual, but with an accent of +coquettish triumph in the question: + +“So you like me after all? Like me really?” + +“Do you doubt it?” His accent was reproachful. “But why do you say +'after all'?” + +“You never kissed me comin' back from church last Sunday, and I showed +you the school and everythin'!” + +“Might I have kissed you then? I was afraid of offending you.” + +“Offendin' me? Well, I guess not! Every girl expects to be kissed when +she goes out with a man.” + +“Let's make up for it now, Loo. May I call you Loo?” While speaking he +slipped his arm round her waist, and kissed her again and again. + +“That's my name. But there! I guess you've made up enough already.” And +Miss Conklin disengaged herself. On reaching the house, however, she +offered her lips before getting out of the buggy. + +When alone in his bedroom, Bancroft sat and thought. The events of the +evening had been annoying. Miss Loo's conduct had displeased him; he did +not like familiarity. He would not acknowledge to himself that he +was jealous. The persistent way Stevens had tried to puzzle her had +disgusted him--that was all. It was sufficiently plain that in the past +she had encouraged Stevens. Her freedom and boldness grated upon his +nerves. He condemned her with a sense of outraged delicacy. Girls ought +not to make advances; she had no business to ask him whether he liked +her; she should have waited for him to speak plainly. He only required +what was right. Yet the consciousness that she loved him flattered his +vanity and made him more tolerant; he resolved to follow her lead or to +improve upon it. Why shouldn't he? She had said “every girl expects to +be kissed.” And if she wanted to be kissed, it was the least he could do +to humour her. + +All the while, at the bottom of his heart there was bitterness. He would +have given much to believe that an exquisite soul animated that lovely +face. Perhaps she was better than she seemed. He tried to smother +his distrust of her, till it was rendered more acute by another +reflection--she had got him into the quarrel with Seth Stevens. He did +not trouble much about it. He was confident enough of his strength and +the advantages of his boyish training in the gymnasium to regard the +trial with equanimity. Still, the girls he had known in the East would +never have set two men to fight, never--it was not womanly. Good girls +were by nature peacemakers. There must be something in Loo, he argued, +almost--vulgar, and he shrank from the word. To lessen the sting of +his disappointment, he pictured her to himself and strove to forget her +faults. + +On the following morning he went to his school very early. The girls +were not as obtrusive as they had been. Miss Jessie Stevens did not +bother him by coming up every five minutes to see what he thought of her +dictation, as she had been wont to do. He was rather glad of this; it +saved him importunate glances and words, and the propinquity of girlish +forms, which had been more trying still. But what was the cause of the +change? It was evident that the girls regarded him as belonging to Miss +Conklin. He disliked the assumption; his caution took alarm; he would +be more careful in future. The forenoon melted into afternoon quietly, +though there were traces on Jake Conklin's bench of unusual agitation +and excitement. To these signs the schoolmaster paid small heed at the +moment. He was absorbed in thinking of the evening before, and in trying +to appraise each of Loo's words and looks. At last the time came for +breaking up. When he went outside to get into the buggy--he had brought +Jack with him--he noticed, without paying much attention to it, that +Jake Conklin was not there to unhitch the strap and in various other +ways to give proof of a desire to ride with him. He set off for +Richards' mill, whither, needless to say, Jake and half-a-dozen other +urchins had preceded him as fast as their legs could carry them. + +As soon as he was by himself the schoolmaster recognized that the affair +was known to his scholars, and the knowledge nettled him. His anger +fastened upon Loo. It was all her fault; her determination to “pay +Stevens out” had occasioned the quarrel. Well, he would fight and win, +and then have done with the girl whose lips had doubtless been given to +Stevens as often and as readily as to himself. The thought put him in +a rage, while the idea of meeting Stevens on an equality humiliated +him--strife with such a boor was in itself a degradation. And Loo had +brought it about. He could never forgive her. The whole affair was +disgraceful, and her words, “Every girl expects to be kissed when she +goes out with a man,” were vulgar and coarse! With which conclusion in +his mind he turned to the right round the section-line, and saw the mill +before him. + + * * * * * + +After the return from the house-warming, and the understanding, as she +considered it, with Bancroft, Miss Loo gave herself up to her new-born +happiness. As she lay in bed her first thought was of her lover: he +was “splendid,” whereby she meant pleasant and attractive. She wondered +remorsefully how she had taken him to be quite “homely-looking” when +she first saw him. Why, he was altogether above any one she knew--not +perhaps jest in looks, but in knowledge and in manners--he didn't stand +in the corner of the room like the rest and stare till all the girls +became uncomfortable. What did looks matter after all? Besides, he +wasn't homely, he was handsome; so he was. His eyes were lovely--she had +always liked dark eyes best--and his moustache was dark, too, and she +liked that. To be sure it wasn't very long yet, or thick, but it would +grow; and here she sighed with content. Most girls in her place would +be sorry he wasn't taller, but she didn't care for very tall men; they +sorter looked down on you. Anyway, he was strong--a pang of fear shot +suddenly through her--he might be hurt by that brute Seth Stevens on the +morrow. Oh, no. That was impossible. He was brave, she felt sure, very +brave. Still she wished they weren't going to fight; it made her uneasy +to think that she had provoked the conflict. But it couldn't be helped +now; she couldn't interfere. Besides, men were always fightin' about +somethin' or other. + +Mr. Crew, the Minister, had said right off that he'd make his mark in +the world; all the girls thought so too, and that was real good. She'd +have hated a stupid, ordinary man. Fancy being married to Seth Stevens, +and she shuddered; yet he was a sight better than any of the others; +he had even seemed handsome to her once. Ugh! Then Bancroft's face came +before her again, and remembering his kisses she flushed and grew hot +from head to foot. They would be married soon--right off. As George +hadn't the money, her father must give what he could and they'd go +East. Her father wouldn't refuse, though he'd feel bad p'r'aps; he never +refused her anythin'. If fifteen hundred dollars would be enough for +George alone, three thousand would do for both of them. Once admitted +as a lawyer, he would get a large practice: he was so clever and +hard-working. She was real glad that she'd be the means of giving him +the opportunity he wanted to win riches and position. But he must begin +in New York. She would help him on, and she'd see New York and all the +shops and elegant folk, and have silk dresses. They'd live in a hotel +and get richer and richer, and she'd drive about with--here she grew hot +again. The vision, however, was too entrancing to be shut out; she +saw herself distinctly driving in an open carriage, with a negro nurse +holding the baby all in laces in front, “jest too cute for anythin',” + and George beside her, and every one in Fifth Avenue starin'. + +Sleep soon brought confusion into her picture of a happy future; but +when she awoke, the glad confidence of the previous night had given +place to self-reproach and fear. During the breakfast she scarcely +spoke or lifted her eyes. Her silent preoccupation was misunderstood by +Bancroft; he took it to mean that she didn't care what happened to him; +she was selfish, he decided. All the morning she went about the house in +a state of nervous restlessness, and at dinner-time her father noticed +her unusual pallor and low spirits. To the Elder, the meal-times were +generally a source of intense pleasure. He was never tired of feasting +his eyes upon his daughter when he could do so without attracting +attention, and he listened to her fluent obvious opinions on men and +things with a fulness of pride and joy which was difficult to divine +since his keenest feelings never stirred the impassibility of his +features. He had small power of expressing his thoughts, and even in +youth he had felt it impossible to render in words any deep emotion. +For more than forty years the fires of his nature had been “banked up.” + Reticent and self-contained, he appeared to be hard and cold; yet his +personality was singularly impressive. About five feet ten in height, he +was lean and sinewy, with square shoulders and muscles of whipcord. His +face recalled the Indian type; the same prominent slightly beaked nose, +high cheek bones and large knot of jaw. But there the resemblance ended. +The eyes were steel-blue; the upper lip long; the mouth firm; short, +bristly, silver hair stood up all over his head, in defiant contrast to +the tanned, unwrinkled skin. He was clean-shaven, and looked less than +his age, which was fifty-eight. + +All through the dinner he wondered anxiously what could so affect his +daughter, and how he could find out without intruding himself upon her +confidence. His great love for his child had developed in the Elder +subtle delicacies of feeling which are as the fragrance of love's +humility. In the afternoon Loo, dressed for walking, met him, and, of +her own accord, began the conversation: + +“Father, I want to talk to you.” + +The Elder put down the water-bucket he had been carrying, and drew the +shirt-sleeves over his nervous brown arms, whether out of unconscious +modesty or simple sense of fitness it would be impossible to say. She +went on hesitatingly, “I want to know--Do you think Mr. Bancroft's +strong, stronger than--Seth Stevens?” + +The Elder gave his whole thought to the problem. “P'r'aps,” he said, +after a pause, in which he had vainly tried to discover how his daughter +wished him to answer, “p'r'aps; he's older and more sot. There ain't +much difference, though. In five or six years Seth'll be a heap +stronger than the schoolmaster; but now,” he added quickly, reading his +daughter's face, “he ain't man enough. He must fill out first.” + +She looked up with bright satisfaction, and twining her hands round his +arm began coaxingly: + +“I'm goin' to ask you for somethin', father. You know you told me +that on my birthday you'd give me most anythin' I wanted. Wall, I want +somethin' this month, not next, as soon as I can get it--a pianner. I +guess the settin'-room would look smarter-like, an' I'd learn to play. +All the girls do East,” she added, pouting. + +“Yes,” the Elder agreed thoughtfully, doubting whether he should follow +her lead eastwards, “I reckon that's so. I'll see about it right off, +Loo. I oughter hev thought of it before. But now, right off,” and as +he spoke he laid his large hand with studied carelessness on her +shoulder--he was afraid that an intentional caress might be inopportune. + +“I'm cert'in Mr. Bancroft's sisters play, an' I--” she looked down +nervously for a moment, and then, still blushing deeply, changed the +attack: “He's smart, ain't he, father? He'd make a good lawyer, wouldn't +he?” + +“I reckon he would,” replied the Elder. + +“I'm so glad,” the girl went on hurriedly, as if afraid to give herself +time to think of what she was about to say, “for, father, he wants to +study in an office East and he hain't got the money, and--oh, father!” + she threw her arms round his neck and hid her face on his shoulder, “I +want to go with him.” + +The Elder's heart seemed to stop beating, but he could not hold his +loved one in his arms and at the same time realize his own pain. He +stroked the bowed head gently, and after a pause: + +“He could study with Lawyer Barkman in Wichita, couldn't he? and then +you'd be to hum still. No. Wall! Thar!” and again came a pause of +silence. “I reckon, anyhow, you knew I'd help you. Didn't you now?” + +His daughter drew herself out of his embrace. Recalled thus to the +matter in hand he asked: “Did he say how much money 'twould take?” + +“Two or three thousand dollars”--and she scanned his face +anxiously--“for studyin' and gettin' an office and everythin' in New +York. Things are dearer there.” + +“Wall, I guess we kin about cover that with a squeeze. It'll be full all +I kin manage to onc't--that and the pianner. I've no one to think of but +you, Loo, only you. That's what I've bin workin' for, to give you a fair +start, and I'm glad I kin jess about do it. I'd sorter take it better if +he'd done the studyin' by himself before. No! wall, it don't make much +difference p'r'aps. Anyway he works, and Mr. Crew thinks him enough +eddicated even for the Ministry. He does, and that's a smart lot. I +guess he'll get along all right.” Delighted with the expression of +intent happiness in his daughter's eyes, he continued: “He's young +yet, and couldn't be expected to hev done the studyin' and law and +everythin'. You kin be sartin that the old man'll do all he knows to +help start you fair. All I kin. If you're sot upon it! That's enough fer +me, I guess, ef you're rale sot on it, and you don't think 'twould be +better like to wait a little. He could study with Barkman fer a year +anyway without losin' time. No! wall, wall. I'm right thar when you want +me. I'll go to work to do what I kin.... + +“P'r'aps we might sell off and go East, too. The farm's worth money now +it's all settled up round hyar. The mother and me and Jake could get +along, I reckon, East or West. I know more'n I did when I came out in +'59. + +“I'm glad you've told me. I think a heap more of him now. There must +be a pile of good in any one you like, Loo. Anyhow he's lucky.” And he +stroked her crumpled dress awkwardly, but with an infinite tenderness. + +“I've got to go now, father,” she exclaimed, suddenly remembering the +time. “But there!”--and again she threw her arms round his neck and +kissed him. “You've made me very happy. I've got to go right off, and +you've all the chores to do, so I mustn't keep you any longer.” + +She hurried to the road along which Jake would have to come with the +news of the fight. When she reached the top of the bluff whence the road +fell rapidly to the creek, no one was in sight. She sat down and gave +herself up to joyous anticipations. + +“What would George say to her news? Where should they be married?”----a +myriad questions agitated her. But a glance down the slope from time to +time checked her pleasure. At last she saw her brother running towards +her. He had taken off his boots and stockings; they were slung round his +neck, and his bare feet pattered along in the thick, white dust of the +prairie track. His haste made his sister's heart beat in gasps of fear. +Down the hill she sped, and met him on the bridge. + +“Wall?” she asked quietly, but the colour had left her cheeks, and Jake +was not to be deceived so easily. + +“Wall what?” he answered defiantly, trying to get breath. “I hain't said +nothin'.” + +“Oh, you mean boy!” she cried indignantly. “I'll never help you again +when father wants to whip you--never! Tell me this minute what happened. +Is _he_ hurt?” + +“Is who hurt?” asked her brother, glorying in superiority of knowledge, +and the power to tease with impunity. + +“Tell me right off,” she said, taking him by the collar in her +exasperation, “or--” + +“I'll tell you nothin' till you leave go of me,” was the sullen reply. +But then the overmastering impulse ran away with him, and he broke out: + +“Oh, Loo! I jest seed everythin'. 'Twar a high old fight! They wuz +all there, Seth Stevens, Richards, Monkey Bill--all of 'em, when +schoolmaster rode up. He was still--looked like he wanted to hear a +class recite. He hitched up Jack and come to 'em, liftin' his hat. Oh, +'twas O.K., you bet! Then they took off their clo's. Seth Stevens jerked +hisn loose on the ground, but schoolmaster stood by himself, and folded +hisn up like ma makes me fold mine at night. Then they comed together +and Seth Stevens he jest drew off and tried to land him one, but +schoolmaster sorter moved aside and took him on the nose, an' Seth he +sot down, with the blood runnin' all over him. An'--an'--that's all. +Every time Seth Stevens hauled off to hit, schoolmaster was thar first. +It war bully!--That's all. An' I seed everythin'. You kin bet your life +on that! An' then Richards and the rest come to him an' said as how Seth +Stevens was faintin', an' schoolmaster he ran to the crick an' brought +water and put over him. An' then I runned to tell you--schoolmaster's +strong, I guess, stronger nor pappa. I seed him put on his vest, an' +Seth Stevens he was settin' up, all blood and water on his face, streaky +like; he did look bad. But, Loo----say, Loo! Why didn't schoolmaster +when he got him down the first time, jest stomp on his face with his +heels?--he had his boots on--an' that's how Seth Stevens broke Tom +Cooper's jaw when _they_ fit.” + +The girl was white, and trembling from head to foot as the boy ended his +narrative, and looked inquiringly into her face. She could not answer. +Indeed, she had hardly heard the question. The thought of what might +have happened to her lover appalled her, and terror and remorse held her +heart as in a vice. But oh!--and the hot tears came into her eyes--she'd +tell him when they met how sorry she was for it all, and how bad she had +been, and how she hated herself. She had acted foolish, very; but she +hadn't meant it. She'd be more careful in future, much more careful. How +brave he was and kind! How like him it was to get the water! Oh! if he'd +only come. + +All this while Jake looked at her curiously; at length he said, “Say, +Loo, s'pose he'd had his eye plugged out.” + +“Go away--do!” she exclaimed angrily. “I believe you boys jest love +fightin' like dogs.” + +Jake disappeared to tell and retell the tale to any one who cared to +listen. + +Half an hour later Loo, who had climbed the bluff to command the view, +heard the sound of Jack's feet on the wooden bridge. A moment or two +more and the buggy drew up beside her; the schoolmaster bent forward and +spoke, without a trace of emotion in his voice: + +“Won't you get in and let me drive you home, Miss Loo?” His victory +had put him in a good humour, without, however, altering his critical +estimate of the girl. The quiet, controlled tone of his voice chilled +and pained her, but her emotions were too recent and too acute to be +restrained. + +“Oh, George!” she said, leaning forward against the buggy, and scanning +his face intently. “How can you speak so? You ain't hurt, are you?” + +“No!” he answered lightly. “You didn't expect I should be, did you?” The +tone was cold, a little sarcastic even. + +Again she felt hurt; she scarcely knew why; the sneer was too +far-fetched for her to understand it. + +“Go and put the horse up, and then come back. I'll wait right here for +you.” + +He did as he was told, and in ten minutes was by her side again. After a +long pause, she began, with quivering lips: + +“George, I'm sorry--so sorry. 'Twas all my fault! But I didn't +know”--and she choked down a sob--“I didn't think. + +“I want you to tell me how your sisters act and--an' what they wear and +do. I'll try to act like them. Then I'd be good, shouldn't I? + +“They play the pianner, don't they?” He was forced to confess that one +of them did. + +“An' they talk like you?” + +“Yes.” + +“An' they're good always? Oh, George, I'm jest too sorry for anythin', +an' now--now I'm too glad!” and she burst into tears. He kissed and +consoled her as in duty bound. He understood this mood as little as he +had understood her challenge to love. He was not in sympathy with her; +she had no ideal of conduct, no notion of dignity. Some suspicion +of this estrangement must have dawned upon the girl, or else she was +irritated by his acquiescence in her various phases of self-humiliation. +All at once she dashed the tears from her eyes, and winding herself out +of his arms, exclaimed: + +“See here, George Bancroft! I'll jest learn all they know--pianner and +all. I ken, and I will. I'll begin right now. You'll see!” And her blue +eyes flashed with the glitter of steel, while her chin was thrown up in +defiant vanity and self-assertion. + +He watched her with indifferent curiosity; the abrupt changes of mood +repelled him. His depreciatory thoughts of her, his resolution not to +be led away again by her beauty influencing him, he noticed the keen +hardness of the look, and felt, perhaps out of a spirit of antagonism, +that he disliked it. + +After a few quieting phrases, which, though they sprang rather from +the head than the heart, seemed to achieve their aim, he changed the +subject, by pointing across the creek and asking: + +“Whose corn is that?” + +“Father's, I guess!” + +“I thought that was the Indian territory?” + +“It is!” + +“Is one allowed to sow corn there and to fence off the ground? Don't the +Indians object?” + +“'Tain't healthy for Indians about here,” she answered carelessly, “I +hain't ever seen one. I guess it's allowed; anyhow, the corn's there an' +father'll have it cut right soon.” + +It seemed to Bancroft that they had not a thought in common. Wrong done +by her own folk did not even interest her. At once he moved towards +the house, and the girl followed him, feeling acutely disappointed +and humiliated, which state of mind quickly became one of rebellious +self-esteem. She guessed that other men thought big shucks of her +anyway. And with this reflection she tried to comfort herself. + + * * * * * + +A week or ten days later, Bancroft came downstairs one morning early +and found the ground covered with hoar-frost, though the sun had already +warmed the air. Elder Conklin, in his shirt-sleeves, was cleaning his +boots by the wood pile. When he had finished with the brush, but not +a moment sooner, he put it down near his boarder. His greeting, a mere +nod, had not prepared the schoolmaster for the question: + +“Kin you drive kyows?” + +“I think so; I've done it as a boy.” + +“Wall, to-day's Saturday. There ain't no school, and I've some cattle +to drive to the scales in Eureka. They're in the brush yonder, ef you'd +help. That is, supposin' you've nothin' to do.” + +“No. I've nothing else to do, and shall be glad to help you if I can.” + +Miss Loo pouted when she heard that her lover would be away the greater +part of the day, but it pleased her to think that her father had asked +him for his help, and she resigned herself, stipulating only that he +should come right back from Eureka. + +After breakfast the two started. Their way lay along the roll of ground +which looked down upon the creek. They rode together in silence, until +the Elder asked: + +“You ain't a Member, air you?” + +“No.” + +“That's bad. I kinder misdoubted it las' Sunday; but I wasn't sartin. Ef +your callin' and election ain't sure, I guess Mr. Crew oughter talk to +you.” + +These phrases were jerked out with long pauses separating them, and then +the Elder was ominously silent. + +In various ways Bancroft attempted to draw him into conversation--in +vain. The Elder answered in monosyllables, or not at all. Presently he +entered the woods on the left, and soon halted before the shoot-entrance +to a roughly-built corral. + +“The kyows is yonder,” he remarked; “ef you'll drive them hyar, I'll +count them as they come in.” + +The schoolmaster turned his horse's head in the direction pointed +out. He rode for some minutes through the wood without seeing a single +animal. Under ordinary circumstances this would have surprised him; +but now he was absorbed in thinking of Conklin and his peculiarities, +wondering at his habit of silence and its cause: + +“Has he nothing to say? Or does he think a great deal without being able +to find words to express his thoughts?” + +A prolonged moan, a lowing of cattle in pain, came to his ears. He made +directly for the sound, and soon saw the herd huddled together by the +snake-fence which zigzagged along the bank of the creek. He went on till +he came to the boundary fence which ran at right angles to the water, +and then turning tried to drive the animals towards the corral. He met, +however, with unexpected difficulties. He had brought a stock-whip with +him, and used it with some skill, though without result. The bullocks +and cows swerved from the lash, but before they had gone ten yards they +wheeled and bolted back. At first this manoeuvre amused him. The Elder, +he thought, has brought me to do what he couldn't do himself; I'll show +him I can drive. But no! in spite of all his efforts, the cattle would +not be driven. He grew warm, and set himself to the work. In a quarter +of an hour his horse was in a lather, and his whip had flayed one or +two of the bullocks, but there they stood again with necks outstretched +towards the creek, lowing piteously. He could not understand it. +Reluctantly he made up his mind to acquaint the Elder with the +inexplicable fact. He had gone some two hundred yards when his tired +horse stumbled. Holding him up, Bancroft saw he had tripped over a mound +of white dust. A thought struck him. He threw himself off the horse, +and tasted the stuff; he was right; it was salt! No wonder he could not +drive the cattle; no wonder they lowed as if in pain--the ground had +been salted. + +He remounted and hastened to the corral. He found the Elder sitting on +his horse by the shoot, the bars of which were down. + +“I can't move those cattle!” + +“You said you knew how to drive.” + +“I do, but they are mad with thirst; no one can do anything with them. +Besides, in this sun they might die on the road.” + +“Hum.” + +“Let them drink; they'll go on afterwards.” + +“Hum.” And the Elder remained for some moments silent. Then he said, as +if thinking aloud: “It's eight miles to Eureka; they'll be thirsty again +before they get to the town.” + +Bancroft, too, had had his wits at work, and now answered the other's +thought. “I guess so; if they're allowed just a mouthful or two they can +be driven, and long before they reach Eureka they'll be as thirsty as +ever.” + +Without a word in reply the Elder turned his horse and started off at +a lope. In ten minutes the two men had taken down the snake fence for a +distance of some fifty yards, and the cattle had rushed through the gap +and were drinking greedily. + +After they had had a deep draught or two, Bancroft urged his horse into +the stream and began to drive them up the bank. They went easily enough +now, and ahead of them rode the Elder, his long whitey-brown holland +coat fluttering behind him. In half an hour Bancroft had got the herd +into the corral. The Elder counted the three hundred and sixty-two +beasts with painstaking carefulness as they filed by. + +The prairie-track to Eureka led along the creek, and in places ran close +to it without any intervening fence. In an hour under that hot October +sun the cattle had again become thirsty, and it needed all Bancroft's +energy and courage to keep them from dashing into the water. Once or +twice indeed it was a toss-up whether or not they would rush over him. +He was nearly exhausted when some four hours after the start they came +in sight of the little town. Here he let the herd into the creek. Glad +of the rest, he sat on his panting horse and wiped the perspiration from +his face. After the cattle had drunk their fill, he moved them quietly +along the road, while the water dripped from their mouths and bodies. +At the scales the Elder met the would-be purchaser, who as soon as he +caught sight of the stock burst into a laugh. + +“Say, Conklin,” he cried out, “I guess you've given them cattle enough +to drink, but I don't buy water for meat. No, sir; you bet, I don't.” + +“I didn't allow you would,” replied the Elder gravely; “but the track +was long and hot; so they drank in the crik.” + +“Wall,” resumed the dealer, half disarmed by this confession, which +served the Elder's purpose better than any denial could have done, “I +guess you'll take off fifty pound a head for that water.” + +“I guess not,” was the answer. “Twenty pound of water's reckoned to be +about as much as a kyow kin drink.” + +The trading began and continued to Bancroft's annoyance for more than +half an hour. At last it was settled that thirty pounds' weight +should be allowed on each beast for the water it had drunk. When this +conclusion had been arrived at, it took but a few minutes to weigh the +animals and pay the price agreed upon. + +The Elder now declared himself ready to go “to hum” and get somethin' +to eat. In sullen silence Bancroft remounted, and side by side they +rode slowly towards the farm. The schoolmaster's feelings may easily +be imagined. He had been disgusted by the cunning and hypocrisy of +the trick, and the complacent expression of the Elder's countenance +irritated him intensely. As he passed place after place where the cattle +had given him most trouble in the morning, anger took possession of him, +and at length forced itself to speech. + +“See here, Elder Conklin!” he began abruptly, “I suppose you call +yourself a Christian. You look down on me because I'm not a Member. +Yet, first of all, you salt cattle for days till they're half mad with +thirst, then after torturing them by driving them for hours along this +road side by side with water, you act lies with the man you've sold them +to, and end up by cheating him. You know as well as I do that each of +those steers had drunk sixty-five pounds' weight of water at least; so +you got” (he couldn't use the word “stole” even in his anger, while the +Elder was looking at him) “more than a dollar a head too much. That's +the kind of Christianity you practise. I don't like such Christians, and +I'll leave your house as soon as I can. I am ashamed that I didn't tell +the dealer you were deceiving him. I feel as if I had been a party to +the cheat.” + +While the young man was speaking the Elder looked at him intently. At +certain parts of the accusation Conklin's face became rigid, but he +said nothing. A few minutes later, having skirted the orchard, they +dismounted at the stable-door. + +After he had unsaddled his horse and thrown it some Indian corn, +Bancroft hastened to the house; he wanted to be alone. On the stoop he +met Loo and said to her hastily: + +“I can't talk now, Loo; I'm tired out and half crazy. I must go to my +room and rest. After supper I'll tell you everything. Please don't keep +me now.” + +Supper that evening was a silent meal. The Elder did not speak once; +the two young people were absorbed in their own reflections, and Mrs. +Conklin's efforts to make talk were effectual only when she turned +to Jake. Mrs. Conklin, indeed, was seldom successful in anything she +attempted. She was a woman of fifty, or thereabouts, and her face still +showed traces of former good looks, but the light had long left her +round, dark eyes, and the colour her cheeks, and with years her figure +had grown painfully thin. She was one of the numerous class who delight +in taking strangers into their confidence. Unappreciated, as a rule, +by those who know them, they seek sympathy from polite indifference or +curiosity. Before he had been a day in the house Bancroft had heard +from Mrs. Conklin all about her early life. Her father had been a +large farmer in Amherst County, Massachusetts; her childhood had been +comfortable and happy: “We always kept one hired man right through the +winter, and in summer often had eight and ten; and, though you mightn't +think it now, I was the belle of all the parties.” Dave (her husband) +had come to work for her father, and she had taken a likin' to him, +though he was such a “hard case.” She told of Dave's gradual conversion +and of the Revivalist Minister, who was an Abolitionist as well, and had +proclaimed the duty of emigrating to Kansas to prevent it from becoming +a slave state. Dave, it appeared, had taken up the idea zealously, and +had persuaded her to go with him. Her story became pathetic in spite +of her self-pity as she related the hardships of that settlement in +the wilds, and described her loneliness, her shivering terror when her +husband was away hauling logs for their first home, and news came that +the slave-traders from Missouri had made another raid upon the scattered +Abolitionist farmers. The woman had evidently been unfit for such +rude transplanting. She dwelt upon the fact that her husband had never +understood her feelings. If he had, she wouldn't have minded so much. +Marriage was not what girls thought; she had not been happy since +she left her father's house, and so forth. The lament was based on +an unworthy and futile egoism, but her whining timidity appeared to +Bancroft inexplicable. He did not see that just as a shrub pales and +dies away under the branches of a great tree, so a weak nature is apt +to be further enfeebled by association with a strong and self-contained +character. In those early days of loneliness and danger the Elder's +steadfastness and reticence had prevented him from affording to his wife +the sympathy which might have enabled her to overcome her fears. “He +never talked anythin' over with me,” was the burden of her complaint. +Solitude had killed every power in her save vanity, and the form her +vanity took was peculiarly irritating to her husband, and in a lesser +degree to her daughter, for neither the Elder nor Loo would have founded +self-esteem on adventitious advantages of upbringing. Accordingly, Mrs. +Conklin was never more than an uncomfortable shadow in her own house, +and this evening her repeated attempts to bring about a semblance of +conversation only made the silence and preoccupation of the others +painfully evident. + +As soon as the supper things were cleared away, Loo signalled to +Bancroft to accompany her to the stoop, where she asked him what had +happened. + +“I insulted the Elder,” he said, “and I told him I should leave his +house as soon as I could.” + +“You don't mean that!” she exclaimed. “You must take that back, George. +I'll speak to pappa; he'll mind me.” + +“No,” he replied firmly; “speaking won't do any good. I've made up my +mind. It's impossible for me to stay here.” + +“Then you don't care for me. But that's not so. Say it's not so, George. +Say you'll stay--and I'll come down this evening after the old folks +have gone to bed, and sit with you. There!” + +Of course the man yielded to a certain extent, the pleading face +upturned to his was too seductive to be denied, but he would not promise +more than that he would tell her what had taken place, and consult with +her. + +Shortly after nine o'clock, as usual, Mr. and Mrs. Conklin retired. Half +an hour later Bancroft and Loo were seated together in the corner of the +back stoop. They sat like lovers, his arm about her waist, while he told +his story. She expressed relief; she had feared it would be much worse; +he had only to say he didn't mean anythin', and she'd persuade her +father to forget and forgive. But the schoolmaster would not consent to +that. He had meant and did mean every word, and could take back nothing. +And when she appealed to his affection, he could only repeat that +he'd think it over. “You know I like you, Loo, but I can't do +impossibilities. It's unfortunate, perhaps, but it's done and can't be +undone.” And then, annoyed at being pressed further, he thought they +had better go in: it was very cold; she'd catch a chill if she stayed +longer, and there was no sense in that. The girl, seeing that her +pleading was of no avail, grew angry; his love was good enough to talk +about, but it could not be worth much if he denied her so little +a thing; it didn't matter, though, she'd get along somehow, she +guessed--here they were startled by the sound of a door opening. Loo +glided quickly round the corner of the stoop, and entered the house. +Bancroft following her heard the back door shut, and some one go down +the steps. He could not help looking to see who was on foot at such an +untimely hour, and to his surprise perceived the Elder in a night-shirt, +walking with bare feet towards the stables through the long grass +already stiff with frost. Before the white figure had disappeared +Bancroft assured himself that Loo had gone up to bed the front way. +Curiosity conquering his first impulse, which had been to follow her +example, he went after the Elder, without, however, intending to play +the spy. When he had passed through the stables and got to the top of +the slope overlooking the creek, he caught sight of the Elder twenty +yards away at the water's edge. In mute surprise he watched the old man +tie his night-shirt up under his armpits, wade into the ice-cold water, +kneel down, and begin what was evidently meant to be a prayer. His first +words were conventional, but gradually his earnestness and excitement +overcame his sense of the becoming, and he talked of what lay near his +heart in disjointed phrases. + +“That young man to-day jes' jumped on me! He told me I'd plagued them +cattle half to death, and I'd acted lies and cheated Ramsdell out of +three hundred dollars. 'Twas all true. I s'pose I did plague the cattle, +though I've often been as thirsty as they were--after eatin' salt pork +and workin' all day in the sun. I didn't think of hurtin' them when I +salted the floor. But I did act to deceive Ramsdell, and I reckon I +made nigh on three hundred dollars out of the deal. 'Twas wrong. But, +O God!”--and unconsciously the old man's voice rose--“You know all my +life. You know everythin'. You know I never lied or cheated any one fer +myself. I've worked hard and honest fer more'n forty years, and always +been poor. I never troubled about it, and I don't now, but fer Loo. + +“She's so pretty and young. Jes' like a flower wants sunshine, she wants +pleasure, and when she don't git it, she feels bad. She's so young and +soft. Now she wants a pile of money and a pianner, and I couldn't git it +fer her no other way. I had to cheat. + +“O Lord, ef I could kneel down hyar and say I repented with godly +repentance fer sin and determination never to sin agen, I'd do it, +and ask you to pardon me for Jesus' sake, but I kain't repent--I jes' +kain't! You see my heart, O God! and you know I'll go on cheatin' ef +that'll get Loo what she wants. An' so I've come down hyar to say that +Loo ain't with me in the cheatin'; it's all my sin. I know you punish +sin. The stiff-necked sinner ought to be punished. Wall; I'll take the +punishment. Put it right on to me--that's justice. But, O Lord! leave +Loo out; she don't know nothin' about it. That's why I've come down hyar +into the water to show I'm willin' to bear what you send. Amen, O Lord +God! In Jesus' name, Amen.” + +And he rose quietly, came out of the creek, wiped his dripping limbs +with his hand as well as he could, let down his night-shirt, and +prepared to climb the bank. Needless to say, Bancroft had slipped +through the stables and reached the house before the Elder could get +within sight of him. + +When alone in his room the schoolmaster grew a little ashamed of +himself. There could be no doubt of the Elder's sincerity, and he had +insulted him. The Elder had sacrificed his principles; had done violence +to the habits of his life, and shame to his faith and practice--all +in order that his daughter might have her “pianner.” The grotesque +pronunciation of the word appeared pathetic to Bancroft now; it brought +moisture into his eyes. What a fine old fellow Conklin was! Of course he +wished to bear the whole burden of his sin and its punishment. It would +be easy to go to him on the morrow and beg his pardon. Wrong done as the +Elder did it, he felt, was more than right. What a Christian at heart! +And what a man! + +But the girl who asked for such a sacrifice--what was she? All the +jealousy, all the humiliation he had suffered on her account, came back +to him; she would have her father steal provided she got her piano. How +vain she was and self-willed; without any fine moral feeling or proper +principle! He would be worse than a fool to give his life to such a +woman. If she could drive her father--and such a father--to theft, in +what wrongdoing might she not involve her husband? He was warned in +time; he would not be guilty of such irreparable folly. He would match +her selfishness with prudence. Who could blame him? That was what the +hard glitter in her eyes betokened--cold selfishness; and he had thought +of her as Hebe--a Hebe who would give poisoned wine to those who loved +her. He was well saved from that. + +The old Greek word called her up before him, and the spell of her +physical charm stole over his astonished senses like perfumed summer +air. Sitting beside her that evening, his arm round her waist, he had +felt the soft, full curves of her form, and thinking of it his +pulses throbbed. How fair her face was! That appealing air made her +irresistible; and even when she was angry, how splendidly handsome! What +a pity she should be hard and vulgar! He felt estranged from her, yet +still cherished the bitterness of disappointment. She was detestably +vain, common and selfish; he would be on his guard. + + * * * * * + +Next day at breakfast Mr. Morris came in. He was an ordinary young +Western farmer, rough but kindly, ill-educated but sensible. When his +appetite was satisfied he wanted to know whether they had heard the +news. + +“No,” Mrs. Conklin replied eagerly, “we've heard nothing unless p'r'aps +the Elder in Eureka”--but her husband shook his head, and Morris went +on: + +“Folks say the Government in Washington has sent General Custer out +with troops to pertect the Indian Territory. Away East they think the +settlers have been stealing the Reserve, an' the soldiers are coming +with surveyors to draw the line again.” + +After a pause, “That seems right,” said the Elder; “thar' ain't nothin' +agen that.” + +“But you've ploughed and raised crops on the Indian land across the +crik,” objected Morris; “we all hev. Air we to give it up?” + +There was no answer. + +“Anyway,” Morris continued, “Custer's at Wichita now. He'll be here in +a day or two, an' we've called a meetin' in the school-house for this +evenin' an' we hope you'll be on hand. 