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diff --git a/7368-h/7368-h.htm b/7368-h/7368-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d437aef --- /dev/null +++ b/7368-h/7368-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8110 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Lifted Masks, by Susan Glaspell + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + .side { float: right; font-size: 75%; width: 25%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; margin-left: 0.8em; text-align: left; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Lifted Masks, by Susan Glaspell + +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: Lifted Masks + Stories + +Author: Susan Glaspell + + +Release Date: January, 2005 [EBook #7368] +This file was first posted on April 21, 2003 +Last Updated: March 15, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LIFTED MASKS *** + + + + +Text file produced by Suzanne L. Shell, Charles Franks and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + + + +</pre> + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + LIFTED MASKS + </h1> + <h3> + STORIES + </h3> + <h2> + By Susan Glaspell + </h2> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h3> + 1912 + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h3> + TO + </h3> + <h3> + THE MEMORY OF MY FRIEND + </h3> + <h3> + JENNIE PRESTON + </h3> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>LIFTED MASKS</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> I. — “ONE OF THOSE IMPOSSIBLE AMERICANS” + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> II. — THE PLEA </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> III. — FOR LOVE OF THE HILLS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> IV. — FRECKLES M'GRATH </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> V. — FROM A TO Z </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> VI. — THE MAN OF FLESH AND BLOOD </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> VII. — HOW THE PRINCE SAW AMERICA </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> VIII. — THE LAST SIXTY MINUTES </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> IX. — “OUT THERE” </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> X. — THE PREPOSTEROUS MOTIVE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> XI. — HIS AMERICA </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> XII. — THE ANARCHIST: HIS DOG </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> XIII. — AT TWILIGHT </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + LIFTED MASKS + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I. — “ONE OF THOSE IMPOSSIBLE AMERICANS” + </h2> + <p> + “N'avez-vous pas—” she was bravely demanding of the clerk when she + saw that the bulky American who was standing there helplessly dangling two + flaming red silk stockings which a copiously coiffured young woman assured + him were <i>bien chic</i> was edging nearer her. She was never so + conscious of the truly American quality of her French as when a countryman + was at hand. The French themselves had an air of “How marvellously you + speak!” but fellow Americans listened superciliously in an “I can do + better than that myself” manner which quite untied the Gallic twist in + one's tongue. And so, feeling her French was being compared, not with mere + French itself, but with an arrogant new American brand thereof, she moved + a little around the corner of the counter and began again in lower voice: + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mais, n'avez</i>—” + </p> + <p> + “Say, Young Lady,” a voice which adequately represented the figure broke + in, “<i>you</i>, aren't French, are you?” + </p> + <p> + She looked up with what was designed for a haughty stare. But what is a + haughty stare to do in the face of a broad grin? And because it was such a + long time since a grin like that had been grinned at her it happened that + the stare gave way to a dimple, and the dimple to a laughing: “Is it so + bad as that?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, not your French,” he assured her. “You talk it just like the rest of + them. In fact, I should say, if anything—a little more so. But do + you know,”—confidentially—“I can just spot an American girl + every time!” + </p> + <p> + “How?” she could not resist asking, and the modest black hose she was + thinking of purchasing dangled against his gorgeous red ones in + friendliest fashion. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Sir—I don't know. I don't think it can be the clothes,”—judicially + surveying her. + </p> + <p> + “The clothes,” murmured Virginia, “were bought in Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you've got <i>me</i>. Maybe it's the way you wear 'em. Maybe it's + 'cause you look as if you used to play tag with your brother. Something—anyhow—gives + a fellow that 'By jove there's an American girl!' feeling when he sees you + coming round the corner.” + </p> + <p> + “But why—?” + </p> + <p> + “Lord—don't begin on <i>why</i>. You can say <i>why</i> to anything. + Why don't the French talk English? Why didn't they lay Paris out at right + angles? Now look here, Young Lady, for that matter—<i>why</i> can't + you help me buy some presents for my wife? There'd be nothing wrong about + it,” he hastened to assure her, “because my wife's a mighty fine woman.” + </p> + <p> + The very small American looked at the very large one. Now Virginia was a + well brought up young woman. Her conversations with strange men had been + confined to such things as, “Will you please tell me the nearest way to—?” + but preposterously enough—she could not for the life of her have + told why—frowning upon this huge American—fat was the literal + word—who stood there with puckered-up face swinging the flaming hose + would seem in the same shameful class with snubbing the little boy who + confidently asked her what kind of ribbon to buy for his mother. + </p> + <p> + “Was it for your wife you were thinking of buying these red stockings?” + she ventured. + </p> + <p> + “Sure. What do you think of 'em? Look as if they came from Paris all + right, don't they?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, they look as though they came from Paris, all right,” Virginia + repeated, a bit grimly. “But do you know”—this quite as to that + little boy who might be buying the ribbon—“American women don't + always care for all the things that look as if they came from Paris. Is + your wife—does she care especially for red stockings?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't believe she ever had a pair in her life. That's why I thought it + might please her.” + </p> + <p> + Virginia looked down and away. There were times when dimples made things + hard for one. + </p> + <p> + Then she said, with gentle gravity: “There are quite a number of women in + America who don't care much for red stockings. It would seem too bad, + wouldn't it, if after you got these clear home your wife should turn out + to be one of those people? Now, I think these grey stockings are lovely. + I'm sure any woman would love them. She could wear them with grey suede + slippers and they would be so soft and pretty.” + </p> + <p> + “Um—not very lively looking, are they? You see I want something to + cheer her up. She—well she's not been very well lately and I thought + something—oh something with a lot of <i>dash</i> in it, you know, + would just fill the bill. But look here. We'll take both. Sure—that's + the way out of it. If she don't like the red, she'll like the grey, and if + she don't like the—You like the grey ones, don't you? Then here”—picking + up two pairs of the handsomely embroidered grey stockings and handing them + to the clerk—“One,” holding up his thumb to denote one—“me,”—a + vigorous pounding of the chest signifying me. “One”—holding up his + forefinger and pointing to the girl—“mademoiselle.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no—no—no!” cried Virginia, her face instantly the colour + of the condemned stockings. Then, standing straight: “Certainly <i>not</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “No? Just as you say,” he replied good humouredly. “Like to have you have + 'em. Seems as if strangers in a strange land oughtn't to stand on + ceremony.” + </p> + <p> + The clerk was bending forward holding up the stockings alluringly. “<i>Pour + mademoiselle, n'est-ce-pas</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mais—non!</i>” pronounced Virginia, with emphasis. + </p> + <p> + There followed an untranslatable gesture. “How droll!” shoulder and + outstretched hands were saying. “If the kind gentleman <i>wishes</i> to + give mademoiselle the <i>joli bas</i>—!” + </p> + <p> + His face had puckered up again. Then suddenly it unpuckered. “Tell you + what you might do,” he solved it. “Just take 'em along and send them to + your mother. Now your mother might be real glad to have 'em.” + </p> + <p> + Virginia stared. And then an awful thing happened. What she was thinking + about was the letter she could send with the stockings. “Mother dear,” she + would write, “as I stood at the counter buying myself some stockings + to-day along came a nice man—a stranger to me, but very kind and + jolly—and gave me—” + </p> + <p> + There it was that the awful thing happened. Her dimple was showing—and + at thought of its showing she could not keep it from showing! And how + could she explain why it was showing without its going on showing? And how—? + </p> + <p> + But at that moment her gaze fell upon the clerk, who had taken the dimple + as signal to begin putting the stockings in a box. The Frenchwoman's + eyebrows soon put that dimple in its proper place. “And so the <i>petite + Americaine</i> was not too—oh, not <i>too</i>—” those French + eyebrows were saying. + </p> + <p> + All in an instant Virginia was something quite different from a little + girl with a dimple. “You are very kind,” she was saying, and her mother + herself could have done it no better, “but I am sure our little joke had + gone quite far enough. I bid you good-morning”. And with that she walked + regally over to the glove counter, leaving red and grey and black hosiery + to their own destinies. + </p> + <p> + “I loathe them when their eyebrows go up,” she fumed. “Now <i>his</i> + weren't going up—not even in his mind.” + </p> + <p> + She could not keep from worrying about him. “They'll just 'do' him,” she + was sure. “And then laugh at him in the bargain. A man like that has no <i>business</i> + to be let loose in a store all by himself.” + </p> + <p> + And sure enough, a half hour later she came upon him up in the dress + department. Three of them had gathered round to “do” him. They were making + rapid headway, their smiling deference scantily concealing their amused + contempt. The spectacle infuriated Virginia. “They just think they can <i>work</i> + us!” she stormed. “They think we're <i>easy</i>. I suppose they think he's + a <i>fool</i>. I just wish they could get him in a business deal! I just + wish—!” + </p> + <p> + “I can assure you, sir,” the English-speaking manager of the department + was saying, “that this garment is a wonderful value. We are able to let + you have it at so absurdly low a figure because—” + </p> + <p> + Virginia did not catch why it was they were able to let him have it at so + absurdly low a figure, but she did see him wipe his brow and look + helplessly around. “Poor <i>thing</i>,” she murmured, almost tenderly, “he + doesn't know what to do. He just <i>does</i> need somebody to look after + him.” She stood there looking at his back. He had a back a good deal like + the back of her chum's father at home. Indeed there were various things + about him suggested “home.” Did one want one's own jeered at? One might + see crudities one's self, but was one going to have supercilious outsiders + coughing those sham coughs behind their hypocritical hands? + </p> + <p> + “For seven hundred francs,” she heard the suave voice saying. + </p> + <p> + <i>Seven hundred francs</i>! Virginia's national pride, or, more + accurately, her national rage, was lashed into action. It was with very + red cheeks that the small American stepped stormily to the rescue of her + countryman. + </p> + <p> + “Seven hundred francs for <i>that</i>?” she jeered, right in the face of + the enraged manager and stiffening clerks. “Seven hundred francs—indeed! + Last year's model—a hideous colour, and “—picking it up, + running it through her fingers and tossing it contemptuously aside—“abominable + stuff!” + </p> + <p> + “Gee, but I'm grateful to you!” he breathed, again wiping his brow. “You + know, I was a little leery of it myself.” + </p> + <p> + The manager, quivering with rage and glaring uglily, stepped up to + Virginia. “May I ask—?” + </p> + <p> + But the fat man stepped in between—he was well qualified for that + position. “Cut it out, partner. The young lady's a friend of <i>mine</i>—see? + She's looking out for me—not you. I don't want your stuff, anyway.” + And taking Virginia serenely by the arm he walked away. + </p> + <p> + “This was no place to buy dresses,” said she crossly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I wish I knew where the places <i>were</i> to buy things,” he + replied, humbly, forlornly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what do you want to buy?” demanded she, still crossly. + </p> + <p> + “Why, I want to buy some nice things for my wife. Something the real thing + from Paris, you know. I came over from London on purpose. But Lord,”—again + wiping his brow—“a fellow doesn't know where to <i>go</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh well,” sighed Virginia, long-sufferingly, “I see I'll just have to + take you. There doesn't seem any way out of it. It's evident you can't go + <i>alone</i>. <i>Seven hundred francs</i>!” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it was too much,” he conceded meekly. “I tell you I <i>will</i> + be grateful if you'll just stay by me a little while. I never felt so up + against it in all my life.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, a very nice thing to take one's wife from Paris,” began Virginia + didactically, when they reached the sidewalk, “is lace.” + </p> + <p> + “L—ace? Um! Y—es, I suppose lace is all right. Still it never + struck me there was anything so very <i>lively</i> looking about lace.” + </p> + <p> + “'Lively looking' is not the final word in wearing apparel,” pronounced + Virginia in teacher-to-pupil manner. “Lace is always in good taste, never + goes out of style, and all women care for it. I will take you to one of + the lace shops.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” acquiesced he, truly chastened. “Here, let's get in this + cab.” + </p> + <p> + Virginia rode across the Seine looking like one pondering the destinies of + nations. Her companion turned several times to address her, but it would + have been as easy for a soldier to slap a general on the back. Finally she + turned to him. + </p> + <p> + “Now when we get there,” she instructed, “don't seem at all interested in + things. Act—oh, bored, you know, and seeming to want to get me away. + And when they tell the price, no matter what they say, just—well + sort of groan and hold your head and act as though you are absolutely + overcome at the thought of such an outrage.” + </p> + <p> + “U—m. You have to do that here to get—lace?” + </p> + <p> + “You have to do that here to get <i>anything</i>—-at the price you + should get it. You, and people who go shopping the way you do, bring + discredit upon the entire American nation.” + </p> + <p> + “That so? Sorry. Never meant to do that. All right, Young Lady, I'll do + the best I can. Never did act that way, but suppose I can, if the rest of + them do.” + </p> + <p> + “Groan and hold my head,” she heard him murmuring as they entered the + shop. + </p> + <p> + He proved an apt pupil. It may indeed be set down that his aptitude was + their undoing. They had no sooner entered the shop than he pulled out his + watch and uttered an exclamation of horror at the sight of the time. + Virginia could scarcely look at the lace, so insistently did he keep + waving the watch before her. His contempt for everything shown was open + and emphatic. It was also articulate. Virginia grew nervous, seeing the + real red showing through in the Frenchwoman's cheeks. And when the price + was at last named—a price which made Virginia jubilant—there + burst upon her outraged ears something between a jeer and a howl of rage, + the whole of it terrifyingly done in the form of a groan; she looked at + her companion to see him holding up his hands and wobbling his head as + though it had been suddenly loosened from his spine, cast one look at the + Frenchwoman—then fled, followed by her groaning compatriot. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't mean you to act like <i>that</i>!” she stormed. + </p> + <p> + “Why, I did just what you told me to! Seemed to me I was following + directions to the letter. Don't think for a minute <i>I'm</i> going to + bring discredit on the American nation! Not a bad scheme—taking out + my watch that way, was it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, beautiful <i>scheme</i>. I presume you notice, however, that we have + no lace.” + </p> + <p> + They walked half a block in silence. “Now I'll take you to another shop,” + she then volunteered, in a turning the other cheek fashion, “and here + please do nothing at all. Please just—sit.” + </p> + <p> + “Sort of as if I was feeble-minded, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don't <i>try</i> to look feeble-minded,” she begged, alarmed at + seeming to suggest any more parts; “just sit there—as if you were + thinking of something very far away.” + </p> + <p> + “Say, Young Lady, look here; this is very nice, being put on to the tricks + of the trade, but the money end of it isn't cutting much ice, and isn't + there any way you can just <i>buy</i> things—the way you do in + Cincinnati? Can't you get their stuff without making a comic opera out of + it?” + </p> + <p> + “No, you can't,” spoke relentless Virginia; “not unless you want them to + laugh and say 'Aren't Americans fools?' the minute the door is shut.” + </p> + <p> + “Fools—eh? I'll show them a thing or two!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, please show them nothing here! Please just—sit.” + </p> + <p> + While employing her wiles to get for three hundred and fifty francs a yoke + and scarf aggregating four hundred, she chanced to look at her American + friend. Then she walked rapidly to the rear of the shop, buried her face + in her handkerchief, and seemed making heroic efforts to sneeze. Once more + he was following directions to the letter. Chin resting on hands, hands + resting on stick, the huge American had taken on the beatific expression + of a seventeen-year-old girl thinking of something “very far away.” + Virginia was long in mastering the sneeze. + </p> + <p> + On the sidewalk she presented him with the package of lace and also with + what she regarded the proper thing in the way of farewell speech. She + supposed it <i>was</i> hard for a man to go shopping alone; she could see + how hard it would be for her own father; indeed it was seeing how + difficult it would be for her father had impelled her to go with him, a + stranger. She trusted his wife would like the lace; she thought it very + nice, and a bargain. She was glad to have been of service to a fellow + countryman who seemed in so difficult a position. + </p> + <p> + But he did not look as impressed as one to whom a farewell speech was + being made should look. In fact, he did not seem to be hearing it. Once + more, and in earnest this time, he appeared to be thinking of something + very far away. Then all at once he came back, and it was in anything but a + far-away voice he began, briskly: “Now look here, Young Lady, I don't + doubt but this lace is great stuff. You say so, and I haven't seen man, + woman or child on this side of the Atlantic knows as much as you do. I'm + mighty grateful for the lace—don't you forget that, but just the + same—well, now I'll tell you. I have a very special reason for + wanting something a little livelier than lace. Something that seems to + have Paris written on it in red letters—see? Now, where do you get + the kind of hats you see some folks wearing, and where do you get the + dresses—well, it's hard to describe 'em, but the kind they have in + pictures marked 'Breezes from Paris'? You see—<i>S-ay!</i>—<i>what</i> + do you think of <i>that?</i>” + </p> + <p> + “That” was in a window across the street. It was an opera cloak. He walked + toward it, Virginia following. “Now <i>there</i>,” he turned to her, his + large round face all aglow, “is what I want.” + </p> + <p> + It was yellow; it was long; it was billowy; it was insistently and + recklessly regal. + </p> + <p> + “That's the ticket!” he gloated. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” began Virginia, “I don't know anything about it. I am in a + very strange position, not knowing what your wife likes or—or has. + This is the kind of thing everything has to go <i>with</i> or one wouldn't—one + couldn't—” + </p> + <p> + “Sure! Good idea. We'll just get everything to go with it.” + </p> + <p> + “It's the sort of thing one doesn't see worn much outside of Paris—or + New York. If one is—now my mother wouldn't care for that coat at + all.” Virginia took no little pride in that tactful finish. + </p> + <p> + “Can't sidetrack me!” he beamed. “I <i>want</i> it. Very thing I'm after, + Young Lady.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, of course you will have no difficulty in buying the coat without + me,” said she, as a dignified version of “I wash my hands of you.” “You + can do here as you said you wished to do, simply go in and pay what they + ask. There would be no use trying to get it cheap. They would know that + anyone who wanted it would”—she wanted to say “have more money than + they knew what to do with,” but contented herself with, “be able to pay + for it.” + </p> + <p> + But when she had finished she looked at him; at first she thought she + wanted to laugh, and then it seemed that wasn't what she wanted to do + after all. It was like saying to a small boy who was one beam over finding + a tin horn: “Oh well, take the horn if you want to, but you can't haul + your little red waggon while you're blowing the horn.” There seemed + something peculiarly inhuman about taking the waggon just when he had + found the horn. Now if the waggon were broken, then to take away the horn + would leave the luxury of grief. But let not shadows fall upon joyful + moments. + </p> + <p> + With the full ardour of her femininity she entered into the purchasing of + the yellow opera cloak. They paid for that decorative garment the sum of + two thousand five hundred francs. It seemed it was embroidered, and the + lining was—anyway, they paid it. + </p> + <p> + And they took it with them. He was going to “take no chances on losing + it.” He was leaving Paris that night and held that during his stay he had + been none too impressed with either Parisian speed or Parisian veracity. + </p> + <p> + Then they bought some “Breezes from Paris,” a dress that would “go with” + the coat. It was violet velvet, and contributed to the sense of doing + one's uttermost; and hats—“the kind you see some folks wearing.” One + was the rainbow done into flowers, and the other the kind of black hat to + outdo any rainbow. “If you could just give me some idea what type your + wife is,” Virginia was saying, from beneath the willow plumes. “Now you + see this hat quite overpowers me. Do you think it will overpower her?” + </p> + <p> + “Guess not. Anyway, if it don't look right on her head she may enjoy + having it around to look at.” + </p> + <p> + Virginia stared out at him. The <i>oddest</i> man! As if a hat were any + good at all if it didn't look right on one's head! + </p> + <p> + Upon investigation—though yielding to his taste she was still + vigilant as to his interests—Virginia discovered a flaw in one of + the plumes. The sylph in the trailing gown held volubly that it did not <i>fait + rien</i>; the man with the open purse said he couldn't see that it figured + much, but the small American held firm. That must be replaced by a perfect + plume or they would not take the hat. And when she saw who was in command + the sylph as volubly acquiesced that <i>naturellement</i> it must be <i>tout + a fait</i> perfect. She would send out and get one that would be oh! so, + so, <i>so</i> perfect. It would take half an hour. + </p> + <p> + “Tell you what we'll do,” Virginia's friend proposed, opera cloak tight + under one arm, velvet gown as tight under the other, “I'm tired—hungry—thirsty; + feel like a ham sandwich—and something. I'm playing you out, too. + Let's go out and get a bite and come back for the so, so, <i>so</i> + perfect hat.” + </p> + <p> + She hesitated. But he had the door open, and if he stood holding it that + way much longer he was bound to drop the violet velvet gown. She did not + want him to drop the velvet gown and furthermore, she <i>would</i> like a + cup of tea. There came into her mind a fortifying thought about the + relative deaths of sheep and lambs. If to be killed for the sheep were + indeed no worse than being killed for the lamb, and if a cup of tea went + with the sheep and nothing at all with the lamb—? + </p> + <p> + So she agreed. “There's a nice little tea-shop right round the corner. We + girls often go there.” + </p> + <p> + “Tea? Like tea? All right, then”—and he started manfully on. + </p> + <p> + But as she entered the tea-shop she was filled with keen sense of the + desirableness of being slain for the lesser animal. For, cosily installed + in their favourite corner, were “the girls.” + </p> + <p> + Virginia had explained to these friends some three hours before that she + could not go with them that afternoon as she must attend a musicale some + friends of her mother's were giving. Being friends of her mother's, she + expatiated, she would have to go. + </p> + <p> + Recollecting this, also for the first time remembering the musicale, she + bowed with the <i>hauteur</i> of self-consciousness. + </p> + <p> + Right there her friend contributed to the tragedy of a sheep's death by + dropping the yellow opera cloak. While he was stooping to pick it up the + violet velvet gown slid backward and Virginia had to steady it until he + could regain position. The staring in the corner gave way to tittering—and + no dying sheep had ever held its head more haughtily. + </p> + <p> + The death of this particular sheep proved long and painful. The legs of + Virginia's friend and the legs of the tea-table did not seem well adapted + to each other. He towered like a human mountain over the dainty thing, + twisting now this way and now that. It seemed Providence—or at least + so much of it as was represented by the management of that shop—had + never meant fat people to drink tea. The table was rendered further out of + proportion by having a large box piled on either side of it. + </p> + <p> + Expansively, and not softly, he discoursed of these things. What did they + think a fellow was to do with his <i>knees</i>? Didn't they sell tea + enough to afford any decent chairs? Did all these women pretend to really + <i>like</i> tea? + </p> + <p> + Virginia's sense of humour rallied somewhat as she viewed him eating the + sandwiches. Once she had called them doll-baby sandwiches; now that seemed + literal: tea-cups, <i>petit gateau</i>, the whole service gave the fancy + of his sitting down to a tea-party given by a little girl for her dollies. + </p> + <p> + But after a time he fell silent, looking around the room. And when he + broke that pause his voice was different. + </p> + <p> + “These women here, all dressed so fine, nothing to do but sit around and + eat this folderol, <i>they</i> have it easy—don't they?” + </p> + <p> + The bitterness in it, and a faint note of wistfulness, puzzled her. + Certainly <i>he</i> had money. + </p> + <p> + “And the husbands of these women,” he went on; “lots of 'em, I suppose, + didn't always have so much. Maybe some of these women helped out in the + early days when things weren't so easy. Wonder if the men ever think how + lucky they are to be able to get it back at 'em?” + </p> + <p> + She grew more bewildered. Wasn't he “getting it back?” The money he had + been spending that day! + </p> + <p> + “Young Lady,” he said abruptly, “you must think I'm a queer one.” + </p> + <p> + She murmured feeble protest. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you must. Must wonder what I want with all this stuff, don't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, it's for your wife, isn't it?” she asked, startled. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, but you must wonder. You're a shrewd one, Young Lady; judging the + thing by me, you must wonder.” + </p> + <p> + Virginia was glad she was not compelled to state her theory. Loud and + common and impossible were terms which had presented themselves, terms + which she had fought with kind and good-natured and generous. Their + purchases she had decided were to be used, not for a knock, but as a + crashing pound at the door of the society of his town. For her part, + Virginia hoped the door would come down. + </p> + <p> + “And if you knew that probably this stuff would never be worn at all, that + ten to one it would never do anything more than lie round on chairs—then + you <i>would</i> think I was queer, wouldn't you?” + </p> + <p> + She was forced to admit that that would seem rather strange. + </p> + <p> + “Young Lady, I believe I'll tell you about it. Never do talk about it to + hardly anybody, but I feel as if you and I were pretty well acquainted—we've + been through so much together.” + </p> + <p> + She smiled at him warmly; there was something so real about him when he + talked that way. + </p> + <p> + But his look then frightened her. It seemed for an instant as though he + would brush the tiny table aside and seize some invisible thing by the + throat. Then he said, cutting off each word short: “Young Lady, what do + you think of this? I'm worth more 'an a million dollars—and my wife + gets up at five o'clock every morning to do washing and scrubbing.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it's not that she <i>has</i> to,” he answered her look, “but she <i>thinks</i> + she has to. See? Once we were poor. For twenty years we were poor as dirt. + Then she did have to do things like that. Then I struck it. Or rather, it + struck me. Oil. Oil on a bit of land I had. I had just sense enough to + make the most of it; one thing led to another—well, you're not + interested in that end of it. But the fact is that now we're rich. Now she + could have all the things that these women have—Lord A'mighty she + could lay abed every day till noon if she wanted to! But—you see?—it + <i>got</i> her—those hard, lonely, grinding years <i>took</i> her. + She's”—he shrunk from the terrible word and faltered out—“her + mind's not—” + </p> + <p> + There was a sobbing little flutter in Virginia's throat. In a dim way she + was glad to see that the girls were going. She <i>could</i> not have them + laughing at him—now. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you can about figure out how it makes me feel,” he continued, and + looking into his face now it was as though the spirit redeemed the flesh. + “You're smart. You can see it without my callin' your attention to it. + Last time I went to see her I had just made fifty thousand on a deal. And + I found her down on her knees thinking she was scrubbing the floor!” + </p> + <p> + Unconsciously Virginia's hand went out, following the rush of sympathy and + understanding. “But can't they—restrain her?” she murmured. + </p> + <p> + “Makes her worse. Says she's got it to do—frets her to think she's + not getting it done.” + </p> + <p> + “But isn't there some <i>way</i>?” she whispered. “Some way to make her <i>know</i>?” + </p> + <p> + He pointed to the large boxes. “That,” he said simply, “is the meaning of + those. It's been seven years—but I keep on trying.” + </p> + <p> + She was silent, the tears too close for words. And she had thought it + cheap ambition!—vulgar aspiration—silly show—vanity! + </p> + <p> + “Suppose you thought I was a queer one, talking about lively looking + things. But you see now? Thought it might attract her attention, thought + something real gorgeous like this might impress money on her. Though I + don't know,”—he seemed to grow weary as he told it; “I got her a lot + of diamonds, thinking they might interest her, and she thought she'd + stolen 'em, and they had to take them away.” + </p> + <p> + Still the girl did not speak. Her hand was shading her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “But there's nothing like trying. Nothing like keeping right on trying. + And anyhow—a fellow likes to think he's taking his wife something + from Paris.” + </p> + <p> + They passed before her in their heartbreaking folly, their tragic + uselessness, their lovable absurdity and stinging irony—those things + they had bought that afternoon: an <i>opera cloak</i>—a <i>velvet + dress</i>—<i>those hats</i>—<i>red silk stockings</i>. + </p> + <p> + The mockery of them wrung her heart. Right there in the tea-shop Virginia + was softly crying. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, now that's too bad,” he expostulated clumsily. “Why, look here, Young + Lady, I didn't mean you to take it so hard.” + </p> + <p> + When she had recovered herself he told her much of the story. And the + thing which revealed him—glorified him—was less the grief he + gave to it than the way he saw it. “It's the cursed unfairness of it,” he + concluded. “When you consider it's all because she did those things—when + you think of her bein' bound to 'em for life just because she was <i>too + faithful doin' 'em</i>—when you think that now—when I could + give her everything these women have got!—she's got to go right on + worrying about baking the bread and washing the dishes—did it for me + when I was poor—and now with me rich she can't get <i>out</i> of it—and + I <i>can't reach</i> her—oh, it's <i>rotten!</i> I tell you it's <i>rotten!</i> + Sometimes I can just hear my money <i>laugh</i> at me! Sometimes I get to + going round and round in a circle about it till it seems I'm going crazy + myself.” + </p> + <p> + “I think you are a—a noble man,” choked Virginia. + </p> + <p> + That disconcerted him. “Oh Lord—don't think that. No, Young Lady, + don't try to make any plaster saint out of <i>me</i>. My life goes on. + I've got to eat, drink and be merry. I'm built that way. But just the same + my heart on the inside's pretty sore, Young Lady. I want to tell you that + the whole inside of my heart is <i>sore as a boil</i>!” + </p> + <p> + They were returning for the hats. Suddenly Virginia stopped, and it was a + soft-eyed and gentle Virginia who turned to him after the pause. “There + are lovely things to be bought in Paris for women who aren't well. Such + soft, lovely things to wear in your room. Not but what I think these other + things are all right. As you say, they may—interest her. But they + aren't things she can use just now, and wouldn't you like her to have some + of those soft lovely things she could actually wear? They might help most + of all. To wake in the morning and find herself in something so beautiful—” + </p> + <p> + “Where do you get 'em?” he demanded promptly. + </p> + <p> + And so they went to one of those shops which have, more than all the + others, enshrined Paris in feminine hearts. And never was lingerie + selected with more loving care than that which Virginia picked out that + afternoon. A tear fell on one particularly lovely <i>robe de nuit</i>—so + soothingly soft, so caressingly luxurious, it seemed that surely it might + help bring release from the bondage of those crushing years. + </p> + <p> + As they were leaving they were given two packages. “Just the kimona thing + you liked,” he said, “and a trinket or two. Now that we're such good + friends, you won't feel like you did this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “And if I don't want them myself, I might send them to my mother,” + Virginia replied, a quiver in her laugh at her own little joke. + </p> + <p> + He had put her in her cab; he had tried to tell her how much he thanked + her; they had said good-bye and the <i>cocher</i> had cracked his whip + when he came running after her. “Why, Young Lady,” he called out, “we + don't know each other's <i>names</i>.” + </p> + <p> + She laughed and gave hers. “Mine's William P. Johnson,” he said. “Part + French and part Italian. But now look here, Young Lady—or I mean, + Miss Clayton. A fellow at the hotel was telling me something last night + that made me <i>sick</i>. He said American girls sometimes got awfully up + against it here. He said one actually starved last year. Now, I don't like + that kind of business. Look here, Young Lady, I want you to promise that + if you—you or any of your gang—get up against it you'll cable + William P. Johnson, of Cincinnati, Ohio.” + </p> + <p> + The twilight grey had stolen upon Paris. And there was a mist which the + street lights only penetrated a little way—as sometimes one's + knowledge of life may only penetrate life a very little way. Her cab + stopped by a blockade, she watched the burly back of William P. Johnson + disappearing into the mist. The red box which held the yellow opera cloak + she could see longer than all else. + </p> + <p> + “You never can tell,” murmured Virginia. “It just goes to show that you + never can tell.” + </p> + <p> + And whatever it was you never could tell had brought to Virginia's girlish + face the tender knowingness of the face of a woman. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II. — THE PLEA + </h2> + <p> + Senator Harrison concluded his argument and sat down. There was no + applause, but he had expected none. Senator Dorman was already saying “Mr. + President?” and there was a stir in the crowded galleries, and an + anticipatory moving of chairs among the Senators. In the press gallery the + reporters bunched together their scattered papers and inspected their + pencil-points with earnestness. Dorman was the best speaker of the Senate, + and he was on the popular side of it. It would be the great speech of the + session, and the prospect was cheering after a deluge of railroad and + insurance bills. + </p> + <p> + “I want to tell you,” he began, “why I have worked for this resolution + recommending the pardon of Alfred Williams. It is one of the great laws of + the universe that every living thing be given a chance. In the case before + us that law has been violated. This does not resolve itself into a + question of second chances. The boy of whom we are speaking has never had + his first.” + </p> + <p> + Senator Harrison swung his chair half-way around and looked out at the + green things which were again coming into their own on the State-house + grounds. He knew—in substance—what Senator Dorman would say + without hearing it, and he was a little tired of the whole affair. He + hoped that one way or other they would finish it up that night, and go + ahead with something else. He had done what he could, and now the + responsibility was with the rest of them. He thought they were shouldering + a great deal to advocate the pardon in the face of the united opposition + of Johnson County, where the crime had been committed. It seemed a + community should be the best judge of its own crimes, and that was what + he, as the Senator from Johnson, had tried to impress upon them. + </p> + <p> + He knew that his argument against the boy had been a strong one. He rather + liked the attitude in which he stood. It seemed as if he were the + incarnation of outraged justice attempting to hold its own at the + floodgates of emotion. He liked to think he was looking far beyond the + present and the specific and acting as guardian of the future—and + the whole. In summing it up that night the reporters would tell in highly + wrought fashion of the moving appeal made by Senator Dorman, and then they + would speak dispassionately of the logical argument of the leader of the + opposition. There was more satisfaction to self in logic than in mere + eloquence. He was even a little proud of his unpopularity. It seemed + sacrificial. + </p> + <p> + He wondered why it was Senator Dorman had thrown himself into it so + whole-heartedly. All during the session the Senator from Maxwell had + neglected personal interests in behalf of this boy, who was nothing to him + in the world. He supposed it was as a sociological and psychological + experiment. Senator Dorman had promised the Governor to assume + guardianship of the boy if he were let out. The Senator from Johnson + inferred that as a student of social science his eloquent colleague wanted + to see what he could make of him. To suppose the interest merely personal + and sympathetic would seem discreditable. + </p> + <p> + “I need not dwell upon the story,” the Senator from Maxwell was saying, + “for you all are familiar with it already. It is said to have been the + most awful crime ever committed in the State. I grant you that it was, and + then I ask you to look for a minute into the conditions leading up to it. + </p> + <p> + “When the boy was born, his mother was instituting divorce proceedings + against his father. She obtained the divorce, and remarried when Alfred + was three months old. From