'Tain't likely we're goin' to +stand by an' see our crops destroyed. We must hold together, and all'll +come right.” + +“That's true,” said the Elder, thinking aloud, “and good. Ef we all held +together there'd not be much wrong done.” + +“Then I kin tell the boys,” resumed Morris, rising, “that you'll be with +us, Elder. All us young uns hold by you, an' what you say, we'll do, +every time.” + +“Wall,” replied the Elder slowly, “I don't know. I kain't see my way +to goin'. I've always done fer myself by myself, and I mean to--right +through; but the meetin' seems a good idee. I'm not contradictin' that. +It seems strong. I don't go much though on meetin's; they hain't ever +helped me. But a meetin' seems strong--for them that likes it.” + +With this assurance Morris was fain to be satisfied and go his way. + +Bancroft had listened to the colloquy with new feelings. Prepared +to regard with admiration all that the Elder said or did, it was not +difficult for him now to catch the deeper meaning of the uncouth words. +He was drawn to the Elder by moral sympathy, and his early training +tended to strengthen this attraction. It was right, he felt, that the +Elder should take his own course, fearing nothing that man could do. + +In the evening he met Loo. She supposed with a careless air that he was +goin' to pack them leather trunks of his. + +“No, I've reconsidered it,” he answered. “I'm going to beg your father's +pardon, and take back all I said to him.” + +“Oh! then you do care for me, George,” cried the girl enthusiastically, +“an' we ken be happy again. I've been real miserable since last night; I +cried myself to sleep, so I did. Now I know you love me I'll do anythin' +you wish, anythin'. I'll learn to play the pianner; you see if I don't.” + +“Perhaps,” he replied harshly, the old anger growing bitter in him at +the mention of the “pianner”--“perhaps it would be better if you gave up +the idea of the piano; that _costs_ too much,” he added significantly, +“far too much. If you'd read good books and try to live in the thought +of the time, it would be better. Wisdom is to be won cheaply and by all, +but success in an art depends upon innate qualities.” + +“I see,” she exclaimed, flaming up, “you think I can't learn to play +like your sister, and I'm very ignorant, and had better read and get +to know all other people have said, and you call that wisdom. I don't. +Memory ain't sense, I guess; and to talk like you ain't everythin'.” + +The attack pricked his vanity. He controlled himself, however, and took +up the argument: “Memory is not sense, perhaps; but still one ought to +know the best that has been said and done in the world. It is easier to +climb the ladder when others have shown us the rungs. And surely to talk +correctly is better than to talk incorrectly.” + +“It don't matter much, I reckon, so long as one gets your meanin', and +as for the ladder, a monkey could do that.” + +The irrelevant retort puzzled him, and her tone increased his annoyance. +But why, he asked himself, should he trouble to lift her to a higher +level of thought? He relapsed into silence. + +With wounded heart the girl waited; she was hurt, afraid he did not care +for her, could not even guess how she had offended him; but, as he would +not speak, her pride came to her aid, and she remarked: + +“I'm asked out this evenin', so I'll have to get ready and go. Good +night, George Bancroft.” + +“Good night, Miss Loo,” he replied calmly, though the pain he suffered +proved that jealousy may outlive love. “I think I shall go to this +meeting at the school-house.” + +They parted. Loo went upstairs to her room to cry over her misery and +George's coldness; to wish she had been better taught, and had learned +her lessons in school carefully, for then he might have been kinder. She +wondered how she should get books to read. It was difficult. Besides, +couldn't he see that she was quick and would learn everythin' afterwards +if he'd be good to her. Why did he act so? Why! + +Bancroft went to the meeting, and found the house crowded. A young +farmer from the next county was present, who told how a United States +officer with twelve men and a surveyor had come and drawn the boundary +line, torn up his fences, and trampled down the corn which he had +planted in the Indian Reserve. The meeting at once adopted the following +resolution: + +“In view of the fact that the land cultivated by American citizens in +or upon the Indian Reserve has never been used or cultivated by the +Indians, who keep to the woods, and that it is God's will that land +should bring forth fruit for the sustenance of man, we are resolved to +stand upon our rights as citizens and to defend the same against all +aggressors.” + +Every one signed this document, copies of which were to be sent to +General Custer, and also to the President, to the Senate, and to +Congress. It was arranged further to write to their own representatives +at Washington giving an account of the situation. + +After this the meeting broke up, but not before all present had agreed +to stand by any of their number who should resist the troops. + +When Bancroft returned home Mr. and Mrs. Conklin were still up, and he +related to them all that had taken place. The Elder rose and stretched +himself without having made a remark. In a whisper Bancroft asked Mrs. +Conklin to let him have a word with her husband. As soon as they were +alone, he began: + +“Mr. Conklin, I insulted you yesterday. I am sorry for it. I hope you'll +forgive me.” + +“Yes,” replied the Elder meditatively, overlooking the proffered hand, +“yes, that's Christian, I reckon. But the truth's the truth.” Turning +abruptly to leave the room, he added: “The corn's ripe, waitin' to be +cut; ef the United States troops don't eat it all up we'll have a +good year.” There was a light in his steady eyes which startled the +schoolmaster into all sorts of conjectures. + +A day or two later, the Conklins and Bancroft were seated at dinner +when a knock came at the door. “Come in!” said Mrs. Conklin, and a young +officer appeared in the uniform of the United States cavalry. He paused +on the threshold, lifted his cap, and apologized for his intrusion: + +“Elder Conklin, I believe?” The Elder nodded his head, but continued +eating. “My business isn't pleasant, I fear, but it needn't take long. +I'm sent by General Custer to draw the boundary line between the State +of Kansas and the Indian Reserve, to break down all fences erected by +citizens of the United States in the Territory, and to destroy such +crops as they may have planted there. I regret to say our surveyor tells +me the boundary line here is Cottonwood Creek, and I must notify you +that tomorrow about noon I shall be here to carry out my orders, and to +destroy the crops and fences found on the further side of the creek.” + +Before withdrawing he begged pardon again, this time for the short +notice he was compelled to give--a concession apparently to Miss +Conklin's appearance and encouraging smiles. + +“Oh, pappa!” cried Loo, as he disappeared, “why didn't you ask him +to have some dinner? He jest looked splendid, and that uniform's too +lovely.” + +The Elder made no answer. Neither the courteous menace of the lieutenant +nor his daughter's reproach seemed to have had any effect upon him. He +went on with his dinner. + +Loo's outspoken admiration of the officer did not move Bancroft as she +had anticipated. It simply confirmed his worst suspicions. His nature +was neither deep nor passionate; he had always lived in the conventions +which the girl constantly outraged, and they now exercised their +influence. Moreover, he had self-possession enough to see that she meant +to annoy him. He was exceedingly anxious to know what the Elder intended +to do, and what Loo might think or feel did not interest him greatly. + +A few hours later a clue was given to him: Jake came and told him as a +piece of news that “Pa's shot-gun ain't in his room.” Bancroft could +not rid himself of the thought that the fact was significant. But the +evening passed away quietly; Loo busied herself with some work, and the +Elder seemed content to watch her. + +At breakfast next morning nothing of moment happened. Bancroft took +occasion to say that he was coming home early to dinner. On his return +from school, some three hours after, he saw a troop of horsemen riding +up the valley a mile or so away. With quickened pulses he sprang up the +steps and met the Elder in the doorway. + +“There they come!” he said involuntarily, pointing to the little cloud +of dust. + +“Hum,” grunted the Elder, and left the stoop, going towards the +outhouses. + +Bancroft turned into the parlour, where he found Mrs. Conklin. She +seemed to be irritated, and not at all anxious, as he had expected: + +“Did you see the Elder?” + +“Yes,” he replied. “He went to the barn. I thought of accompanying him, +but was afraid he wouldn't like it.” + +“I guess he's worrying about that corn,” Mrs. Conklin explained. “When +he broke that land I told him 'twould bring trouble, but he never +minds what any one says to him. He should listen to his wife, though, +sometimes, shouldn't he? But bein' a man p'r'aps you'll take his part. +Anyway, it has all happened as I knew it would. And what'll he do now? +that's what I'd like to know. All that corn lost and the fences--he jest +worked himself to death on those logs--all lost now. We shall be bare +poor again. It's too bad. I've never had any money since I left home.” + And here Mrs. Conklin's face puckered itself up as if she were about to +cry, but the impulse of vanity being stronger, she burst out angrily: +“I think it's real wicked of the Elder. I told him so. If he'd ask that +young man to let him cut the corn, I'm sure he wouldn't refuse. But +he'll never take my advice, or even answer me. It's too aggravatin' when +I know I'm right.” + +He looked at her in astonishment. She had evidently no inkling of +what might occur, no vivid understanding of her husband's character. +Preferring to leave her in ignorance, he said lightly, “I hope it'll be +all right,” and, in order to change the subject, added, “I've not seen +Miss Loo, and Jake wasn't in school this morning.” + +“Oh, Mr. Bancroft, if anythin' has happened to Jake!” and Mrs. Conklin +sank weakly into the nearest chair; “but thar ain't no swimmin' nor +skatin' now. When he comes in I'll frighten him; I'll threaten to tell +the Elder. He mustn't miss his schoolin', for he's real bright, ain't +he?--Loo? Her father sent her to the Morrises, about somethin'--I don't +know what.” + +When Bancroft came downstairs, taking with him a small revolver, his +only weapon, he could not find the Elder either in the outbuildings or +in the stable. Remembering, however, that the soldiers could only get to +the threatened cornfield by crossing the bridge, which lay a few hundred +yards higher up the creek, he made his way thither with all speed. +When he reached the descent, he saw the Elder in the inevitable, long, +whitey-brown holland coat, walking over the bridge. In a minute or two +he had overtaken him. As the Elder did not speak, he began: + +“I thought I'd come with you, Elder. I don't know that I'm much good, +but I sympathize with you, and I'd like to help you if I could.” + +“Yes,” replied the Elder, acknowledging thereby the proffered aid. “But +I guess you kain't. I guess not,” he repeated by way of emphasis. + +In silence the pair went on to the broad field of maize. At the corner +of the fence, the Elder stopped and said, as if speaking to himself: + +“It runs, I reckon, seventy-five bushel to the acre, and there are two +hundred acres.” After a lengthened pause he continued: “That makes nigh +on three thousand dollars. I must hev spent two hundred dollars this +year in hired labour on that ground, and the half ain't cut yet. Thar's +a pile of money and work on that quarter-section.” + +A few minutes more passed in silence. Bancroft did not know what to say, +for the calm seriousness of the Elder repelled sympathy. As he looked +about him there showed on the rise across the creek a knot of United +States cavalry, the young lieutenant riding in front with a civilian, +probably the surveyor, by his side. Bancroft turned and found that the +Elder had disappeared in the corn. He followed quickly, but as he +swung himself on to the fence the Elder came from behind a stook with a +burnished shot-gun in his right hand, and said decisively: + +“Don't come in hyar. 'Tain't your corn and you've no cause to mix +yourself in this fuss.” + +Bancroft obeyed involuntarily. The next moment he began to resent the +authority conveyed in the prohibition; he ought to have protested, to +have insisted--but now it was too late. As the soldiers rode up the +lieutenant dismounted and threw his reins to a trooper. He stepped +towards the fence, and touching his cap carelessly, remarked: + +“Well, Mr. Conklin, here we are.” The earnestness of the Elder appeared +to have its effect, too, upon him, for he went on more respectfully: “I +regret that I've orders to pull down your fences and destroy the crop. +But there's nothing else to be done.” + +“Yes,” said the Elder gravely, “I guess you know your orders. But you +mustn't pull down my fence,” and as he spoke he drew his shot-gun in +front of him, and rested his hands upon the muzzle, “nor destroy this +crop.” And the long upper lip came down over the lower, giving an +expression of obstinate resolve to the hard, tanned face. + +“You don't seem to understand,” replied the lieutenant a little +impatiently; “this land belongs to the Indians; it has been secured to +them by the United States Government, and you've no business either to +fence it in or plant it.” + +“That's all right,” answered Conklin, in the same steady, quiet, +reasonable tone. “That may all be jes' so, but them Indians warn't usin' +the land; they did no good with it. I broke this prairie ten years ago, +and it took eight hosses to do it, and I've sowed it ever sence till +the crops hev grown good, and now you come and tell me you're goin' to +tromple down the corn and pull up the fences. No sir, you ain't--that +ain't right.” + +“Right or wrong,” the officer retorted, “I have to carry out my orders, +not reason about them. Here, sergeant, let three men hold the horses and +get to work on this fence.” + +As the sergeant advanced and put his hand on the top layer of the heavy +snake-fence, the Elder levelled his shot-gun and said: + +“Ef you pull down that bar I'll shoot.” + +The sergeant took his hand from the bar quickly, and turned to his +commander as if awaiting further instructions. + +“Mr. Conklin,” exclaimed the lieutenant, moving forward, “this is pure +foolishness; we're twelve to one, and we're only soldiers and have to +obey orders. I'm sorry, but I must do my duty.” + +“That's so,” said the Elder, lowering his gun deliberately. “That's so, +I guess. You hev your duty--p'r'aps I hev mine. 'Tain't my business to +teach you yours.” + +For a moment the lieutenant seemed to be undecided; then he spoke: + +“Half-a-dozen of you advance and cover him with your rifles. Now, Mr. +Conklin, if you resist you must take the consequences. Rebellion against +the United States Government don't generally turn out well--for the +rebel. Sergeant, down with the bar.” + +The Elder stood as if he had not heard what had been said to him, but +when the sergeant laid hold of the bar, the shot-gun went up again to +the old man's shoulder, and he said: + +“Ef you throw down that bar I'll shoot _you_.” Again the sergeant +paused, and looked at his officer. + +At this juncture Bancroft could not help interfering. The Elder's +attitude had excited in him more than mere admiration; wonder, reverence +thrilled him, and his blood boiled at the thought that the old man might +possibly be shot down. He stepped forward and said: + +“Sir, you must not order your men to fire. You will raise the whole +country against you if you do. This is surely a law case, and not to +be decided by violence. Such a decision is not to be taken without +reflection and distinct instructions.” + +“Those instructions I have,” replied the lieutenant, “and I've got to +follow them out--more's the pity,” he added between his teeth, while +turning to his troopers to give the decisive command. At this moment +down from the bluff and over the wooden bridge came clattering a crowd +of armed farmers, the younger ones whirling their rifles or revolvers as +they rode. Foremost among them were Morris and Seth Stevens, and between +these two young Jake Conklin on Jack. As they reached the corner of the +fence the crowd pulled up and Morris cried out: + +“Elder, we're on time, I reckon.” Addressing the lieutenant he added +violently: “We don't pay United States soldiers to pull down our fences +and destroy our crops. That's got to stop right here, and right now!” + +“My orders are imperative,” the officer declared, “and if you resist you +must take the consequences.” But while he spoke the hopelessness of his +position became clear to him, for reinforcements of farmers were still +pouring over the bridge, and already the soldiers were outnumbered two +to one. Just as Seth Stevens began with “Damn the consequences,” the +Elder interrupted him: + +“Young man,” he said to the lieutenant, “you'd better go back to +Wichita. I guess General Custer didn't send you to fight the hull +township.” Turning to Stevens, he added, “Thar ain't no need fer any +cussin'.” Amid complete silence he uncocked his shot-gun, climbed over +the fence, and went on in the same voice: + +“Jake, take that horse to the stable an' wipe him dry. Tell your mother +I'm coming right up to eat.” + +Without another word he moved off homewards. His intervention had put +an end to the difficulty. Even the lieutenant understood that there was +nothing more to be done for the moment. Five minutes later the troopers +recrossed the bridge. Morris and a few of the older men held a brief +consultation. It was agreed that they should be on the same spot at six +o'clock on the morrow, and some of the younger spirits volunteered to +act as scouts in the direction of Wichita and keep the others informed +of what took place in that quarter. + +When Bancroft reached the house with Morris--neither Stevens nor any of +the others felt inclined to trespass on the Elder's hospitality without +an express invitation--he found dinner waiting. Loo had not returned; +had, indeed, arranged, as Morris informed them, to spend the day with +his wife; but Jake was present and irrepressible; he wanted to tell all +he had done to secure the victory. But he had scarcely commenced when +his father shut him up by bidding him eat, for he'd have to go right +back to school. + +There was no feeling of triumph in the Elder. He scarcely spoke, and +when Morris described the protective measures that had been adopted, he +merely nodded. In fact, one would have inferred from his manner that he +had had nothing whatever to do with the contest, and took no interest +in it. The only thing that appeared to trouble him was Loo's absence and +the fear lest she should have been “fussed;” but when Morris declared +that neither his wife nor Loo knew what was going on, and Bancroft +announced his intention of driving over to fetch her, he seemed to be +satisfied. + +“Jack, I reckon, has had enough,” he said to his boarder. “You'd better +take the white mare; she's quiet.” + +On their way home in the buggy, Bancroft told Loo how her father had +defied the United States troops, and with what unconcern he had taken +his victory: + +“I think he's a great man, a hero. And if he had lived in another time, +or in another country, poets would have sung his courage.” + +“Really,” she observed. Her tone was anything but enthusiastic, though +hope stirred in her at his unusual warmth. “Perhaps he cares for me +after all,” she thought. + +“What are you thinking about, Loo?” he asked, surprised at her silence. + +“I was just wonderin',” she answered, casting off her fit of momentary +abstraction, “how father made you like him. It appears as if I couldn't, +George,” and she turned towards him while she spoke her wistful eyes +seeking to read his face. + +There was a suggestion of tears in her voice, and her manner showed +a submission and humility which touched Bancroft deeply. All his good +impulses had been called into active life by his admiration of the +Elder. He put his disengaged arm round her and drew her to him as he +replied: + +“Kiss me, Loo dear, and let us try to get on better together in future. +There's no reason why we shouldn't,” he added, trying to convince +himself. The girl's vain and facile temperament required but little +encouragement to abandon itself in utter confidence. In her heart +of hearts she was sure that every man must admire her, and as her +companion's manner and words gave her hope, she chattered away in the +highest spirits till the homestead was reached. Her good-humour and +self-satisfaction made the evening pass merrily. Everything she said +or did delighted the Elder, Bancroft saw that clearly now. Whether she +laughed or talked, teased Jake, or mimicked the matronly airs of Mrs. +Morris, her father's eyes followed her with manifest pleasure and +admiration. On rising to go to bed the Elder said simply: + +“It has been a good day--a good day,” he repeated impressively, while he +held his daughter in his arms and kissed her. + +The next morning Bancroft was early afoot. Shortly after sunrise he went +down to the famous cornfield and found a couple of youths on watch. They +had been there for more than an hour, they said, and Seth Stevens and +Richards had gone scouting towards Wichita. “Conklin's corner's all +right,” was the phrase which sent the schoolmaster to breakfast with +a light heart. When the meal was over he returned to the centre of +excitement. The Elder had gone about his work; Mrs. Conklin seemed as +helplessly indifferent as usual; Loo was complacently careless; but +Bancroft, having had time for reflection, felt sure that all this was +Western presumption; General Custer could not accept defeat so easily. +At the “corner” he found a couple of hundred youths and men assembled. +They were all armed, but the general opinion was that Custer would do +nothing. One old farmer summed up the situation in the phrase, “Thar +ain't nothin' for him to do, but set still.” + +About eight o'clock, however, Richards raced up, with his horse in a +lather, and announced that Custer, with three hundred men, had started +from Wichita before six. + +“He'll be hyar in half an hour,” he concluded. + +Hurried counsel was taken; fifty men sought cover behind the stooks of +corn, the rest lined the skirting woods. When all was in order, Bancroft +was deputed to go and fetch the Elder, whom he eventually discovered at +the wood pile, sawing and splitting logs for firewood. + +“Make haste, Elder,” he cried, “Morris has sent me for you, and there's +no time to be lost. Custer, with three hundred men, left Wichita at six +o'clock this morning, and they'll be here very soon.” + +The Elder paused unwillingly, and resting on his axe asked: “Is Morris +alone?” + +“No!” replied Bancroft, amazed to think the Elder could have forgotten +the arrangements he had heard described the evening before. “There +are two hundred men down there in the corner and in the woods,” and he +rapidly sketched the position. + +“It's all right then, I guess,” the Elder decided. “They'll get along +without me. Tell Morris I'm at my chores.” Beginning his work again, he +added, “I've something to _do_ hyar.” + +From the old man's manner Bancroft was convinced that solicitation would +be a waste of time. He returned to the corner, where he found Morris +standing inside the fence. + +“I guessed so,” was Morris's comment upon the Elder's attitude; “we'll +hev to do without him, I reckon. You and me'll stay hyar in the open; +we don't want to shoot ef we kin avoid it; there ain't no reason to as I +kin see.” + +Ten minutes afterwards the cavalry crossed the bridge two deep, and +wound snake-like towards the corner. With the first files came General +Custer, accompanied by half-a-dozen officers, among whom Bancroft +recognized the young lieutenant. Singling Morris out, the General rode +up to the fence and addressed him with formal politeness: + +“Mr. Conklin?” + +“No,” replied Morris, “but I'm hyar fer him, I guess--an' about two +hundred more ef I'm not enough,” he added drily, waving his hand towards +the woods. + +With a half-turn in his saddle and a glance at the line of trees on his +flank, General Custer took in the situation. Clearly there was nothing +to do but to retreat, with some show of dignity. + +“Where shall I find Mr. Conklin? I wish to speak to him.” + +“I'll guide you,” was Morris's answer, “ef you'll come alone; he +mightn't fancy so many visitors to onc't.” + +As Morris and Bancroft climbed over the fence and led the way towards +the homestead, some of the armed farmers strolled from behind the stocks +into the open, and others showed themselves carelessly among the trees +on the bank of the creek. When the Elder was informed that General +Custer was at the front door, he laid down his axe, and in his +shirtsleeves went to meet him. + +“Mr. Conklin, I believe?” + +“That's my name, General.” + +“You've resisted United States troops with arms, and now, it seems, +you've got up a rebellion.” + +“I guess not, General; I guess not. I was Union all through the war; I +came hyar as an Abolitionist. I only want to keep my fences up as long +as they'll stand, an' cut my corn in peace.” + +“Well,” General Custer resumed, after a pause, “I must send to +Washington for instructions and state the facts as I know them, but if +the Federal authorities tell me to carry out the law, as I've no doubt +they will, I shall be compelled to do so, and resistance on your part +can only cause useless bloodshed.” + +“That's so,” was the quiet reply; but what the phrase meant was not +very clear save to Bancroft, who understood that the Elder was unable or +unwilling to discuss a mere hypothesis. + +With a curt motion of his hand to his cap General Custer cantered off to +rejoin his men, who shortly afterwards filed again across the bridge on +their way back to camp. + +When the coast was clear of soldiers some of the older settlers went up +to Conklin's to take counsel together. It was agreed to collect from all +the farmers interested two dollars a head for law expenses, and to send +at once for Lawyer Barkman of Wichita, in order to have his opinion +on the case. Morris offered to bring Barkman next day about noon to +Conklin's, and this proposal was accepted. If any other place had been +fixed upon, it would have been manifestly impossible to secure the +Elder's presence, for his refusal again to leave the wood pile had +converted his back-stoop into the council-chamber. Without more ado the +insurgents dispersed, every man to his house. + +On returning home to dinner next day Bancroft noticed a fine buggy +drawn up outside the stable, and a negro busily engaged in grooming two +strange horses. When he entered the parlour he was not surprised to find +that Morris had already arrived with the lawyer. Barkman was about forty +years of age; above the medium height and very stout, but active. His +face was heavy; its outlines obscured by fat; the nose, however, was +thin and cocked inquisitively, and the eyes, though small, were restless +and intelligent. He was over-dressed; his black frockcoat was brand +new; the diamond stud which shone in the centre of a vast expanse of +shirt-front, was nearly the size of a five-cent piece--his appearance +filled Bancroft with contempt. Nevertheless he seemed to know his +business. As soon as he had heard the story he told them that an action +against the Elder would lie in the Federal Courts, and that the damages +would certainly be heavy. Still, something might be done; the act of +rebellion, he thought, would be difficult to prove; in fine, they must +wait on events. + +At this moment Mrs. Conklin accompanied by Loo came in to announce that +dinner was ready. It was manifest that the girl's beauty made a deep +impression on Barkman. Before seeing her he had professed to regard the +position as hopeless, or nearly so; now he was ready to reconsider his +first opinion, or rather to modify it. His quick intelligence appeared +to have grown keener as he suddenly changed his line of argument, and +began to set forth the importance of getting the case fully and fairly +discussed in Washington. + +“I must get clear affidavits from all the settlers,” he said, “and then, +I guess, we'll show the authorities in Washington that this isn't a +question in which they should interfere. But if I save you,” he went +on, with a laugh intended to simulate frank good-nature, “I s'pose I may +reckon on your votes when I run for Congress.” + +It was understood at once that he had pitched upon the best possible +method of defence. Morris seemed to speak for all when he said: + +“Ef you'll take the trouble now, I guess we'll ensure your election.” + +“Never mind the election, that was only a jest,” replied the lawyer +good-humouredly; “and the trouble's not worth talkin' about. If Miss +Conklin,” and here he turned respectfully towards her, “would take a +seat in my buggy and show me the chief settlers' houses, I reckon I +could fix up the case in three or four days.” + +The eyes of all were directed upon Loo. Was it Bancroft's jealousy that +made him smile contemptuously as he, too, glanced at her? If so, the +disdain was ill-timed. Flushing slightly, she answered, “I guess I'll be +pleased to do what I can,” and she met the schoolmaster's eyes defiantly +as she spoke. + + * * * * * + +With the advent of Barkman upon the scene a succession of new +experiences began for Bancroft. He was still determined not to be +seduced into making Loo his wife. But now the jealousy that is born of +desire and vanity tormented him, and the mere thought that Barkman +might marry and live with her irritated him intensely. She was worthy of +better things than marriage with such a man. She was vain, no doubt, and +lacking in the finer sensibilities, the tremulous moral instincts which +are the crown and glory of womanhood; but it was not her fault that her +education had been faulty, her associates coarse--and after all she was +very beautiful. + +On returning home one afternoon he saw Barkman walking with her in the +peach orchard. As they turned round the girl called to him, and came +at once to meet him; but his jealousy would not be appeased. Her +flower-like face, framed, so to speak, by the autumn foliage, only +increased his anger. He could not bear to _see_ her flirting. Were she +out of his sight, he felt for the first time, he would not care what she +did. + +“You were goin' in without speakin',” she said reproachfully. + +“You have a man with you whose trade is talk. I'm not needed,” was his +curt reply. + +Half-incensed, half-gratified by his passionate exclamation, she drew +back, while Barkman, advancing, said: + +“Good day, Mr. Bancroft, good day. I was just tryin' to persuade Miss +Conklin to come for another drive this evenin' in order to get this +business of ours settled as soon as possible.” + +“Another drive.” Bancroft repeated the words to himself, and then +steadying his voice answered coolly: “You'll have no difficulty, lawyer. +I was just telling Miss Conklin that you talked splendidly--the result +of constant practice, I presume.” + +“That's it, sir,” replied the lawyer seriously; “it's chiefly a matter +of practice added to gift--natural gift,” but here Barkman's conceit +died out as he caught an uneasy, impatient movement of Miss Conklin, +and he went on quietly with the knowledge of life and the adaptability +gained by long experience: “But anyway, I'm glad you agree with me, for +Miss Conklin may take your advice after rejectin' mine.” + +Bancroft saw the trap, but could not restrain himself. With a +contemptuous smile he said: + +“I'm sure no advice of mine is needed; Miss Conklin has already made up +her mind to gratify you. She likes to show the country to strangers,” he +added bitterly. + +The girl flushed at the sarcasm, but her spirit was not subdued. + +“Wall, Mr. Barkman,” she retorted, with a smiling glance at the lawyer, +“I guess I must give in; if Mr. Bancroft thinks I ought ter, there's no +more to be said. I'm willin'.” + +An evening or two later, Barkman having gone into Wichita, Bancroft +asked Loo to go out with him upon the stoop. For several minutes he +stood in silence admiring the moonlit landscape; then he spoke as if to +himself: + +“Not a cloud in the purple depths, no breath of air, no sound nor stir +of life--peace absolute that mocks at man's cares and restlessness. +Look, Loo, how the ivory light bathes the prairie and shimmers on the +sea of corn, and makes of the little creek a ribband of silver.... + +“Yet you seem to prefer a great diamond gleaming in a white shirt-front, +and a coarse, common face, and vulgar talk. + +“You,” and he turned to her, “whose beauty is like the beauty of nature +itself, perfect and ineffable. When I think of you and that coarse +brute together, I shall always remember this moonlight and the hateful +zig-zagging snake-fence there that disfigures and defiles its beauty.” + +The girl looked up at him, only half understanding his rhapsody, but +glowing with the hope called to life by his extravagant praise of her. +“Why, George,” she said shyly, because wholly won, “I don't think no +more of Lawyer Barkman than the moon thinks of the fence--an' I guess +that's not much,” she added, with a little laugh of complete content. + +The common phrases of uneducated speech and the vulgar accent of what +he thought her attempt at smart rejoinder offended him. Misunderstanding +her literalness of mind, he moved away, and shortly afterwards +re-entered the house. + +Of course Loo was dissatisfied with such incidents as these. When she +saw Bancroft trying to draw Barkman out and throw contempt upon him, she +never dreamed of objecting. But when he attacked her, she flew to her +weapons. What had she done, what was she doing, to deserve his sneers? +She only wished him to love her, and she felt indignantly that every +time she teased him by going with Barkman, he was merciless, and +whenever she abandoned herself to him, he drew back. She couldn't bear +that; it was cruel of him. She loved him, yes; no one, she knew, would +ever make him so good a wife as she would. No one ever could. Why, +there was nothin' she wouldn't do for him willingly. She'd see after +his comforts an' everythin'. She'd tidy all his papers an' fix up his +things. And if he ever got ill, she'd jest wait on him day and night--so +she would. She'd be the best wife to him that ever was. + +Oh, why couldn't he be good to her always? That was all she wanted, to +feel he loved her; then she'd show him how she loved him. He'd be happy, +as happy as the day was long. How foolish men were! they saw nothin' +that was under their noses. + +“P'r'aps he does love me,” she said to herself; “he talked the other +evenin' beautiful; I guess he don't talk like that to every one, and +yet he won't give in to me an' jest be content--once for all. It's their +pride makes 'em like that; their silly, stupid pride. Nothin' else. Men +air foolish things. I've no pride at all when I think of him, except I +know that no one else could make him as happy as I could. Oh my!” and +she sighed with a sense of the mysterious unnecessary suffering in life. + +“An' he goes on bein' mad with Lawyer Barkman. Fancy, that fat old man. +He warn't jealous of Seth Stevens or the officer, no; but of him. Why, +it's silly. Barkman don't count anyway. He talks well, yes, an' he's +always pleasant, always; but he's jest not in it. Men air foolish +anyway.” She was beginning to acknowledge that all her efforts to gain +her end might prove unsuccessful. + +Barkman, with his varied experience and the cooler blood of forty, +saw more of the game than either Bancroft or Loo. He had learnt that +compliments and attention count for much with women, and having studied +Miss Conklin he was sure that persistent flattery would go a long way +towards winning her. “I've gained harder cases by studying the jury,” + he thought, “and I'll get her because I know her. That schoolmaster +irritates her; I won't. He says unpleasant things to her; I'll say +pleasant things and she'll turn to me. She likes to be admired; I guess +that means dresses and diamonds. Well, she shall have them, have all +she wants.... The mother ain't a factor, that's plain, and the father's +sittin' on the fence; he'll just do anythin' for the girl, and if he +ain't well off--what does that matter? I don't want money;” and his +chest expanded with a proud sense of disinterestedness. + +“Why does the schoolmaster run after her? what would he do with such a +woman? He couldn't even keep her properly if he got her. It's a duty to +save the girl from throwin' herself away on a young, untried man like +that.” He felt again that his virtue ought to help him to succeed. + +“What a handsome figure she has! Her arms are perfect, firm as marble; +and her neck--round, too, and not a line on it, and how she walks! She's +the woman I want--so lovely I'll always be proud of her. What a wife +she'll make! My first wife was pretty, but not to be compared to her. +Who'd ever have dreamt of finding such a beauty in this place? How lucky +I am after all. Yes, lucky because I know just what I want, and go for +it right from the start. That's all. That's what luck means. + +“Women are won little by little,” he concluded. “Whoever knows them +and humours them right along, flattering their weak points, is sure to +succeed some time or other. And I can wait.” + +He got his opportunity by waiting. As Loo took her seat in the buggy one +afternoon he saw that she was nervous and irritable. “The schoolmaster's +been goin' for her--the derned fool,” he said to himself, and at once +began to soothe her. The task was not an easy one. She was cold to him +at first and even spiteful; she laughed at what he said and promised, +and made fun of his pretensions. His kindly temper stood him in good +stead. He was quietly persistent; with the emollient of good-nature +he wooed her in his own fashion, and before they reached the first +settler's house he had half won her to kindliness. Here he made his +victory complete. At every question he appealed to her deferentially for +counsel and decision; he reckoned Miss Conklin would know, he relied on +her for the facts, and when she spoke he guessed that just settled the +matter; her opinion was good enough for him, and so forth. + +Wounded to the soul by Bancroft's persistent, undeserved contempt, the +girl felt that now at last she had met some one who appreciated her, and +she gave herself up to the charm of dexterous flattery. + +From her expression and manner while they drove homewards, Barkman +believed that the game was his own. He went on talking to her with the +reverence which he had already found to be so effective. There was no +one like her. What a lawyer she'd have made! How she got round the wife +and induced the husband to sign the petition--'twas wonderful! He had +never imagined a woman could be so tactful and winning. He had never met +a man who was her equal in persuading people. + +The girl drank in the praise as a dry land drinks the rain. He meant +it all; that was clear. He had shown it in his words and acts--there, +before the Croftons. She had always believed she could do such +things; she didn't care much about books, and couldn't talk fine about +moonlight, but the men an' women she knew, she understood. She was sure +of that. But still, 'twas pleasant to hear it. He must love her or he +never could appreciate her as he did. She reckoned he was very clever; +the best lawyer in the State. Every one knew that. And he had said no +man was equal to her. Oh, if only the other, if only George had told her +so; but he was too much wrapped up in himself, and after all what was he +anyway? Yet, if he had-- + +At this point of her musings the lawyer, seeing the flushed cheeks and +softened glance, believed his moment had come, and resolved to use it. +His passion made him forget that it was possible to go too fast. + +“Miss Conklin,” he began seriously, “if you'd join with me there's +nothin' we two couldn't do, nothin'! They call me the first lawyer in +the State, and I guess I'll get to Washington soon; but with you to +help me I'd be there before this year's out. As the wife of a Member of +Congress, you would show them all the way. I'm rich already; that is, I +can do whatever you want, and it's a shame for such genius as yours, and +such talent, to be hidden here among people who don't know how to value +you properly. In New York or in Washington you'd shine; become a social +power,” and as the words “New York” caused the girl to look at him with +eager attention, he added, overcome by the foretaste of approaching +triumph: “Miss Loo, I love you; you've seen that, for you notice +everythin'. I know I'm not young, but I can be kinder and more faithful +than any young man, and,” here he slipped his arm round her waist, “I +guess all women want to be loved, don't they? Will you let me love you, +Loo, as my wife?” + +The girl shrank away from him nervously. Perhaps the fact of being in a +buggy recalled her rides with George; or the caress brought home to +her the difference between the two men. However that may be, when she +answered, it was with full self-possession: + +“I guess what you say's about right, and I like you. But I don't want to +marry--anyway not yet. Of course I'd like to help you, and I'd like to +live in New York; but--I can't make up my mind all at once. You must +wait. If you really care for me, that can't be hard.” + +“Yes, it's hard,” Barkman replied, “very hard to feel uncertain of +winning the only woman I can ever love. But I don't want to press you,” + he added, after a pause, “I rely on you; you know best, and I'll do just +what you wish.” + +“Well, then,” she resumed, mollified by his humility, “you'll go back +to Wichita this evenin', as you said you would, and when you return, +the day after to-morrow, I'll tell you Yes or No. Will that do?” and she +smiled up in his face. + +“Yes, that's more than I had a right to expect,” he acknowledged. “Hope +from you is better than certainty from any other woman.” In this mood +they reached the homestead. Loo alighted at the gate; she wouldn't allow +Barkman even to get down; he was to go right off at once, but when he +returned she'd meet him. With a grave respectful bow he lifted his +hat, and drove away. On the whole, he had reason to be proud of his +diplomacy; reason, too, for saying to himself that at last he had got on +“the inside track.” Still, all the factors in the problem were not seen +even by his keen eyes. + +The next morning, Loo began to reflect upon what she should do. It did +not occur to her that she had somewhat compromised herself with the +lawyer by giving him leave, and, in fact, encouragement to expect a +favourable answer. She was so used to looking at all affairs from the +point of view of her own self-interest and satisfaction, that such an +idea did not even enter her head. She simply wanted to decide on what +was best for herself. She considered the matter as it seemed to her, +from all sides, without arriving at any decision. Barkman was kind, and +good to her; but she didn't care for him, and she loved George still. +Oh, why wasn't he like the other, always sympathetic and admiring? She +sat and thought. In the depths of her nature she felt that she couldn't +give George up, couldn't make up her mind to lose him; and why should +she, since they loved each other? What could she do? + +Of a sudden she paused. She remembered how, more than a year before, she +had been invited to Eureka for a ball. She had stayed with her friend +Miss Jennie Blood; by whose advice and with whose help she had worn for +the first time a low-necked dress. She had been uncomfortable in it at +first, very uncomfortable, but the men liked it, all of them. She had +seen their admiration in their eyes; as Jennie had said, it fetched +them. If only George could see her in a low-necked dress--she flushed +as she thought of it--perhaps he'd admire her, and then she'd be quite +happy. But there were never any balls or parties in this dead-and-alive +township! How could she manage it? + +The solution came to her with a shock of half-frightened excitement. It +was warm still, very warm, in the middle of the day; why shouldn't she +dress as for a dance, somethin' like it anyway, and go into George's +room to put it straight just before he came home from school? Her heart +beat quickly as she reflected. After all, what harm was there in it? She +recollected hearing that in the South all the girls wore low dresses +in summer, and she loved George, and she was sure he loved her. Any one +would do it, and no one would know. She resolved to try on the dress, +just to see how it suited her. There was no harm in that. She took off +her thin cotton gown quickly, and put on the ball-dress. But when she +had dragged the chest of drawers before the window and had propped up +the little glass on it to have a good look at herself, she grew hot. She +couldn't wear that, not in daylight; it looked, oh, it looked--and she +blushed crimson. Besides, the tulle was all frayed and faded. No, +she couldn't wear it! Oh!--and her eyes filled with tears of envy and +vexation. If only she were rich, like lots of other girls, she could +have all sorts of dresses. 'Twas unfair, so it was. She became desperate +with disappointment, and set her wits to work again. She had plenty of +time still. George wouldn't be back before twelve. She must choose a +dress he had never seen; then he wouldn't know but what she often wore +it so. Nervously, hurriedly, she selected a cotton frock, and before the +tiny glass pinned and arranged it over her shoulders and bust, higher +than the ball-dress, but still, lower than she had ever worn in the +daytime. She fashioned the garment with an instinctive sense of form +that a Parisian _couturière_ might have envied, and went to work. Her +nimble fingers soon cut and sewed it to the style she had intended, and +then she tried it on. As she looked at herself in the mirror the vision +of her loveliness surprised and charmed her. She had drawn a blue +ribband that she happened to possess, round the arms of the dress and +round the bodice of it, and when she saw how this little thread of +colour set off the full outlines of her bust and the white roundness of +her arms, she could have kissed her image in the glass. She was lovely, +prettier than any girl in the section. George would see that; he loved +beautiful things. Hadn't he talked of the scenery for half an hour? He'd +be pleased. + +She thought again seriously whether her looks could not be improved. +After rummaging a little while in vain, she went downstairs and borrowed +a light woollen shawl from her mother on the pretext that she liked the +feel of it. Hastening up to her own room, she put it over her shoulders, +and practised a long time before the dim glass just to see how best she +could throw it back or draw it round her at will. + +At last, with a sigh of content, she felt herself fully equipped for +the struggle; she was looking her best. If George didn't care for her +so--and she viewed herself again approvingly from all sides--why, she +couldn't help it. She had done all she could, but if he did, and he +must--why, then, he'd tell her, and they'd be happy. At the bottom of +her heart she felt afraid. George was strange; not a bit like other +men. He might be cold, and at the thought she felt inclined to cry out. +Pride, however, came to her aid. If he didn't like her, it would be his +fault. She had just done her best, and that she reckoned, with a flush +of pardonable conceit, was good enough for any man. + +An hour later Bancroft went up to his room. As he opened the door Loo +turned towards him from the centre-table with a low cry of surprise, +drawing at the same time the ends of the fleecy woollen wrap tight +across her breast. + +“Oh, George, how you scared me! I was jest fixin' up your things.” And +the girl crimsoned, while her eyes sought to read his face. + +“Thank you,” he rejoined carelessly, and then, held by something of +expectation in her manner, he looked at her intently, and added: “Why, +Loo, how well you look! I like that dress; it suits you.” And he stepped +towards her. + +She held out both hands as if to meet his, but by the gesture the +woollen scarf was thrown back, and her form unveiled. Once again her +mere beauty stung the young man to desire, but something of a conscious +look in her face gave him thought, and, scrutinizing her coldly, he +said: + +“I suppose that dress was put on for Mr. Barkman's benefit.” + +“Oh, George!” she cried, in utter dismay, “he hain't been here to-day.” + And then, as the hard expression did not leave his face, she added +hurriedly: “I put it on for you, George. Do believe me.” + +Still his face did not alter. Suddenly she understood that she had +betrayed her secret. She burst into bitter tears. + +He took her in his arms and spoke perfunctory words of consolation; her +body yielded to his touch, and in a few moments he was soothing her +in earnest. Her grief was uncontrollable. “I've jest done everythin', +everythin' and it's all no use,” she sobbed aloud. When he found that +he could not check the tears, he grew irritated; he divined her little +stratagem, and his lip curled. How unmaidenly! In a flash, she stood +before him, her shallow, childish vanity unmasked. The pity of it did +not strike him; he was too young for that; he felt only contempt for +her, and at once drew his arms away. With a long, choking sob she moved +to the door and disappeared. She went blindly along the passage to her +room, and, flinging herself on the bed, cried as if her heart would +break. Then followed a period of utter abject misery. She had lost +everythin'; George didn't care for her; she'd have to live all her life +without him, and again slow, scalding tears fell. + +The thought of going downstairs to supper and meeting him was +intolerable. The sense of what she had confessed to him swept over her +in a hot flood of shame. No, she couldn't go down; she couldn't face his +eyes again. She'd sit right there, and her mother'd come up, and she'd +tell her she had a headache. To meet him was impossible; she just hated +him. He was hard and cruel; she'd never see him again; he had degraded +her. The whole place became unbearable as she relived the past; she +must get away from him, from it all, at any cost, as soon as she could. +They'd be sorry when she was gone. And she cried again a little, but +these tears relieved her, did her good. + +She tried to look at the whole position steadily. Barkman would take her +away to New York. Marry him?--she didn't want to, but she wouldn't make +up her mind now; she'd go away with him if he'd be a real friend to her. +Only he mustn't put his arm round her again; she didn't like him to do +that. If he wished to be a friend to her, she'd let him; if not, she'd +go by herself. He must understand that. Once in New York, she'd meet +kind people, live as she wanted to live, and never think of this horrid +time. + +She was all alone; no one in the world to talk to about her trouble--no +one. No one cared for her. Her mother loved Jake best; and besides, if +she told her anythin', she'd only set down an' cry. She'd write and +say she was comfortable; and her father?--he'd get over it. He was +kind always, but he never felt much anyway--leastwise, he never showed +anythin'. When they got her letter 'twould be all right. That was what +she'd do--and so, with her little hands clenched and feverish face, she +sat and thought, letting her imagination work. + +A few mornings later Bancroft came down early. He had slept badly, +had been nervous and disturbed by jealous forebodings, and had not won +easily to self-control. He had only been in the sitting-room a minute or +two when the Elder entered, and stopping in front of him asked sharply: + +“Hev you seen Loo yet?” + +“No. Is she down?” + +“I reckoned you'd know ef she had made out anythin' partikler to do +to-day.” + +“No,” he repeated seriously, the Elder's manner impressing him. “No! she +told me nothing, but perhaps she hasn't got up yet.” + +“She ain't in her room.” + +“What do you mean?” + +“You didn't hear buggy-wheels last night--along towards two o'clock?” + +“No, but--you don't mean to say? Lawyer Barkman!” And Bancroft started +up with horror in his look. + +The Elder stared at him, with rigid face and wild eyes, but as he +gradually took in the sincerity of the young man's excitement, he +turned, and left the room. + +To his bedroom he went, and there, after closing the door, fell on his +knees. For a long time no word came; with clasped hands and bowed head +the old man knelt in silence. Sobs shook his frame, but no tears fell. +At length broken sentences dropped heavily from his half-conscious lips: + +“Lord, Lord! 'Tain't right to punish her. She knowed nothin'. She's so +young. I did wrong, but I kain't bear her to be punished. + +“P'r'aps You've laid this on me jes' to show I'm foolish and weak. +That's so, O Lord! I'm in the hollow of Your hand. But You'll save her, +O Lord! for Jesus' sake. + +“I'm all broke up. I kain't pray. I'm skeered. Lord Christ, help her; +stan' by her; be with her. O Lord, forgive!” + +JUNE AND JULY, 1891. + + * * * * * + + + + +THE SHERIFF AND HIS PARTNER. + +One afternoon in July, 1869, I was seated at my desk in Locock's +law-office in the town of Kiota, Kansas. I had landed in New York from +Liverpool nearly a year before, and had drifted westwards seeking in +vain for some steady employment. Lawyer Locock, however, had promised to +let me study law with him, and to give me a few dollars a month besides, +for my services as a clerk. I was fairly satisfied with the prospect, +and the little town interested me. An outpost of civilization, it was +situated on the border of the great plains, which were still looked +upon as the natural possession of the nomadic Indian tribes. It owed its +importance to the fact that it lay on the cattle-trail which led from +the prairies of Texas through this no man's land to the railway system, +and that it was the first place where the cowboys coming north could +find a bed to sleep in, a bar to drink at, and a table to gamble on. For +some years they had made of Kiota a hell upon earth. But gradually the +land in the neighbourhood was taken up by farmers, emigrants chiefly +from New England, who were determined to put an end to the reign of +violence. A man named Johnson was their leader in establishing order +and tranquillity. Elected, almost as soon as he came to the town, to the +dangerous post of City Marshal, he organized a vigilance committee +of the younger and more daring settlers, backed by whom he resolutely +suppressed the drunken rioting of the cowboys. After the ruffians +had been taught to behave themselves, Johnson was made Sheriff of the +County, a post which gave him a house and permanent position. Though +married now, and apparently “settled down,” the Sheriff was a sort of +hero in Kiota. I had listened to many tales about him, showing desperate +determination veined with a sense of humour, and I often regretted that +I had reached the place too late to see him in action. I had little +or nothing to do in the office. The tedium of the long days was almost +unbroken, and Stephen's “Commentaries” had become as monotonous and +unattractive as the bare uncarpeted floor. The heat was tropical, and +I was dozing when a knock startled me. A negro boy slouched in with a +bundle of newspapers: + +“This yer is Jedge Locock's, I guess?” + +“I guess so,” was my answer as I lazily opened the third or fourth +number of the “Kiota Weekly Tribune.” Glancing over the sheet my eye +caught the following paragraph: + +“HIGHWAY ROBBERY WITH VIOLENCE. + +“JUDGE SHANNON STOPPED. + +“THE OUTLAW ESCAPES. + +“HE KNOWS SHERIFF JOHNSON. + +“Information has just reached us of an outrage perpetrated on the person +of one of our most respected fellow-citizens. The crime was committed in +daylight, on the public highway within four miles of this city; a crime, +therefore, without parallel in this vicinity for the last two years. +Fortunately our County and State authorities can be fully trusted, +and we have no sort of doubt that they can command, if necessary, the +succour and aid of each and every citizen of this locality in order to +bring the offending miscreant to justice. + +“We now place the plain recital of this outrage before our readers. + +“Yesterday afternoon, as Ex-Judge Shannon was riding from his law-office +in Kiota towards his home on Sumach Bluff, he was stopped about four +miles from this town by a man who drew a revolver on him, telling him +at the same time to pull up. The Judge, being completely unarmed and +unprepared, obeyed, and was told to get down from the buckboard, which +he did. He was then ordered to put his watch and whatever money he had, +in the road, and to retreat three paces. + +“The robber pocketed the watch and money, and told him he might tell +Sheriff Johnson that Tom Williams had 'gone through him,' and that he +(Williams) could be found at the saloon in Osawotamie at any time. The +Judge now hoped for release, but Tom Williams (if that be the robber's +real name) seemed to get an afterthought, which he at once proceeded to +carry into effect. Drawing a knife he cut the traces, and took out of +the shafts the Judge's famous trotting mare, Lizzie D., which he mounted +with the remark: + +“'Sheriff Johnson, I reckon, would come after the money anyway, but the +hoss'll fetch him----sure pop.' + +“These words have just been given to us by Judge Shannon himself, who +tells us also that the outrage took place on the North Section Line, +bounding Bray's farm. + +“After this speech the highway robber Williams rode towards the township +of Osawotamie, while Judge Shannon, after drawing the buckboard to the +edge of the track, was compelled to proceed homewards on foot. + +“The outrage, as we have said, took place late last evening, and Judge +Shannon, we understand, did not trouble to inform the County authorities +of the circumstance till to-day at noon, after leaving our office. +What the motive of the crime may have been we do not worry ourselves to +inquire; a crime, an outrage upon justice and order, has been committed; +that is all we care to know. If anything fresh happens in this +connection we propose to issue a second edition of this paper. Our +fellow-citizens may rely upon our energy and watchfulness to keep them +posted. + +“Just before going to press we learn that Sheriff Johnson was out of +town attending to business when Judge Shannon called; but Sub-Sheriff +Jarvis informs us that he expects the Sheriff back shortly. It is +necessary to add, by way of explanation, that Mr. Jarvis cannot leave +the jail unguarded, even for a few hours.” + +As may be imagined this item of news awakened my keenest interest. It +fitted in with some things that I knew already, and I was curious to +learn more. I felt that this was the first act in a drama. Vaguely I +remembered some one telling in disconnected phrases why the Sheriff had +left Missouri, and come to Kansas: + +“'Twas after a quor'll with a pardner of his, named Williams, who kicked +out.” + +Bit by bit the story, to which I had not given much attention when I +heard it, so casually, carelessly was it told, recurred to my memory. + +“They say as how Williams cut up rough with Johnson, and drawed a +knife on him, which Johnson gripped with his left while he pulled +trigger.--Williams, I heerd, was in the wrong; I hain't perhaps got the +right end of it; anyhow, you might hev noticed the Sheriff hes lost the +little finger off his left hand.--Johnson, they say, got right up and +lit out from Pleasant Hill. Perhaps the folk in Mizzoori kinder liked +Williams the best of the two; I don't know. Anyway, Sheriff Johnson's +a square man; his record here proves it. An' real grit, you bet your +life.” + +The narrative had made but a slight impression on me at the time; I +didn't know the persons concerned, and had no reason to interest myself +in their fortunes. In those early days, moreover, I was often homesick, +and gave myself up readily to dreaming of English scenes and faces. Now +the words and drawling intonation came back to me distinctly, and with +them the question: Was the robber of Judge Shannon the same Williams who +had once been the Sheriff's partner? My first impulse was to hurry into +the street and try to find out; but it was the chief part of my duty to +stay in the office till six o'clock; besides, the Sheriff was “out of +town,” and perhaps would not be back that day. The hours dragged to an +end at last; my supper was soon finished, and, as night drew down, I +hastened along the wooden side-walk of Washington Street towards the +Carvell House. This hotel was much too large for the needs of the little +town; it contained some fifty bedrooms, of which perhaps half-a-dozen +were permanently occupied by “high-toned” citizens, and a billiard-room +of gigantic size, in which stood nine tables, as well as the famous bar. +The space between the bar, which ran across one end of the room, and +the billiard-tables, was the favourite nightly resort of the prominent +politicians and gamblers. There, if anywhere, my questions would be +answered. + +On entering the billiard-room I was struck by the number of men who had +come together. Usually only some twenty or thirty were present, half +of whom sat smoking and chewing about the bar, while the rest watched a +game of billiards or took a “life” in pool. This evening, however, the +billiard-tables were covered with their slate-coloured “wraps,” while +at least a hundred and fifty men were gathered about the open space of +glaring light near the bar. I hurried up the room, but as I approached +the crowd my steps grew slower, and I became half ashamed of my eager, +obtrusive curiosity and excitement. There was a kind of reproof in the +lazy, cool glance which one man after another cast upon me, as I went +by. Assuming an air of indecision I threaded my way through the chairs +uptilted against the sides of the billiard-tables. I had drained a glass +of Bourbon whisky before I realized that these apparently careless men +were stirred by some emotion which made them more cautious, more silent, +more warily on their guard than usual. The gamblers and loafers, too, +had taken “back seats” this evening, whilst hard-working men of the +farmer class who did not frequent the expensive bar of the Carvell House +were to be seen in front. It dawned upon me that the matter was serious, +and was being taken seriously. + +The silence was broken from time to time by some casual remark of no +interest, drawled out in a monotone; every now and then a man invited +the “crowd” to drink with him, and that was all. Yet the moral +atmosphere was oppressive, and a vague feeling of discomfort grew upon +me. These men “meant business.” + +Presently the door on my left opened--Sheriff Johnson came into the +room. + +“Good evenin',” he said; and a dozen voices, one after another, answered +with “Good evenin'! good evenin', Sheriff!” A big frontiersman, however, +a horse-dealer called Martin, who, I knew, had been on the old vigilance +committee, walked from the centre of the group in front of the bar to +the Sheriff, and held out his hand with: + +“Shake, old man, and name the drink.” The + +Sheriff took the proffered hand as if mechanically, and turned to the +bar with “Whisky--straight.” Sheriff Johnson was a man of medium height, +sturdily built. A broad forehead, and clear, grey-blue eyes that met +everything fairly, testified in his favour. The nose, however, was +fleshy and snub. The mouth was not to be seen, nor its shape guessed at, +so thickly did the brown moustache and beard grow; but the short beard +seemed rather to exaggerate than conceal an extravagant outjutting +of the lower jaw, that gave a peculiar expression of energy and +determination to the face. His manner was unobtrusively quiet and +deliberate. + +It was an unusual occurrence for Johnson to come at night to the +bar-lounge, which was beginning to fall into disrepute among the +puritanical or middle-class section of the community. No one, however, +seemed to pay any further attention to him or to remark the unusual +cordiality of Martin's greeting. A quarter of an hour elapsed before +anything of note occurred. Then, an elderly man whom I did not know, +a farmer, by his dress, drew a copy of the “Kiota Tribune” from his +pocket, and, stretching it towards Johnson, asked with a very marked +Yankee twang: + +“Sheriff, hev yeou read this 'Tribune'?” + +Wheeling half round towards his questioner, the Sheriff replied: + +“Yes, sir, I hev.” A pause ensued, which was made significant to me by +the fact that the bar-keeper suspended his hand and did not pour out the +whisky he had just been asked to supply--a pause during which the two +faced each other; it was broken by the farmer saying: + +“Ez yeou wer out of town to-day, I allowed yeou might hev missed seein' +it. I reckoned yeou'd come straight hyar before yeou went to hum.” + +“No, Crosskey,” rejoined the Sheriff, with slow emphasis; “I went home +first and came on hyar to see the boys.” + +“Wall,” said Mr. Crosskey, as it seemed to me, half apologetically, +“knowin' yeou I guessed yeou ought to hear the facks,” then, with some +suddenness, stretching out his hand, he added, “I hev some way to go, +an' my old woman 'ull be waitin' up fer me. Good night, Sheriff.” The +hands met while the Sheriff nodded: “Good night, Jim.” + +After a few greetings to right and left Mr. Crosskey left the bar. +The crowd went on smoking, chewing, and drinking, but the sense +of expectancy was still in the air, and the seriousness seemed, if +anything, to have increased. Five or ten minutes may have passed when a +man named Reid, who had run for the post of Sub-Sheriff the year before, +and had failed to beat Johnson's nominee Jarvis, rose from his chair and +asked abruptly: + +“Sheriff, do you reckon to take any of us uns with you to-morrow?” + +With an indefinable ring of sarcasm in his negligent tone, the Sheriff +answered: + +“I guess not, Mr. Reid.” + +Quickly Reid replied: “Then I reckon there's no use in us stayin';” and +turning to a small knot of men among whom he had been sitting, he added, +“Let's go, boys!” + +The men got up and filed out after their leader without greeting the +Sheriff in any way. With the departure of this group the shadow lifted. +Those who still remained showed in manner a marked relief, and a +moment or two later a man named Morris, whom I knew to be a gambler by +profession, called out lightly: + +“The crowd and you'll drink with me, Sheriff, I hope? I want another +glass, and then we won't keep you up any longer, for you ought to have a +night's rest with to-morrow's work before you.” + +The Sheriff smiled assent. Every one moved towards the bar, and +conversation became general. Morris was the centre of the company, and +he directed the talk jokingly to the account in the “Tribune,” making +fun, as it seemed to me, though I did not understand all his allusions, +of the editor's timidity and pretentiousness. Morris interested and +amused me even more than he amused the others; he talked like a man of +some intelligence and reading, and listening to him I grew light-hearted +and careless, perhaps more careless than usual, for my spirits had been +ice-bound in the earlier gloom of the evening. + +“Fortunately our County and State authorities can be fully trusted,” + some one said. + +“Mark that 'fortunately,' Sheriff,” laughed Morris. “The editor was +afraid to mention you alone, so he hitched the State on with you to +lighten the load.” + +“Ay!” chimed in another of the gamblers, “and the 'aid and succour of +each and every citizen,' eh, Sheriff, as if you'd take the whole town +with you. I guess two or three'll be enough fer Williams.” + +This annoyed me. It appeared to me that Williams had addressed a +personal challenge to the Sheriff, and I thought that Johnson should +so consider it. Without waiting for the Sheriff to answer, whether in +protest or acquiescence, I broke in: + +“Two or three would be cowardly. One should go, and one only.” At once I +felt rather than saw the Sheriff free himself from the group of men; the +next moment he stood opposite to me. + +“What was that?” he asked sharply, holding me with keen eye and +out-thrust chin--repressed passion in voice and look. + +The antagonism of his bearing excited and angered me not a little. I +replied: + +“I think it would be cowardly to take two or three against a single man. +I said one should go, and I say so still.” + +“Do you?” he sneered. “I guess you'd go alone, wouldn't you? to bring +Williams in?” + +“If I were paid for it I should,” was my heedless retort. As I spoke his +face grew white with such passion that I instinctively put up my hands +to defend myself, thinking he was about to attack me. The involuntary +movement may have seemed boyish to him, for thought came into his eyes, +and his face relaxed; moving away he said quietly: + +“I'll set up drinks, boys.” + +They grouped themselves about him and drank, leaving me isolated. But +this, now my blood was up, only added to the exasperation I felt at his +contemptuous treatment, and accordingly I walked to the bar, and as +the only unoccupied place was by Johnson's side I went there and said, +speaking as coolly as I could: + +“Though no one asks me to drink I guess I'll take some whisky, +bar-keeper, if you please.” Johnson was standing with his back to me, +but when I spoke he looked round, and I saw, or thought I saw, a sort of +curiosity in his gaze. I met his eye defiantly. He turned to the others +and said, in his ordinary, slow way: + +“Wall, good night, boys; I've got to go. It's gittin' late, an' I've had +about as much as I want.” + +Whether he alluded to the drink or to my impertinence I was unable to +divine. Without adding a word he left the room amid a chorus of “Good +night, Sheriff!” With him went Martin and half-a-dozen more. + +I thought I had come out of the matter fairly well until I spoke to +some of the men standing near. They answered me, it is true, but in +monosyllables, and evidently with unwillingness. In silence I finished +my whisky, feeling that every one was against me for some inexplicable +cause. I resented this and stayed on. In a quarter of an hour the rest +of the crowd had departed, with the exception of Morris and a few of the +same kidney. + +When I noticed that these gamblers, outlaws by public opinion, held away +from me, I became indignant. Addressing myself to Morris, I asked: + +“Can you tell me, sir, for you seem to be an educated man, what I have +said or done to make you all shun me?” + +“I guess so,” he answered indifferently. “You took a hand in a game +where you weren't wanted. And you tried to come in without ever having +paid the _ante,_ which is not allowed in any game--at least not in any +game played about here.” + +The allusion seemed plain; I was not only a stranger, but a foreigner; +that must be my offence. With a “Good night, sir; good night, +bar-keeper!” I left the room. + + * * * * * + +The next morning I went as usual to the office. I may have been seated +there about an hour--it was almost eight o'clock--when I heard a knock +at the door. + +“Come in,” I said, swinging round in the American chair, to find myself +face to face with Sheriff Johnson. + +“Why, Sheriff, come in!” I exclaimed cheerfully, for I was relieved +at seeing him, and so realized more clearly than ever that the +unpleasantness of the previous evening had left in me a certain +uneasiness. I was eager to show that the incident had no importance: + +“Won't you take a seat? and you'll have a cigar?--these are not bad.” + +“No, thank you,” he answered. “No, I guess I won't sit nor smoke jest +now.” After a pause, he added, “I see you're studyin'; p'r'aps you're +busy to-day; I won't disturb you.” + +“You don't disturb me, Sheriff,” I rejoined. “As for studying, there's +not much in it. I seem to prefer dreaming.” + +“Wall,” he said, letting his eyes range round the walls furnished with +Law Reports bound in yellow calf, “I don't know, I guess there's a big +lot of readin' to do before a man gets through with all those.” + +“Oh,” I laughed, “the more I read the more clearly I see that law is +only a sermon on various texts supplied by common sense.” + +“Wall,” he went on slowly, coming a pace or two nearer and speaking with +increased seriousness, “I reckon you've got all Locock's business to see +after: his clients to talk to; letters to answer, and all that; and when +he's on the drunk I guess he don't do much. I won't worry you any more.” + +“You don't worry me,” I replied. “I've not had a letter to answer in +three days, and not a soul comes here to talk about business or anything +else. I sit and dream, and wish I had something to do out there in the +sunshine. Your work is better than reading words, words--nothing but +words.” + +“You ain't busy; hain't got anything to do here that might keep you? +Nothin'?” + +“Not a thing. I'm sick of Blackstone and all Commentaries.” + +Suddenly I felt his hand on my shoulder (moving half round in the +chair, I had for the moment turned sideways to him), and his voice was +surprisingly hard and quick: + +“Then I swear you in as a Deputy-Sheriff of the United States, and of +this State of Kansas; and I charge you to bring in and deliver at the +Sheriff's house, in this county of Elwood, Tom Williams, alive or dead, +and--there's your fee, five dollars and twenty-five cents!” and he laid +the money on the table. + +Before the singular speech was half ended I had swung round facing him, +with a fairly accurate understanding of what he meant. But the moment +for decision had come with such sharp abruptness, that I still did not +realize my position, though I replied defiantly as if accepting the +charge: + +“I've not got a weapon.” + +“The boys allowed you mightn't hev, and so I brought some along. You ken +suit your hand.” While speaking he produced two or three revolvers of +different sizes, and laid them before me. + +Dazed by the rapid progress of the plot, indignant, too, at the trick +played upon me, I took up the nearest revolver and looked at it almost +without seeing it. The Sheriff seemed to take my gaze for that of an +expert's curiosity. + +“It shoots true,” he said meditatively, “plumb true; but it's too small +to drop a man. I guess it wouldn't stop any one with grit in him.” + +My anger would not allow me to consider his advice; I thrust the weapon +in my pocket: + +“I haven't got a buggy. How am I to get to Osawotamie?” + +“Mine's hitched up outside. You ken hev it.” + +Rising to my feet I said: “Then we can go.” + +We had nearly reached the door of the office, when the Sheriff stopped, +turned his back upon the door, and looking straight into my eyes said: + +“Don't play foolish. You've no call to go. Ef you're busy, ef you've +got letters to write, anythin' to do--I'll tell the boys you sed so, and +that'll be all; that'll let you out.” + +Half-humorously, as it seemed to me, he added: “You're young and a +tenderfoot. You'd better stick to what you've begun upon. That's the way +to do somethin'.--I often think it's the work chooses us, and we've just +got to get down and do it.” + +“I've told you I had nothing to do,” I retorted angrily; “that's the +truth. Perhaps” (sarcastically) “this work chooses me.” + +The Sheriff moved away from the door. + +On reaching the street I stopped for a moment in utter wonder. At that +hour in the morning Washington Street was usually deserted, but now +it seemed as if half the men in the town had taken up places round the +entrance to Locock's office stairs. Some sat on barrels or boxes tipped +up against the shop-front (the next store was kept by a German, who sold +fruit and eatables); others stood about in groups or singly; a few were +seated on the edge of the side-walk, with their feet in the dust of the +street. Right before me and most conspicuous was the gigantic figure +of Martin. He was sitting on a small barrel in front of the Sheriff's +buggy. + +“Good morning,” I said in the air, but no one answered me. Mastering +my irritation, I went forward to undo the hitching-strap, but Martin, +divining my intention, rose and loosened the buckle. As I reached him, +he spoke in a low whisper, keeping his back turned to me: + +“Shoot off a joke quick. The boys'll let up on you then. It'll be all +right. Say somethin', for God's sake!” + +The rough sympathy did me good, relaxed the tightness round my heart; +the resentment natural to one entrapped left me, and some of my +self-confidence returned: + +“I never felt less like joking in my life, Martin, and humour can't be +produced to order.” + +He fastened up the hitching-strap, while I gathered the reins together +and got into the buggy. When I was fairly seated he stepped to the +side of the open vehicle, and, holding out his hand, said, “Good day,” + adding, as our hands clasped, “Wade in, young un; wade in.” + +“Good day, Martin. Good day, Sheriff. Good day, boys!” + +To my surprise there came a chorus of answering “Good days!” as I drove +up the street. + +A few hundred yards I went, and then wheeled to the right past the post +office, and so on for a quarter of a mile, till I reached the descent +from the higher ground, on which the town was built, to the river. +There, on my left, on the verge of the slope, stood the Sheriff's house +in a lot by itself, with the long, low jail attached to it. Down the +hill I went, and across the bridge and out into the open country. I +drove rapidly for about five miles--more than halfway to Osawotamie--and +then I pulled up, in order to think quietly and make up my mind. + +I grasped the situation now in all its details. Courage was the one +virtue which these men understood, the only one upon which they prided +themselves. I, a stranger, a “tenderfoot,” had questioned the courage +of the boldest among them, and this mission was their answer to my +insolence. The “boys” had planned the plot; Johnson was not to blame; +clearly he wanted to let me out of it; he would have been satisfied +there in the office if I had said that I was busy; he did not like to +put his work on any one else. And yet he must profit by my going. Were I +killed, the whole country would rise against Williams; whereas if I shot +Williams, the Sheriff would be relieved of the task. I wondered whether +the fact of his having married made any difference to the Sheriff. +Possibly--and yet it was not the Sheriff; it was the “boys” who had +insisted on giving me the lesson. Public opinion was dead against me. “I +had come into a game where I was not wanted, and I had never even paid +the _ante_”--that was Morris's phrase. Of course it was all clear now. I +had never given any proof of courage, as most likely all the rest had at +some time or other. That was the _ante_ Morris meant.... + +My wilfulness had got me into the scrape; I had only myself to thank. +Not alone the Sheriff but Martin would have saved me had I profited by +the door of escape which he had tried to open for me. Neither of them +wished to push the malice to the point of making me assume the Sheriff's +risk, and Martin at least, and probably the Sheriff also, had taken +my quick, half-unconscious words and acts as evidence of reckless +determination. If I intended to live in the West I must go through with +the matter. + +But what nonsense it all was! Why should I chuck away my life in the +attempt to bring a desperate ruffian to justice? And who could say that +Williams was a ruffian? It was plain that his quarrel with the Sheriff +was one of old date and purely personal. He had “stopped” Judge Shannon +in order to bring about a duel with the Sheriff. Why should I fight the +Sheriff's duels? Justice, indeed! justice had nothing to do with this +affair; I did not even know which man was in the right. Reason led +directly to the conclusion that I had better turn the horse's head +northwards, drive as fast and as far as I could, and take the train as +soon as possible out of the country. But while I recognized that this +was the only sensible decision, I felt that I could not carry it into +action. To run away was impossible; my cheeks burned with shame at the +thought. + +Was I to give my life for a stupid practical joke? “Yes!”