the time he was a mere baby she taught him to + hate his father. Everything that went wrong with him she told him was his + father's fault. His first vivid impression was that his father was + responsible for all the wrong of the universe. + </p> + <p> + “For seven years that went on, and then his mother died. His stepfather + did not want him. He was going to Missouri, and the boy would be a useless + expense and a bother. He made no attempt to find a home for him; he did + not even explain—he merely went away and left him. At the age of + seven the boy was turned out on the world, after having been taught one + thing—to hate his father. He stayed a few days in the barren house, + and then new tenants came and closed the doors against him. It may have + occurred to him as a little strange that he had been sent into a world + where there was no place for him. + </p> + <p> + “When he asked the neighbours for shelter, they told him to go to his own + father and not bother strangers. He said he did not know where his father + was. They told him, and he started to walk—a distance of fifty + miles. I ask you to bear in mind, gentlemen, that he was only seven years + of age. It is the age when the average boy is beginning the third reader, + and when he is shooting marbles and spinning tops. + </p> + <p> + “When he reached his father's house he was told at once that he was not + wanted there. The man had remarried, there were other children, and he had + no place for Alfred. He turned him away; but the neighbours protested, and + he was compelled to take him back. For four years he lived in this home, + to which he had come unbidden, and where he was never made welcome. + </p> + <p> + “The whole family rebelled against him. The father satisfied his + resentment against the boy's dead mother by beating her son, by + encouraging his wife to abuse him, and inspiring the other children to + despise him. It seems impossible such conditions should exist. The only + proof of their possibility lies in the fact of their existence. + </p> + <p> + “I need not go into the details of the crime. He had been beaten by his + father that evening after a quarrel with his stepmother about spilling the + milk. He went, as usual, to his bed in the barn; but the hay was + suffocating, his head ached, and he could not sleep. He arose in the + middle of the night, went to the house, and killed both his father and + stepmother. + </p> + <p> + “I shall not pretend to say what thoughts surged through the boy's brain + as he lay there in the stifling hay with the hot blood pounding against + his temples. I shall not pretend to say whether he was sane or insane as + he walked to the house for the perpetration of the awful crime. I do not + even affirm it would not have happened had there been some human being + there to lay a cooling hand on his hot forehead, and say a few soothing, + loving words to take the sting from the loneliness, and ease the + suffering. I ask you to consider only one thing: he was eleven years old + at the time, and he had no friend in all the world. He knew nothing of + sympathy; he knew only injustice.” + </p> + <p> + Senator Harrison was still looking out at the budding things on the + State-house grounds, but in a vague way he was following the story. He + knew when the Senator from Maxwell completed the recital of facts and + entered upon his plea. He was conscious that it was stronger than he had + anticipated—more logic and less empty exhortation. He was telling of + the boy's life in reformatory and penitentiary since the commission of the + crime,—of how he had expanded under kindness, of his mental + attainments, the letters he could write, the books he had read, the hopes + he cherished. In the twelve years he had spent there he had been known to + do no unkind nor mean thing; he responded to affection—craved it. It + was not the record of a degenerate, the Senator from Maxwell was saying. + </p> + <p> + A great many things were passing through the mind of the Senator from + Johnson. He was trying to think who it was that wrote that book, “Put + Yourself in His Place.” He had read it once, and it bothered him to forget + names. Then he was wondering why it was the philosophers had not more to + say about the incongruity of people who had never had any trouble of their + own sitting in judgment upon people who had known nothing but trouble. He + was thinking also that abstract rules did not always fit smoothly over + concrete cases, and that it was hard to make life a matter of rules, + anyway. + </p> + <p> + Next he was wondering how it would have been with the boy Alfred Williams + if he had been born in Charles Harrison's place; and then he was working + it out the other way and wondering how it would have been with Charles + Harrison had he been born in Alfred Williams's place. He wondered whether + the idea of murder would have grown in Alfred Williams's heart had he been + born to the things to which Charles Harrison was born, and whether it + would have come within the range of possibility for Charles Harrison to + murder his father if he had been born to Alfred Williams's lot. Putting it + that way, it was hard to estimate how much of it was the boy himself, and + how much the place the world had prepared for him. And if it was the place + prepared for him more than the boy, why was the fault not more with the + preparers of the place than with the occupant of it? The whole thing was + very confusing. + </p> + <p> + “This page,” the Senator from Maxwell was saying, lifting the little + fellow to the desk, “is just eleven years of age, and he is within three + pounds of Alfred Williams's weight when he committed the murder. I ask + you, gentlemen, if this little fellow should be guilty of a like crime + to-night, to what extent would you, in reading of it in the morning, + charge him with the moral discernment which is the first condition of + moral responsibility? If Alfred Williams's story were this boy's story, + would you deplore that there had been no one to check the childish + passion, or would you say it was the inborn instinct of the murderer? And + suppose again this were Alfred Williams at the age of eleven, would you + not be willing to look into the future and say if he spent twelve years in + penitentiary and reformatory, in which time he developed the qualities of + useful and honourable citizenship, that the ends of justice would then + have been met, and the time at hand for the world to begin the payment of + her debt?” + </p> + <p> + Senator Harrison's eyes were fixed upon the page standing on the opposite + desk. Eleven was a younger age than he had supposed. As he looked back + upon it and recalled himself when eleven years of age—his + irresponsibility, his dependence—he was unwilling to say what would + have happened if the world had turned upon him as it had upon Alfred + Williams. At eleven his greatest grievance was that the boys at school + called him “yellow-top.” He remembered throwing a rock at one of them for + doing it. He wondered if it was criminal instinct prompted the throwing of + the rock. He wondered how high the percentage of children's crimes would + go were it not for countermanding influences. It seemed the great + difference between Alfred Williams and a number of other children of + eleven had been the absence of the countermanding influence. + </p> + <p> + There came to him of a sudden a new and moving thought. Alfred Williams + had been cheated of his boyhood. The chances were he had never gone + swimming, nor to a ball game, or maybe never to a circus. It might even be + that he had never owned a dog. The Senator from Maxwell was right when he + said the boy had never been given his chance, had been defrauded of that + which has been a boy's heritage since the world itself was young. + </p> + <p> + And the later years—how were they making it up to him? He recalled + what to him was the most awful thing he had ever heard about the State + penitentiary: they never saw the sun rise down there, and they never saw + it set. They saw it at its meridian, when it climbed above the stockade, + but as it rose into the day, and as it sank into the night, it was denied + them. And there, at the penitentiary, they could not even look up at the + stars. It had been years since Alfred Williams raised his face to God's + heaven and knew he was part of it all. The voices of the night could not + penetrate the little cell in the heart of the mammoth stone building where + he spent his evenings over those masterpieces with which, they said, he + was more familiar than the average member of the Senate. When he read + those things Victor Hugo said of the vastness of the night, he could only + look around at the walls that enclosed him and try to reach back over the + twelve years for some satisfying conception of what night really was. + </p> + <p> + The Senator from Johnson shuddered: they had taken from a living creature + the things of life, and all because in the crucial hour there had been no + one to say a staying word. Man had cheated him of the things that were + man's, and then shut him away from the world that was God's. They had made + for him a life barren of compensations. + </p> + <p> + There swept over the Senator a great feeling of self-pity. As + representative of Johnson County, it was he who must deny this boy the + whole great world without, the people who wanted to help him, and what the + Senator from Maxwell called “his chance.” If Johnson County carried the + day, there would be something unpleasant for him to consider all the + remainder of his life. As he grew to be an older man he would think of it + more and more—what the boy would have done for himself in the world + if the Senator from Johnson had not been more logical and more powerful + than the Senator from Maxwell. + </p> + <p> + Senator Dorman was nearing the end of his argument. “In spite of the + undying prejudice of the people of Johnson County,” he was saying, “I can + stand before you today and say that after an unsparing investigation of + this case I do not believe I am asking you to do anything in violation of + justice when I beg of you to give this boy his chance.” + </p> + <p> + It was going to a vote at once, and the Senator from Johnson County looked + out at the budding things and wondered whether the boy down at the + penitentiary knew the Senate was considering his case that afternoon. It + was without vanity he wondered whether what he had been trained to think + of as an all-wise providence would not have preferred that Johnson County + be represented that session by a less able man. + </p> + <p> + A great hush fell over the Chamber, for ayes and noes followed almost in + alternation. After a long minute of waiting the secretary called, in a + tense voice: + </p> + <p> + “Ayes, 30; Noes, 32.” + </p> + <p> + The Senator from Johnson had proven too faithful a servant of his + constituents. The boy in the penitentiary was denied his chance. + </p> + <p> + The usual things happened: some women in the galleries, who had boys at + home, cried aloud; the reporters were fighting for occupancy of the + telephone booths, and most of the Senators began the perusal of the + previous day's Journal with elaborate interest. Senator Dorman indulged in + none of these feints. A full look at his face just then told how much of + his soul had gone into the fight for the boy's chance, and the look about + his eyes was a little hard on the theory of psychological experiment. + </p> + <p> + Senator Harrison was looking out at the budding trees, but his face too + had grown strange, and he seemed to be looking miles beyond and years + ahead. It seemed that he himself was surrendering the voices of the night, + and the comings and goings of the sun. He would never look at them—feel + them—again without remembering he was keeping one of his fellow + creatures away from them. He wondered at his own presumption in denying + any living thing participation in the universe. And all the while there + were before him visions of the boy who sat in the cramped cell with the + volume of a favourite poet before him, trying to think how it would seem + to be out under the stars. + </p> + <p> + The stillness in the Senate-Chamber was breaking; they were going ahead + with something else. It seemed to the Senator from Johnson that sun, moon, + and stars were wailing out protest for the boy who wanted to know them + better. And yet it was not sun, moon, and stars so much as the unused + swimming hole and the uncaught fish, the unattended ball game, the + never-seen circus, and, above all, the unowned dog, that brought Senator + Harrison to his feet. + </p> + <p> + They looked at him in astonishment, their faces seeming to say it would + have been in better taste for him to have remained seated just then. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. President,” he said, pulling at his collar and looking straight + ahead, “I rise to move a reconsideration.” + </p> + <p> + There was a gasp, a moment of supreme quiet, and then a mighty burst of + applause. To men of all parties and factions there came a single thought. + Johnson was the leading county of its Congressional district. There was an + election that fall, and Harrison was in the race. Those eight words meant + to a surety he would not go to Washington, for the Senator from Maxwell + had chosen the right word when he referred to the prejudice of Johnson + County on the Williams case as “undying.” The world throbs with such + things at the moment of their doing—even though condemning them + later, and the part of the world then packed within the Senate-Chamber + shared the universal disposition. + </p> + <p> + The noise astonished Senator Harrison, and he looked around with something + like resentment. When the tumult at last subsided, and he saw that he was + expected to make a speech, he grew very red, and grasped his chair + desperately. + </p> + <p> + The reporters were back in their places, leaning nervously forward. This + was Senator Harrison's chance to say something worth putting into a panel + by itself with black lines around it—and they were sure he would do + it. + </p> + <p> + But he did not. He stood there like a schoolboy who had forgotten his + piece—growing more and more red. “I—I think,” he finally + jerked out, “that some of us have been mistaken. I'm in favour now of—of + giving him his chance.” + </p> + <p> + They waited for him to proceed, but after a helpless look around the + Chamber he sat down. The president of the Senate waited several minutes + for him to rise again, but he at last turned his chair around and looked + out at the green things on the State-house grounds, and there was nothing + to do but go ahead with the second calling of the roll. This time it stood + 50 to 12 in favour of the boy. + </p> + <p> + A motion to adjourn immediately followed—no one wanted to do + anything more that afternoon. They all wanted to say things to the Senator + from Johnson; but his face had grown cold, and as they were usually afraid + of him, anyhow, they kept away. All but Senator Dorman—it meant too + much with him. “Do you mind my telling you,” he said, tensely, “that it + was as fine a thing as I have ever known a man to do?” + </p> + <p> + The Senator from Johnson moved impatiently. “You think it 'fine,'” he + asked, almost resentfully, “to be a coward?” + </p> + <p> + “Coward?” cried the other man. “Well, that's scarcely the word. It was—heroic!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no,” said Senator Harrison, and he spoke wearily, “it was a clear case + of cowardice. You see,” he laughed, “I was afraid it might haunt me when I + am seventy.” + </p> + <p> + Senator Dorman started eagerly to speak, but the other man stopped him and + passed on. He was seeing it as his constituency would see it, and it + humiliated him. They would say he had not the courage of his convictions, + that he was afraid of the unpopularity, that his judgment had fallen + victim to the eloquence of the Senator from Maxwell. + </p> + <p> + But when he left the building and came out into the softness of the April + afternoon it began to seem different. After all, it was not he alone who + leaned to the softer side. There were the trees—they were permitted + another chance to bud; there were the birds—they were allowed + another chance to sing; there was the earth—to it was given another + chance to yield. There stole over him a tranquil sense of unison with + Life. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III. — FOR LOVE OF THE HILLS + </h2> + <p> + “Sure you're done with it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” replied the girl, the suggestion of a smile on her face, and in + her voice the suggestion of a tear. “Yes; I was just going.” + </p> + <p> + But she did not go. She turned instead to the end of the alcove and sat + down before a table placed by the window. Leaning her elbows upon it she + looked about her through a blur of tears. + </p> + <p> + Seen through her own eyes of longing, it seemed that almost all of the + people whom she could see standing before the files of the daily papers + were homesick. The reading-room had been a strange study to her during + those weeks spent in fruitless search for the work she wanted to do, and + it had likewise proved a strange comfort. When tired and disconsolate and + utterly sick at heart there was always one thing she could do—she + could go down to the library and look at the paper from home. It was not + that she wanted the actual news of Denver. She did not care in any vital + way what the city officials were doing, what buildings were going up, or + who was leaving town. She was only indifferently interested in the fires + and the murders. She wanted the comforting companionship of that paper + from home. + </p> + <p> + It seemed there were many to whom the papers offered that same sympathy, + companionship, whatever it might be. More than anything else it perhaps + gave to them—the searchers, drifters—a sense of anchorage. She + would not soon forget the day she herself had stumbled in there and found + the home paper. Chicago had given her nothing but rebuffs that day, and in + desperation, just because she must go somewhere, and did not want to go + back to her boarding-place, she had hunted out the city library. It was + when walking listlessly about in the big reading-room it had occurred to + her that perhaps she could find the paper from home; and after that when + things were their worst, when her throat grew tight and her eyes dim, she + could always comfort herself by saying: “After a while I'll run down and + look at the paper.” + </p> + <p> + But to-night it had failed her. It was not the paper from home to-night; + it was just a newspaper. It did not inspire the belief that things would + be better to-morrow, that it must all come right soon. It left her as she + had come—-heavy with the consciousness that in her purse was eleven + dollars, and that that was every cent she had in the whole world. + </p> + <p> + It was hard to hold back the tears as she dwelt upon the fact that it was + very little she had asked of Chicago. She had asked only a chance to do + the work for which she was trained, in order that she might go to the art + classes at night. She had read in the papers of that mighty young city of + the Middle West—the heart of the continent—of its brawn and + its brain and its grit. She had supposed that Chicago, of all places, + would appreciate what she wanted to do. The day she drew her hard-earned + one hundred dollars from the bank in Denver—how the sun had shone + that day in Denver, how clear the sky had been, and how bracing the air!—she + had quite taken it for granted that her future was assured. And now, after + tasting for three weeks the cruelty of indifference, she looked back to + those visions with a hard little smile. + </p> + <p> + She rose to go, and in so doing her eyes fell upon the queer little woman + to whom she had yielded her place before the Denver paper. Submerged as + she had been in her own desolation she had given no heed to the small + figure which came slipping along beside her beyond the bare thought that + she was queer-looking. But as her eyes rested upon her now there was + something about the woman which held her. + </p> + <p> + She was a strange little figure. An old-fashioned shawl was pinned tightly + about her shoulders, and she was wearing a queer, rusty little bonnet. Her + hair was rolled up in a small knot at the back of her head. She did not + look as though she belonged in Chicago. And then, as the girl stood there + looking at her, she saw the thin shoulders quiver, and after a minute the + head that was wearing the rusty bonnet went down into the folds of the + Denver paper. + </p> + <p> + The girl's own eyes filled, and she turned to go. It seemed she could + scarcely bear her own unhappiness that day, without coming close to the + heartache of another. But when she reached the end of the alcove she + glanced back, and the sight of that shabby, bent figure, all alone before + the Denver paper, was not to be withstood. + </p> + <p> + “I am from Colorado, too,” she said softly, laying a hand upon the bent + shoulders. + </p> + <p> + The woman looked up at that and took the girl's hand in both of her thin, + trembling ones. It was a wan and a troubled face she lifted, and there was + something about the eyes which would not seem to have been left there by + tears alone. + </p> + <p> + “And do you have a pining for the mountains?” she whispered, with a timid + eagerness. “Do you have a feeling that you want to see the sun go down + behind them tonight and that you want to see the darkness come stealing up + to the tops?” + </p> + <p> + The girl half turned away, but she pressed the woman's hand tightly in + hers. “I know what you mean,” she murmured. + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to see it so bad,” continued the woman, tremulously, “that + something just drove me here to this paper. I knowed it was here because + my nephew's wife brought me here one day and we come across it. We took + this paper at home for more 'an twenty years. That's why I come. 'Twas the + closest I could get.” + </p> + <p> + “I know what you mean,” said the girl again, unsteadily. + </p> + <p> + “And it's the closest I will ever get!” sobbed the woman. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don't say that,” protested the girl, brushing away her own tears, and + trying to smile; “you'll go back home some day.” + </p> + <p> + The woman shook her head. “And if I should,” she said, “even if I should, + 'twill be too late.” + </p> + <p> + “But it couldn't be too late,” insisted the girl. “The mountains, you + know, will be there forever.” + </p> + <p> + “The mountains will be there forever,” repeated the woman, musingly; “yes, + but not for me to see.” There was a pause. “You see,”—she said it + quietly—“I'm going blind.” + </p> + <p> + The girl took a quick step backward, then stretched out two impulsive + hands. “Oh, no, no you're not! Why—the doctors, you know, they do + everything now.” + </p> + <p> + The woman shook her head. “That's what I thought when I come here. That's + why I come. But I saw the biggest doctor of them all today—they all + say he's the best there is—and he said right out 'twas no use to do + anything. He said 'twas—hopeless.” + </p> + <p> + Her voice broke on that word. “You see,” she hurried on, “I wouldn't care + so much, seems like I wouldn't care 't all, if I could get there first! If + I could see the sun go down behind them just one night! If I could see the + black shadows come slippin' over 'em just once! And then, if just one + morning—just once!—I could get up and see the sunlight come a + streamin'—oh, you know how it looks! You know what 'tis I want to + see!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but why can't you? Why not? You won't go—your eyesight will + last until you get back home, won't it?” + </p> + <p> + “But I can't go back home; not now.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” demanded the girl. “Why can't you go home?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, there ain't no money, my dear,” she explained, patiently. “It's a + long way off—Colorado is, and there ain't no money. Now, George—George + is my brother-in-law—he got me the money to come; but you see it + took it all to come here, and to pay them doctors with. And George—he + ain't rich, and it pinched him hard for me to come—he says I'll have + to wait until he gets money laid up again, and—well he can't tell + just when 't will be. He'll send it soon as he gets it,” she hastened to + add. + </p> + <p> + “But what are you going to do in the meantime? It would cost less to get + you home than to keep you here.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I stay with my nephew here. He's willin' I should stay with him till + I get my money to go home.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but this nephew, can't he get you the money? Doesn't he know,” she + insisted, heatedly, “what it means to you?” + </p> + <p> + “He's got five children, and not much laid up. And then, he never seen the + mountains. He doesn't know what I mean when I try to tell him about + gettin' there in time. Why, he says there's many a one living back in the + mountains would like to be livin' here. He don't understand—my + nephew don't,” she added, apologetically. + </p> + <p> + “Well, <i>someone</i> ought to understand!” broke from the girl. “I + understand! But—” she did her best to make it a laugh—“eleven + dollars is every cent I've got in the world!” + </p> + <p> + “Don't!” implored the woman, as the girl gave up trying to control the + tears. “Now, don't you be botherin'. I didn't mean to make you feel so + bad. My nephew says I ain't reasonable, and maybe I ain't.” + </p> + <p> + The girl raised her head. “But you <i>are</i> reasonable. I tell you, you + <i>are</i> reasonable!” + </p> + <p> + “I must be going back,” said the woman, uncertainly. “I'm just making you + feel bad, and it won't do no good. And then they may be stirred up about + me. Emma—Emma's my nephew's wife—left me at the doctor's + office 'cause she had some trading to do, and she was to come back there + for me. And then, as I was sittin' there, the pinin' came over me so + strong it seemed I just must get up and start! And”—-she smiled + wanly—-“this was far as I got.” + </p> + <p> + “Come over and sit down by this table,” said the girl, impulsively, “and + tell me a little about your home back in the mountains. Wouldn't you like + to?” + </p> + <p> + The woman nodded gratefully. “Seems most like getting back to them to find + someone that knows about them,” she said, after they had drawn their + chairs up to the table and were sitting there side by side. + </p> + <p> + The girl put her rounded hand over on the thin, withered one. “Tell me + about it,” she said again. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe it wouldn't be much interesting to you, my dear. It's just a common + life—mine is. You see, William and I—William was my husband—we + went to Georgetown before it really was any town at all. Years and years + before the railroad went through, we was there. Was you ever there?” she + asked wistfully. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, very often,” replied the girl. “I love every inch of that country!” + </p> + <p> + A tear stole down the woman's face. “It's most like being home to find + someone that knows about it,” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, William and I went there when 'twas all new country,” she went on, + after a pause. “We worked hard, and we laid up a little money. Then, three + years ago, William took sick. He was sick for a year, and we had to live + up most of what we'd saved. That's why I ain't got none now. It ain't that + William didn't provide.” + </p> + <p> + The girl nodded. + </p> + <p> + “We seen some hard days. But we was always harmonious—William and I + was. And William had a great fondness for the mountains. The night before + he died he made them take him over by the window and he looked out and + watched the darkness come stealin' over the daylight—you know how it + does in them mountains. 'Mother,' he said to me—his voice was that + low I could no more 'an hear what he said—'I'll never see another + sun go down, but I'm thankful I seen this one.'” + </p> + <p> + She was crying outright now, and the girl did not try to stop her. + </p> + <p> + “And that's the reason I love the mountains,” she whispered at last. “It + ain't just that they're grand and wonderful to look at. It ain't just the + things them tourists sees to talk about. But the mountains has always been + like a comfortin' friend to me. John and Sarah is buried there—John + and Sarah is my two children that died of fever. And then William is there—like + I just told you. And the mountains was a comfort to me in all those times + of trouble. They're like an old friend. Seems like they're the best friend + I've got on earth.” + </p> + <p> + “I know what you mean,” said the girl, brokenly. “I know all about it.” + </p> + <p> + “And you don't think I'm just notional,” she asked wistfully, “in pinin' + to get back while—whilst I can look at them?” + </p> + <p> + The girl held the old hand tightly in hers with a clasp more responsive + than words. + </p> + <p> + “It ain't but I'd know they was there. I could feel they was there all + right, but”—her voice sank with the horror of it—“I'm 'fraid I + might forget just how they look!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but you won't,” the girl assured her. “You'll remember just how they + look.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm scared of it. I'm scared there might be something I'd forget. And so + I just torment myself thinkin'—'Now do I remember this? Can I see + just how that looks?' That's the way I got to thinkin' up in the doctor's + office, when he told me there was nothing to do, and I was so worked up it + seemed I must get up and start!” + </p> + <p> + “You must try not to worry about it,” murmured the girl. “You'll + remember.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, maybe so. Maybe I will. But that's why I want just one more look. + If I could look once more I'd remember it forever. You see I'd look to + remember it, and I would. And do you know—seems like I wouldn't mind + going blind so much then? When I'd sit facin' them I'd just say to myself: + 'Now I know just how they look. I'm seeing them just as if I had my eyes!' + The doctor says my sight'll just kind of slip away, and when I look my + last look, when it gets dimmer and dimmer to me, I want the last thing I + see to be them mountains where William and me worked and was so happy! + Seems like I can't bear it to have my sight slip away here in Chicago, + where there's nothing I want to look at! And then to have a little left—to + have just a little left!—and to know I could see if I was there to + look—and to know that when I get there 'twill be—Oh, I'll be + rebellious-like here—and I'd be contented there! I don't want to be + complainin'—I don't want to!—but when I've only got a little + left I want it—oh, I want it for them things I want to see!” + </p> + <p> + “You will see them,” insisted the girl passionately. “I'm not going to + believe the world can be so hideous as that!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, maybe so,” said the woman, rising. “But I don't know where 'twill + come from,” she added doubtfully. + </p> + <p> + She took her back to the doctor's office and left her in the care of the + stolid Emma. “Seems most like I'd been back home,” she said in parting; + and the girl promised to come and see her and talk with her about the + mountains. The woman thought that talking about them would help her to + remember just how they looked. + </p> + <p> + And then the girl returned to the library. She did not know why she did + so. In truth she scarcely knew she was going there until she found herself + sitting before that same secluded table at which she and the woman had sat + a little while before. For a long time she sat there with her head in her + hands, tears falling upon a pad of yellow paper on the table before her. + </p> + <p> + Finally she dried her eyes, opened her purse, and counted her money. It + seemed that out of her great desire, out of her great new need, there must + be more than she had thought. But there was not, and she folded her hands + upon the two five-dollar bills and the one silver dollar and looked + hopelessly about the big room. + </p> + <p> + She had forgotten her own disappointments, her own loneliness. She was + oblivious to everything in the world now save what seemed the absolute + necessity of getting the woman back to the mountains while she had eyes to + see them. + </p> + <p> + But what could she do? Again she counted the money. She could make + herself, some way or other, get along without one of the five-dollar + bills, but five dollars would not take one very close to the mountains. It + was at that moment that she saw a man standing before the Denver paper, + and noticed that another man was waiting to take his place. The one who + was reading had a dinner pail in his hand. The clothes of the other told + that he, too, was of the world's workers. It was clear to the girl that + the man at the file was reading the paper from home; and the man who was + ready to take his place looked as if waiting for something less impersonal + than the news of the day. + </p> + <p> + The idea came upon her with such suddenness, so full born, that it made + her gasp. They—the people who came to read the Denver paper, the + people who loved the mountains and were far from them, the people who were + themselves homesick and full of longing—were the people to + understand. + </p> + <p> + It took her but a minute to act. She put the silver dollar and one + five-dollar bill back in her purse. She clutched the other bill in her + left hand, picked up a pencil, and began to write. She headed the + petition: “To all who know and love the mountains,” and she told the story + with the simpleness of one speaking from the heart, and the directness of + one who speaks to those sure to understand. “And so I found her here by + the Denver paper,” she said, after she had stated the tragic facts, + “because it was the closest she could come to the mountains. Her heart is + not breaking because she is going blind. It is breaking because she may + never again look with seeing eyes upon those great hills which rise up + about her home. We must do it for her simply because we would wish that, + under like circumstances, someone would do it for us. She belongs to us + because we understand. + </p> + <p> + “If you can only give fifty cents, please do not hold it back because it + seems but little. Fifty cents will take her twenty miles nearer home—twenty + miles closer to the things upon which she longs that her last seeing + glance may fall.” + </p> + <p> + After she had written it she rose, and, the five-dollar bill in one hand, + the sheets of yellow paper in the other, walked down the long room to the + desk at which one of the librarians sat. The girl's cheeks were very red, + her eyes shining as she poured out the story. They mingled their tears, + for the girl at the desk was herself young and far from home, and then + they walked back to the Denver paper and pinned the sheets of yellow paper + just above the file. At the bottom of the petition the librarian wrote: + “Leave your money at the desk in this room. It will be properly attended + to.” The girl from Colorado then turned over her five-dollar bill and + passed out into the gathering night. + </p> + <p> + Her heart was brimming with joy. “I can get a cheaper boarding place,” she + told herself, as she joined the home-going crowds, “and until something + else turns up I'll just look around and see if I can't get a place in a + store.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + One by one they had gathered around while the woman was telling the story. + “And so, if you don't mind,” she said, in conclusion, “I'd like to have + you put in a little piece that I got to Denver safe, so's they can see it. + They was all so worked up about when I'd get here. Would that cost much?” + she asked timidly. + </p> + <p> + “Not a cent,” said the city editor, his voice gruff with the attempt to + keep it steady. + </p> + <p> + “You might say, if it wouldn't take too much room, that I was much pleased + with the prospect of getting home before sundown to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “You needn't worry but what we'll say it all,” he assured her. “We'll say + a great deal more than you have any idea of.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm very thankful to you,” she said, as she rose to go. + </p> + <p> + They sat there for a moment in silence. “When one considers,” someone + began, “that they were people who were pushed too close even to subscribe + to a daily paper—” + </p> + <p> + “When one considers,” said the city editor, “that the girl who started it + had just eleven dollars to her name—” And then he, too, stopped + abruptly and there was another long moment of silence. + </p> + <p> + After that he looked around at the reporters. “Well, it's too bad you + can't all have it, when it's so big a chance, but I guess it falls + logically to Raymond. And in writing it, just remember, Raymond, that the + biggest stories are not written about wars, or about politics, or even + murders. The biggest stories are written about the things which draw human + beings closer together. And the chance to write them doesn't come every + day, or every year, or every lifetime. And I'll tell you, boys, all of + you, when it seems sometimes that the milk of human kindness has all + turned sour, just think back to the little story you heard this + afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Slowly the sun slipped down behind the mountains; slowly the long purple + shadows deepened to black; and with the coming of the night there settled + over the everlasting hills, and over the soul of one who had returned to + them, that satisfying calm that men call peace. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV. — FRECKLES M'GRATH + </h2> + <p> + Many visitors to the State-house made the mistake of looking upon the + Governor as the most important personage in the building. They would walk + up and down the corridors, hoping for a glimpse of some of the leading + officials, when all the while Freckles McGrath, the real character of the + Capitol, and by all odds the most illustrious person in it, was at once + accessible and affable. + </p> + <p> + Freckles McGrath was the elevator boy. In the official register his name + had gone down as William, but that was a mere concession to the + constituents to whom the official register was sent out. In the newspapers—and + he appeared with frequency in the newspapers—he was always + “Freckles,” and every one from the Governor down gave him that title, the + appropriateness of which was stamped a hundred fold upon his shrewd, jolly + Irish face. + </p> + <p> + Like every one else on the State pay-roll, Freckles was keyed high during + this first week of the new session. It was a reform Legislature, and so + imbued was it with the idea of reforming that there was grave danger of + its forcing reformation upon everything in sight. It happened that the + Governor was of the same faction of the party as that dominant in the + Legislature; reform breathed through every nook and crevice of the great + building. + </p> + <p> + But high above all else in importance towered the Kelley Bill. From the + very opening of the session there was scarcely a day when some of + Freckles' passengers did not in hushed whispers mention the Kelley Bill. + From what he could pick up about the building, and what he read in the + newspapers, Freckles put together a few ideas as to what the Kelley Bill + really was. It was a great reform measure, and it was going to show the + railroads that they did not own the State. The railroads were going to + have to pay more taxes, and they were making an awful fuss about it; but + if the Kelley Bill could be put through it would be a great victory for + reform, and would make the Governor “solid” in the State. + </p> + <p> + Freckles McGrath was strong for reform. That was partly because the + snatches of speeches he heard in the Legislature were more thrilling when + for reform than when against it; it was partly because he adored the + Governor, and in no small part because he despised Mr. Ludlow. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ludlow was a lobbyist. Some of the members of the Legislature were Mr. + Ludlow's property—or at least so Freckles inferred from conversation + overheard at his post. There had been a great deal of talk that session + about Mr. Ludlow's methods. + </p> + <p> + Freckles himself was no snob. Although he had heard Mr. Ludlow called + disgraceful, and although he firmly believed he was disgraceful, he did + not consider that any reason for not speaking to him. And so when Mr. + Ludlow got in all alone one morning, and the occasion seemed to demand + recognition of some sort, Freckles had chirped: “Good-morning!” + </p> + <p> + But the man, possibly deep in something else, simply knit together his + brows and gave no sign of having heard. After that, Henry Ludlow, + lobbyist, and Freckles McGrath, elevator boy, were enemies. + </p> + <p> + A little before noon, one day near the end of the session, a member of the + Senate and a member of the House rode down together in the elevator. + </p> + <p> + “There's no use waiting any longer,” the Senator was saying as they got + in. “We're as strong now as we're going to be. It's a matter of Stacy's + vote, and that's a matter of who sees him last.” + </p> + <p> + Freckles widened out his ears and gauged the elevator for very slow + running. Stacy had been written up in the papers as a wabbler on the + Kelley Bill. + </p> + <p> + “He's all right now,” pursued the Senator, “but there's every chance that + Ludlow will see him before he casts his vote this afternoon, and then—oh, + I don't know!” and with a weary little flourish of his hands the Senator + stepped off. + </p> + <p> + Freckles McGrath sat wrapped in deep thought. The Kelley Bill was coming + up in the Senate that afternoon. If Senator Stacy voted for it, it would + pass. If he voted against it, it would fail. He would vote for it if he + didn't see Mr. Ludlow; he wouldn't vote for it if he did. That was the + situation, and the Governor's whole future, Freckles felt, was at stake. + </p> + <p> + The bell rang sharply, and he was vaguely conscious then that it had been + ringing before. In the next half-hour he was very busy taking down the + members of the Legislature. Strangely enough, Senator Stacy and the + Governor went down the same trip, and Freckles beamed with approbation + when, he saw them walk out of the building together. + </p> + <p> + Stacy was one of the first of the senators to return. Freckles sized him + up keenly as he stepped into the elevator, and decided that he was still + firm. But there was a look about Senator Stacy's mouth which suggested + that there was no use in being too sure of him. Freckles considered the + advisability of bursting forth and telling him how much better it would be + to stick with the reform fellows; but just as the boy got his courage + screwed up to speaking point, Senator Stacy got off. + </p> + <p> + About ten minutes later Freckles had the elevator on the ground floor, and + was sitting there reading a paper, when he heard a step that made him + prick up his ears. The next minute Mr. Ludlow turned the corner. He was + immaculately dressed, as usual, and his iron-grey moustache seemed to + stand out just a little more pompously than ever. There was a sneering + look in his eyes as he stepped into the car. It seemed to be saying: “They + thought they could beat me, did they? Oh, they're easy, they are!” + </p> + <p> + Freckles McGrath slammed the door of the cage and started the car up. He + did not know what he was going to do, but he had an idea that he did not + want any other passenger. When half way between the basement and the first + floor, he stopped the elevator. He must have time to think. If he took + that man up to the Senate Chamber, he would simply strike the death-blow + to reform! And so he knelt and pretended to be fixing something, and he + thought fast and hard. + </p> + <p> + “Something broke?” asked an anxious voice. + </p> + <p> + Freckles looked around into Mr. Ludlow's face, and he saw that the eminent + lobbyist was nervous. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said calmly. “It's acting queer. Something's all out of whack.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, drop it to the basement and let me out,” said Mr. Ludlow sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Can't drop it,” responded Freckles. “She's stuck.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ludlow came and looked things over, but his knowledge did not extend + to the mechanism of elevators. + </p> + <p> + “Better call someone to come and take us out,” he said nervously. + </p> + <p> + Freckles straightened himself up. A glitter had come into his small grey + eyes, and red spots were burning in his freckled cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “I think she'll run now,” he said. + </p> + <p> + And she did run. Never in all its history had that State-house elevator + run as it ran then. It rushed past the first and second floors like a + thing let loose, with an utter abandonment that caused the blood to + forsake the eminent lobbyist's face. + </p> + <p> + “Stop it, boy!” he cried in alarm. + </p> + <p> + “Can't!” responded Freckles, his voice thick with terror. “Running away!” + he gasped. + </p> + <p> + “Will it—fall?” whispered the lobbyist. + </p> + <p> + “I—I think so!” blubbered Freckles. + </p> + <p> + The central portion of the State-house was very high. Above that part of + the building which was in use there was a long stretch leading to the + tower. The shaft had been built clear up, though practically unused. Past + floors used for store-rooms, past floors used for nothing at all, they + went—the man's face white, the boy wailing out incoherent + supplications. And then, within ten feet of the top of the shaft, and + within a foot of the top floor of the building, the elevator came to a + rickety stop. It wabbled back and forth; it did strange and terrible + things. + </p> + <p> + “She's falling!” panted Freckles. “Climb!” + </p> + <p> + And Henry Ludlow climbed. He got the door open, and he clambered up. No + sooner had the man's feet touched the solid floor than Freckles reached up + and slammed the door of the cage. Why he did that he was not sure at the + time. Later he felt that something had warned him not to give his + prisoner's voice a full sweep down the shaft. + </p> + <p> + Henry Ludlow was far from dull. As he saw the quick but even descent of + the car, he knew that he had been tricked. He would have been more than + human had there not burst from him furious and threatening words. But what + was the use? The car was going down—down—down, and there he + was, perhaps hundreds of feet above any one else in the building—alone, + tricked, beaten! + </p> + <p> + Of course he tried the door at the head of the winding stairway, knowing + full well that it would be locked. They always kept it locked; he had + heard one of the janitors asking for the keys to take a party up just a + few days before. Perhaps he could get out on top of the building and make + signals of distress. But the door leading outside was locked also. There + he was—helpless. And below—well, below they were passing the + Kelley Bill! + </p> + <p> + He rattled the grating of the elevator shaft. He made strange, loud + noises, knowing all the while he could not make himself heard. And then at + last, alone in the State-house attic, Henry Ludlow, eminent lobbyist, sat + down on a box and nursed his fury. + </p> + <p> + Below, Freckles McGrath, the youngest champion of reform in the building, + was putting on a bold front. He laughed and he talked and he whistled. He + took people up and down with as much nonchalance as if he did not know + that up at the top of that shaft angry eyes were straining themselves for + a glimpse of the car, and terrible curses were descending, literally, upon + his stubby red head. + </p> + <p> + It was a great afternoon at the State-house. Every one thronged to the + doors of the Senate Chamber, where they were putting through the Kelley + Bill. The speeches made in behalf of the measure were brief. The great + thing now was not to make speeches; it was to reach “S” on roll-call + before a man with iron-grey hair and an iron-grey moustache could come in + and say something to the fair-haired member with the weak mouth who sat + near the rear of the chamber. + </p> + <p> + Freckles was called away just as it went to a vote. When he came back + Senator Kelley was standing out in the corridor, and a great crowd of men + were standing around slapping him on the back. The Governor himself was + standing on the steps of the Senate Chamber; his eyes were bright, and he + was smiling. + </p> + <p> + Freckles turned his car back to the basement. He wanted to be all alone + for a minute, to dwell in solitude upon the fact that it was he, Freckles + McGrath, who had won this great victory for reform. It was he, Freckles + McGrath, who had assured the Governor's future. Why, perhaps he had that + afternoon made for himself a name which would be handed down in the + histories! + </p> + <p> + Freckles was a kind little boy, and he knew that an elegant gentleman + could not find the attic any too pleasant a place in which to spend the + afternoon, go he decided to go up and get Mr. Ludlow. It took courage; but + he had won his victory and this was no time for faltering. + </p> + <p> + There was something gruesome about the long ascent. He thought of stories + he had read of lonely turrets in which men were beheaded, and otherwise + made away with. It seemed he would never come to the top, and when at last + he did it was to find two of the most awful-looking eyes he had ever seen—eyes + that looked as though furies were going to escape from them—peering + down upon him. + </p> + <p> + The sight of that car, moving smoothly and securely up to the top, and the + sight of that audacious little boy with the freckled face and the bat-like + eyes, that little boy who had played his game so well, who had wrought + such havoc, was too much for Henry Ludlow's self-control. Words such as he + had never used before, such as he would not have supposed himself capable + of using, burst from him. But Freckles stood calmly gazing up at the + infuriated lobbyist, and just as Mr. Ludlow was saying, “I'll beat your + head open, you little brat!” he calmly reversed the handle and sent the + car skimming smoothly to realms below. He was followed by an angry yell, + and then by a loud request to return, but he heeded them not, and for some + time longer the car made its usual rounds between the basement and the + legislative chambers. + </p> + <p> + In just an hour Freckles tried it again. He sent the car to within three + feet of the attic floor, and then peered through the grating, his face + tied in a knot of interrogation. The eminent lobbyist stood there gulping + down wrath and pride, knowing well enough what was expected of him. + </p> + <p> + “Oh—all right,” he muttered at last, and with that much of an + understanding Freckles sent the car up, opened the door, and Henry Ludlow + stepped in. + </p> + <p> + No word was spoken between them until the light from the floor upon which + the Senate Chamber was situated came in view. Then Freckles turned with a + polite inquiry as to where the gentleman wished to get off. + </p> + <p> + “You may take me down to the office of the Governor,” said Mr. Ludlow + stonily, meaningly. + </p> + <p> + “Sure,” said Freckles cheerfully. “Guess you'll find the Governor in his + office now. He's been in the Senate most of the afternoon, watching 'em + pass that Kelley Bill.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ludlow's lips drew in tightly. He squared his shoulders, and his + silence was tremendous. + </p> + <p> + In just fifteen minutes Freckles was sent for from the executive office. + </p> + <p> + “I demand his discharge!” Mr. Ludlow was saying as the elevator boy + entered. + </p> + <p> + “It happens you're not running this building,” the Governor returned with + a good deal of acidity. “Though of course,” he added with dignity, “the + matter will be carefully investigated.” + </p> + <p> + The Governor was one great chuckle inside, and his heart was full of + admiration and gratitude; but would Freckles be equal to bluffing it + through? Would the boy have the finesse, the nice subtlety, the real + master hand, the situation demanded? If not, then—imp of salvation + though he was—in the interest of reform, Freckles would have to go. + </p> + <p> + It was a very innocent looking boy who stood before him and looked + inquiringly into his face. + </p> + <p> + “William,” began the Governor—Freckles was pained at first, and then + remembered that officially he was William—“this gentleman has made a + very serious charge against you.” + </p> + <p> + Freckles looked at Mr. Ludlow in a hurt way, and waited for the Governor + to proceed. + </p> + <p> + “He says,” went on the chief executive, “that you deliberately took him to + the top of the building and wilfully left him there a prisoner all + afternoon. Did you do that?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, sir,” burst forth Freckles, “I did the very best I could to save his + life! I was willing to sacrifice mine for him. I—” + </p> + <p> + “You little liar!” broke in Ludlow. + </p> + <p> + The Governor held up his hand. “You had your chance. Let him have his.” + </p> + <p> + “You see, Governor,” began Freckles, as if anxious to set right a great + wrong which had been done him, “the car is acting bad. The engineer said + only this morning it needed a going over. When it took that awful shoot, I + lost control of it. Maybe I'm to be discharged for losing control of it, + but not”—Freckles sniffled pathetically—-“but not for anything + like what he says I done. Why Governor,” he went on, ramming his knuckles + into his eyes, “I ain't got nothing against him! What'd I take him to the + attic for?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course not for money,” sneered Mr. Ludlow. + </p> + <p> + The Governor turned on him sharply. “When you can bring any proof of that, + I'll be ready to hear it. Until you can, you'd better leave it out of the + question.” + </p> + <p> + “Strange it should have happened this very afternoon,” put in the eminent + lobbyist. + </p> + <p> + The Governor looked at him with open countenance. “You were especially + interested in something this afternoon? I thought you told me you had no + vital interest here this session.” + </p> + <p> + There was nothing to be said. Mr. Ludlow said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “Now, William,” pursued the Governor, fearful in his heart that this would + be Freckles' undoing, “why did you close the door of the shaft before you + started down?