--a voice +within me answered sharply. “It would be well if a man could always +choose the cause for which he risks his life, but it may happen that he +ought to throw it away for a reason that seems inadequate.” + +“What ought I to do?” I questioned. + +“Go on to Osawotamie, arrest Williams, and bring him into Kiota,” + replied my other self. + +“And if he won't come?” + +“Shoot him--you are charged to deliver him 'alive or dead' at the +Sheriff's house. No more thinking, drive straight ahead and act as if +you were a representative of the law and Williams a criminal. It has to +be done.” + +The resolution excited me, I picked up the reins and proceeded. At the +next section-line I turned to the right, and ten or fifteen minutes +later saw Osawotamie in the distance. + +I drew up, laid the reins on the dashboard, and examined the revolver. +It was a small four-shooter, with a large bore. To make sure of its +efficiency I took out a cartridge; it was quite new. While weighing it +in my hand, the Sheriff's words recurred to me, “It wouldn't stop any +one with grit in him.” What did he mean? I didn't want to think, so +I put the cartridge in again, cocked and replaced the pistol in my +right-side jacket pocket, and drove on. Osawotamie consisted of a single +street of straggling frame-buildings. After passing half-a-dozen of +them I saw, on the right, one which looked to me like a saloon. It was +evidently a stopping-place. There were several hitching-posts, and +the house boasted instead of a door two green Venetian blinds put upon +rollers--the usual sign of a drinking-saloon in the West. + +I got out of the buggy slowly and carefully, so as not to shift the +position of the revolver, and after hitching up the horse, entered the +saloon. Coming out of the glare of the sunshine I could hardly see in +the darkened room. In a moment or two my eyes grew accustomed to the dim +light, and I went over to the bar, which was on my left. The bar-keeper +was sitting down; his head and shoulders alone were visible; I asked him +for a lemon squash. + +“Anythin' in it?” he replied, without lifting his eyes. + +“No; I'm thirsty and hot.” + +“I guessed that was about the figger,” he remarked, getting up leisurely +and beginning to mix the drink with his back to me. + +I used the opportunity to look round the room. Three steps from me stood +a tall man, lazily leaning with his right arm on the bar, his fingers +touching a half-filled glass. He seemed to be gazing past me into +the void, and thus allowed me to take note of his appearance. In +shirt-sleeves, like the bar-keeper, he had a belt on in which were two +large revolvers with white ivory handles. His face was prepossessing, +with large but not irregular features, bronzed fair skin, hazel eyes, +and long brown moustache. He looked strong and was lithe of form, as if +he had not done much hard bodily work. There was no one else in the room +except a man who appeared to be sleeping at a table in the far corner +with his head pillowed on his arms. + +As I completed this hasty scrutiny of the room and its inmates, the +bar-keeper gave me my squash, and I drank eagerly. The excitement had +made me thirsty, for I knew that the crisis must be at hand, but I +experienced no other sensation save that my heart was thumping and my +throat was dry. Yawning as a sign of indifference (I had resolved to +be as deliberate as the Sheriff) I put my hand in my pocket on the +revolver. I felt that I could draw it out at once. + +I addressed the bar-keeper: + +“Say, do you know the folk here in Osawotamie?” + +After a pause he replied: + +“Most on 'em, I guess.” + +Another pause and a second question: + +“Do you know Tom Williams?” + +The eyes looked at me with a faint light of surprise in them; they +looked away again, and came back with short, half suspicious, half +curious glances. + +“Maybe you're a friend of his'n?” + +“I don't know him, but I'd like to meet him.” + +“Would you, though?” Turning half round, the bar-keeper took down a +bottle and glass, and poured out some whisky, seemingly for his own +consumption. Then: “I guess he's not hard to meet, isn't Williams, ef +you and me mean the same man.” + +“I guess we do,” I replied; “Tom Williams is the name.” + +“That's me,” said the tall man who was leaning on the bar near me, +“that's my name.” + +“Are you the Williams that stopped Judge Shannon yesterday?” + +“I don't know his name,” came the careless reply, “but I stopped a man +in a buck-board.” + +Plucking out my revolver, and pointing it low down on his breast, I +said: + +“I'm sent to arrest you; you must come with me to Kiota.” + +Without changing his easy posture, or a muscle of his face, he asked in +the same quiet voice: + +“What does this mean, anyway? Who sent you to arrest me?” + +“Sheriff Johnson,” I answered. + +The man started upright, and said, as if amazed, in a quick, loud voice: + +“Sheriff Johnson sent _you_ to arrest me?” + +“Yes,” I retorted, “Sheriff Samuel Johnson swore me in this morning as +his deputy, and charged me to bring you into Kiota.” + +In a tone of utter astonishment he repeated my words, “Sheriff Samuel +Johnson!” + +“Yes,” I replied, “Samuel Johnson, Sheriff of Elwood County.” + +“See here,” he asked suddenly, fixing me with a look of angry suspicion, +“what sort of a man is he? What does he figger like?” + +“He's a little shorter than I am,” I replied curtly, “with a brown beard +and bluish eyes--a square-built sort of man.” + +“Hell!” There was savage rage and menace in the exclamation. + +“You kin put that up!” he added, absorbed once more in thought. I paid +no attention to this; I was not going to put the revolver away at his +bidding. Presently he asked in his ordinary voice: + +“What age man might this Johnson be?” + +“About forty or forty-five, I should think.” + +“And right off Sam Johnson swore you in and sent you to bring me into +Kiota--an' him Sheriff?” + +“Yes,” I replied impatiently, “that's so.” + +“Great God!” he exclaimed, bringing his clenched right hand heavily down +on the bar. “Here, Zeke!” turning to the man asleep in the corner, +and again he shouted “Zeke!” Then, with a rapid change of manner, and +speaking irritably, he said to me: + +“Put that thing up, I say.” + +The bar-keeper now spoke too: “I guess when Tom sez you kin put it up, +you kin. You hain't got no use fur it.” + +The changes of Williams' tone from wonder to wrath and then to quick +resolution showed me that the doubt in him had been laid, and that I +had but little to do with the decision at which he had arrived, whatever +that decision might be. I understood, too, enough of the Western spirit +to know that he would take no unfair advantage of me. I therefore +uncocked the revolver and put it back into my pocket. In the meantime +Zeke had got up from his resting-place in the corner and had made his +way sleepily to the bar. He had taken more to drink than was good for +him, though he was not now really drunk. + +“Give me and Zeke a glass, Joe,” said Williams; “and this gentleman, +too, if he'll drink with me, and take one yourself with us.” + +“No,” replied the bar-keeper sullenly, “I'll not drink to any damned +foolishness. An' Zeke won't neither.” + +“Oh, yes, he will,” Williams returned persuasively, “and so'll you, Joe. +You aren't goin' back on me.” + +“No, I'll be just damned if I am,” said the barkeeper, half-conquered. + +“What'll you take, sir?” Williams asked me. + +“The bar-keeper knows my figger,” I answered, half-jestingly, not yet +understanding the situation, but convinced that it was turning out +better than I had expected. + +“And you, Zeke?” he went on. + +“The old pizen,” Zeke replied. + +“And now, Joe, whisky for you and me--the square bottle,” he continued, +with brisk cheerfulness. + +In silence the bar-keeper placed the drinks before us. As soon as the +glasses were empty Williams spoke again, putting out his hand to Zeke at +the same time: + +“Good-bye, old man, so long, but saddle up in two hours. Ef I don't come +then, you kin clear; but I guess I'll be with you.” + +“Good-bye, Joe.” + +“Good-bye, Tom,” replied the bar-keeper, taking the proffered hand, +still half-unwillingly, “if you're stuck on it; but the game is to wait +for 'em here--anyway that's how I'd play it.” + +A laugh and shake of the head and Williams addressed me: + +“Now, sir, I'm ready if you are.” We were walking towards the door, when +Zeke broke in: + +“Say, Tom, ain't I to come along?” + +“No, Zeke, I'll play this hand alone,” replied Williams, and two minutes +later he and I were seated in the buggy, driving towards Kiota. + +We had gone more than a mile before he spoke again. He began very +quietly, as if confiding his thoughts to me: + +“I don't want to make no mistake about this business--it ain't worth +while. I'm sure you're right, and Sheriff Samuel Johnson sent you, but, +maybe, ef you was to think you could kinder bring him before me. There +might be two of the name, the age, the looks--though it ain't likely.” + Then, as if a sudden inspiration moved him: + +“Where did he come from, this Sam Johnson, do you know?” + +“I believe he came from Pleasant Hill, Missouri. I've heard that he left +after a row with his partner, and it seems to me that his partner's name +was Williams. But that you ought to know better than I do. By-the-bye, +there is one sign by which Sheriff Johnson can always be recognized; +he has lost the little finger of his left hand. They say he caught +Williams' bowie with that hand and shot him with the right. But why he +had to leave Missouri I don't know, if Williams drew first.” + +“I'm satisfied now,” said my companion, “but I guess you hain't got that +story correct; maybe you don't know the cause of it nor how it began; +maybe Williams didn't draw fust; maybe he was in the right all the way +through; maybe--but thar!--the first hand don't decide everythin'. Your +Sheriff's the man--that's enough for me.” + +After this no word was spoken for miles. As we drew near the bridge +leading into the town of Kiota I remarked half-a-dozen men standing +about. Generally the place was deserted, so the fact astonished me a +little. But I said nothing. We had scarcely passed over half the length +of the bridge, however, when I saw that there were quite twenty men +lounging around the Kiota end of it. Before I had time to explain +the matter to myself, Williams spoke: “I guess he's got out all the +vigilantes;” and then bitterly: “The boys in old Mizzouri wouldn't +believe this ef I told it on him, the doggoned mean cuss.” + +We crossed the bridge at a walk (it was forbidden to drive faster over +the rickety structure), and toiled up the hill through the bystanders, +who did not seem to see us, though I knew several of them. When we +turned to the right to reach the gate of the Sheriff's house, there +were groups of men on both sides. No one moved from his place; here and +there, indeed, one of them went on whittling. I drew up at the sidewalk, +threw down the reins, and jumped out of the buggy to hitch up the horse. +My task was done. + +I had the hitching-rein loose in my hand, when I became conscious of +something unusual behind me. I looked round--it was the stillness that +foreruns the storm. + +Williams was standing on the side-walk facing the low wooden fence, a +revolver in each hand, but both pointing negligently to the ground; the +Sheriff had just come down the steps of his house; in his hands also +were revolvers; his deputy, Jarvis, was behind him on the stoop. + +Williams spoke first: + +“Sam Johnson, you sent for me, and I've come.” + +The Sheriff answered firmly, “I did!” + +Their hands went up, and crack! crack! crack! in quick succession, three +or four or five reports--I don't know how many. At the first shots the +Sheriff fell forward on his face. Williams started to run along the +side-walk; the groups of men at the corner, through whom he must pass, +closed together; then came another report, and at the same moment he +stopped, turned slowly half round, and sank down in a heap like an empty +sack. + +I hurried to him; he had fallen almost as a tailor sits, but his head +was between his knees. I lifted it gently; blood was oozing from a hole +in the forehead. The men were about me; I heard them say: + +“A derned good shot! Took him in the back of the head. Jarvis kin +shoot!” + +I rose to my feet. Jarvis was standing inside the fence supported by +some one; blood was welling from his bared left shoulder. + +“I ain't much hurt,” he said, “but I guess the Sheriff's got it bad.” + +The men moved on, drawing me with them, through the gate to where the +Sheriff lay. Martin turned him over on his back. They opened his shirt, +and there on the broad chest were two little blue marks, each in the +centre of a small mound of pink flesh. + +4TH APRIL, 1891. + + * * * * * + + + + +A MODERN IDYLL. + +“I call it real good of you, Mr. Letgood, to come and see me. Won't you +be seated?” + +“Thank you. It's very warm to-day; and as I didn't feel like reading or +writing, I thought I'd come round.” + +“You're just too kind for anythin'! To come an' pay me a visit when you +must be tired out with yesterday's preachin'. An' what a sermon you gave +us in the mornin'--it was too sweet. I had to wink my eyes pretty hard, +an' pull the tears down the back way, or I should have cried right +out--and Mrs. Jones watchin' me all the time under that dreadful +bonnet.” + +Mrs. Hooper had begun with a shade of nervousness in the hurried words; +but the emotion disappeared as she took up a comfortable pose in the +corner of the small sofa. + +The Rev. John Letgood, having seated himself in an armchair, looked at +her intently before replying. She was well worth looking at, this Mrs. +Hooper, as she leaned back on the cushions in her cool white dress, +which was so thin and soft and well-fitting that her form could be seen +through it almost as clearly as through water. She appeared to be about +eighteen years old, and in reality was not yet twenty. At first sight +one would have said of her, “a pretty girl;” but an observant eye on +the second glance would have noticed those contradictions in face and in +form which bear witness to a certain complexity of nature. Her features +were small, regular, and firmly cut; the long, brown eyes looked out +confidently under straight, well-defined brows; but the forehead was +low, and the sinuous lips a vivid red. So, too, the slender figure and +narrow hips formed a contrast with the throat, which pouted in soft, +white fulness. + +“I am glad you liked the sermon,” said the minister, breaking the +silence, “for it is not probable that you will hear many more from me.” + There was just a shade of sadness in the lower tone with which he ended +the phrase. He let the sad note drift in unconsciously--by dint of +practice he had become an artist in the management of his voice. + +“You don't say!” exclaimed Mrs. Hooper, sitting up straight in her +excitement. “You ain't goin' to leave us, I hope?” + +“Why do you pretend, Belle, to misunderstand me? You know I said three +months ago that if you didn't care for me I should have to leave this +place. And yesterday I told you that you must make up your mind at once, +as I was daily expecting a call to Chicago. Now I have come for your +answer, and you treat me as if I were a stranger, and you knew nothing +of what I feel for you.” + +“Oh!” she sighed, languorously nestling back into the corner. “Is that +all? I thought for a moment the 'call' had come.” + +“No, it has not yet; but I am resolved to get an answer from you to-day, +or I shall go away, call or no call.” + +“What would Nettie Williams say if she heard you?” laughed Mrs. Hooper, +with mischievous delight in her eyes. + +“Now, Belle,” he said in tender remonstrance, leaning forward and taking +the small cool hand in his, “what is my answer to be? Do you love me? Or +am I to leave Kansas City, and try somewhere else to get again into the +spirit of my work? God forgive me, but I want you to tell me to stay. +Will you?” + +“Of course I will,” she returned, while slowly withdrawing her hand. +“There ain't any one wants you to go, and why should you?” + +“Why? Because my passion for you prevents me from doing my work. You +tease and torture me with doubt, and when I should be thinking of my +duties I am wondering whether or not you care for me. Do you love me? I +must have a plain answer.” + +“Love you?” she repeated pensively. “I hardly know, but--” + +“But what?” he asked impatiently. + +“But--I must just see after the pies; this 'help' of ours is Irish, an' +doesn't know enough to turn them in the oven. And Mr. Hooper don't like +burnt pies.” + +She spoke with coquettish gravity, and got up to go out of the room. But +when Mr. Letgood also rose, she stopped and smiled--waiting perhaps for +him to take his leave. As he did not speak she shook out her frock +and then pulled down her bodice at the waist and drew herself up, thus +throwing into relief the willowy outlines of her girlish form. The +provocative grace, unconscious or intentional, of the attitude was not +lost on her admirer. For an instant he stood irresolute, but when she +stepped forward to pass him, he seemed to lose his self-control, and, +putting his arms round her, tried to kiss her. With serpent speed and +litheness she bowed her head against his chest, and slipped out of the +embrace. On reaching the door she paused to say, over her shoulder: “If +you'll wait, I'll be back right soon;” then, as if a new thought had +occurred to her, she added turning to him: “The Deacon told me he was +coming home early to-day, and he'd be real sorry to miss you.” + +As she disappeared, he took up his hat, and left the house. + +It was about four o'clock on a day in mid-June. The sun was pouring down +rays of liquid flame; the road, covered inches deep in fine white dust, +and the wooden side-walks glowed with the heat, but up and down the +steep hills went the minister unconscious of physical discomfort. + +“Does she care for me, or not? Why can't she tell me plainly? The +teasing creature! Did she give me the hint to go because she was afraid +her husband would come in? Or did she want to get rid of me in order not +to answer?... She wasn't angry with me for putting my arms round her, +and yet she wouldn't let me kiss her. Why not? She doesn't love him. +She married him because she was poor, and he was rich and a deacon. She +can't love him. He must be fifty-five if he's a day. Perhaps she doesn't +love me either--the little flirt! But how seductive she is, and what a +body, so round and firm and supple--not thin at all. I have the feel of +it on my hands now--I can't stand this.” + +Shaking himself vigorously, he abandoned his meditation, which, like +many similar ones provoked by Mrs. Hooper, had begun in vexation and +ended in passionate desire. Becoming aware of the heat and dust, he +stood still, took off his hat, and wiped his forehead. + +The Rev. John Letgood was an ideal of manhood to many women. He was +largely built, but not ungainly--the coarseness of the hands being the +chief indication of his peasant ancestry. His head was rather round, and +strongly set on broad shoulders; the nose was straight and well formed; +the dark eyes, however, were somewhat small, and the lower part of the +face too massive, though both chin and jaw were clearly marked. A long, +thick, brown moustache partly concealed the mouth; the lower lip could +just be seen, a little heavy, and sensual; the upper one was certainly +flexile and suasive. A good-looking man of thirty, who must have been +handsome when he was twenty, though even then, probably, too much drawn +by the pleasures of the senses to have had that distinction of person +which seems to be reserved for those who give themselves to thought +or high emotions. On entering his comfortable house, he was met by his +negro “help,” who handed him his “mail”: + +“I done brot these, Massa; they's all.” + +“Thanks, Pete,” he replied abstractedly, going into his cool study. He +flung himself into an armchair before the writing-table, and began to +read the letters. Two were tossed aside carelessly, but on opening the +third he sat up with a quick exclamation. Here at last was the “call” + he had been expecting, a “call” from the deacons of the Second Baptist +Church in Chicago, asking him to come and minister to their spiritual +wants, and offering him ten thousand dollars a year for his services. + +For a moment exultation overcame every other feeling in the man. A light +flashed in his eyes as he exclaimed aloud: “It was that sermon did it! +What a good thing it was that I knew their senior deacon was in the +church on purpose to hear me! How well I brought in the apostrophe on +the cultivation of character that won me the prize at college! Ah, I +have never done anything finer than that, never! and perhaps never shall +now. I had been reading Channing then for months, was steeped in him; +but Channing has nothing as good as that in all his works. It has more +weight and dignity--dignity is the word--than anything he wrote. And +to think of its bringing me this! Ten thousand dollars a year and the +second church in Chicago, while here they think me well paid with five. +Chicago! I must accept it at once. Who knows, perhaps I shall get to New +York yet, and move as many thousands as here I move hundreds. No! not I. +I do not move them. I am weak and sinful. It is the Holy Spirit, and the +power of His grace. O Lord, I am thankful to Thee who hast been good to +me unworthy!” A pang of fear shot through him: “Perhaps He sends this to +win me away from Belle.” His fancy called her up before him as she had +lain on the sofa. Again he saw the bright malicious glances and the red +lips, the full white throat, and the slim roundness of her figure. He +bowed his head upon his hands and groaned. “O Lord, help me! I know not +what to do. Help me, O Lord!” + +As if prompted by a sudden inspiration, he started to his feet. “Now +she must answer! Now what will she say? Here is the call. Ten thousand +dollars a year! What will she say to that?” + +He spoke aloud in his excitement, all that was masculine in him glowing +with the sense of hard-won mastery over the tantalizing evasiveness of +the woman. + +On leaving his house he folded up the letter, thrust it into the +breast-pocket of his frock-coat, and strode rapidly up the hill towards +Mrs. Hooper's. At first he did not even think of her last words, but +when he had gone up and down the first hill and was beginning to climb +the second they suddenly came back to him. He did not want to meet her +husband--least of all now. He paused. What should he do? Should he wait +till to-morrow? No, that was out of the question; he couldn't wait. He +must know what answer to send to the call. If Deacon Hooper happened +to be at home he would talk to him about the door of the vestry, which +would not shut properly. If the Deacon was not there, he would see her +and force a confession from her.... + +While the shuttle of his thought flew thus to and fro, he did not at all +realize that he was taking for granted what he had refused to believe +half an hour before. He felt certain now that Deacon Hooper would not +be in, and that Mrs. Hooper had got rid of him on purpose to avoid his +importunate love-making. When he reached the house and rang the bell his +first question was: + +“Is the Deacon at home?” + +“No, sah.” + +“Is Mrs. Hooper in?” + +“Yes, sah.” + +“Please tell her I should like to see her for a moment. I will not keep +her long. Say it's very important.” + +“Yes, Massa, I bring her shuah,” said the negress with a good-natured +grin, opening the door of the drawing-room. + +In a minute or two Mrs. Hooper came into the room looking as cool and +fresh as if “pies” were baked in ice. + +“Good day, _again_, Mr. Letgood. Won't you take a chair?” + +He seemed to feel the implied reproach, for without noticing her +invitation to sit down he came to the point at once. Plunging his hand +into his pocket, he handed her the letter from Chicago. + +She took it with the quick interest of curiosity, but as she read, the +colour deepened in her cheeks, and before she had finished it she broke +out, _“Ten thousand dollars a year!_” + +As she gave the letter back she did not raise her eyes, but said +musingly: “That is a call indeed....” Staring straight before her she +added: “How strange it should come to-day! Of course you'll accept it.” + +A moment, and she darted the question at him: + +“Does she know? Have you told Miss Williams yet? But there, I suppose +you have!” After another pause, she went on: + +“What a shame to take you away just when we had all got to know and like +you! I suppose we shall have some old fogey now who will preach against +dancin' an' spellin'-bees an' surprise-parties. And, of course, he won't +like me, or come here an' call as often as you do--makin' the other +girls jealous. I shall hate the change!” And in her innocent excitement +she slowly lifted her brown eyes to his. + +“You know you're talking nonsense, Belle,” he replied, with grave +earnestness. “I've come for your answer. If you wish me to stay, if you +really care for me, I shall refuse this offer.” + +“You don't tell!” she exclaimed. “Refuse ten thousand dollars a year +and a church in Chicago to stay here in Kansas City! I know I shouldn't! +Why,” and she fixed her eyes on his as she spoke, “you must be real good +even to think of such a thing. But then, you won't refuse,” she added, +pouting. “No one would,” she concluded, with profound conviction. + +“Oh, yes,” answered the minister, moving to her and quietly putting both +hands on her waist, while his voice seemed to envelope and enfold her +with melodious tenderness. + +“Oh, yes, I shall refuse it, Belle, if _you_ wish me to; refuse it as +I should ten times as great a prize, as I think I should refuse--God +forgive me!--heaven itself, if you were not there to make it beautiful.” + +While speaking he drew her to him gently; her body yielded to his touch, +and her gaze, as if fascinated, was drawn into his. But when the flow +of words ceased, and he bent to kiss her, the spell seemed to lose its +power over her. In an instant she wound herself out of his arms, and +with startled eyes aslant whispered: + +“Hush! he's coming! Don't you hear his step?” As Mr. Letgood went again +towards her with a tenderly reproachful and incredulous “Now, Belle,” + she stamped impatiently on the floor while exclaiming in a low, but +angry voice, “Do take care! That's the Deacon's step.” + +At the same moment her companion heard it too. The sounds were distinct +on the wooden side-walk, and when they ceased at the little gate four or +five yards from the house he knew that she was right. He pulled himself +together, and with a man's untimely persistence spoke hurriedly: + +“I shall wait for your answer till Sunday morning next. Before then you +must have assured me of your love, or I shall go to Chicago--” + +Mrs. Hooper's only reply was a contemptuous, flashing look that +succeeded in reducing the importunate clergyman to silence--just in +time--for as the word “Chicago” passed his lips the handle of the door +turned, and Deacon Hooper entered the room. + +“Why, how do you do, Mr. Letgood?” said the Deacon cordially. “I'm glad +to see you, sir, as you are too, I'm sartin,” he added, turning to his +wife and putting his arms round her waist and his lips to her cheek in +an affectionate caress. “Take a seat, won't you? It's too hot to stand.” + As Mrs. Hooper sank down beside him on the sofa and their visitor drew +over a chair, he went on, taking up again the broken thread of his +thought. “No one thinks more of you than Isabelle. She said only last +Sunday there warn't such a preacher as you west of the Mississippi +River. How's that for high, eh?”--And then, still seeking back like a +dog on a lost scent, he added, looking from his wife to the clergyman, +as if recalled to a sense of the actualities of the situation by a +certain constraint in their manner, “But what's that I heard about +Chicago? There ain't nothin' fresh--Is there?” + +“Oh,” replied Mrs. Hooper, with a look of remonstrance thrown sideways +at her admirer, while with a woman's quick decision she at once cut the +knot, “I guess there is something fresh. Mr. Letgood, just think of it, +has had a 'call' from the Second Baptist Church in Chicago, and it's +ten thousand dollars a year. Now who's right about his preachin'? And he +ain't goin' to accept it. He's goin' to stay right here. At least,” she +added coyly, “he said he'd refuse it--didn't you?” + +The Deacon stared from one to the other as Mr. Letgood, with a forced +half-laugh which came from a dry throat, answered: “That would be going +perhaps a little too far. I said,” he went on, catching a coldness in +the glance of the brown eyes, “I wished to refuse it. But of course I +shall have to consider the matter thoroughly--and seek for guidance.” + +“Wall,” said the Deacon in amazement, “ef that don't beat everythin'. +I guess nobody would refuse an offer like that. _Ten thousand dollars +a year!_ Ten thousand. Why, that's twice what you're gettin' here. You +can't refuse that. I know you wouldn't ef you war' a son of mine--as +you might be. Ten thousand. No, sir. An' the Second Baptist Church in +Chicago is the first; it's the best, the richest, the largest. There +ain't no sort of comparison between it and the First. No, sir! There +ain't none. Why, James P. Willis, him as was here and heard you--that's +how it came about, that's how!--he's the senior Deacon of it, an' I +guess he can count dollars with any man this side of New York. Yes, sir, +with any man west of the Alleghany Mountains.” The breathless excitement +of the good Deacon changed gradually as he realized that his hearers +were not in sympathy with him, and his speech became almost solemn in +its impressiveness as he continued. “See here! This ain't a thing to +waste. Ten thousand dollars a year to start with, an' the best church +in Chicago, you can't expect to do better than that. Though you're young +still, when the chance comes, it should be gripped.” + +“Oh, pshaw!” broke in Mrs. Hooper irritably, twining her fingers and +tapping the carpet with her foot, “Mr. Letgood doesn't want to leave +Kansas City. Don't you understand? Perhaps he likes the folk here just +as well as any in Chicago.” No words could describe the glance which +accompanied this. It was appealing, and coquettish, and triumphant, and +the whole battery was directed full on Mr. Letgood, who had by this time +recovered his self-possession. + +“Of course,” he said, turning to the Deacon and overlooking Mrs. +Hooper's appeal, “I know all that, and I don't deny that the 'call' at +first seemed to draw me.” Here his voice dropped as if he were speaking +to himself: “It offers a wider and a higher sphere of work, but there's +work, too, to be done here, and I don't know that the extra salary +ought to tempt me. _Take neither scrip nor money in your purse_,” and he +smiled, “you know.” + +“Yes,” said the Deacon, his eyes narrowing as if amazement were giving +place to a new emotion; “yes, but that ain't meant quite literally, I +reckon. Still, it's fer you to judge. But ef you refuse ten thousand +dollars a year, why, there are mighty few who would, and that's all I've +got to say--mighty few,” he added emphatically, and stood up as if to +shake off the burden of a new and, therefore, unwelcome thought. + +When the minister also rose, the physical contrast between the two men +became significant. Mr. Letgood's heavy frame, due to self-indulgence +or to laziness, might have been taken as a characteristic product of the +rich, western prairies, while Deacon Hooper was of the pure Yankee type. +His figure was so lank and spare that, though not quite so tall as his +visitor, he appeared to be taller. His face was long and angular; the +round, clear, blue eyes, the finest feature of it, the narrowness of +the forehead the worst. The mouth-corners were drawn down, and the lips +hardened to a line by constant compression. No trace of sensuality. How +came this man, grey with age, to marry a girl whose appeal to the senses +was already so obvious? The eyes and prominent temples of the idealist +supplied the answer. Deacon Hooper was a New Englander, trained in the +bitterest competition for wealth, and yet the Yankee in him masked a +fund of simple, kindly optimism, which showed itself chiefly in his +devoted affection for his wife. He had not thought of his age when he +married, but of her and her poverty. And possibly he was justified. The +snow-garment of winter protects the tender spring wheat. + +“It's late,” Mr. Letgood began slowly, “I must be going home now. I +thought you might like to hear the news, as you are my senior Deacon. +Your advice seems excellent; I shall weigh the 'call' carefully; +but”--with a glance at Mrs. Hooper--“I am disposed to refuse it.” No +answering look came to him. He went on firmly and with emphasis, _“I +wish_ to refuse it.--Good day, Mrs. Hooper, _till next Sunday_. Good +day, Deacon.” + +“Good day, Mr. Letgood,” she spoke with a little air of precise +courtesy. + +“Good day, sir,” replied the Deacon, cordially shaking the proffered +hand, while he accompanied his pastor to the street door. + +The sun was sinking, and some of the glory of the sunset colouring +seemed to be reflected in Deacon Hooper's face, as he returned to the +drawing-room and said with profound conviction:-- + +“Isabelle, that man's jest about as good as they make them. He's what I +call a real Christian--one that thinks of duty first and himself last. +Ef that ain't a Christian, I'd like to know what is.” + +“Yes,” she rejoined meditatively, as she busied herself arranging the +chairs and tidying the sofa into its usual stiff primness; “I guess he's +a good man.” And her cheek flushed softly. + +“Wall,” he went on warmly, “I reckon we ought to do somethin' in this. +There ain't no question but he fills the church. Ef we raised the +pew-rents we could offer him an increase of salary to stay--I guess that +could be done.” + +“Oh! don't do anything,” exclaimed the wife, as if awaking to the +significance of this proposal, “anyway not until he has decided. It +would look--mean, don't you think? to offer him somethin' more to stay.” + +“I don't know but you're right, Isabelle; I don't know but you're +right,” repeated her husband thoughtfully. “It'll look better if he +decides before hearin' from us. There ain't no harm, though, in thinkin' +the thing over and speakin' to the other Deacons about it. I'll kinder +find out what they feel.” + +“Yes,” she replied mechanically, almost as if she had not heard. +“Yes, that's all right.” And she slowly straightened the cloth on the +centre-table, given over again to her reflections. + +Mr. Letgood walked home, ate his supper, went to bed and slept that +night as only a man does whose nervous system has been exhausted by +various and intense emotions. He even said his prayers by rote. And +like a child he slept with tightly-clenched fists, for in him, as in the +child, the body's claims were predominant. + +When he awoke next morning, the sun was shining in at his bedroom +window, and at once his thoughts went back to the scenes and emotions +of the day before. An unusual liveliness of memory enabled him to review +the very words which Mrs. Hooper had used. He found nothing to regret. +He had certainly gained ground by telling her of the call. The torpor +which had come upon him the previous evening formed a complete contrast +to the blithesome vigour he now enjoyed. He seemed to himself to be a +different man, recreated, as it were, and endowed with fresh springs of +life. While he lay in the delightful relaxation and warmth of the bed, +and looked at the stream of sunshine which flowed across the room, he +became confident that all would go right. + +“Yes,” he decided, “she cares for me, or she would never have wished me +to stay. Even the Deacon helped me--” The irony of the fact shocked him. +He would not think of it. He might get a letter from her by two o'clock. +With pleasure thrilling through every nerve, he imagined how she would +word her confession. For she had yielded to him; he had felt her body +move towards him and had seen the surrender in her eyes. While musing +thus, passion began to stir in him, and with passion impatience. + +“Only half-past six o'clock,” he said to himself, pushing his watch +again under the pillow; “eight hours to wait till mail time. Eight +endless hours. What a plague!” + +His own irritation annoyed him, and he willingly took up again the +thread of his amorous reverie: “What a radiant face she has, what fine +nervefulness in the slim fingers, what softness in the full throat!” + Certain incidents in his youth before he had studied for the ministry +came back to him, bringing the blood to his cheeks and making his +temples throb. As the recollections grew vivid they became a torment. To +regain quiet pulses he forced his mind to dwell upon the details of his +“conversion”--his sudden resolve to live a new life and to give himself +up to the service of the divine Master. The yoke was not easy; the +burden was not light. On the contrary. He remembered innumerable +contests with his rebellious flesh, contests in which he was never +completely victorious for more than a few days together, but in which, +especially during the first heat of the new enthusiasm, he had struggled +desperately. Had his efforts been fruitless?... + +He thought with pride of his student days--mornings given to books and +to dreams of the future, and evenings marked by passionate emotions, new +companions reinspiring him continually with fresh ardour. The time spent +at college was the best of his life. He had really striven, then, as few +strive, to deserve the prize of his high calling. During those years, it +seemed to him, he had been all that an earnest Christian should be. +He recalled, with satisfaction, the honours he had won in Biblical +knowledge and in history, and the more easily gained rewards for +rhetoric. It was only natural that he should have been immediately +successful as a preacher. How often he had moved his flock to tears! No +wonder he had got on. + +Those first successes, and the pleasures which they brought with them of +gratified vanity, had resulted in turning him from a Christian into an +orator. He understood this dimly, but he thrust back the unwelcome truth +with the reflection that his triumphs in the pulpit dated from the time +when he began consciously to treat preaching as an art. After all, was +he not there to win souls to Christ, and had not Christ himself praised +the wisdom of the serpent? Then came the change from obscurity and +narrow living in the country to Kansas City and luxury. He had been wise +in avoiding that girl at Pleasant Hill. He smiled complacently as he +thought of her dress, manners, and speech. Yet she was pretty, very +pretty, and she had loved him with the exclusiveness of womanhood, but +still he had done right. He congratulated himself upon his intuitive +knowledge that there were finer girls in the world to be won. He had not +fettered himself foolishly through pity or weakness. + +During his ten years of life as a student and minister he had been +chaste. He had not once fallen into flagrant sin. His fervour of +unquestioning faith had saved him at the outset, and, later, habit and +prudence. He lingered over his first meeting with Mrs. Hooper. He had +not thought much of her then, he remembered, although she had appeared +to him to be pretty and perfectly dressed. She had come before him as an +embodiment of delicacy and refinement, and her charm had increased, as +he began, in spite of himself, to notice her peculiar seductiveness. +Recollecting how insensibly the fascination which she exercised over +him had grown, and the sudden madness of desire that had forced him to +declare his passion, he moaned with vexation. If only she had not +been married. What a fatality! How helpless man was, tossed hither and +thither by the waves of trivial circumstance! + +She had certainly encouraged him; it was her alternate moods of yielding +and reserve which had awakened his senses. She had been flattered by his +admiration, and had sought to call it forth. But, in the beginning, at +least, he had struggled against the temptation. He had prayed for help +in the sore combat--how often and how earnestly!--but no help had come. +Heaven had been deaf to his entreaties. And he had soon realized that +struggling in this instance was of no avail. He loved her; he desired +her with every nerve of his body. + +There was hardly any use in trying to fight against such a craving as +that, he thought. But yet, in his heart of hearts, he was conscious that +his religious enthusiasm, the aspiration towards the ideal life and the +reverence for Christ's example, would bring about at least one supreme +conflict in which his passion might possibly be overcome. He dreaded the +crisis, the outcome of which he foresaw would be decisive for his whole +life. He wanted to let himself slide quietly down the slope; but all the +while he felt that something in him would never consent thus to endanger +his hopes of Heaven. + +And Hell! He hated the thought! He strove to put it away from him, but +it would not be denied. His early habits of self-analysis reasserted +themselves. What if his impatience of the idea were the result of +obdurate sinfulness--sinfulness which might never be forgiven? He +compelled himself, therefore, to think of Hell, tried to picture it to +himself, and the soft, self-indulgent nature of the man shuddered as he +realized the meaning of the word. At length the torture grew too acute. +He would not think any longer; he could not; he would strive to do the +right. “O Lord!” he exclaimed, as he slipped out of bed on to his knees, +“O Christ! help Thy servant! Pity me, and aid!” Yet, while the words +broke from his lips in terrified appeal, he knew that he did not wish to +be helped. He rose to his feet in sullen dissatisfaction. + +The happy alertness which he had enjoyed at his waking had disappeared; +the self-torment of the last few minutes had tired him; disturbed and +vexed in mind, he began to dress. While moving about in the sunlight +his thoughts gradually became more cheerful, and by the time he left his +room he had regained his good spirits. + +After a short stroll he went into his study and read the daily paper. +He then took up a book till dinner-time. He dined, and afterwards forgot +himself in a story of African travels. It was only the discomfort of the +intense heat which at length reminded him that, though it was now past +two o'clock, he had received no letter from Mrs. Hooper. But he was +resolved not to think about her, for thoughts of her, he knew, would +lead to fears concerning the future, which would in turn force him to +decide upon a course of action. If he determined to commit the sin, his +guilt would thereby be increased, and he would not pledge himself to +refrain from it. “She couldn't write last night with the Deacon at her +elbow all the time,” he decided, and began to read again. Darkness had +fallen before he remembered that he owed an immediate answer to the +letter from Chicago. After a little consideration, he sat down and wrote +as follows: + +“DEAR BROTHERS IN CHRIST, + +“Your letter has just reached me. Needless to say it has touched me +deeply. You call me to a wider ministry and more arduous duties. The +very munificence of the remuneration which you offer leads me to doubt +my own fitness for so high a post. You must bear with me a little, and +grant me a few days for reflection. The 'call,' as you know, must +be answered from within, from the depths of my soul, before I can be +certain that it comes from Above, and this Divine assurance has not yet +been vouchsafed to me. + +“I was born and brought up here in Missouri, where I am now labouring, +not without--to Jesus be the praise!--some small measure of success. +I have many ties here, and many dear friends and fellow-workers in +Christ's vineyard from whom I could not part without great pain. But I +will prayerfully consider your request. I shall seek for guidance where +alone it is to be found, at the foot of the Great White Throne, and +within a week or so at most I hope to be able to answer you with the +full and joyous certitude of the Divine blessing. + +“In the meantime, believe that I thank you deeply, dear Brethren, for +your goodness to me, and that I shall pray in Jesus' Name that the +blessing of the Holy Ghost may be with you abundantly now and for +evermore. + +“Your loving Servant in Christ, + +“JOHN P. LETGOOD.” + +He liked this letter so much that he read it over a great many times. +It committed him to nothing; it was dignified and yet sufficiently +grateful, and the large-hearted piety which appeared to inform it +pleased him even more than the alliteration of the words “born and +brought up.” He had at first written “born and reared;” but in spite +of the fear lest “brought up” should strike the simple Deacons of the +Second Baptist Church in Chicago as unfamiliar and far-fetched, he could +not resist the assonance. After directing the letter he went upstairs to +bed, and his prayers that night were more earnest than they had been of +late--perhaps because he avoided the dangerous topic. The exercise of +his talent as a letter-writer having put him on good terms with himself, +he slept soundly. + +When he awoke in the morning his mood had changed. The day was cloudy; +a thunderstorm was brewing, and had somehow affected his temper. As soon +as he opened his eyes he was aware of the fact that Mrs. Hooper had not +written to him, even on Tuesday morning, when she must have been +free, for the Deacon always went early to his dry-goods store. The +consciousness of this neglect irritated him beyond measure. He tried, +therefore, to think of Chicago and the persons who frequented the Second +Baptist Church. Perhaps, he argued, they were as much ahead of the +people in Kansas City as Mrs. Hooper was superior to any woman he had +previously known. But on this way of thought he could not go far. The +houses in Chicago were no doubt much finer, the furniture more elegant; +the living, too, was perhaps better, though he could not imagine how +that could be; there might even be cleverer and handsomer women there +than Mrs. Hooper; but certainly no one lived in Chicago or anywhere else +in the world who could tempt and bewitch him as she did. She was formed +to his taste, made to his desire. As he recalled her, now laughing +at him; now admiring him; to-day teasing him with coldness, to-morrow +encouraging him, he realized with exasperation that her contradictions +constituted her charm. He acknowledged reluctantly that her odd turns of +speech tickled his intellect just as her lithe grace of movement excited +his senses. But the number and strength of the ties that bound him to +her made his anger keener. Where could she hope to find such love as +his? She ought to write to him. Why didn't she? How could he come to +a decision before he knew whether she loved him or not? In any case he +would show her that he was a man. He would not try to see her until she +had written--not under any circumstances. + +After dinner and mail time his thoughts ran in another channel. In +reality she was not anything so wonderful. Most men, he knew, did +not think her more than pretty; “pretty Mrs. Hooper” was what she was +usually called--nothing more. No one ever dreamed of saying she was +beautiful or fascinating. No; she was pretty, and that was all. He was +the only person in Kansas City or perhaps in the world to whom she was +altogether and perfectly desirable. She had no reason to be so conceited +or to presume on her power over him. If she were the wonder she thought +herself she would surely have married some one better than old Hooper, +with his lank figure, grey hairs, and Yankee twang. He took a pleasure +in thus depreciating the woman he loved--it gave his anger vent, and +seemed to make her acquisition more probable. When the uselessness of +the procedure became manifest to him, he found that his doubts of her +affection had crystallized. + +This was the dilemma; she had not written either out of coquetry or +because she did not really care for him. If the former were the true +reason, she was cruel; if the latter, she ought to tell him so at once, +and he would try to master himself. On no hypothesis was she justified +in leaving him without a word. Tortured alternately by fear, hope, and +anger, he paced up and down his study all the day long. Now, he said to +himself, he would go and see her, and forthwith he grew calm--that was +what his nature desired. But the man in him refused to be so servile. +He had told her that she must write; to that he would hold, whatever it +cost him. Again, he broke out in bitter blame of her. + +At length he made up his mind to strive to forget her. But what if she +really cared for him, loved him as he loved her? In that case if he went +away she would be miserable, as wretched as he would be. How unkind it +was of her to leave him without a decided answer, when he could not help +thinking of her happiness! No; she did not love him. He had read enough +about women and seen enough of them to imagine that they never torture +the man they really love. He would give her up and throw himself again +into his work. He could surely do that. Then he remembered that she +was married, and must, of course, see that she would risk her +position--everything--by declaring her love. Perhaps prudence kept her +silent. Once more he was plunged in doubt. + +He was glad when supper was ready, for that brought, at least for half +an hour, freedom from thought. After the meal was finished he realized +that he was weary of it all--heart-sick of the suspense. The storm +broke, and the flashing of the lightning and the falling sheets of rain +brought him relief. The air became lighter and purer. He went to bed and +slept heavily. + +On the Thursday morning he awoke refreshed, and at once determined +not to think about Mrs. Hooper. It only needed resolution, he said to +himself, in order to forget her entirely. Her indifference, shown in not +writing to him, should be answered in that way. He took up his pocket +Bible, and opened it at the Gospels. The beautiful story soon exercised +its charm upon his impressionable nature, and after a couple of hours' +reading he closed the book comforted, and restored to his better self. +He fell on his knees and thanked God for this crowning mercy. From his +heart went forth a hymn of praise for the first time in long weeks. The +words of the Man of Sorrows had lifted him above the slough. The marvel +of it! How could he ever thank Him enough? His whole life should now be +devoted to setting forth the wonders of His grace. When he arose he felt +at peace with himself and full of goodwill to every one. He could even +think of Mrs. Hooper calmly--with pity and grave kindliness. + +After his midday dinner and a brisk walk--he paid no attention to the +mail time--he prepared to write the sermon which he intended to preach +as his farewell to his congregation on the following Sunday. He was +determined now to leave Kansas City and go to Chicago. But as soon as he +began to consider what he should say, he became aware of a difficulty. +He could talk and write of accepting the “call” because it gave him “a +wider ministry,” and so forth, but the ugly fact would obtrude itself +that he was relinquishing five thousand dollars a year to accept ten, +and he was painfully conscious that this knowledge would be uppermost in +the minds of his hearers. Most men in his position would have easily +put the objection out of their minds. But he could not put it aside +carelessly, and it was characteristic of him to exaggerate its +importance. He dearly loved to play what the French call _le beau +rôle_, even at the cost of his self-interest. Of a sensitive, artistic +temperament, he had for years nourished his intellect with good books. +He had always striven, too, to set before his hearers high ideals of +life and conduct. His nature was now subdued to the stuff he had worked +in. As an artist, an orator, it was all but impossible for him to +justify what must seem like sordid selfishness. He moved about in his +chair uneasily, and strove to look at the subject from a new point of +view. In vain; ten thousand dollars a year instead of five--that was to +be his theme. + +The first solution of the problem which suggested itself to him was to +express his very real disdain of such base material considerations, but +no sooner did the thought occur to him than he was fain to reject it. +He knew well that his hearers in Kansas City would refuse to accept that +explanation even as “high-falutin' bunkum!” He then tried to select +a text in order to ease for a time the strain upon his reflective +faculties. “Feed my sheep” was his first choice--“the largest flock +possible, of course.” But no, that was merely the old cant in new words. + +He came reluctantly to the conclusion that there was no noble way out of +the difficulty. He felt this the more painfully because, before sitting +down to think of his sermon, he had immersed himself, to use his own +words, in the fountain-head of self-sacrificing enthusiasm. And now he +could not show his flock that there was any trace of self-denial in his +conduct. It was apparent that his acceptance of the call made a great +sermon an utter impossibility. He must say as little about the main +point as possible, glide quickly, in fact, over the thin ice. But his +disappointment was none the less keen; there was no splendid peroration +to write; there would be no eyes gazing up at him through a mist +of tears. His sensations were those of an actor with an altogether +uncongenial and stupid part. + +After some futile efforts he abandoned the attempt to sketch out a +sermon. Some words would come to him at the time, and they would have +to do. In the evening a new idea presented itself to his over-excited +brain. Might not his dislike of that sermon be a snare set by the Devil +to induce him to reject the call and stay in Kansas City? No. A fine +sermon would do good--the Evil One could not desire that--perhaps even +more good than his sin would do harm? Puzzled and incapable of the +effort required to solve this fresh problem he went to bed, after +praying humbly for guidance and enlightenment. + +On the Friday morning he rose from his knees with a burden of sorrow. +No kindly light had illumined the darkness of his doubtings. Yet he +was conscious of a perfect sincerity in his desires and in his prayers. +Suddenly he remembered that, when in a pure frame of mind, he had only +considered the acceptance of the call. But in order to be guided aright, +he must abandon himself entirely to God's directing. In all honesty of +purpose, he began to think of the sermon he could deliver if he resolved +to reject the call. Ah! that sermon needed but little meditation. With +such a decision to announce, he felt that he could carry his hearers +with him to heights of which they knew nothing. Their very vulgarity +and sordidness of nature would help instead of hindering him. No one in +Kansas City would doubt for a moment the sincerity of the self-sacrifice +involved in rejecting ten thousand dollars a year for five. That sermon +could be preached with effect from any text. “Feed my sheep” even would +do. He thrilled in anticipation, as a great actor thrills when reading a +part which will allow him to discover all his powers, and in which he +is certain to “bring down the house.” Completely carried away by his +emotions, he began to turn the sermon over in his head. First of all he +sought for a text; not this one, nor that one, but a few words breathing +the very spirit of Christ's self-abnegation. He soon found what he +wanted: “For whosoever will save his life, shall lose it; and whosoever +will lose his life for My sake, shall find it.” The unearthly beauty of +the thought and the divine simplicity of its expression took the orator +captive. As he imagined that Godlike Figure in Galilee, and seemed to +hear the words drop like pearls from His lips, so he saw himself in the +pulpit, and had a foretaste of the effect of his own eloquence. Ravished +by the vision, he proceeded to write and rewrite the peroration. Every +other part he could trust to his own powers, and to the inspiration +of the theme, but the peroration he meant to make finer even than his +apostrophe on the cultivation of character, which hitherto had been the +high-water mark of his achievement. + +At length he finished his task, but not before sunset, and he felt weary +and hungry. He ate and rested. In the complete relaxation of mental +strain, he understood all at once what he had done. He had decided to +remain in Kansas City. But to remain meant to meet Mrs. Hooper day after +day, to be thrown together with her even by her foolishly confiding +husband; it meant perpetual temptation, and at last--a fall! And yet +God had guided him to choose that sermon rather than the other. He had +abandoned himself passively to His guidance--could _that_ lead to the +brink of the pit?... He cried out suddenly like one in bodily anguish. +He had found the explanation. God cared for no half-victories. Flight to +Chicago must seem to Him the veriest cowardice. God intended him to stay +in Kansas City and conquer the awful temptation face to face. When he +realized this, he fell on his knees and prayed as he had never prayed +in all his life before. If entreated humbly, God would surely temper the +wind to the shorn lamb; He knew His servant's weakness. “_Lead us not +into temptation_,” he cried again and again, for the first time in his +life comprehending what now seemed to him the awful significance of the +words. “_Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil_”--thus +he begged and wept. But even when, exhausted in body and in mind, +he rose from his knees, he had found no comfort. Like a child, with +streaming eyes and quivering features, he stumbled upstairs to bed and +fell asleep, repeating over and over again mechanically the prayer that +the cup might pass from him. + +On the Saturday morning he awoke as from a hideous nightmare. Before +there was time for thought he was aware of what oppressed and frightened +him. The knowledge of his terrible position weighed him down. He was +worn out and feverishly ill; incapable of reflection or resolution, +conscious chiefly of pain and weariness, and a deep dumb revolt against +his impending condemnation. After lying thus for some time, drinking +the cup of bitterness to the very dregs, he got up, and went downstairs. +Yielding to habit he opened the Bible. But the Book had no message for +him. His tired brain refused, for minutes together, to take in the +sense of the printed words. The servant found him utterly miserable and +helpless when she went to tell him that “the dinner was a-gittin' cold.” + +The food seemed to restore him, and during the first two hours of +digestion he was comparatively peaceful in being able to live without +thinking; but when the body had recovered its vigour, the mind grew +active, and the self-torture recommenced. For some hours--he never knew +how many--he suffered in this way; then a strange calm fell upon him. +Was it the Divine help which had come at last, or despair, or the +fatigue of an overwrought spirit? He knelt down and prayed once more, +but this time his prayer consisted simply in placing before his Heavenly +Father the exact state of the case. He was powerless; God should do +with him according to His purpose, only he felt unable to resist if +the temptation came up against him. Jesus, of course, could remove the +temptation or strengthen him if He so willed. His servant was in His +hands. + +After continuing in this strain for some time he got up slowly, calm but +hopeless. There was no way of escape for him. He took up the Bible and +attempted again to read it; but of a sudden he put it down, and throwing +his outspread arms on the table and bowing his head upon them he cried: + +“My God, forgive me! I cannot hear Thy voice, nor feel Thy presence. I +can only see her face and feel her body.” + +And then hardened as by the consciousness of unforgivable blaspheming, +he rose with set face, lit his candle, and went to bed. + + * * * * * + +The week had passed much as usual with Mrs. Hooper and her husband. On +the Tuesday he had seen most of his brother Deacons and found that they +thought as he did. All were agreed that something should be done to +testify to their gratitude, if indeed their pastor refused the “call.” + In the evening, after supper, Mr. Hooper narrated to his wife all that +he had done and all that the others had said. When he asked for her +opinion she approved of his efforts. A little while later she turned +to him: “I wonder why Mr. Letgood doesn't marry?” As she spoke she laid +down her work. With a tender smile the Deacon drew her on to his knees +in the armchair, and pushing up his spectacles (he had been reading a +dissertation on the meaning of the Greek verb [Greek: baptizo]) said +with infinite, playful tenderness in his voice: + +“'Tain't every one can find a wife like you, my dear.” He was rewarded +for the flattering phrase with a little slap on the cheek. He continued +thoughtfully: “'Taint every one either that wants to take care of a +wife. Some folks hain't got much affection in 'em, I guess; perhaps Mr. +Letgood hain't.” To the which Mrs. Hooper answered not in words, but her +lips curved into what might be called a smile, a contented smile as from +the heights of superior knowledge. + + * * * * * + +Mr. Letgood's state of mind on the Sunday morning was too complex for +complete analysis: he did not attempt the task. He preferred to believe +that he had told God the whole truth without any attempt at reservation. +He had thereby placed himself in His hands, and was no longer chiefly +responsible. He would not even think of what he was about to do, further +than that he intended to refuse the call and to preach the sermon the +peroration of which he had so carefully prepared. After dressing he sat +down in his study and committed this passage to memory. He pictured +to himself with pleasure the effect it would surely produce upon his +hearers. When Pete came to tell him the buggy was ready to take him to +church, he got up almost cheerfully, and went out. + +The weather was delightful, as it is in June in that part of the Western +States. From midday until about four o'clock the temperature is that of +midsummer, but the air is exceedingly dry and light, and one breathes it +in the morning with a sense of exhilaration. While driving to church Mr. +Letgood's spirits rose. He chatted with his servant Pete, and even took +the reins once for a few hundred yards. But when they neared the church +his gaiety forsook him. He stopped talking, and appeared to be a little +preoccupied. From time to time he courteously greeted one of his flock +on the side-walk: but that was all. As he reached the church, the +Partons drove up, and of course he had to speak to them. After the usual +conventional remarks and shaking of hands, the minister turned up the +sidewalk which led to the vestry. He had not taken more than four or +five steps in this direction before he paused and looked up the street. +He shrugged his shoulders, however, immediately at his own folly, and +walked on: “Of course she couldn't send a messenger with a note. On +Sundays the Deacon was with her.” + +As he opened the vestry door, and stepped into the little room, +he stopped short. Mrs. Hooper was there, coming towards him with +outstretched hand and radiant smile: + +“Good mornin', Mr. Letgood, all the Deacons are here to meet you, and +they let me come; because I was the first you told the news to, and +because I'm sure you're not goin' to leave us. Besides, I wanted to +come.” + +He could not help looking at her for a second as he took her hand and +bowed: + +“Thank you, Mrs. Hooper.” Not trusting himself further, he began to +shake hands with the assembled elders. In answer to one who expressed +the hope that they would keep him, he said slowly and gravely: + +“I always trust something to the inspiration of the moment, but I +confess I am greatly moved to refuse this call.” + +“That's what I said,” broke in Mr. Hooper triumphantly, “and I said, +too, there were mighty few like you, and I meant it. But we don't want +you to act against yourself, though we'd be mighty glad to hev you +stay.” + +A chorus of “Yes, sir! Yes, indeed! That's so” went round the room in +warm approval, and then, as the minister did not answer save with an +abstracted, wintry smile, the Deacons began to file into the church. +Curiously enough Mrs. Hooper having moved away from the door during this +scene was now, necessarily it seemed, the last to leave the room. While +she was passing him, Mr. Letgood bent towards her and in an eager tone +whispered: + +“And my answer?” + +Mrs. Hooper paused, as if surprised. + +“Oh! ain't you men stupid,” she murmured and with a smile tossed the +question over her shoulder: “What _did_ I come here for?” + +That sermon of Mr. Letgood's is still remembered in Kansas City. It is +not too much to say that the majority of his hearers believed him to be +inspired. And, in truth, as an artistic performance his discourse was +admirable. After standing for some moments with his hand upon the desk, +apparently lost in thought, he began in the quietest tone to read the +letter from the Deacons of the Second Baptist Church in Chicago. He then +read his reply, begging them to give him time to consider their request. +He had considered it--prayerfully. He would read the passage of Holy +Scripture which had suggested the answer he was about to send to +the call. He paused again. The rustling of frocks and the occasional +coughings ceased--the audience straining to catch the decision--while +in a higher key he recited the verse, “For whosoever will save his life, +shall lose it; and whosoever will lose his life for My sake, shall find +it.” + +As the violinist knows when his instrument is perfectly attuned, so Mr. +Letgood knew when he repeated the text that his hearers had surrendered +themselves to him to be played upon. It would be useless here to +reproduce the sermon, which lasted for nearly an hour, and altogether +impossible to give any account of the preacher's gestures or dramatic +pauses, or of the modulations and inflections of his voice, which now +seemed to be freighted with passionate earnestness, now quivered in +pathetic appeal, and now grew musical in the dying fall of some poetic +phrase. The effect was astonishing. While he was speaking simply of the +text as embodying the very spirit of the Glad Tidings which Christ first +delivered to the world, not a few women were quietly weeping. It was +impossible, they felt, to listen unmoved to that voice. + +But when he went on to show the necessity of renunciation as the first +step towards the perfecting of character, even the hard, keen faces of +the men before him began to relax and change expression. He dwelt, in +turn, upon the startling novelty of Christ's teaching and its singular +success. He spoke of the shortness of human life, the vanity of human +effort, and the ultimate reward of those who sacrifice themselves for +others, as Jesus did, and out of the same divine spirit of love. He +thus came to the peroration. He began it in the manner of serious +conversation. + +All over the United States the besetting sin of the people was the +desire of wealth. He traced the effects of the ignoble struggle for +gain in the degradation of character, in the debased tone of public and +private life. The main current of existence being defiled, his duty +was clear. Even more than other men he was pledged to resist the evil +tendency of the time. In some ways, no doubt, he was as frail and faulty +as the weakest of his hearers, but to fail in this respect would be, he +thought, to prove himself unworthy of his position. That a servant of +Christ in the nineteenth century should seek wealth, or allow it in +any way to influence his conduct, appeared to him to be much the same +unpardonable sin as cowardice in a soldier or dishonesty in a man of +business. He could do but little to show what the words of his text +meant to him, but one thing he could do and would do joyously. He would +write to the good Deacons in Chicago to tell them that he intended to +stay in Kansas City, and to labour on among the people whom he knew and +loved, and some of whom, he believed, knew and loved him. He would +not be tempted by the greater position offered to him or by the larger +salary. _“For whosoever will save his life shall lose it; and whosoever +will lose his life for My sake, shall find it.”_ + +As his voice broke over the last words, there was scarcely a dry eye in +the church. Many of the women were sobbing audibly, and Mrs. Hooper had +long ago given up the attempt “to pull her tears down the back way.” She +expressed the general sentiment of her sex when she said afterwards, +“It was just too lovely for anythin'.” And the men were scarcely less +affected, though they were better able to control their emotion. The +joyous renunciation of five thousand dollars a year struck these hard +men of business as something almost uncanny. They would have considered +it the acme of folly in an ordinary man, but in a preacher they felt +vaguely that it was admirable. + +When Deacon Hooper met his brother Deacons before the platform where the +collection-plates were kept, he whispered, “The meetin' is at my house +at three o'clock. Be on time.” His tone was decided, as were also the +nods which accepted the invitation. + +After the service Mr. Letgood withdrew quietly without going, as usual, +amongst his congregation. This pleased even Mrs. Parton, whose husband +was a judge of the Supreme Court. She said: “It was elegant of him.” + + * * * * * + +Mr. Hooper received the twelve Deacons in his drawing-room, and when the +latest comer was seated, began: + +“There ain't no need for me to tell you, brethren, why I asked you all +to come round here this afternoon. After that sermon this mornin' I +guess we're all sot upon showin' our minister that we appreciate him. +There are mighty few men with five thousand dollars a year who'd give +up ten thousand. It seems to me a pretty good proof that a man's a +Christian ef he'll do that. 'Tain't being merely a Christian: it's +Christ-like. We must keep Mr. Letgood right here: he's the sort o' man +we want. If they come from Chicago after him now, they'll be comin' from +New York next, an' he oughtn't to be exposed to sich great temptation. + +“I allow that we'll be able to raise the pew-rents from the first of +January next, to bring in another two thousand five hundred dollars a +year, and I propose that we Deacons should jest put our hands deep down +in our pockets and give Mr. Letgood that much anyway for this year, and +promise the same for the future. I'm willin', as senior Deacon, though +not the richest, to start the list with three hundred dollars.” + +In five minutes the money was subscribed, and it was agreed that each +man should pay in his contribution to the name of Mr. Hooper at the +First National Bank next day; Mr. Hooper could then draw his cheque for +the sum. + +“Wall,” said the Deacon, again getting up, “that's settled, but I've +drawn that cheque already. Mrs. Hooper and me talked the thing over,” + he added half apologetically, and as if to explain his unbusinesslike +rashness; “an' she thinks we oughter go right now to Mr. Letgood as a +sort of surprise party an' tell him what we hev decided--that is, ef +you're all agreed.” + +They were, although one or two objected to a “surprise party” being held +on Sunday. But Deacon Hooper overruled the objection by saying that +he could find no better _word_, though of course 'twas really not a +“surprise party.” After this explanation, some one proposed that Deacon +Hooper should make the presentation, and that Mrs. Hooper should be +asked to accompany them. When Mr. Hooper went into the dining-room to +find his wife she was already dressed to go out, and when he expressed +surprise and delivered himself of his mission, she said simply: + +“Why, I only dressed to go and see Mrs. Jones, who's ill, but I guess +I'll go along with you first.” + + * * * * * + +The same afternoon Mr. Letgood was seated in his study considering a +sermon for the evening--it would have to be very different from that of +the morning, he felt, or else it would fall flat. + +He still avoided thinking of his position. The die was cast now, and +having struggled hard against the temptation he tried to believe that he +was not chiefly responsible. In the back of his mind was the knowledge +that his responsibility would become clear to him some time or other, +but he confined it in the furthest chamber of his brain with repentance +as the guardian. + +He had just decided that his evening address must be doctrinal and +argumentative, when he became aware of steps in the drawing-room. +Opening the door he found himself face to face with his Deacons. Before +he could speak, Deacon Hooper began: + +“Mr. Letgood! We, the Deacons of your church, hev come to see you. We +want to tell you how we appreciate your decision this mornin'. It was +Christ-like! And we're all proud of you, an' glad you're goin' to stay +with us. But we allow that it ain't fair or to be expected that you +should refuse ten thousand dollars a year with only five. So we've +made a purse for this year among ourselves of two thousand five hundred +dollars extry, which we hope you'll accept. Next year the pew-rents can +be raised to bring in the same sum; anyway, it shall be made up. + +“There ain't no use in talkin'; but you, sir, hev jest sot us an example +of how one who loves the Lord Jesus, and Him only, should act, and we +ain't goin' to remain far behind. No, sir, we ain't. Thar's the cheque.” + +As he finished speaking, tears stood in the kind, honest, blue eyes. + +Mr. Letgood took the cheque mechanically, and mechanically accepted at +the same time the Deacon's outstretched hand; but his eyes sought Mrs. +Hooper's, who stood behind the knot of men with her handkerchief to her +face. In a moment or two, recalled to himself by the fact that one after +the other all the Deacons wanted to shake his hand, he tried to sustain +his part in the ceremony. He said: + +“My dear brothers, I thank you each and all, and accept your gift, in +the spirit in which you offer it. I need not say that I knew nothing of +your intention when I preached this morning. It is not the money that +I'm thinking of now, but your kindness. I thank you again.” + +After a few minutes' casual conversation, consisting chiefly of praise +of the “wonderful discourse” of the morning, Mr. Letgood proposed +that they should all have iced coffee with him; there was nothing so +refreshing; he wanted them to try it; and though he was a bachelor, if +Mrs. Hooper would kindly give her assistance and help him with his +cook, he was sure they would enjoy a glass. With a smile she consented. +Stepping into the passage after her and closing the door, he said +hurriedly, with anger and suspicion in his voice: + +“You didn't get this up as my answer? You didn't think I'd take money +instead, did you?” + +Demurely, Mrs. Hooper turned her head round as he spoke, and leaning +against him while he put his arms round her waist, answered with arch +reproach: + +“You are just too silly for anythin'.” + +Then, with something like the movement of a cat loath to lose the +contact of the caressing hand, she turned completely towards him and +slowly lifted her eyes. Their lips met. + +21 APRIL, 1891. + + * * * * * + + + + +EATIN' CROW + +The evening on which Charley Muirhead made his first appearance at +Doolan's was a memorable one; the camp was in wonderful spirits. Whitman +was said to have struck it rich. Garotte, therefore, might yet become +popular in the larger world, and its evil reputation be removed. +Besides, what Whitman had done any one might do, for by common consent +he was a “derned fool.” Good-humour accordingly reigned at Doolan's, +and the saloon was filled with an excited, hopeful crowd. Bill Bent, +however, was anything but pleased; he generally was in a bad temper, and +this evening, as Crocker remarked carelessly, he was “more ornery than +ever.” The rest seemed to pay no attention to the lanky, dark man with +the narrow head, round, black eyes, and rasping voice. But Bent would +croak: “Whitman's struck nothin'; thar ain't no gold in Garotte; it's +all work and no dust.” In this strain he went on, offending local +sentiment and making every one uncomfortable. + +Muirhead's first appearance created a certain sensation. He was a fine +upstanding fellow of six feet or over, well made, and good-looking. +But Garotte had too much experience of life to be won by a stranger's +handsome looks. Muirhead's fair moustache and large blue eyes counted +for little there. Crocker and others, masters in the art of judging +men, noticed that his eyes were unsteady, and his manner, though genial, +seemed hasty. Reggitt summed up their opinion in the phrase, “looks as +if he'd bite off more'n he could chaw.” Unconscious of the criticism, +Muirhead talked, offered drinks, and made himself agreeable. + +At length in answer to Bent's continued grumbling, Muirhead said +pleasantly: “'Tain't so bad as that in Garotte, is it? This bar don't +look like poverty, and if I set up drinks for the crowd, it's because +I'm glad to be in this camp.” + +“P'r'aps you found the last place you was in jes' a leetle too warm, +eh?” was Bent's retort. + +Muirhead's face flushed, and for a second he stood as if he had been +struck. Then, while the crowd moved aside, he sprang towards Bent, +exclaiming, “Take that back--right off! Take it back!” + +“What?” asked Bent coolly, as if surprised; at the same time, however, +retreating a pace or two, he slipped his right hand behind him. + +Instantly Muirhead threw himself upon him, rushed him with what seemed +demoniac strength to the open door and flung him away out on his back +into the muddy ditch that served as a street. For a moment there was a +hush of expectation, then Bent was seen to gather himself up painfully +and move out of the square of light into the darkness. But Muirhead did +not wait for this; hastily, with hot face and hands still working with +excitement, he returned to the bar with: + +“That's how I act. No one can jump me. No one, by God!” and he glared +round the room defiantly. Reggitt, Harrison, and some of the others +looked at him as if on the point of retorting, but the cheerfulness +was general, and Bent's grumbling before a stranger had irritated them +almost as much as his unexpected cowardice. Muirhead's challenge was not +taken up, therefore, though Harrison did remark, half sarcastically: + +“That may be so. You jump them, I guess.” + +“Well, boys, let's have the drink,” Charley Muirhead went on, his manner +suddenly changing to that of friendly greeting, just as if he had not +heard Harrison's words. + +The men moved up to the bar and drank, and before the liquor was +consumed, Charley's geniality, acting on the universal good-humour, +seemed to have done away with the discontent which his violence and +Bent's cowardice had created. This was the greater tribute to his +personal charm, as the refugees of Garotte usually hung together, and +were inclined to resent promptly any insult offered to one of their +number by a stranger. But in the present case harmony seemed to be +completely reestablished, and it would have taken a keener observer than +Muirhead to have understood his own position and the general opinion. +It was felt that the stranger had bluffed for all he was worth, and that +Garotte had come out “at the little end of the horn.” + +A day or two later Charley Muirhead, walking about the camp, came +upon Dave Crocker's claim, and offered to buy half of it and work as a +partner, but the other would not sell; “the claim was worth nothin'; not +good enough for two, anyhow;” and there the matter would have ended, had +not the young man proposed to work for a spell just to keep his hand +in. By noon Crocker was won; nobody could resist Charley's hard work +and laughing high spirits. Shortly afterwards the older man proposed +to knock off; a day's work, he reckoned, had been done, and evidently +considering it impossible to accept a stranger's labour without +acknowledgment, he pressed Charley to come up to his shanty and eat. +The simple meal was soon despatched, and Crocker, feeling the obvious +deficiencies of his larder, produced a bottle of Bourbon, and the two +began to drink. Glass succeeded glass, and at length Crocker's reserve +seemed to thaw; his manner became almost easy, and he spoke half +frankly. + +“I guess you're strong,” he remarked. “You threw Bent out of the saloon +the other night like as if he was nothin'; strength's good, but 'tain't +everythin'. I mean,” he added, in answer to the other's questioning +look, “Samson wouldn't have a show with a man quick on the draw who +meant bizness. Bent didn't pan out worth a cent, and the boys didn't +like him, but--them things don't happen often.” So in his own way he +tried to warn the man to whom he had taken a liking. + +Charley felt that a warning was intended, for he replied decisively: “It +don't matter. I guess he wanted to jump me, and I won't be jumped, not +if Samson wanted to, and all the revolvers in Garotte were on me.” + +“Wall,” Crocker went on quietly, but with a certain curiosity in his +eyes, “that's all right, but I reckon you were mistaken. Bent didn't +want to rush ye; 'twas only his cussed way, and he'd had mighty bad +luck. You might hev waited to see if he meant anythin', mightn't ye?” + And he looked his listener in the face as he spoke. + +“That's it,” Charley replied, after a long pause, “that's just it. I +couldn't wait, d'ye see!” and then continued hurriedly, as if driven +to relieve himself by a full confession: “Maybe you don't _sabe_. It's +plain enough, though I'd have to begin far back to make you understand. +But I don't mind if you want to hear. I was raised in the East, in Rhode +Island, and I guess I was liked by everybody. I never had trouble with +any one, and I was a sort of favourite.... I fell in love with a girl, +and as I hadn't much money, I came West to make some, as quick as I knew +how. The first place I struck was Laramie--you don't know it? 'Twas a +hard place; cowboys, liquor saloons, cursin' and swearin', poker and +shootin' nearly every night. At the beginning I seemed to get along +all right, and I liked the boys, and thought they liked me. One night a +little Irishman was rough on me; first of all I didn't notice, thought +he meant nothin', and then, all at once, I saw he meant it--and more. + +“Well, I got a kind of scare--I don't know why--and I took what he said +and did nothin'. Next day the boys sort of held off from me, didn't +talk; thought me no account, I guess, and that little Irishman just rode +me round the place with spurs on. I never kicked once. I thought I'd get +the money--I had done well with the stock I had bought--and go back +East and marry, and no one would be any the wiser. But the Irishman kept +right on, and first one and then another of the boys went for me, and +I took it all. I just,” and here his voice rose, and his manner became +feverishly excited, “I just ate crow right along for months--and tried +to look as if 'twas quail. + +“One day I got a letter from home. She wanted me to hurry up and come +back. She thought a lot of me, I could see; more than ever, because I +had got along--I had written and told her my best news. And then, what +had been hard grew impossible right off. I made up my mind to sell the +stock and strike for new diggings. I couldn't stand it any longer--not +after her letter. I sold out and cleared.... I ought to hev stayed in +Laramie, p'r'aps, and gone for the Irishman, but I just couldn't. Every +one there was against me.” + +“I guess you oughter hev stayed.... Besides, if you had wiped up the +floor with that Irishman the boys would hev let up on you.” + +“P'r'aps so,” Charley resumed, “but I was sick of the whole crowd. I +sold off, and lit out. When I got on the new stage-coach, fifty miles +from Laramie, and didn't know the driver or any one, I made up my mind +to start fresh. Then and there I resolved that I had eaten all the crow +I was going to eat; the others should eat crow now, and if there was any +jumpin' to be done, I'd do it, whatever it cost. And so I went for Bent +right off. I didn't want to wait. 'Here's more crow,' I thought, 'but +I won't eat it; he shall, if I die for it,' and I just threw him out +quick.” + +“I see,” said Crocker, with a certain sympathy in his voice, “but you +oughter hev waited. You oughter make up to wait from this on, Charley. +'Tain't hard. You don't need to take anythin' and set under it. I'm not +advisin' that, but it's stronger to wait before you go fer any one. The +boys,” he added significantly, “don't like a man to bounce, and what +they don't like is pretty hard to do.” + +“Damn the boys,” exclaimed Charley vehemently, “they're all alike out +here. I can't act different. If I waited, I might wait too long--too +long, d'you _sabe?_ I just can't trust myself,” he added in a subdued +tone. + +“No,” replied Crocker meditatively. “No, p'r'aps not. But see here, +Charley, I kinder like you, and so I tell you, no one can bounce the +crowd here in Garotte. They're the worst crowd you ever struck in your +life. Garotte's known for hard cases. Why,” he went on earnestly, as if +he had suddenly become conscious of the fact, “the other night Reggitt +and a lot came mighty near goin' fer you--and Harrison, Harrison took +up what you said. You didn't notice, I guess; and p'r'aps 'twas well you +didn't; but you hadn't much to spare. You won by the odd card. + +“No one can bounce this camp. They've come from everywhere, and can only +jes' get a livin' here--no more. And when luck's bad they're”--and he +paused as if no adjective were strong enough. “If a man was steel, and +the best and quickest on the draw ever seen, I guess they'd bury him if +he played your way.” + +“Then they may bury me,” retorted Charley bitterly, “but I've eaten my +share of crow. I ain't goin' to eat any more. Can't go East now with the +taste of it in my mouth. I'd rather they buried me.” + +And they did bury him--about a fortnight after. + +July, 1892. + + * * * * * + + + + +THE BEST MAN IN GAROTTE. + +Lawyer Rablay had come from nobody knew where. He was a small man, +almost as round as a billiard ball. His body was round, his head was +round; his blue eyes and even his mouth and chin were round; his nose +was a perky snub; he was florid and prematurely bald--a picture of +good-humour. And yet he was a power in Garotte. When he came to the +camp, a row was the only form of recreation known to the miners. A +“fuss” took men out of themselves, and was accordingly hailed as an +amusement; besides, it afforded a subject of conversation. But after +Lawyer Rablay's arrival fights became comparatively infrequent. Would-be +students of human nature declared at first that his flow of spirits was +merely animal, and that his wit was thin; but even these envious ones +had to admit later that his wit told, and that his good-humour was +catching. + +Crocker and Harrison had nearly got to loggerheads one night for no +reason apparently, save that each had a high reputation for courage, +and neither could find a worthier antagonist. In the nick of time Rablay +appeared; he seemed to understand the situation at a glance, and broke +in: + +“See here, boys. I'll settle this. They're disputin'--I know they are. +Want to decide with bullets whether 'Frisco or Denver's the finest city. +'Frisco's bigger and older, says Crocker; Harrison maintains Denver's +better laid out. Crocker replies in his quiet way that 'Frisco ain't +dead yet.” Good temper being now re-established, Rablay went on: “I'll +decide this matter right off. Crocker and Harrison shall set up drinks +for the crowd till we're all laid out. And I'll tell a story,” and he +began a tale which cannot be retold here, but which delighted the boys +as much by its salaciousness as by its vivacity. + +Lawyer Rablay was to Garotte what novels, theatres, churches, concerts +are to more favoured cities; in fact, for some six months, he and +his stories constituted the chief humanizing influence in the camp. +Deputations were often despatched from Doolan's to bring Rablay to the +bar. The miners got up “cases” in order to give him work. More than once +both parties in a dispute, real or imaginary, engaged him, despite his +protestations, as attorney, and afterwards the boys insisted that, +being advocate for both sides, he was well fitted to decide the issue +as judge. He had not been a month in Garotte before he was christened +Judge, and every question, whether of claim-boundaries, the suitability +of a nickname, or the value of “dust,” was submitted for his decision. +It cannot be asserted that his enviable position was due either to +perfect impartiality or to infallible wisdom. But every one knew that +his judgments would be informed by shrewd sense and good-humour, +and would be followed by a story, and woe betide the disputant +whose perversity deferred that pleasure. So Garotte became a sort of +theocracy, with Judge Rablay as ruler. And yet he was, perhaps, the +only man in the community whose courage had never been tested or even +considered. + +One afternoon a man came to Garotte, who had a widespread reputation. +His name was Bill Hitchcock. A marvellous shot, a first-rate +poker-player, a good rider--these virtues were outweighed by his +desperate temper. Though not more than five-and-twenty years of age +his courage and ferocity had made him a marked man. He was said to have +killed half-a-dozen men; and it was known that he had generally provoked +his victims. No one could imagine why he had come to Garotte, but he +had not been half an hour in the place before he was recognized. It was +difficult to forget him, once seen. He was tall and broad-shouldered; +his face long, with well-cut features; a brown moustache drooped +negligently over his mouth; his heavy eyelids were usually half-closed, +but when in moments of excitement they were suddenly updrawn, one was +startled by a naked hardness of grey-green eyes. + +Hitchcock spent the whole afternoon in Doolan's, scarcely speaking a +word. As night drew down, the throng of miners increased. Luck had been +bad for weeks; the camp was in a state of savage ill-humour. Not a +few came to the saloon that night intending to show, if an opportunity +offered, that neither Hitchcock nor any one else on earth could scare +them. As minute after minute passed the tension increased. Yet Hitchcock +stood in the midst of them, drinking and smoking in silence, seemingly +unconcerned. + +Presently the Judge came in with a smile on his round face and shot off +a merry remark. But the quip didn't take as it should have done. He +was received with quiet nods and not with smiles and loud greetings as +usual. Nothing daunted, he made his way to the bar, and, standing next +to Hitchcock, called for a drink. + +“Come, Doolan, a Bourbon; our only monarch!” + +Beyond a smile from Doolan the remark elicited no applause. Astonished, +the Judge looked about him; never in his experience had the camp been +in that temper. But still he had conquered too often to doubt his powers +now. Again and again he tried to break the spell--in vain. As a last +resort he resolved to use his infallible receipt against ill-temper. + +“Boys! I've just come in to tell you one little story; then I'll have to +go.” + +From force of habit the crowd drew towards him, and faces relaxed. +Cheered by this he picked up his glass from the bar and turned towards +his audience. Unluckily, as he moved, his right arm brushed against +Hitchcock, who was looking at him with half-opened eyes. The next moment +Hitchcock had picked up his glass and dashed it in the Judge's face. +Startled, confounded by the unexpected suddenness of the attack, Rablay +backed two or three paces, and, blinded by the rush of blood from his +forehead, drew out his handkerchief. No one stirred. It was part of the +unwritten law in Garotte to let every man in such circumstances play his +game as he pleased. For a moment or two the Judge mopped his face, and +then he started towards his assailant with his round face puckered up +and out-thrust hands. He had scarcely moved, however, when Hitchcock +levelled a long Navy Colt against his breast: + +“Git back, you ---- ” + +The Judge stopped. He was unarmed but not cowed. All of a sudden those +wary, long eyes of Hitchcock took in the fact that a score of revolvers +covered him. + +With lazy deliberation Dave Crocker moved out of the throng towards the +combatants, and standing between them, with his revolver pointing to the +ground, said sympathetically: + +“Jedge, we're sorry you've been jumped, here in Garotte. Now, what would +you like?” + +“A fair fight,” replied Rablay, beginning again to use his handkerchief. + +“Wall,” Crocker went on, after a pause for thought. “A square fight's +good but hard to get. This man,” and his head made a motion towards +Hitchcock as he spoke, “is one of the best shots there is, and I reckon +you're not as good at shootin' as at--other things.” Again he paused +to think, and then continued with the same deliberate air of careful +reflection, “We all cotton to you, Jedge; you know that. Suppose you +pick a man who kin shoot, and leave it to him. That'd be fair, an' you +kin jes' choose any of us, or one after the other. We're all willin'.” + +“No,” replied the Judge, taking away the handkerchief, and showing a +jagged, red line on his forehead. “No! he struck _me_. I don't want any +one to help me, or take my place.” + +“That's right,” said Crocker, approvingly; “that's right, Jedge, we all +like that, but 'tain't square, and this camp means to hev it square. +You bet!” And, in the difficult circumstances, he looked round for the +approval which was manifest on every one of the serious faces. Again he +began: “I guess, Jedge, you'd better take my plan, 'twould be surer. No! +Wall, suppose I take two six-shooters, one loaded, the other empty, and +put them under a _capote_ on the table in the next room. You could both +go in and draw for weapons; that'd be square, I reckon?” and he waited +for the Judge's reply. + +“Yes,” replied Rablay, “that'd be fair. I agree to that.” + +“Hell!” exclaimed Hitchcock, “I don't. If he wants to fight, I'm here; +but I ain't goin' to take a hand in no sich derned game--with the cards +stocked agen me.” + +“Ain't you?” retorted Crocker, facing him, and beginning slowly. “I +reckon _you'll_ play any game we say. _See_! any damned game _we_ like. +D'ye understand?” + +As no response was forthcoming to this defiance, he went into the other +room to arrange the preliminaries of the duel. A few moments passed +in silence, and then he came back through the lane of men to the two +combatants. + +“Jedge,” he began, “the six-shooters are there, all ready. Would you +like to hev first draw, or throw for it with him?” contemptuously +indicating Hitchcock with a movement of his head as he concluded. + +“Let us throw,” replied Rablay, quietly. + +In silence the three dice and the box were placed by Doolan on the bar. +In response to Crocker's gesture the Judge took up the box and rolled +out two fives and a three--thirteen. Every one felt that he had lost the +draw, but his face did not change any more than that of his adversary. +In silence Hitchcock replaced the dice in the box and threw a three, a +four, and a two--nine; he put down the box emphatically. + +“Wall,” Crocker decided impassively, “I guess that gives you the draw, +Jedge; we throw fer high in Garotte--sometimes,” he went on, turning +as if to explain to Hitchcock, but with insult in his voice, and then, +“After you, Jedge!” + +Rablay passed through the crowd into the next room. There, on a table, +was a small heap covered with a cloak. Silently the men pressed round, +leaving Crocker between the two adversaries in the full light of the +swinging lamp. + +“Now, Jedge,” said Crocker, with a motion towards the table. + +“No!” returned the Judge, with white, fixed face, “he won; let him draw +first. I only want a square deal.” + +A low hum of surprise went round the room. Garotte was more than +satisfied with its champion. Crocker looked at Hitchcock, and said: + +“It's your draw, then.” The words were careless, but the tone and face +spoke clearly enough. + +A quick glance round the room and Hitchcock saw that he was trapped. +These men would show him no mercy. At once the wild beast in him +appeared. He stepped to the table, put his hand under the cloak, drew +out a revolver, dropped it, pointing towards Rablay's face, and pulled +the trigger. A sharp click. That revolver, at any rate, was unloaded. +Quick as thought Crocker stepped between Hitchcock and the table. Then +he said: + +“It's your turn now, Jedge!” + +As he spoke a sound, half of relief and half of content came from the +throats of the onlookers. The Judge did not move. He had not quivered +when the revolver was levelled within a foot of his head; he did not +appear to have seen it. With set eyes and pale face, and the jagged +wound on his forehead whence the blood still trickled, he had waited, +and now he did not seem to hear. Again Crocker spoke: + +“Come, Jedge, it's your turn.” + +The sharp, loud words seemed to break the spell which had paralyzed the +man. He moved to the table, and slowly drew the revolver from under the +cloak. His hesitation was too much for the crowd. + +“Throw it through him, Jedge! Now's your chance. Wade in, Jedge!” + +The desperate ferocity of the curt phrases seemed to move him. He raised +the revolver. Then came in tones of triumph: + +“I'll bet high on the Jedge!” + +He dropped the revolver on the floor, and fled from the room. + +The first feeling of the crowd of men was utter astonishment, but in +a moment or two this gave place to half-contemptuous sympathy. What +expression this sentiment would have found it is impossible to say, for +just then Bill Hitchcock observed with a sneer: + +“As he's run, I may as well walk;” and he stepped towards the bar-room. + +Instantly Crocker threw himself in front of him with his face on fire. + +“Walk--will ye?” he burst out, the long-repressed rage flaming +up--“walk! when you've jumped the best man in Garotte--walk! No, by God, +you'll crawl, d'ye hear? crawl--right out of this camp, right now!” and +he dropped his revolver on Hitchcock's breast. + +Then came a wild chorus of shouts. + +“That's right! That's the talk! Crawl, will ye! Down on yer hands and +knees. Crawl, damn ye! Crawl!” and a score of revolvers covered the +stranger. + +For a moment he stood defiant, looking his assailants in the eyes. His +face seemed to have grown thinner, and his moustache twitched with the +snarling movement of a brute at bay. Then he was tripped up and thrown +forwards amid a storm of, “Crawl, damn ye--crawl!” And so Hitchcock +crawled, on hands and knees, out of Doolan's. + +Lawyer Rablay, too, was never afterwards seen in Garotte. Men said his +nerves had “give out.” + +JULY, 1892. + + * * * * * + + + + +GULMORE, THE BOSS + +The habits of the Gulmore household were in some respects primitive. +Though it was not yet seven o'clock two negro girls were clearing away +the breakfast things under the minute supervision of their mistress, +an angular, sharp-faced woman with a reedy voice, and nervously abrupt +movements. Near the table sat a girl of nineteen absorbed in a book. In +an easy-chair by the open bay-window a man with a cigar in his mouth +was reading a newspaper. Jonathan Byrne Gulmore, as he always signed +himself, was about fifty years of age; his heavy frame was muscular, and +the coarse dark hair and swarthy skin showed vigorous health. There was +both obstinacy and combativeness in his face with its cocked nose, low +irregular forehead, thick eyebrows, and square jaw, but the deep-set +grey eyes gleamed at times with humorous comprehension, and the usual +expression of the countenance was far from ill-natured. As he laid the +paper on his knees and looked up, he drew the eye. His size and strength +seemed to be the physical equivalents of an extraordinary power of +character and will. When Mrs. Gulmore followed the servants out of the +room the girl rose from her chair and went towards the door. She was +stopped by her father's voice: + +“Ida, I want a talk with you. You'll be able to go to your books +afterwards; I won't keep you long.” She sat down again and laid her book +on the table, while Mr. Gulmore continued: + +“The election's next Monday week, and I've no time to lose.” A moment's +silence, and he let his question fall casually: + +“You know this--Professor Roberts--don't you? He was at the University +when you were there--eh?” The girl flushed slightly as she assented. + +“They say he's smart, an' he ken talk. I heard him the other night; +but I'd like to know what you think. Your judgment's generally worth +havin'.” + +Forced to reply without time for reflection, Miss Gulmore said as little +as possible with a great show of frankness: + +“Oh, yes; he's smart, and knows Greek and Latin and German, and a great +many things. The senior students used to say he knew more than all the +other professors put together, and he--he thinks so too, I imagine,” and +she laughed intentionally, for, on hearing her own strained laughter, +she blushed, and then stood up out of a nervous desire to conceal her +embarrassment. But her father was looking away from her at the glowing +end of his cigar; and, as she resumed her seat, he went on: + +“I'm glad you seem to take no stock in him, Ida, for he's makin' himself +unpleasant. I'll have to give him a lesson, I reckon, not in Greek or +Latin or them things--I never had nothin' taught me beyond the 'Fourth +Reader,' in old Vermont, and I've forgotten some of what I learned +then--but in election work an' business I guess I ken give Professor +Roberts points, fifty in a hundred, every time. Did you know he's always +around with Lawyer Hutchin's?” + +“Is he? That's because of May--May Hutchings. Oh, she deserves him;” the +girl spoke with sarcastic bitterness, “she gave herself trouble enough +to get him. It was just sickening the way she acted, blushing every time +he spoke to her, and looking up at him as if he were everything. Some +people have no pride in them.” + +Her father listened impassively, and, after a pause, began his +explanation: + +“Wall, Ida, anyway he means to help Hutchin's in this city election. +'Tain't the first time Hutchin's has run for mayor on the Democratic +ticket and come out at the little end of the horn, and I propose to whip +him again. But this Professor's runnin' him on a new track, and I want +some points about _him_. It's like this. At the Democratic meetin' +the other night, the Professor spoke, and spoke well. What he said was +popcorn; but it took with the Mugwumps--them that think themselves too +highfalutin' to work with either party, jest as if organization was no +good, an' a mob was as strong as an army. Wall, he talked for an hour +about purity an' patriotism, and when he had warmed 'em up he +went bald-headed for me. He told 'em--you ken read it all in the +'Tribune'--that this town was run by a ring, an' not run honestly; +contracts were given only to members of the Republican party; all +appointments were made by the ring, and never accordin' to ability--as +if sich a ring could last ten years. He ended up by saying, though he +was a Republican, as his father is, he intended to vote Democratic--he's +domiciled here--as a protest against the impure and corrupt Boss-system +which was disgracin' American political life. 'Twas baby talk. But it's +like this. The buildin' of the branch line South has brought a lot +of Irish here--they're all Democrats--and there's quite a number of +Mugwumps, an' if this Professor goes about workin' them all up--what +with the flannel-mouths and the rest--it might be a close finish. I'm +sure to win, but if I could get some information about him, it would +help me. His father's all right. We've got him down to a fine point. +Prentiss, the man I made editor of the 'Herald,' knows him well; ken +tell us why he left Kaintucky to come West. But I want to know somethin' +about the Professor, jest to teach him to mind his own business, and +leave other folk to attend to theirs. Ken you help me? Is he popular +with the students and professors?” + +She thought intently, while the colour rose in her cheeks; she was eager +to help. + +“With the students, yes. There's nothing to be done there. The +professors--I don't think they like him much; he is too clever. When he +came into the class-room and talked Latin to Johnson, the Professor +of Latin, and Johnson could only stammer out a word or two, I guess he +didn't make a friend;” and the girl laughed at the recollection. + +“I don't know anything else that could be brought against him. They say +he is an Atheist. Would that be any use? He gave a lecture on 'Culture +as a Creed' about three months ago which made some folk mad. The other +professors are Christians, and, of course, all the preachers took it +up. He compared Buddha with Christ, and said--oh, I remember!--that +Shakespeare was the Old Testament of the English-speaking peoples. That +caused some talk; they all believe in the Bible. He said, too, that +'Shakespeare was inspired in a far higher sense than St. Paul, who was +thin and hard, a logic-loving bigot.' And President Campbell--he's a +Presbyterian--preached the Sunday afterwards upon St. Paul as the great +missionary of Protestantism. I don't think the professors like him, but +I don't know that they can do anything, for all the students, the senior +ones, at least, are with him,” and the girl paused, and tried to find +out from her father's face whether what she had said was likely to be of +service. + +“Wall! I don't go much on them things myself, but I guess somethin' +ken be done. I'll see Prentiss about it: send him to interview this +President Campbell, and wake him up to a sense of his duty. This is a +Christian country, I reckon,” the grey eyes twinkled, “and those who +teach the young should teach them Christian principles, or else--get +out. I guess it ken be worked. The University's a State institution. You +don't mind if he's fired out, do you?” And the searching eyes probed her +with a glance. + +“Oh! I don't mind,” she said quickly, in a would-be careless tone, +rising and going towards him, “it has nothing to do with me. He belongs +to May Hutchings--let her help him, if she can. I think you're quite +right to give him a lesson--he needs one badly. What right has he to +come and attack you?” She had passed to her father's side, and was +leaning against his shoulder. Those grey eyes saw more than she cared to +reveal; they made her uncomfortable. + +“Then I understand it's like this. You want him to get a real lesson? Is +that it? You ken talk straight to me, Ida. I'm with you every time. You +know that.” + +The feminine instinct of concealment worked in her, but she knew this +father of hers would have plain speech, and some hidden feeling forced +her violent temper to an outburst of curiously mingled hatred of the +Professor and exultation in her power of injuring him. + +“Why, father, it's all the same to me. I've no interest in it, except +to help you. You know I never said a word against him till you asked +me. But he has no business to come down and attack _you_,” and the voice +grew shrill. “It's shameful of him. If he were a man he'd never do it. +Yes--give him a _real_ lesson; teach him that those he despises are +stronger than he is. Let him lose his place and be thrown out of work, +then we'll see if May Hutchings,” and she laughed, “will go and help +him. We'll see who is--” + +Her father interrupted her in the middle of a tirade which would have +been complete self-revelation; but it is not to be presumed that he did +this out of a delicate regard for his daughter's feelings. He had got +the information he required. + +“That's all right, Ida. I guess he'll get the lesson. You ken count on +me. You've put me on the right track, I believe. I knew if any one could +help me, you'd be able to. Nobody knows what's in you better'n I do. +You're smarter'n any one I know, and I know a few who think they're real +smart--” + +In this vein he continued soothing his daughter's pride, and yet +speaking in an even, impersonal tone, as if merely stating facts. + +“Now I've got to go. Prentiss'll be waiting for me at the office.” + +While driving to the office, Mr. Gulmore's thoughts, at first, were with +his daughter. “I don't know why, but I suspicioned that. That's why she +left the University before graduatin', an' talked of goin' East, and +makin' a name for herself on the stage. That Professor's foolish. Ida's +smart and pretty, and she'll have a heap of money some day. The ring +has a few contracts on hand still--he's a fool. How she talked: she +remembered all that lecture--every word; but she's young yet. She'd have +given herself away if I hadn't stopped her. I don't like any one to do +that; it's weak. But she means business every time, just as I do; she +means him to be fired right out, and then she'd probably go and cry over +him, and want me to put him back again. But no. I guess not. That's not +the way I work. I'd be willin' for him to stay away, and leave me alone, +but as she wants him punished, he shall be, and she mustn't interfere +at the end. It'll do her good to find out that things can't both be done +and undone, if she's that sort. But p'r'aps she won't want to undo +them. When their pride's hurt women are mighty hard--harder than men +by far.... I wonder how long it'll take to get this Campbell to move. I +must start right in; I hain't got much time.” + +As soon as her father left her, Miss Ida hurried to her own room, in +order to recover from her agitation, and to remove all traces of it. She +was an only child, and had accordingly a sense of her own importance, +which happened to be uncorrected by physical deficiencies. Not that +she was astonishingly beautiful, but she was tall and just good-looking +enough to allow her to consider herself a beauty. Her chief attraction +was her form, which, if somewhat flat-chested, had a feline flexibility +rarer and more seductive than she imagined. She was content to believe +that nature had fashioned her to play the part in life which, she knew, +was hers of right. Her name, even, was most appropriate--dignified. Ida +should be queen-like, stately; the oval of her face should be long, and +not round, and her complexion should be pallid; colour in the cheeks +made one look common. Her dark hair, too, pleased her; everything, in +fact, save her eyes; they were of a nameless, agate-like hue, and she +would have preferred them to be violet. That would have given her face +the charm of unexpectedness, which she acknowledged was in itself a +distinction. And Miss Ida loved everything that conduced to distinction, +everything that flattered her pride with a sense of her own superiority. +It seemed as if her mother's narrowness of nature had confined and shot, +so to speak, all the passions and powers of the father into this one +characteristic of the daughter. That her father had risen to influence +and riches by his own ability did not satisfy her. She had always felt +that the Hutchingses and the society to which they belonged, persons who +had been well educated for generations, and who had always been more or +less well off, formed a higher class. It was the longing to become one +of them that had impelled her to study with might and main. Even in +her school-days she had recognized that this was the road to social +eminence. The struggle had been arduous. In the Puritan surroundings of +middle-class life her want of religious training and belief had almost +made a pariah of the proud, high-tempered girl, and when as a clever +student of the University and a daughter of one of the richest and most +powerful men in the State, she came into a circle that cared as little +about Christian dogmas as she did, she attributed the comparative +coolness with which her companions treated her, to her father's want of +education, rather than to the true cause, her own domineering temper. As +she had hated her childish playmates, who, instructed by their mothers, +held aloof from the infidel, so she had grown to detest the associates +of her girlhood, whose parents seemed, by virtue of manners and +education, superior to hers. The aversion was acrid with envy, and had +fastened from the beginning on her competitor as a student and her rival +in beauty, Miss May Hutchings. Her animosity was intensified by the fact +that, when they entered the Sophomore class together, Miss May had made +her acquaintance, had tried to become friends with her, and then, for +some inscrutable reason, had drawn coldly away. By dint of working twice +as hard as May, Ida had managed to outstrip her, and to begin the Junior +year as the first of the class; but all the while she was conscious that +her success was due to labour, and not to a larger intelligence. And +with the coming of the new professor of Greek, this superiority, her one +consolation, was called in question. + +Professor Roberts had brought about a revolution in the University. He +was young and passionately devoted to his work; had won his Doctor's +degree at Berlin _summa cum laude_, and his pupils soon felt that +he represented a standard of knowledge higher than they had hitherto +imagined as attainable, and yet one which, he insisted, was common +in the older civilization of Europe. It was this nettling comparison, +enforced by his mastery of difficulties, which first aroused the ardour +of his scholars. In less than a year they passed from the level of +youths in a high school to that of University students. On the best +heads his influence was magical. His learning and enthusiasm quickened +their reverence for scholarship, but it was his critical faculty which +opened to them the world of art, and nerved them to emulation. + +“Until one realizes the shortcomings of a master,” he said in a lecture, +“it is impossible to understand him or to take the beauty of his works +to heart. When Sophocles repeats himself--the Electra is but a feeble +study for the Antigone, or possibly a feeble copy of it--we get near the +man; the limitations of his outlook are characteristic: when he +deforms his Ajax with a tag of political partisanship, his servitude to +surroundings defines his conscience as an artist; and when painting by +contrasts he poses the weak Ismene and Chrysothemis as foils to their +heroic sisters, we see that his dramatic power in the essential was +rudimentary. Yet Mr. Matthew Arnold, a living English poet, writes that +Sophocles 'saw life steadily and saw it whole.' This is true of no man, +not of Shakespeare nor of Goethe, much less of Sophocles or Racine. The +phrase itself is as offensively out of date as the First Commandment.” + The bold, incisive criticism had a singular fascination for his hearers, +who were too young to remark in it the crudeness that usually attaches +to originality. + +Miss Hutchings was the first of the senior students to yield herself to +the new influence. In the beginning Miss Gulmore was not attracted by +Professor Roberts; she thought him insignificant physically; he was neat +of dress too, and ingenuously eager in manner--all of which conflicted +with her ideal of manhood. It was but slowly that she awoke to a +consciousness of his merits, and her awakening was due perhaps as much +to jealousy of May Hutchings as to the conviction that with Professor +Roberts for a husband she would realize her social ambitions. Suddenly +she became aware that May was passing her in knowledge of Greek, and was +thus winning the notice of the man she had begun to look upon as worthy +of her own choice. Ida at once addressed herself to the struggle with +all the energy of her nature, but at first without success. It was +evident that May was working as she had never worked before, for as the +weeks flew by she seemed to increase her advantage. During this period +Ida Gulmore's pride suffered tortures; day by day she understood more +clearly that the prize of her life was slipping out of reach. In +mind and soul now she realized Roberts' daring and charm. With the +intensified perceptions of a jealous woman, she sometimes feared that he +sympathized with her rival. But he had not spoken yet; of that she was +sure, and her conceit enabled her to hope desperately. A moment arrived +when her hatred of May was sweetened by contempt. For some reason or +other May was neglecting her work; when spoken to by the Professor her +colour came and went, and a shyness, visible to all, wrapped her in +confusion. Ida felt that there was no time to be lost, and increased +her exertions. As she thought of her position she determined first +to surpass her competitor, and then in some way or other to bring +the Professor to speech. But, alas! for her plans. One morning she +demonstrated her superiority with cruel clearness, only to find that +Roberts, self-absorbed, did not notice her. He seemed to have lost the +vivid interest in the work which aforetime had characterized him, +and the happiness of the man was only less tell-tale than the pretty +contentment and demure approval of all he said which May scarcely tried +to conceal. Wild with fear, blinded by temper, Ida resolved to know the +truth. + +One morning when the others left the room she waited, busying herself +apparently with some notes, till the Professor returned, as she knew he +would, in time to receive the next class. While gathering up her books, +she asked abruptly: + +“I suppose I should congratulate you, Professor?” + +“I don't think I understand you.” + +“Yes, you do. Why lie? You are engaged to May Hutchings,” and the girl +looked at him with flaming eyes. + +“I don't know why you should ask me, or why I should answer, but we have +no motive for concealment--yes, I am.” + +His words were decisive; his reverence for May and her affection had +been wounded by the insolent challenge, but before he finished speaking +his manner became considerate. He was quick to feel the pain of others +and shrank from adding to it--these, indeed, were the two chief articles +of the unformulated creed which directed his actions. His optimism was +of youth and superficial, but the sense of the brotherhood of human +suffering touched his heart in a way that made compassion and tenderness +appear to him to be the highest and simplest of duties. It was Ida's +temper that answered his avowal. Still staring at him she burst into +loud laughter, and as he turned away her tuneless mirth grew shriller +and shriller till it became hysterical. A frightened effort to regain +her self-control, and her voice broke in something like a sob, while +tears trembled on her lashes. The Professor's head was bent over +his desk and he saw nothing. Ida dashed the tears from her eyes +ostentatiously, and walked with shaking limbs out of the room. She would +have liked to laugh again scornfully before closing the door, but she +dared not trust her nerves. From that moment she tried to hate Professor +Roberts as she hated May Hutchings, for her disappointment had been very +sore, and the hurt to her pride smarted like a burn. On returning home, +she told her father that she had taken her name off the books of the +University; she meant to be an actress, and a degree could be of no use +to her in her new career. Her father did not oppose her openly; he was +content to postpone any decisive step, and in a few days she seemed to +have abandoned her project. But time brought no mitigation of her spite. +She was tenacious by nature, and her jealous rage came back upon her in +wild fits. To be outdone by May Hutchings was intolerable. Besides, the +rivalry and triumphs of the class-room had been as the salt of life to +her; now she had nothing to do, nothing to occupy her affections or give +object to her feverish ambition. And the void of her life she laid to +the charge of Roberts. So when the time came and the temptation, she +struck as those strike who are tortured by pain. + +Alone in her room, she justified to herself what she had done. She +thought with pleasure of Professor Roberts' approaching defeat +and punishment. “He deserves it, and more! He knows why I left the +University; drew myself away from him for ever. What does he care for my +suffering? He can't leave me in peace. I wasn't good enough for him, and +my father isn't honest enough. Oh, that I were a man! I'd teach him that +it was dangerous to insult the wretched. + +“How I was mistaken in him! He has no delicacy, no true manliness of +character. I'm glad he has thrown down the challenge. Father may not be +well-educated nor refined, but he's strong. Professor Roberts shall +find out what it means to attack _us_. I hope he'll be turned out of the +University; I hope he will. Let me think. I have a copy of that lecture +of his; perhaps there's something in it worse than I remembered. At any +rate, the report will be proof.” + +She searched hurriedly, and soon found the newspaper account she wanted. +Glancing down the column with feverish eagerness, she burst out: “Here +it is; this will do. I knew there was something more.” + +“... Thus the great ones contribute, each his part, towards the +humanization of man. Christ and Buddha are our teachers, but so also, +and in no lower degree, are Plato, Dante, Goethe, and Shakespeare.... + +“But strange to say, the _Divina Commedia_ seems to us moderns more +remote than the speculations of Plato. For the modern world is founded +upon science, and may be said to begin with the experimental philosophy +of Bacon. The thoughts of Plato, the 'fair humanities' of Greek +religion, are nearer to the scientific spirit than the untutored +imaginings of Christ. The world to-day seeks its rule of life in exact +knowledge of man and his surroundings; its teachers, high-priests in +the temple of Truth, are the Darwins, the Bunsens, the Pasteurs. In the +place of God we see Law, and the old concept of rewards and punishments +has been re-stated as 'the survival of the fittest.' If, on the other +hand, you need emotions, and the inspiration of concrete teaching, you +must go to Balzac, to Turgenief, and to Ibsen....” + +“I think that'll do,” said the girl half-aloud as she marked the above +passages, and then sent the paper by a servant to her father's office. +“The worst of it is, he'll find another place easily; but, at any rate, +he'll have to leave this State.... How well I remember that lecture. I +thought no one had ever talked like that before. But the people disliked +it, and even those who stayed to the end said they wouldn't have come +had they known that a professor could speak against Christianity. How +mad they made me then! I wouldn't listen to them, and now--now he's with +May Hutchings, perhaps laughing at me with her. Or, if he's not so base +as that, he's accusing my father of dishonesty, and I mean to defend +him. But if, ah, if--” and the girl rose to her feet suddenly, with +paling face. + + * * * * * + +The house of Lawyer Hutchings was commodious and comfortable. It was +only two storeys high, and its breadth made it appear squat; it was +solidly built of rough, brown stone, and a large wooden verandah gave +shade and a lounging-place in front. It stood in its own grounds on the +outskirts of the town, not far from Mr. Gulmore's, but it lacked the +towers and greenhouse, the brick stables, and black iron gates, which +made Mr. Gulmore's residence an object of public admiration. It had, +indeed, a careless, homelike air, as of a building that disdains show, +standing sturdily upon a consciousness of utility and worth. The study +of the master lay at the back. It was a room of medium size, with two +French windows, which gave upon an orchard of peach and apple-trees +where lush grass hid the fallen fruit. The furniture was plain and +serviceable. A few prints on the wall and a wainscoting of books showed +the owner's tastes. + +In this room one morning Lawyer Hutchings and Professor Roberts +sat talking. The lawyer was sparely built and tall, of sympathetic +appearance. The features of the face were refined and fairly regular, +the blue eyes pleasing, the high forehead intelligent-looking. +Yet--whether it was the querulous horizontal lines above the brows, or +the frequent, graceful gestures of the hands--Mr. Hutchings left on one +an impression of weakness, and, somehow or other, his precise way of +speaking suggested intellectual narrowness. It was understood, however, +that he had passed through Harvard with honours, and had done well in +the law-course. It is, therefore, not to be wondered at that when he +went West, he went with the idea that that was the shortest way to +Washington. Yet he had had but a moderate degree of success; he was too +thoroughly grounded in his work not to get a good practice, but he was +not the first in his profession. He had been outdone by men who fought +their cases, and his popularity was due to affable manners, and not to +admiration of his power or talents. His obvious good nature had got +with years a tinge of discontent; life had been to him a series of +disappointments. + +One glance at Professor Roberts showed him to be a different sort of +a man, though perhaps harder to read. Square shoulders and attenuated +figure--a mixture of energy and nervous force without muscular strength; +a tyrannous forehead overshadowing lambent hazel eyes; a cordial +frankness of manner with a thinker's tricks of gesture, his nervous +fingers emphasizing his words. + +Their talk was of an article assailing the Professor that had appeared +that morning in “The Republican Herald.” + +“I don't like it,” Mr. Hutchings was saying. “It's inspired by Gulmore, +and he always means what he says--and something more.” + +“Except the suggestion that my father had certain good, or rather bad, +reasons for leaving Kentucky, it seems to me merely spiteful. It's very +vilely written.” + +“He only begins with your father. Then he wonders what the real motives +are which induce you to change your political creed. But the affectation +of fairness is the danger signal. One can't imagine Gulmore hesitating +to assert what he has heard, that you have no religious principles. +Coming from him, that means a declaration of war; he'll attack you +without scruple--persistently. It's well known that he cares nothing +for religion--even his wife's a Unitarian. What he's aiming at, I don't +know, but he's sure to do you harm. He has done me harm, and yet he +never gave me such a warning. He only went for me when I ran for office. +As soon as the elections were over, he left me in peace. He's eminently +practical, and rather good-natured. There's no small vicious malice or +hate in him; but he's overbearing and loves a fight. Is it worth your +while to make an enemy of him? We're sure to be beaten.” + +“Of course it isn't worth my while in that sense, but it's my duty, I +think, as you think it yours. Remark, too, that I've never attacked +Mr. Gulmore--never even mentioned him. I've criticised the system, and +avoided personalities.” + +“He won't take it in that way. He is the system; when you criticise it, +you criticise him. Every one will so understand it. He makes all the +appointments, from mayor down to the boy who sweeps out an office; every +contract is given to him or his appointees; that's how he has made his +fortune. Why, he beat me the second time I ran for District Court Judge, +by getting an Irishman, the Chairman of my Committee, to desert me at +the last moment. He afterwards got Patrick Byrne elected a Justice of +the Peace, a man who knows no law and can scarcely sign his own name.” + +“How disgraceful! And you would have me sit down quietly under the +despotism of Mr. Gulmore? And such a despotism! It cost the city half a +million dollars to pave the streets, and I can prove that the work +could have been done as well for half the sum. Our democratic system of +government is the worst in the world, if a tenth part of what I hear +is true; and before I admit that, I'll see whether its abuses are +corrigible. But why do you say we're sure to be beaten? I thought you +said--” + +“Yes,” Mr. Hutchings interrupted, “I said that this railway extension +gives us a chance. All the workmen are Irishmen, Democrats to a man, +who'll vote and vote straight, and that has been our weak point. You +can't get one-half the better classes to go to the polls. The negroes +all vote, too, and vote Republican--that has been Gulmore's strength. +Now I've got the Irishmen against his negroes I may win. But what I feel +is that even if I do get to be Mayor, you'll suffer for it more than I +shall gain by your help. Do you see? And, now that I'm employed by the +Union Pacific I don't care much for city politics. I'd almost prefer +to give up the candidature. May'll suffer, too. I think you ought to +consider the matter before going any further.” + +“This is not the time for consideration. Like you I am trying to put +an end to a corrupt tyranny. I work and shall vote against a venal and +degrading system. May and I will bear what we must. She wouldn't have +me run away from such adversaries. Fancy being governed by the most +ignorant, led on by the most dishonest! It's incomprehensible to me how +such a paradoxical infamy can exist.” + +“I think it'll become comprehensible to you before this election's over. +I've done my best for years to alter it, and so far I've not been very +successful. You don't seem to understand that where parties are almost +equal in strength, a man who'll spend money is sure to win. It has paid +Gulmore to organize the Republican party in this city; he has made +it pay him and all those who hold office by and through him. 'To the +victors, the spoils.' Those who have done the spoiling are able to pay +more than the spoiled--that's all.” + +“Yes, but in this case the spoilers are a handful, while the spoiled are +the vast majority. Why should it be impossible to convince the majority +that they're being robbed?” + +“Because ideas can't get into the heads of negroes, nor yet into the +heads of illiterate Irishmen. You'll find, too, that five Americans out +of every ten take no interest in ordinary politics, and the five who +do are of the lowest class--a Boss is their natural master. Our party +politics, my friend, resembles a game of faro--the card that happens to +be in the box against the same card outside--and the banker holding the +box usually manages to win. Let me once get power and Gulmore'll find +his labour unremunerative. If it hadn't been for him I'd have been in +Congress long ago. But now I'll have to leave you. Talk it over with May +and--you see that Gulmore challenges you to prove the corruption or else +withdraw the imputation? What do you mean to do?” + +“I'll prove it, of course. Long before I spoke I had gone into that +paving contract; it was clearly a fraud.” + +“Well, I'd think, if I were you, before I acted, though you're a great +help to me; your last speech was very powerful.” + +“Unfortunately I'm no speaker, but I'll do as well as I can, and you +may rely on me to go on to the end. The rich at least must be forced +to refrain from robbing the poor.... That malicious sneer at my father +hurts me. It can only mean that he owed money in Kentucky. He was always +careless in money matters, too careless, but he's very generous at +heart. I owe him everything. I'll find out about it at once, and if it +is as I fear, the debt shall be paid. That'll be one good result of +Mr. Gulmore's malice. As for me, let him do his worst. At any rate I'm +forewarned.” + +“A poor satisfaction in case--but here's May, and I must go. I've stayed +too long already. You should look through our ticket; it's strong, the +men are all good, I think--anyway, they're the best we can get. Teach +him to be careful, May; he's too bold.” + +“I will, father,” replied a clear, girlish voice; “it's mother who +spoils him,” and then, as the door shut, she moved to her lover, and +holding out both her hands, with a little air of dignity, added, “He +tries to spoil _me_. But, dear, what's the matter? You seem annoyed.” + +“It's nothing. An article in that paper strikes at my father, and hurts +me; but it can be made right, and to look at you is a cure for pain.” + +“Let me read it--no, please! I want to help you, and how can I do that +if I don't know what pains you?” The girl took the “Herald” and sat down +to read it. + +May Hutchings was more than good-looking, were it only by reason of +a complexion such as is seldom given even to blondes. The inside of a +sea-shell has the same lustre and delicacy, but it does not pale and +flush as did May's cheeks in quick response to her emotions. Waves of +maize-coloured hair with a sheen of its own went with the fairness of +the skin, and the pretty features were redeemed from a suspicion of +insipidity by large violet eyes. She was of good height and lissom, with +small feet and hands, but the outlines of her figure were Southern in +grace and fulness. + +After reading the article, she put down the paper without saying a word. + +“Why, May, you seem to take it as seriously as your father does. It's +nothing so very terrible, is it?” + +“What did father say?” + +“That it was inspired by Gulmore, and that he was a dangerous man; but +I don't see much in it. If my father owed money in Kentucky it shall be +repaid, and there the matter ends.” + +“'Tisn't that I'm troubling about; it's that lecture of yours. Oh, it +was wonderful! but I sat trembling all the time. You don't know the +people. If they had understood it better, they'd have made a big fuss +about it. I'm frightened now.” + +“But what fuss can they make? I've surely a right to my own opinions, +and I didn't criticise any creed offensively.” + +“That's it--that's what saved you. Oh, I wish you'd see it as I do! You +spoke so enthusiastically about Jesus, that you confused them. A lot +of them thought, and think still, that you're a Christian. But if it's +brought up again and made clear to them--Won't you understand? If it's +made quite clear that Jesus to you was only a man, and not superior +even to all other men, and that you believe Christianity has served +its purpose, and is now doing harm rather than good in the world, why, +they'd not want to have you in the University. Don't you know that?” + +“Perhaps you're right,” returned the Professor thoughtfully. “You see +I wasn't brought up in any creed, and I've lived in so completely +different an atmosphere for years past, that it's hard to understand +such intolerant bigotry. I remember enough, though, to see that you +are right. But, after all, what does it matter? I can't play hypocrite +because they're blind fanatics.” + +“No, but you needn't have gone _quite_ so far--been _quite_ so frank; +and even now you might easily--” She stopped, catching a look of +surprise in her lover's face, and sought confusedly to blot out the +effect of her last words. “I mean--but of course you know best. I want +you to keep your place; you love the work, and no one could do it so +well as you. No one, and--” + +“It doesn't matter, May. I'm sure you were thinking of what would be +best for both of us, but I've nothing to alter or extenuate. They must +do as they think fit, these Christians, if they have the power. After +all, it can make no difference to us; I can always get work enough +to keep us, even if it isn't such congenial work. But do you think +Gulmore's at the bottom of it? Has he so much influence?” + +“Yes, I think so,” and the girl nodded her head, but she did not give +the reasons for her opinion. She knew that Ida Gulmore had been in love +with him, so she shrank instinctively from mentioning her name, partly +because it might make him pity her, and partly because the love +of another woman for him seemed to diminish her pride of exclusive +possession. She therefore kept silence while seeking for a way to warn +her lover without revealing the truth, which might set him thinking of +Ida Gulmore and her fascinating because unrequited passion. At length +she said: + +“Mr. Gulmore has injured father. He knows him: you'd better take his +opinion.” + +“Your father advises me to have nothing more to do with the election.” + He didn't say it to try her; he trusted her completely. The girl's +answer was emphatic: + +“Oh, that's what you should do; I'm frightened for you. Why need you +make enemies? The election isn't worth that, indeed it isn't. If father +wants to run for Mayor, let him; he knows what he's about. But you, you +should do great things, write a great book; and make every one as proud +of you as I am.” Her face flushed with enthusiasm. She felt relieved, +too; somehow she had got into the spirit of her part once more. But her +lover took the hot face and eager speech as signs of affection, and he +drew her to him while his face lit up with joy. + +“You darling, darling! You overrate me, dear, but that does me good: +makes me work harder. What a pity it is, May, that one can't add a cubit +to his stature. I'd be a giant then.... But never fear; it'll be all +right. You wouldn't wish me, I'm sure, to run away from a conflict I +have provoked; but now I must see my father about those debts, and then +we'll have a drive, or perhaps you'd go with me to him. You could wait +in the buggy for me. You know I have to speak again this evening.” + +The girl consented at once, but she was not satisfied with the decision +her lover had come to. “It's too plain,” she thought in her clear, +common-sense way, “that he's getting into a 'fuss' when he might just as +well, or better, keep out of it.” + +May was eminently practical, and not at all as emotional as one might +have inferred from the sensitive, quick-changing colour that at one +moment flushed her cheeks and at another ebbed, leaving her pallid, as +with passion. Not that she was hardhearted or selfish. Far from it. But +her surroundings had moulded her as they do women. Her mother had been +one of the belles of Baltimore, a Southerner, too, by temperament. May +had a brother and a sister older than herself (both were now married), +and a younger brother who had taken care that she should not be spoiled +for want of direct personal criticism. It was this younger brother, Joe, +who first called her “Towhead,” and even now he often made disparaging +remarks about “girls who didn't weigh 130”--in Joe's eyes, a Venus of +Rubens would have seemed perfect. May was not vain of her looks; indeed, +she had only come to take pleasure in them of recent years. As a young +girl, comparing herself with her mother, she feared that she would +always be “quite homely.” Her glass and the attentions of men had +gradually shown her the pleasant truth. She did not, however, even now, +overrate her beauty greatly. But her character had been modified +to advantage in those schoolgirl days, when, with bitter tears, she +admitted to herself that she was not pretty. Her teacher's praise of her +quickness and memory had taught her to set her pride on learning. And +indeed she had been an intelligent child, gifted with a sponge-like +faculty of assimilating all kinds of knowledge--the result, perhaps, of +generations of educated forbears. The admiration paid to her looks +did not cause her to relax her intellectual efforts. But when at the +University she found herself outgrowing the ordinary standards of +opinion, conceit at first took possession of her. It seemed to her +manifest that she had always underrated herself. She was astonished by +her own excessive modesty, and keenly interested in it. She had thought +herself ugly and she was beautiful, and now it was evident that she was +a genius as well. With soul mightily uplifted by dreams of all she would +do and the high part she would play in life, always nobly serious, yet +with condescension of exquisite charming kindliness, taking herself +gravely for a perfect product of the race and time, she proceeded to +write the book which should discover to mankind all her qualities--the +delicacy, nobility, and sweetness of an ideal nature. + +During this period she even tried to treat Joe with sweet courtesy, but +Joe told her not to make herself “more of a doggoned fool” than she +was. And soon the dream began to lose its brightness. The book would not +advance, and what she wrote did not seem to her wonderful--not inspired +and fascinating as it ought to have been. Her reading had given her some +slight critical insight. She then showed parts of it to her admirers, +hoping thus to justify vanity, but they used the occasion to pay +irrelevant compliments, and so disappointed her--all, save Will +Thornton, who admitted critically that “it was poetic” and guessed “she +ought to write poetry.” Accordingly she wrote some lyrics, and one on +“Vanished Hopes” really pleased her. Forthwith she read it to Will, who +decided “'twas fine, mighty fine. Tennyson had written more, of course, +but nothing better--nothing easier to understand.” That last phrase +killed her trust in him. She sank into despondence. Even when Ida +Gulmore, whom she had learned to dislike, began to outshine her in the +class, she made no effort. To graduate first of her year appeared a +contemptible ambition in comparison with the dreams she had foregone. +About this period she took a new interest in her dress; she grew +coquettish even, and became a greater favourite than ever. Then +Professor Roberts came to the University, and with his coming life +opened itself to her anew, vitalized with hopes and fears. She was drawn +to him from the first, as spirit is sometimes drawn to spirit, by an +attraction so imperious that it frightened her, and she tried to hold +herself away from him. But in her heart she knew that she studied and +read only to win his praise. His talents revealed to her the futility of +her ambition. Here was one who stood upon the heights beyond her power +of climbing, and yet, to her astonishment, he was very doubtful of +his ability to gain enduring reputation. Not only was there a plane of +knowledge and feeling above the conventional--that she had found out by +herself--but there were also table-lands where teachers of repute in the +valley were held to be blind guides. Her quick receptivity absorbed +the new ideas with eagerness; but she no longer deluded herself. Her +practical good sense came to her aid. What seemed difficult or doubtful +to the Professor must, she knew, be for ever impossible to her. And +already love was upon her, making her humility as sweet as was her +admiration. At last he spoke, and life became altogether beautiful to +her. As she learned to know him intimately she began to understand +his unworldliness, his scholar-like idealism, and ignorance of men and +motives, and thus she came to self-possession again, and found her true +mission. She realized with joy, and a delightful sense of an assured +purpose in life, that her faculty of observation and practical insight, +though insufficient as “bases for Eternity,” would be of value to +her lover. And if she now and then fell back into the part of a +nineteenth-century Antigone, it was but a momentary relapse into what +had been for a year or so a dear familiar habit. The heart of the girl +grew and expanded in the belief that her new _rôle_ of counsellor and +worldly guide to her husband was the highest to which any woman could +attain. + +A few days later Mr. Hutchings had another confidential talk with +Professor Roberts, and, as before, the subject was suggested by an +article in “The Republican Herald.” This paper, indeed, devoted a column +or so every day to personal criticism of the Professor, and each attack +surpassed its forerunner in virulence of invective. All the young man's +qualities of character came out under this storm of unmerited abuse. +He read everything that his opponents put forth, replied to nothing, in +spite of the continual solicitation of the editor of “The Democrat,” + and seemed very soon to regard “The Herald's” calumnies merely from the +humorous side. Meanwhile his own speeches grew in knowledge and vigour. +With a scholar's precision he put before his hearers the inner history +and significance of job after job. His powers of study helped him to +“get up his cases” with crushing completeness. He quickly realized the +value of catch-words, but his epigrams not being hardened in the fire of +life refused to stick. He did better when he published the balance-sheet +of the “ring” in pamphlet form, and showed that each householder paid +about one hundred and fifty dollars a year, or twice as much as all his +legal taxes, in order to support a party organization the sole object +of which was to enrich a few at the expense of the many. One job, in +especial, the contract for paving the streets, he stigmatized as a +swindle, and asserted that the District Attorney, had he done his duty, +would long ago have brought the Mayor and Town Council before a criminal +court as parties to a notorious fraud. His ability, steadfastness, and +self-restraint had had a very real effect; his meetings were always +crowded, and his hearers were not all Democrats. His courage and +fighting power were beginning to win him general admiration. The public +took a lively though impartial interest in the contest. To critical +outsiders it seemed not unlikely that the Professor (a word of +good-humoured contempt) might “whip” even “old man Gulmore.” Bets were +made on the result and short odds accepted. Even Mr. Hutchings allowed +himself to hope for a favourable issue. + +“You've done wonderfully well,” was the burden of his conversations with +Roberts; “I should feel certain of success against any one but Gulmore. +And he seems to be losing his head--his perpetual abuse excites sympathy +with you. If we win I shall owe it mainly to you.” + +But on this particular morning Lawyer Hutchings had something to say to +his friend and helper which he did not like to put into plain words. He +began abruptly: + +“You've seen the 'Herald'?” + +“Yes; there's nothing in it of interest, is there?” + +“No; but 'twas foolish of your father to write that letter saying you +had paid his Kentucky debts.” + +“I was sorry when I saw it. I know they'll say I got him to write the +letter. But it's only another incident.” + +“It's true, then? You did pay the money?” + +“Yes; I was glad to.” + +“But it was folly. What had you to do with your father's debts? Every +house to-day should stand on its own foundation.” + +“I don't agree with you; but in this case there was no question of +that sort. My father very generously impoverished himself to send me +to Europe and keep me there for six years. I owed him the five thousand +dollars, and was only too glad to be able to repay him. You'd have done +the same.” + +“Would I, indeed! Five thousand dollars! I'm not so sure of that.” The +father's irritation conquered certain grateful memories of his +younger days, and the admiration which, in his heart, he felt for the +Professor's action, only increased his annoyance. “It must have nearly +cleaned you out?” + +“Very nearly.” + +“Well, of course it's your affair, not mine; but I think you foolish. +You paid them in full, I suppose? Whew! + +“Do you see that the 'Herald' calls upon the University authorities to +take action upon your lecture? 'The teaching of Christian youth by an +Atheist must be stopped,' and so forth.” + +“Yes; but they can do nothing. I'm not responsible to them for my +religious opinions.” + +“You're mistaken. A vote of the Faculty can discharge you.” + +“Impossible! On what grounds?” + +“On the ground of immorality. They've got the power in that case. It's a +loose word, but effective.” + +“I'd have a cause of action against them.” + +“Which you'd be sure to lose. Eleven out of every twelve jurymen in this +state would mulct an Agnostic rather than give him damages.” + +“Ah! that's the meaning, then, I suppose, of this notice I've just +got from the secretary to attend a special Faculty meeting on Monday +fortnight.” + +“Let me see it. Why, here it is! The object of the meeting is 'To +consider the anti-Christian utterances of Professor Roberts, and to take +action thereon.' That's the challenge. Didn't you read it?” + +“No; as soon as I opened it and saw the printed form, I took it for the +usual notification, and put it aside to think of this election work. But +it would seem as if the Faculty intended to out-herald the 'Herald.'” + +“They are simply allowed to act first in order that the 'Herald,' a +day later, may applaud them. It's all worked by Gulmore, and I tell you +again, he's dangerous.” + +“He may be; but I won't change for abuse, nor yet to keep my post. Let +him do his worst. I've not attacked him hitherto for certain reasons of +my own, nor do I mean to now. But he can't frighten me; he'll find that +out.” + +“Well, we'll see. But, at any rate, it was my duty to warn you. It +would be different if I were rich, but, as it is, I can only give May a +little, and--” + +“My dear Hutchings, don't let us talk of that. In giving me May, you +give me all I want.” The young man's tone was so conclusive that it +closed the conversation. + + * * * * * + +Mr. Gulmore had not been trained for a political career. He had begun +life as a clerk in a hardware store in his native town. But in his early +manhood the Abolition agitation had moved him deeply--the colour of his +skin, he felt, would never have made him accept slavery--and he became +known as a man of extreme views. Before he was thirty he had managed to +save some thousands of dollars. He married and emigrated to Columbus, +Ohio, where he set up a business. It was there, in the stirring years +before the war, that he first threw himself into politics; he laboured +indefatigably as an Abolitionist without hope or desire of personal +gain. But the work came to have a fascination for him, and he saw +possibilities in it of pecuniary emolument such as the hardware business +did not afford. When the war was over, and he found himself scarcely +richer than he had been before it began, he sold his store and emigrated +again--this time to Tecumseh, Nebraska, intending to make political +organization the business of his life. He wanted “to grow up” with +a town and become its master from the beginning. As the negroes +constituted the most ignorant and most despised class, a little +solicitation made him their leader. In the first election it was found +that “Gulmore's negroes” voted to a man, and that he thereby controlled +the Republican party. In the second year of his residence in Tecumseh he +got the contract for lighting the town with gas. The contract was to +run for twenty years, and was excessively liberal, for Mr. Gulmore had +practically no competitor, no one who understood gas manufacture, and +who had the money and pluck to embark in the enterprise. He quickly +formed a syndicate, and fulfilled the conditions of the contract. The +capital was fixed at two hundred thousand dollars, and the syndicate +earned a profit of nearly forty per cent, in the first year. Ten years +later a one hundred dollar share was worth a thousand. This first +success was the foundation of Mr. Gulmore's fortune. The income derived +from the gas-works enabled him to spend money on the organization of his +party. The first manager of the works was rewarded with the position of +Town Clerk--an appointment which ran for five years, but which under Mr. +Gulmore's rule was practically permanent. His foremen became the most +energetic of ward-chairmen. He was known to pay well, and to be a kind +if strenuous master. What he had gained in ten years by the various +contracts allotted to him or his nominees no one could guess; he was +certainly very rich. From year to year, too, his control of the city +government had grown more complete. There was now no place in the civil +or judicial establishment of the city or county which did not depend on +his will, and his influence throughout the State was enormous. + +A municipal election, or, indeed, any election, afforded Mr. Gulmore +many opportunities of quiet but intense self-satisfaction. He loved +the struggle and the consciousness that from his office-chair he had so +directed his forces that victory was assured. He always allowed a broad +margin in order to cover the unforeseen. Chance, and even ill-luck, +formed a part of his strategy; the sore throat of an eloquent speaker; +the illness of a popular candidate; a storm on polling-day--all were to +him factors in the problem. He reckoned as if his opponents might have +all the luck upon their side; but, while considering the utmost malice +of fortune, it was his delight to base his calculations upon the +probable, and to find them year by year approaching more nearly +to absolute exactitude. As soon as his ward-organization had been +completed, he could estimate the votes of his party within a dozen or +so. His plan was to treat every contest seriously, to bring all his +forces to the poll on every occasion--nothing kept men together, he used +to say, like victory. It was the number of his opponent's minority which +chiefly interested him; but by studying the various elections carefully, +he came to know better than any one the value as a popular candidate of +every politician in the capital, or, indeed, in the State. The talent of +the man for organization lay in his knowledge of men, his fairness and +liberality, and, perhaps, to a certain extent, in the power he possessed +of inspiring others with confidence in himself and his measures. He was +never satisfied till the fittest man in each ward was the Chairman of +the ward; and if money would not buy that particular man's services, +as sometimes though rarely happened, he never rested until he found the +gratification which bound his energy to the cause. Besides--and this was +no small element in his successes--his temper disdained the applause of +the crowd. He had never “run” for any office himself, and was not nearly +so well known to the mass of the electorate as many of his creatures. +The senator, like the mayor or office-messenger of his choice, got +all the glory: Mr. Gulmore was satisfied with winning the victory, and +reaping the fruits of it. He therefore excited, comparatively speaking, +no jealousy; and this, together with the strength of his position, +accounts for the fact that he had never been seriously opposed before +Professor Roberts came upon the scene. + +Better far than Lawyer Hutchings, or any one else, Mr. Gulmore knew that +the relative strength of the two parties had altered vastly within the +year. Reckoning up his forces at the beginning of the campaign, he felt +certain that he could win--could carry his whole ticket, including a +rather unpopular Mayor; but the majority in his favour would be small, +and the prospect did not please him, for the Professor's speeches had +aroused envy. He understood that if his majority were not overwhelming +he would be assailed again next year more violently, and must in the +long run inevitably lose his power. Besides, “fat” contracts required +unquestionable supremacy. He began, therefore, by instituting such +a newspaper-attack upon the Professor as he hoped would force him to +abandon the struggle. When this failed, and Mr. Gulmore saw that it had +done worse than fail, that it had increased his opponent's energy and +added to his popularity, he went to work again to consider the whole +situation. He must win and win “big,” that was clear; win too, if +possible, in a way that would show his “smartness” and demonstrate +his adversary's ignorance of the world. His anger had at length been +aroused; personal rivalry was a thing he could not tolerate at any time, +and Roberts had injured his position in the town. He was resolved to +give the young man such a lesson that others would be slow to follow his +example. + +The difficulty of the problem was one of its attractions. Again and +again he turned the question over in his mind--How was he to make his +triumph and the Professor's defeat sensational? All the factors were +present to him and he dwelt upon them with intentness. He was a man of +strong intellect; his mind was both large and quick, but its activity, +owing to want of education and to greedy physical desires, had been +limited to the ordinary facts and forces of life. What books are to most +persons gifted with an extraordinary intelligence, his fellow-men +were to Mr. Gulmore--a study at once stimulating and difficult, of +an incomparable variety and complexity. His lack of learning was of +advantage to him in judging most men. Their stock of ideas, sentiments +and desires had been his for years, and if he now viewed the patchwork +quilt of their morality with indulgent contempt, at least he was +familiar with all the constituent shades of it. But he could not make +the Professor out--and this added to his dislike of him; he recognized +that Roberts was not, as he had at first believed, a mere mouthpiece of +Hutchings, but he could not fathom his motives; besides, as he said to +himself, he had no need to; Roberts was plainly a “crank,” book-mad, and +the species did not interest him. But Hutchings he knew well; knew that +like himself Hutchings, while despising ordinary prejudices, was ruled +by ordinary greeds and ambitions. In intellect they were both above +the average, but not in morals. So, by putting himself in the lawyer's +place, a possible solution of the problem occurred to him. + +A couple of days before the election, Mr. Hutchings, who had been hard +at work till the evening among his chief subordinates, was making his +way homeward when Mr. Prentiss accosted him, with the request that he +would accompany him to his rooms for a few minutes on a matter of the +utmost importance. Having no good reason for refusing, Mr. Hutchings +followed the editor of the “Herald” up a flight of stairs into a large +and comfortable room. As he entered and looked about him Mr. Gulmore +came forward: + +“I wanted a talk with you, Lawyer, where we wouldn't be disturbed, and +Prentiss thought it would be best to have it here, and I guess he was +about right. It's quiet and comfortable. Won't you be seated?” + +“Mr. Gulmore!” exclaimed the surprised lawyer stopping short. “I don't +think there's anything to be discussed between us, and as I'm in a hurry +to get home to dinner, I think I'll--” + +“Don't you make any mistake,” interrupted Mr. Gulmore; “I mean +business--business that'll pay both you and me, and I guess 'twon't do +you any damage to take a seat and listen to me for a few minutes.” + +As Lawyer Hutchings, overborne by the authority of the voice and manner, +sat down, he noticed that Mr. Prentiss had disappeared. Interpreting +rightly the other's glance, Mr. Gulmore began: + +“We're alone, Hutchin's. This matter shall be played fair and square. +I guess you know that my word can be taken at its face-value.” Then, +settling himself in his chair, he went on: + +“You and I hev been runnin' on opposite tickets for a good many years, +and I've won right along. It has paid me to win and it has not paid you +to lose. Now, it's like this. You reckon that those Irishmen on the line +give you a better show. They do; but not enough to whip me. You appear +to think that that'll have to be tried the day after tomorrow, but you +ought to know by now that when I say a thing is so, it's so--every time. +If you had a chance, I'd tell you: I'm playin' square. I ken carry my +ticket from one end to the other; I ken carry Robinson as Mayor against +you by at least two hundred and fifty of a majority, and the rest of +your ticket has just no show at all--you know that. But, even if you +could get in this year or next what good would it do you to be Mayor? +You're not runnin' for the five thousand dollars a year salary, I +reckon, and that's about all you'd get--unless you worked with me. I +want a good Mayor, a man like you, of position and education, a fine +speaker that knows everybody and is well thought of--popular. Robinson's +not good enough for me; he hain't got the manners nor the knowledge, nor +the popularity. I'd have liked to have had you on my side right along. +It would have been better for both of us, but you were a Democrat, an' +there wasn't any necessity. Now there is. I want to win this election by +a large majority, an' you ken make that sartin. You see I speak square. +Will you join me?” + +The question was thrown out abruptly. Mr. Gulmore had caught a gleam in +the other's eye as he spoke of a good Mayor and his qualifications. “He +bites, I guess,” was his inference, and accordingly he put the question +at once. + +Mr. Hutchings, brought to himself by the sudden interrogation, +hesitated, and decided to temporize. He could always refuse to join +forces, and Gulmore might “give himself away.” He answered: + +“I don't quite see what you mean. How are we to join?” + +“By both of us givin' somethin'.” + +“What am I to give?” + +“Withdraw your candidature for Mayor as a Democrat.” + +“I can't do that.” + +“Jest hear me out. The city has advertised for tenders for a new Court +House and a new Town Hall. The one building should cover both, and be +near the middle of the business part. That's so--ain't it? Well, land's +hard to get anywhere there, and I've the best lots in the town. I guess” + (carelessly) “the contract will run to a million dollars; that +should mean two hundred thousand dollars to some one. It's like this, +Hutchin's: Would you rather come in with me and make a joint tender, or +run for Mayor and be beaten?” + +Mr. Hutchings started. Ten years before the proposal would have won +him. But now his children were provided for----all except Joe, and +his position as Counsel to the Union Pacific Railroad lifted him above +pecuniary anxieties. Then the thought of the Professor and May came +to him--No! he wouldn't sell himself. But in some strange way the +proposition excited him; he felt elated. His quickened pulse-beats +prevented him from realizing the enormity of the proposed transaction, +but he knew that he ought to be indignant. What a pity it was that +Gulmore had made no proposal which he might have accepted--and then +disclosed! + +“If I understand you, you propose that I should take up this contract, +and make money out of it. If that was your business with me, you've made +a mistake, and Professor Roberts is right.” + +“Hev I?” asked Mr. Gulmore slowly, coldly, in sharp contrast to the +lawyer's apparent excitement and quick speech. Contemptuously he thought +that Hutchings was “foolisher” than he had imagined--or was he sincere? +He would have weighed this last possibility before speaking, if the +mention of Roberts had not angered him. His combativeness made him +persist: + +“If you don't want to come in with me, all you've got to do is to say +so. You've no call to get up on your hind legs about it; it's easy to +do settin'. But don't talk poppycock like that Professor; he's silly. He +talks about the contract for street pavin', and it ken be proved--'twas +proved in the 'Herald'--that our streets cost less per foot than the +streets of any town in this State. He knows nothin'. He don't even know +that an able man can make half a million out of a big contract, an' do +the work better than an ordinary man could do it who'd lose money by it. +At a million our Court House'll be cheap; and if the Professor had the +contract with the plans accordin' to requirement to-morrow, he'd +make nothin' out of it--not a red cent. No, sir. If I ken, that's my +business--and yours, ain't it? Or, are we to work for nothin' because +he's a fool?” + +While Mr. Gulmore was speaking, Mr. Hutchings gave himself to thought. +After all, why was he running for Mayor? The place, as Gulmore said, +would be of no use to him. He was weary of fighting which only ended in +defeat, and could only end in a victory that would be worthless. Mayor, +indeed! If he had a chance of becoming a Member of Congress, that would +be different. And across his brain flitted the picture so often evoked +by imagination in earlier years. Why not? Gulmore could make it certain. +Would he? + +“What you say seems plausible enough, but I don't see my way. I don't +feel inclined to go into business at my time of life.” + +“You don't need to go into the business. I'll see to that.” + +“No. I don't need money now particularly.” + +“Next year, Hutchin's, I'll have a better man than Robinson against you. +Lawyer Nevilson's as good as ken be found, I reckon, and he wouldn't +refuse to join me if I gave him the chance.” But while he was speaking, +Mr. Gulmore kept his opponent's answer in view. He considered it +thoughtfully; “I don't need money now particularly.” What did the +man need? Congress? As a Republican? That would do as well. When Mr. +Hutchings shook his head, careless of the menace, Mr. Gulmore made up +his mind. His obstinacy came out; he would win at any price. He began: + +“It's what I said at first, Hutchin's; we've each got to give what the +other wants. I've told you what I want; tell me squarely what you want, +an' p'r'aps the thing ken be settled.” + +As Mr. Hutchings did not answer at once, the Boss went on: + +“You're in politics for somethin'. What is it? If you're goin' to buck +agen me, you might as well draw out; you'll do no good. You know that. +See here! Is it the State Legislature you're after, or--Congress?” + +The mere words excited Mr. Hutchings; he wanted to be back again in the +East as a victor; he longed for the cultivated amenities and the social +life of Washington. He could not help exclaiming: + +“Ah! if it hadn't been for you I'd have been in Congress long ago.” + +“As a Democrat? Not from this State, I guess.” + +“What does it matter? Democrat or Republican, the difference now is only +in the name.” + +“The price is high, Hutchin's. I ask you to give up runnin' for Mayor, +and you ask me for a seat in Congress instead. But--I'll pay it, if you +do as I say. You've no chance in this State as a Democrat; you know that +yourself. To run for Mayor as a Democrat hurts you; that must stop right +now--in your own interest. But what I want from you is that you don't +announce your withdrawal till the day after to-morrow, an' meantime you +say nothin' to the Professor or any one else. Are you agreed?” + +Mr. Hutchings paused. The path of his desire lay open before him; the +opportunity was not to be missed; he grew eager. But still there was +something disagreeable in an action which demanded secrecy. He must +think coolly. What was the proposal? What was he giving? Nothing. He +didn't wish to be Mayor with Gulmore and all the City Council against +him. Nothing--except the withdrawal on the very morning of the election. +That would look bad, but he could pretend illness, and he had told the +Professor he didn't care to be Mayor; he had advised him not to mix in +the struggle; besides, Roberts would not suspect anything, and if he +did there'd be no shadow of proof for a long time to come. In the other +scale of the balance he had Gulmore's promise: it was trustworthy, he +knew, but--: + +“Do you mean that you'll run me for the next term and get me elected?” + +“I'll do all I know, and I guess you'll succeed.” + +“I have nothing but your word.” + +“Nothin'.” + +Again Mr. Hutchings paused. To accept definitively would be dangerous if +the conversation had had listeners. It was characteristic of the place +and time that he could suspect a man of laying such a trap, upon +whose word he was prepared to rely. Mr. Gulmore saw and understood his +hesitation: + +“I said we were alone, Hutchin's, and I meant it. Jest as I say now, +if you withdraw and tell no one and be guided by me in becoming a +Republican, I'll do what I ken to get you into Congress,” and as he +spoke he stood up. + +Mr. Hutchings rose, too, and said, as if in excuse: “I wanted to think +it over, but I'm agreed. I'll do as you say,” and with a hurried “Good +night!” he left the room. + +Mr. Gulmore returned to his chair and lit a cigar. He was fairly +satisfied with the result of his efforts. His triumph over the Professor +would not be as flagrant, perhaps, as if Hutchin's' name had been linked +with his in a city contract; but, he thought with amusement, every one +would suspect that he had bought the lawyer for cash. What a fool the +man was! What did he want to get into Congress for? Weak vanity! He'd +have no weight there. To prefer a seat in Congress to wealth--silly. +Besides, Hutchin's would be a bad candidate. Of course the party name +would cover anythin'. But what a mean skunk! Here Mr. Gulmore's thoughts +reverted to himself. Ought he to keep his word and put such a man +into Congress? He hated to break a promise. But why should he help the +Professor's father-in-law to power? Wall, there was no hurry. He'd make +up his mind later. Anyway, the Professor'd have a nice row to hoe on the +mornin' of the election, and Boss Gulmore'd win and win big, an' that +was the point. The laugh would be on the Professor-- + + * * * * * + +On the morning of the election Professor Roberts was early afoot. He +felt hopeful, light-hearted, and would not confess even to himself +that his good spirits were due chiefly to the certainty that in +another twelve hours his electioneering would be at an end. The work of +canvassing and public speaking had become very disagreeable to him. The +mere memory of the speeches he had listened to, had left, as it were, +an unpleasant aftertaste. How the crowds had cheered the hackneyed +platitudes, the blatant patriotic appeals, the malevolent caricature +of opponents! Something unspeakably trivial, vulgar, and evil in it +all reminded him of tired children when the romping begins to grow +ill-natured. + +And if the intellectual side of the struggle had been offensive, the +moral atmosphere of the Committee Rooms, infected as it was by the +candidates, had seemed to him to be even worse--mephitic, poisonous. He +had shrunk from realizing the sensations which had been forced upon him +there--a recoil of his nature as from unappeasable wild-beast greeds, +with their attendant envy, suspicion, and hatred seething like lava +under the thin crust of a forced affability, of a good-humour assumed +to make deception easy. He did not want to think of it; it was horrible. +And perhaps, after all, he was mistaken; perhaps his dislike of the +work had got upon his nerves, and showed him everything in the darkest +colours. It could scarcely be as bad as he thought, or human society +would be impossible. But argument could not blunt the poignancy of his +feelings; he preferred, therefore, to leave them inarticulate, striving +to forget. In any case, the ordeal would soon be over; it had to be +endured for a few hours more, and then he would plunge into his books +again, and enjoy good company, he and May together. + +He was still lingering over this prospect when the servant came to +tell him that some gentlemen were waiting for him, and he found in the +sitting-room half-a-dozen of his favourite students. One of the Seniors, +named Cartrell, a young man of strong figure, and keen, bold +face, remarked, as he shook hands, that they had come to accompany +him--“Elections are sometimes rough, and we know the ropes.” Roberts +thanked them warmly, and they set off. + +The Committee Rooms of the Democratic party were situated near the Court +House, in what had been once the centre, but was now the edge of the +town. The little troop had to pass through the negro quarter--small +frame-houses, peppered over grassless, bare lots, the broken-down fences +protesting against unsociable isolation. The Rooms, from the outside, +reminded one of a hive of angry bees. In and out of the door men were +hurrying, and a crowd swarmed on the side-walk talking in a loud, +excited hum. As soon as the Professor was recognized, a silence of +astonishment fell upon the throng. With stares of curiosity they +drew aside to let him enter. Slightly surprised by the reception, the +Professor passed into the chief room. At a table in the middle a man was +speaking in a harsh, loud voice--one Simpson, a popular orator, who had +held aloof from the meetings of the party. He was saying: + +“It's a put-up game between them, but the question is, who's to go on +the ticket in--” + +As Simpson's eyes met those of Roberts he stopped speaking. + +“Good morning, gentlemen. Please continue, Mr. Simpson; I hope I'm not +interrupting you.” + +The Professor did not like Mr. Simpson. The atrabilious face, the +bitter, thin lips, and grey eyes veined with yellow, reminded him +indefinably of a wild beast. Mr. Simpson seemed to take the courteous +words as a challenge. Drawing his wiry figure up he said, with insult in +voice and manner: + +“Perhaps you've come to nominate a Mayor; we'd all like to know your +choice.” + +“I don't understand you.” + +The Professor's tone was frank, his sincerity evident, but Simpson went +on: + +“Don't ye? Perhaps Hutchin's has sent you to say, as he's sick it'd be +well to run Robinson on both tickets--eh?” + +“I don't know what you mean. I expected to meet Mr. Hutchings here. Is +he ill?” + +“He'll get well soon, I reckon; but after taking a perscription from +Gulmore, he's mighty bad and can't leave the house.” + +“What do you mean?” + +“I mean that Hutchings has withdrawn his candidature as Mayor. I mean +that the 'Herald' has the announcin' of it. I mean it's a put-up job +between him and Gulmore to ruin the Democratic party in this town. I +mean--” + +As the Professor drew back in amazement, young Cartrell stepped in front +of him and addressed Simpson: + +“What proof have you of what you say?” + +“Proof! Proof enough. Does an honest man resign a candidature on the +morning of an election, and give the other side the news before his own +party?” + +The interruption had given Roberts time for reflection. He felt that +Simpson's facts must be right. It was characteristic of him that his +first thought was, Had Hutchings withdrawn in order to save him from +further attacks? No. If he had he'd have told him before the event. +A sort of nausea overpowered him as he remembered that Hutchings had +related how Gulmore had bought Patrick Byrne--and now he, too, had sold +himself. As in a flash Hutchings' weakness of fibre was laid bare to +him. “That's the reason I couldn't find him yesterday.” His heart sank +within him. “How could Hutchings have been so--?” With the belief in +the lawyer's guilt came the understanding that he too was concerned, +suspected even. Disgust of traitorism, conscious innocence impelled him +to clear himself--but how? To his surprise he found that companionship +with these men had given him some insight into their character. He put +the question to Simpson: + +“Can anything be done now?” + +The steadiness of the tone, the resolve in his face, excited a certain +curiosity. Shrugging his shoulders, Simpson replied: + +“We've not got a candidate. It's too late to get the party together. New +tickets'd have to be printed. I--” + +“Will you accept the candidature?” Reading the man at once, Roberts +turned to the others: “Gentlemen, I hope some one will second me; I +nominate Mr. Simpson as Mayor, and propose that his name should be +substituted for that of Mr. Hutchings. To show that I'm in earnest I'll +contribute five hundred dollars towards the expense of printing the +tickets.” + +The Professor's offer of money seemed to exercise a magical influence +upon the crowd; the loud tones, the provocative rudeness of speech and +bearing, disappeared at once; the men began to show him the respect of +attention, and Mr. Simpson was even quicker than the rest in changing +his attitude--perhaps because he hoped to gain more than they did. + +“I had no idee,” he began, “but if the Committee thinks I oughter run +I've no objection. I hain't ever cared for office, but I'm a party-man, +an' what the party wants me to do I'll do every time. I'm a Democrat +right through. I guess Lawyer Hutchin's has gone back on us, but that's +not your fault, Professor, and five hundred dollars--an' your work will +do a pile. The folk all like you an'--respect you an'--” + +Roberts looked at the man; his offer had been a movement of indignant +contempt, and yet it had succeeded. He could have laughed; the key +to the enigma was in his hands; these men answered to the motive of +self-interest as a ship answers to the helm, and yet--how revolting it +all was! The next moment he again banished reflection. + +“I'll go and get the money, and return as soon as possible. In the +meantime, perhaps you, Mr. Simpson, will see that the printing is +begun without delay. Then if you'll tell us what polling-stations need +superintendence, my friends and I will do our best.” + +The appeal found an immediate response--in a few minutes order and +energetic work had taken the place of the former angry excitement and +recrimination. + +To Professor Roberts the remainder of the day was one whirl of restless +labour; he hastened from one polling-station to another, and when the +round was completed drove to the Central Rooms, where questions had to +be answered, and new arrangements made without time for thought. Then he +was off again on his hurried round as canvasser. One incident, however, +made a definite impression upon him. Returning for the second or third +time to the Central Rooms he found himself in a crowd of Irish labourers +who had come in deference to priestly bidding to record their votes. Mr. +Hutchings' retirement had excited their native suspiciousness; they +felt that they had been betrayed, and yet the peremptory orders they had +received must be followed. The satisfaction of revolt being denied +to them, their anger became dangerous. Professor Roberts faced them +quietly; he soon saw that they were sincere, or were playing the part of +sincerity; he therefore spoke for the cause, for the party to which they +belonged; surely they wouldn't abandon the struggle because a leader had +deserted them! His words and manner; his appeal to their combativeness; +his earnestness and good temper were successful. The storm of invective +gradually subsided, and although one or two, for the sake of a row, +sought to insult him, they did not go to extremes in face of the +resolute disapprobation of the American party-leaders. Loyalty to their +shibboleth was beginning to draw them, still grumbling and making use of +expressive imprecations, on the way to the nearest polling-station, when +one of their leaders drew Professor Roberts aside, and asked him: + +“Are the bhoys to have nothin' for their throuble? Half a day they'll +lose, so they will--a dollar each now would be no more than fair--” + +The Professor shook his head; he was not rich, he said, and had already +spent more money in the contest than he could afford. + +“Be gob, it's poor worruk this talkin' an' votin' for us that gets +nothin' by it”--the phrase stuck in his memory as illustrating the +paltry baseness of the whole affair. It was with a sense of relief that +he threw himself again into the turmoil that served to deaden thought. +As the day wore towards evening he became conscious of fatigue, a +weariness that was not of the body alone, but of the head and heart. +After the closing of the polls he returned to the Central Rooms. They +were filled with an enthusiastic crowd, most of whom professed to +believe that the Democratic party had won all along the line. Roberts +found it hard to bear their self-gratulation and the exuberance of their +triumph, but when Simpson began to take the liberties of comradeship +with him, the cup ran over. He cut the man short with a formally polite +phrase, and betook himself to his house. He would not think even of May; +her image brought him face to face with her father; and he wanted rest. + +In the morning the Professor awoke with a feeling of utter depression. +Before he opened the paper he was sure that his hopelessness had been +justified. He was right--Gulmore had carried his whole ticket, and +Simpson had been beaten by a majority of more than a thousand. The +Democratic organ did not scruple to ascribe the defeat to the fact that +Lawyer Hutchings had sold his party. The simulated indignation of the +journalist found expression in phrases which caricatured the simplicity +of sincere condemnation. “Never did shameless corruption....” Roberts +could not read the stuff. Yet the feigned passion and tawdry rhetoric +in some way stirred up his bile; he would see Hutchings and--but if he +unpacked his heart's bitterness upon her father, he would hurt May. He +must restrain himself; Hutchings would understand from his manner, and +May would be sympathetic--as she always was. + +Another thought exasperated him afresh. His idealism had made him +ridiculous in the eyes of the townsfolk. He had spent money he could +ill spare in a hopeless cause, which was not even a worthy one. And now +everybody was laughing at him or sneering--he grew hot with shame. That +his motives were honourable only heightened the ludicrousness of his +action: it seemed as if he had made a fool of himself. He almost wished +that he had left the Democrats to their own devices. But no! he had done +the right, and that was the main point. The sense of failure, however, +robbed him of confidence in regard to the future. How should he act? +Since high motives were ineffectual, Quixotic, ought he to discard them +and come down to the ordinary level? 'Twould be better not to live at +all. The half-life of a student, a teacher, dwelling apart from the +world, would be preferable to such degradation; but---- + +The situation appeared to him to be so difficult that as soon as he had +taken his breakfast he went out for a walk away from the town in order +to avoid importunate visits, and to decide upon a course of conduct. The +air and exercise invigorated him; the peace and solitude of the prairie, +the beauty of earth and sky, the unconsciousness of nature consoled him, +reduced his troubles to relative unimportance, and allowed him to regain +his equanimity. + +Even his ideas in regard to Hutchings underwent a change. After all it +was not his part to condemn; his indignation owed its heat to baffled +egotism and paltry vanity. When the personal element was abstracted from +the causes of his vexation, what remained? Were Hutchings a figure in +history, would he judge him with the same intolerance? No; weakness, +corruptibility even, would then excite no harsher feeling than a sort of +amused contempt. The reflection mitigated his anger. He began to take +an intellectual pleasure in the good-humoured acceptance of the wrong +inflicted upon him. Plato was right, it was well to suffer injustice +without desiring to retaliate. He had yet to learn that just as oil only +smoothes the surface of waves, so reason has merely a superficial effect +upon character. + +Early in the afternoon he made his way to May's home. According to +his habit he passed by the servant-girl and entered the study--to find +himself face to face with the lawyer. + +The shock of disappointment and a certain latent antagonism caused him +to speak with a directness which was in itself discourteous. + +“Is Miss May in? I wished to see her.” After a momentary pause he added, +with a tinge of sarcasm, “Your illness wasn't serious, I see.” + +Mr. Hutchings was not taken by surprise; he had prepared for this +meeting, and had resolved to defend himself. The task, he believed, +would be easy. He had almost persuaded himself that he had acted in the +Professor's interest. Roberts was singularly unworldly; he might accept +the explanation, and if he didn't--what did it matter? His own brighter +prospects filled him with a sense of triumph; in the last three days +his long-repressed vanity had shot up to self-satisfaction, making him +callous to what Roberts or any one else might think. But the sneer in +his visitor's words stung him, induced him to throw off the mask of +illness which he had intended to assume. He replied with an indifference +that was defiant: + +“No; I wasn't well yesterday, but I'm better now, though I shall keep +indoors for a day or two. A chill, I suppose.” + +Receiving no answer, he found relief in complete boldness. + +“You see my prediction as to the result of the election has been +justified?” + +“You might even say _pars magna fui_.” + +The retort slipped out. The impudent challenge had to be met. The +Professor did not realize how contemptuously he spoke. + +The womanish weakness in Hutchings sprang to hurried attack. + +“At any rate you've no cause for reproach. I resigned chiefly to shield +you. I told you long ago that I didn't want particularly to be Mayor, +and the assault upon your position in the University decided me. There +was no way to save your place except by giving Gulmore the victory he +wanted. You're engaged to May, and May is fond of you: I'm not rich, and +a post of three thousand dollars a year is not often to be found by a +young man. What would you do if you were dismissed? I had to--sacrifice +myself. Not that it matters much, but I've got myself into a fuss with +the party, injured myself all round on your account, and then you +talk as if you had some reason to be offended. That's hardly right, +Professor.” The lawyer was satisfied with his case; his concluding +phrase built a bridge for a magnanimous reconciliation. + +“You wish me to believe that you resigned at the last moment without +telling me of your intention in order to further my interests?” Mr. +Hutchings was disagreeably shocked by the disdainful, incredulous +question; Roberts was harder to blind than he had supposed; his +indignation became more than half sincere. + +“I didn't make up my mind till the last minute--I couldn't. It wasn't +easy for me to leave the party I've fought with for ten years. And the +consequences don't seem likely to be pleasant to me. But that doesn't +signify. This discussion is useless. If you'll take my advice you'll +think of answering the charge that will be brought against you in the +Faculty meeting, instead of trying to get up a groundless accusation +against me.” The menace in the words was not due solely to excitement +and ill-temper. Mr. Hutchings had been at pains to consider all his +relations with the Professor. He had hoped to deceive him, at least for +the moment, and gain time--postpone a painful decision. He had begun to +wish that the engagement between Roberts and May might be broken off. In +six months or a year he would have to declare himself on Gulmore's side; +the fact would establish his complicity, and he had feared what he +now knew, that Roberts would be the severest of critics--an impossible +son-in-law. Besides, in the East, as the daughter of a Member of +Congress, May might command a high position--with her looks she could +marry any one--while Roberts would be dismissed or compelled to resign +his post. A young man without a career who would play censor upon him +in his own house was not to be thought of. The engagement must be +terminated. May could be brought to understand.... + +The Professor did not at once grasp the situation in so far as he +himself was concerned. But he divined the cause of the lawyer's +irritability, and refrained from pushing the argument further. The +discussion could, indeed, serve no purpose, save to embitter the +quarrel. He therefore answered quietly: + +“I didn't come here to dispute with you. I came to see May. Is she in?” + +“No, I think not. I believe she went out some time ago.” + +“In that case I'll go home. Perhaps you'll tell her I called. Good day.” + +“Good day!” + +As the Professor left the house his depression of the morning returned +upon him. He was dissatisfied with himself. He had intended to show no +anger, no resentment, and, nevertheless, his temper had run away +with him. He recognized that he had made a grave mistake, for he was +beginning to foresee the consequences of it. Trained to severe +thinking, but unaccustomed to analyze motives, the full comprehension +of Hutchings' attitude and its probable effects upon his happiness only +came to him gradually, but it came at length so completely that he could +remember the very words of the foregoing conversation, and recall the +tones of the voices. He could rebuild the puzzle; his understanding of +it, therefore, must be the true one. The irrationality of the defence +was a final proof that the lawyer had played him false. “Hutchings sold +himself--most likely for place. He didn't fear a quarrel with me--that +was evident; perhaps he wishes to get rid of me--evident, too. He +believes that I shall be dismissed, or else he wouldn't have laid stress +upon the importance of my keeping my position. When I spoke of May he +was curt. And the explanation? He has wronged me. The old French proverb +holds true, 'The offender seldom forgives.' He'll probably go on to harm +me further, for I remind him of his vileness. This, then, is life, not +as I imagined it, but as it is, and such creatures as Hutchings are +human beings. Well, after all, it is better to know the truth than to +cheat oneself with a mirage. I shall appreciate large natures with noble +and generous impulses better, now that I know how rare they are.” + +In his room he found May awaiting him. Across his surprise and joy there +came an intense admiration of her, a heart-pang of passionate gratitude. +As she moved towards him her incommunicable grace of person and manner +completed the charm. The radiant gladness of the eyes; the outstretched +hands; the graceful form, outlined in silver-grey; the diadem of +honey-coloured hair; something delicate yet courageous, proud yet tender +in her womanhood remained with him ever afterwards. + +“Ah, May!” The word seemed to bring joy and tingling life to his +half-numbed heart. He seized her hands and drew her to him, and kissed +her on the hair, and brows, and eyes with an abandonment of his whole +nature, such as she had never before known in him. All her shyness, her +uneasiness vanished in the happiness of finding that she had so pleased +him, and mingled with this joy was a new delightful sense of her own +power. When released from his embrace she questioned him by a look. His +emotion astonished her. + +“My love,” he said, kissing her hands, “how good of you to come to me, +how sweet and brave you are to wait for me here! I was growing weak with +fear lest I should lose you, too, in the general wreck. And you came and +sat here for me patiently--Darling!” + +There was a mingling of self-surrender and ruffled pride in her smiling +reproach: + +“Lose me? What do you mean? I waited for you last night, sir, and all +this weary morning, till I could wait no longer; I had to find you. I +would have stayed at home till you came; I meant to, but father startled +me: he said he was afraid you'd lose your place as Professor in spite +of all he had done for you. 'Twas good of him, wasn't it, to give up +running for Mayor, so as not to embitter Gulmore against you? I was +quite proud of him. But you won't lose your post, will you? Has anything +serious happened?--Dear!” + +He paused to think, but he could not see any way to avoid telling her +the truth. Disappointments had so huddled upon him, the insight he +had won into human nature was so desolating that his heart ached for +sympathy and affection. He loved her; she was to be his wife; how could +he help winning her to his side? Besides, her words voiced his own +fears--her father had already begun to try to part them. She must know +all and judge. But how? Should he give her “The Tribune” to read? No--it +was vindictive. + +“Come and sit down, May, and I'll tell you what happened yesterday. You +shall judge for yourself whether I was right or wrong.” + +He told her, point by point, what had occurred. May listened in silence +till he stopped. + +“But why did he resign? What could he gain by that?” + +While she was speaking a thought crimsoned her cheeks; she had found +the key to the enigma. Three nights before her father had talked of +Washington and the East with a sort of exultation. At the time she +had not paid much attention to this, though it had struck her as very +different from his habit. Now the peculiarity of it confirmed her +suspicion. In some way or other his action in resigning was connected +with his inexplicable high spirits. A wave of indignation swept over +her. Not that she felt the disgust which had sickened the Professor when +he first heard of the traitorism. He had condemned Mr. Hutchings on the +grounds of public morality; May's anger was aroused because her father +had sought to deceive _her_; had tried by lying suggestion to take +credit to himself, whereas-- + +“I wouldn't have believed it,” she murmured, with the passionate revolt +of youth against mean deceit. “I can never forgive him or trust him +again.” + +“Don't let us talk of it any more, dear. I wouldn't have told you only +I was afraid that he would try to separate us. Now I know you are on my +side I wouldn't have you judge him harshly.” + +“On your side,” she repeated, with a certain exaltation of manner. “On +your side always in spite of everything. I feel for you more intensely +than for myself.” In a lower voice and with hesitating speech she added: +“Did he--did he tell you that he resigned on your account?” + +He nodded. + +“And you're not angry?” + +“No.” He smiled slightly. “I understand men better now than I did +yesterday. That's all.” + +“Oh, but you ought to be mad. I am. How can you--” + +“Let us talk, dear, of what concerns us more. Have you heard anything? +From what your father said I half fear that the meeting to-morrow may go +against me. Has no one called?” + +“Professor Krazinski. I saw his card on the table when I came in. You +think it's a bad sign that he's the only one?” + +“I'm afraid so. It may be merely anxiety, but I'm growing suspicious +of every one now. I catch myself attributing low motives to men without +reason. That electioneering has infected me. I hate myself for it, but +I can't help it; I loathe the self-seeking and the vileness. I'd rather +not know men at all than see them as they've shown themselves lately. +I want to get away and rinse my mouth out and forget all about it--away +somewhere with you, my sweet love.” + +“But you mustn't let them condemn you without an effort.” While speaking +she put her hand on his shoulder and moved close to him. “It might +injure us later. And you know you can persuade them if you like. No one +can listen to you without being won over. And I want you to keep your +post; you love teaching and you're the best teacher in the world, ah--” + +He put his arms round her, and she bowed her head on his neck, that he +might not see the gathering tears. + +“You're right, dear. I spoke hastily. I'll do my best. It won't be as +bad as we think. My colleagues are men of some education and position. +They're not like the crowd of ignorant voters and greedy place-hunters; +they'll listen to reason, and”--half bitterly--“they've no motive to +do me wrong. Besides, Krazinski has called, and I scarcely know him; +perhaps the others didn't think of coming. It was kind of him, wasn't +it? I'm very grateful to him. He must be a good fellow.” + +“What has he done so wonderful? Oh, my!”--and she turned her face up to +his with half-laughing deprecation--“I'm afraid I'm deteriorating too. I +can't hear you praise any one now without feeling horribly jealous. Yes, +he must be good. But don't be too grateful to him, or--I must be going +now, and, oh! what a long time it'll be until to-morrow! I shall have +grown old before--to-morrow.” + +“Sweetheart! You'll come here and wait for me in the afternoon, won't +you? I shall want to see you so much.” + +“Yes, if you like; but I intended to go up to the University--mayn't I? +It'll seem ages--aeons--waiting here by myself.” + +“The meeting will not last long, and I'll come to you as soon as it's +over. Darling, you don't know how much you have helped me. You have +given me courage and hope,” and he folded her in his arms. + + * * * * * + +Mr. Gulmore liked to spend his evenings with his wife and daughter. It +amused him to hear what they had been doing during the day. Their gossip +had its value; sentimental or spiteful, it threw quaint sidelights upon +character. On the evening before the Faculty meeting Ida was bending +over a book, while Mr. Gulmore smoked, and watched her. His daughter was +somewhat of a puzzle to him still, and when occasion offered he studied +her. “Where does she get her bitterness from? I'm not bitter, an' I had +difficulties, was poor an' ignorant, had to succeed or go under, while +she has had everythin' she wanted. It's a pity she ain't kinder....” + +Presently Mrs. Gulmore put away her work and left the room. Taking up +the thread of a conversation that had been broken off by his wife's +presence, Mr. Gulmore began: + +“I don't say Roberts'll win, Ida. The bettin''s the other way; but I'm +not sure, for I don't know the crowd. He may come out on top, though I +hev noticed that young men who run into their first fight and get badly +whipped ain't likely to fight desperate the second time.--Grit's half +trainin'!” + +“I wish I could be there to _see_ him beaten!” Ida had tried to turn her +wounded pride into dislike, and was succeeding. “I hate to feel he's in +the same town with us--the coward!” + +At this moment Mrs. Gulmore re-entered the room. + +“To think of it! Sal left the gas-stove flarin'. I made her get up and +come downstairs to put it out. That'll learn her! Of all the careless, +shiftless creatures, these coloured people are the worst. Come, Ida, +it's long after nine, and I'm tired. You can read in your bedroom if you +want to.” + +After the usual “good night” and kisses, Ida went upstairs. While +Mrs. Gulmore busied herself putting “things straight,” Mr. Gulmore sat +thinking: + +“She takes after her mother in everythin', but she has more pride. It's +that makes her bitter. She's jest like her--only prettier. The same +peaky nose, pointed chin, little thin ears set close to her head, fine +hair--the Yankee school-marm. First-rate managin' women; the best wives +in the world to keep a house an' help a man on. But they hain't got +sensuality enough to be properly affectionate.” + + * * * * * + +On the following afternoon Roberts stopped before the door of his house +and looked back towards the University. There on the crest of the hill +stood the huge building of bluish-grey stone with the round tower of +the observatory in the middle--like a mallet with a stubby handle in the +air. + +While gazing thus a shrill voice reached him, the eager treble of a +newsboy: + +“Great Scandal!” he heard--and then “Scandal in the University! Full +Report! Only five cents! Five cents for the 'Herald's' Special!” + +He hastened to the gate and beckoned to the little figure in the +distance. His thoughts were whirling. What did it mean? Could the +“Herald” have issued a special edition with the report of the meeting? +Impossible! there wasn't time for that. Yet, he had walked leisurely +with Krazinski, and newspapers did wonders sometimes. Wonders! 'twould +be a breach of confidence. There was an honourable understanding that +no one should divulge what took place in a Faculty meeting. “Honourable” + and Gulmore--the two words wouldn't go together. Could it be? + +A glance at the contents-bill brought a flush to his face. He gave a +quarter for the sheet, and as the boy fumbled for change he said, taking +hold of the bill: + +“I want this too; you can keep the rest of the money,” and hurried into +the house. + +May met him at the door of the sitting-room, but did not speak, while +he opened out the paper, and in silence showed her the six columns, +containing a verbatim report of the meeting. + +“What do you think of that?” he asked, and without waiting for an answer +he spread the contents-bill upon the table. + +“This is better,” he went on, bitterly. “Read this!” And she read: + +RUCTIONS IN LEARNING'S HOME. + +THE PRESIDENT'S FLANK ATTACK. + +FOURS TO A PAIR. + +THE PAGAN RETIRES AND THE POLE. + +“Oh, the brutes! How could they?” May exclaimed. “But what does it +mean?” + +“You have it all there,” he said, touching the bill; “all in two or +three lines of cheerful insult, as is our American fashion. In spite of +the opinion of every leading lawyer in the State, sixteen--fanatics, to +give them the benefit of the doubt, voted that a disbelief in Christian +dogma was the same thing as 'open immorality.' The Father of Lies made +such men!” + +“Did no one vote for you?” + +“Two, Krazinski and some one else, I think 'twas little Black, and two +papers were blank. But fancy the President speaking against me, though +he has a casting-vote. All he could say was that the parents were the +only proper judges of what a student should be taught. Let us grant +that; I may have been mistaken, wrong, if you like; but my fault was not +'open immorality,' as specified in the Statute. They lied against me, +those sixteen.” + +May sympathized too keenly with his indignation to think of trying to +allay it; she couldn't help asking, “What did you do after the voting?” + +“What could I do? I had had enough of such opponents. I told them that +if they dismissed me I'd take the case into the courts, where at the +worst their reading of the words 'open immorality' would be put upon +record, and my character freed from stain. But, if they chose to rescind +their vote I said I was willing to resign.” + +“They accepted that?” + +“Krazinski forced them to. He told them some home-truths. They dared not +face the law courts lest it should come out that the professorships were +the rewards of sectarian bigotry. He went right through the list, and +ended by resigning his position. + +“Then Campbell got up and regretted his speech. It was uncalled-for +and--you know the sort of thing. My colleagues, he said, would have +preferred to retain my services if I had yielded to the opinion of the +parents. Under the circumstances there was no course open but to accept +my resignation. They would not enter the vote upon the minutes; they +would even write me a letter expressing regret at losing me, etc. So the +matter ended. + +“Coming down the hill I tried to persuade Krazinski not to resign on my +account. But the dear old fellow was obstinate; he had long intended to +retire. He was very kind. He thinks I shall find another place easily. + +“Now, May, you have heard the whole tale, what is your opinion? Are you +disappointed with me? You might well be. I'm disappointed with myself. +Somehow or other I've not got hate enough in me to be a good fighter.” + +“Disappointed? How little you know me! It's my life now to be with you. +Whatever you say or do is right to me. I think it's all for the best; I +wouldn't have you stay here after what has passed.” + +May meant all she said, and more. At the bottom of her heart she was +not sorry that he was going to leave Tecumseh. If she thereby lost the +pleasure of appearing as his wife before the companions of her youth, on +the other hand, he would belong to her more completely, now that he +was cut off from all other sympathy and no longer likely to meet Miss +Gulmore. Moreover, her determination to follow him in single-hearted +devotion seemed to throw the limelight of romance upon her disagreement +with her father, which had been much more acute than she had given +Roberts to suppose. She had loved her father, and if he had appealed +to her affection he could have so moved her that she would have shown +Roberts a hesitation which, in his troubled and depressed condition, +might have brought about a coldness between them, if not a rupture of +their relations. But Hutchings, feeling that he was in the wrong, had +contented himself with depreciating Roberts by sneer and innuendo, and +so had aroused her generous partisanship. The proceedings of the Faculty +naturally increased her sympathy with her lover, and her enthusiastic +support did much to revive his confidence in himself. When they parted +in the evening he had already begun to think of the preparations to be +made for his journey Eastwards. + + * * * * * + +A few weeks later a little knot of friends stood together one morning on +the down-platform of the Tecumseh station, waiting for the train to come +in. Professor Roberts was the centre of the group, and by his side stood +dainty May Hutchings, the violet eyes intense with courage that held the +sweet lips to a smile. Around them were some ten or a dozen students and +Krazinski, all in the highest spirits. They were talking about Roberts' +new appointment at Yale, which he attributed to Krazinski's influence. +Presently they became aware of an unwonted stir at the entrance-door +behind them. As they turned in wonder they saw that the negro hands had +formed a lane through which, heralded by the obsequious station-master, +Mr. Gulmore, with his daughter on his arm, was coming towards them. +Heedless of their astonishment, the Boss walked on till he stood in +front of Roberts. + +“Professor, we've heard of your good fortune, and are come to +congratulate you. Ida here always thought a pile of your knowledge an' +teachin', an' I guess she was right. Our little difference needn't count +now. You challenged me to a sort of wrastle an' you were thrown; but +I bear no malice, an' I'm glad to offer you my hand an' to wish +you--success.” + +Roberts shook hands without hesitation. He was simply surprised, and had +no inkling of the reason which had led Gulmore to come to the station +and to bring Ida. Had he been told that this was the father's plan for +protecting his daughter against the possibility of indiscreet gossip +he would have been still more astonished. “Nor do I bear malice,” he +rejoined, with a smile; “though the wrestling can hardly be considered +fair when twenty pull one man down.” + +“'Twas my crowd against yours,” replied the Boss indifferently. “But I'm +kinder sorry that you're leavin' the town. I'd never have left a place +where I was beaten. No, sir; I'd have taken root right there an' waited. +Influence comes with time, an' you had youth on your side.” + +“That may be your philosophy, Mr. Gulmore,” said Roberts lightly, as the +other paused, “but it's not mine. I'm satisfied with one or two falls; +they've taught me that the majority is with you.” + +Gulmore's seriousness relaxed still further; he saw his opponent's +ingenuousness, and took his statement as a tribute to his own power. + +“My philosophy,” he began, as if the word pleased him, “my philosophy--I +guess I ken give you that in a few words. When I was a boy in Vermont +I was reckoned smart at figgerin'. But one day an old farmer caught me. +'See here, boy,' he said, 'I live seventeen miles out of town, and +when in late fall the roads are bad and I drive in with a cartload of +potatoes, the shakin' sends all the big potatoes to the top and all the +little ones to the bottom. That's good for me that wants to sell, but +why is it? How does it come?' + +“Well, I didn't know the reason then, an' I told him so. But I took +the fact right there for my philosophy. Ef the road was long enough and +rough enough I was sure to come to the top.” + +“I understand,” said Roberts laughingly. “But I've heard farmers here +say that the biggest potatoes are not the best; they are generally +hollow at the--in the middle, I mean.” + +“That's weak,” retorted Gulmore with renewed seriousness. “I shouldn't +hev thought you'd hev missed the point like that. When I was a boy I +skipped away from the meanin' out of conceit. I thought I'd climb high +because I was big, and meant gettin' up more'n a little un could. +But before I was a man I understood the reason. It isn't that the big +potatoes want partic'lar to come to the top; it is that the little +potatoes are _de_termined to get to the bottom. + +“You may now be havin' a boost up, Professor, I hope you are; but you've +gone underneath once, an' that looks bad.” + +“The analogy seems perfect,” replied Roberts thoughtfully. “But, by +your own showing, the big men owe their position to the number of +their inferiors. And at the bottom lie the very smallest, helpless and +bruised, supporting their fortunate brethren. A sad state of things at +the best, Mr. Gulmore; but unbearable if the favoured ones forget their +debt to those beneath them.” + +“Sad or not,” said the Boss, “it represents the facts, an' it's well to +take account of them; but I guess we must be goin', your time'll soon be +up. We wish you success, Professor.” + +SEPTEMBER, 1892 AND 1893. + +THE END. + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Elder Conklin and Other Stories, by Frank Harris + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ELDER CONKLIN AND OTHER STORIES *** + +***** This file should be named 7153-0.txt or 7153-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/1/5/7153/ + +Produced by Blain Nelson, Eric Eldred, Charles Franks and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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