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you see, sir,” began Freckles, still tremulously, “I'm so used to + closin' doors. Closin' doors has become a kind of second nature with me. + I've been told about it so many times. And up there, though I thought I + was losin' my life, still I didn't neglect my duty.” + </p> + <p> + The Governor put his hand to his mouth and coughed. + </p> + <p> + “And why,” he went on, more secure now, for a boy who could get out of + that could get out of anything, “why was it you didn't make some immediate + effort to get Mr. Ludlow down? Why didn't you notify someone, or do + something about it?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I supposed, of course, he walked down by the stairs,” cried + Freckles. “I never dreamed he'd want to trust the elevator after the way + she had acted.” + </p> + <p> + “The door was locked,” snarled the eminent lobbyist. + </p> + <p> + “Well, now, you see, I didn't know that,” explained Freckles expansively. + “Late in the afternoon I took a run up just to test the car—and + there you were! I never was so surprised in my life. I supposed, of + course, sir, that you'd spent the afternoon in the Senate, along with + everybody else.” + </p> + <p> + Once more the Governor put his hand to his mouth. + </p> + <p> + “Your case will come before the executive council at its next meeting, + William. And if anything like this should happen again, you will be + discharged on the spot.” Freckles bowed. “You may go now.” + </p> + <p> + When he was almost at the door the Governor called to him. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you think, William,” he said—the Governor felt that he and + Freckles could afford to be generous—“that you should apologise to + the gentleman for the really grave inconvenience to which you have been + the means of subjecting him?” + </p> + <p> + Freckles' little grey eyes grew steely. He looked at Henry Ludlow, and + there was an ominous silence. Then light broke over his face. “On behalf + of the elevator,” he said, “I apologise.” + </p> + <p> + And a third time the Governor's hand was raised to his mouth. + </p> + <p> + The next week Freckles was wearing a signet ring; long and audibly had he + sighed for a ring of such kind and proportions. He was at some pains in + explaining to everyone to whom he showed it that it had been sent him by + “a friend up home.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V. — FROM A TO Z + </h2> + <p> + Thus had another ideal tumbled to the rubbish heap! She seemed to be + breathing the dust which the newly fallen had stirred up among its longer + dead fellows. Certainly she was breathing the dust from somewhere. + </p> + <p> + During her senior year at the university, when people would ask: “And what + are you going to do when you leave school, Miss Willard?” she would + respond with anything that came to hand, secretly hugging to her mind that + idea of getting a position in a publishing house. Her conception of her + publishing house was finished about the same time as her class-day gown. + She was to have a roll-top desk—probably of mahogany—and a big + chair which whirled round like that in the office of the under-graduate + dean. She was to have a little office all by herself, opening on a bigger + office—the little one marked “Private.” There were to be beautiful + rugs—the general effect not unlike the library at the University + Club—books and pictures and cultivated gentlemen who spoke often of + Greek tragedies and the Renaissance. She was a little uncertain as to her + duties, but had a general idea about getting down between nine and ten, + reading the morning paper, cutting the latest magazine, and then “writing + something.” + </p> + <p> + Commencement was now four months past, and one of her professors had + indeed secured for her a position in a Chicago “publishing house.” This + was her first morning and she was standing at the window looking down into + Dearborn Street while the man who was to have her in charge was fixing a + place for her to sit. + </p> + <p> + That the publishing house should be on Dearborn Street had been her first + blow, for she had long located her publishing house on that beautiful + stretch of Michigan Avenue which overlooked the lake. But the real insult + was that this publishing house, instead of having a building, or at least + a floor, all to itself, simply had a place penned off in a bleak, dirty + building such as one who had done work in sociological research + instinctively associated with a box factory. And the thing which fairly + trailed her visions in the dust was that the partition penning them off + did not extend to the ceiling, and the adjoining room being occupied by a + patent medicine company, she was face to face with glaring endorsements of + Dr. Bunting's Famous Kidney and Bladder Cure. Taken all in all there + seemed little chance for Greek tragedies or the Renaissance. + </p> + <p> + The man who was “running things”—she buried her phraseology with her + dreams—wore a skull cap, and his moustache dragged down below his + chin. Just at present he was engaged in noisily pulling a most unliterary + pine table from a dark corner to a place near the window. That + accomplished, an ostentatious hunt ensued, resulting in the triumphant + flourish of a feather duster. Several knocks at the table, and the dust of + many months—perhaps likewise of many dreams—ascended to a + resting place on the endorsement of Dr. Bunting's Kidney and Bladder Cure. + He next produced a short, straight-backed chair which she recognised as + brother to the one which used to stand behind their kitchen stove. He gave + it a shake, thus delicately indicating that she was receiving special + favours in this matter of an able-bodied chair, and then announced with + brisk satisfaction: “So! Now we are ready to begin.” She murmured a “Thank + you,” seated herself and her buried hopes in this chair which did not + whirl round, and leaned her arms upon a table which did not even dream in + mahogany. + </p> + <p> + In the <i>other</i> publishing house, one pushed buttons and uniformed + menials appeared—noiselessly, quickly and deferentially. At this + moment a boy with sandy hair brushed straight back in a manner either + statesmanlike or clownlike—things were too involved to know which—shuffled + in with an armful of yellow paper which he flopped down on the pine table. + After a minute he returned with a warbled “Take Me Back to New York Town” + and a paste-pot. And upon his third appearance he was practising + gymnastics with a huge pair of shears, which he finally presented, + grinningly. + </p> + <p> + There was a long pause, broken only by the sonorous voice of Dr. Bunting + upbraiding someone for not having billed out that stuff to Apple Grove, + and then the sandy-haired boy appeared bearing a large dictionary, + followed by the man in the skull cap behind a dictionary of equal + unwieldiness. These were set down on either side of the yellow paper, and + he who was filling the position of cultivated gentleman pulled up a chair, + briskly. + </p> + <p> + “Has Professor Lee explained to you the nature of our work?” he wanted to + know. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she replied, half grimly, a little humourously, and not far from + tearfully, “he didn't—explain.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it is my pleasure to inform you,” he began, blinking at her + importantly, “that we are engaged here in the making of a dictionary.” + </p> + <p> + “A <i>dic—?</i>” but she swallowed the gasp in the laugh coming up + to meet it, and of their union was born a saving cough. + </p> + <p> + “Quite an overpowering thought, is it not?” he agreed pleasantly. “Now you + see you have before you the two dictionaries you will use most, and over + in that case you will find other references. The main thing”—his + voice sank to an impressive whisper—“is <i>not</i> to infringe the + copyright. The publisher was in yesterday and made a little talk to the + force, and he said that any one who handed in a piece of copy infringing + the copyright simply employed that means of writing his own resignation. + Neat way of putting it, was it not?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, <i>wasn't</i> it—neat?” she agreed, wildly. + </p> + <p> + She was conscious of a man's having stepped in behind her and taken a seat + at the table next hers. She heard him opening his dictionaries and getting + out his paper. Then the man in the skull cap had risen and was saying + genially: “Well, here is a piece of old Webster, your first 'take'—no + copyright on this, you see, but you must modernise and expand. Don't miss + any of the good words in either of these dictionaries. Here you have + dictionaries, copy-paper, paste, and Professor Lee assures me you have + brains—all the necessary ingredients for successful lexicography. We + are to have some rules printed to-morrow, and in the meantime I trust I've + made myself clear. The main thing”—he bent down and spoke it + solemnly—“is <i>not</i> to infringe the copyright.” With a cheerful + nod he was gone, and she heard him saying to the man at the next table: + “Mr. Clifford, I shall have to ask you to be more careful about getting in + promptly at eight.” + </p> + <p> + She removed the cover from her paste-pot and dabbled a little on a piece + of paper. Then she tried the unwieldy shears on another piece of paper. + She then opened one of her dictionaries and read studiously for fifteen + minutes. That accomplished, she opened the other dictionary and pursued it + for twelve minutes. Then she took the column of “old Webster,” which had + been handed her pasted on a piece of yellow paper, and set about + attempting to commit it to memory. She looked up to be met with the + statement that Mrs. Marjory Van Luce De Vane, after spending years under + the so-called best surgeons of the country, had been cured in six weeks by + Dr. Bunting's Famous Kidney and Bladder Cure. She pushed the dictionaries + petulantly from her, and leaning her very red cheek upon her hand, her + hazel eyes blurred with tears of perplexity and resentment, her mouth + drawn in pathetic little lines of uncertainty, looked over at the + sprawling warehouse on the opposite side of Dearborn Street. She was just + considering the direct manner of writing one's resignation—not + knowing how to infringe the copyright—when a voice said: “I beg + pardon, but I wonder if I can help you any?” + </p> + <p> + She had never heard a voice like that before. Or, <i>had</i> she heard it?—and + where? She looked at him, a long, startled gaze. Something made her think + of the voice the prince used to have in long-ago dreams. She looked into a + face that was dark and thin and—different. Two very dark eyes were + looking at her kindly, and a mouth which was a baffling combination of + things to be loved and things to be deplored was twitching a little, as + though it would like to join the eyes in a smile, if it dared. + </p> + <p> + Because he saw both how funny and how hard it was, she liked him. It would + have been quite different had he seen either one without the other. + </p> + <p> + “You can tell me how <i>not</i> to infringe the copyright,” she laughed. + “I'm not sure that I know what a copyright is.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed—a laugh which belonged with his voice. “Mr. Littletree + isn't as lucid as he thinks he is. I've been here a week or so, and picked + up a few things you might like to know.” + </p> + <p> + He pulled his chair closer to her table then and gave her a lesson in the + making of copy. Edna Willard was never one-half so attractive as when + absorbed in a thing which someone was showing her how to do. Her hazel + eyes would widen and glisten with the joy of comprehending; her cheeks + would flush a deeper pink with the coming of new light, her mouth would + part in a child-like way it had forgotten to outgrow, her head would nod + gleefully in token that she understood, and she had a way of pulling at + her wavy hair and making it more wavy than it had been before. The man at + the next table was a long time in explaining the making of a dictionary. + He spoke in low tones, often looking at the figure of the man in the skull + cap, who was sitting with his back to them, looking over copy. Once she + cried, excitedly: “Oh—I <i>see</i>!” and he warned, “S—h!” + explaining, “Let him think you got it all from him. It will give you a + better stand-in.” She nodded, appreciatively, and felt very well + acquainted with this kind man whose voice made her think of something—called + to something—she did not just know what. + </p> + <p> + After that she became so absorbed in lexicography that when the men began + putting away their things it was hard to realise that the morning had + gone. It was a new and difficult game, the evasion of the copyright + furnishing the stimulus of a hazard. + </p> + <p> + The man at the next table had been watching her with an amused admiration. + Her child-like absorption, the way every emotion from perplexity to + satisfaction expressed itself in the poise of her head and the pucker of + her face, took him back over years emotionally barren to the time when he + too had those easily stirred enthusiasms of youth. For the man at the next + table was far from young now. His mouth had never quite parted with + boyishness, but there was more white than black in his hair, and the lines + about his mouth told that time, as well as forces more aging than time, + had laid heavy hand upon him. But when he looked at the girl and told her + with a smile that it was time to stop work, it was a smile and a voice to + defy the most tell-tale face in all the world. + </p> + <p> + During her luncheon, as she watched the strange people coming and going, + she did much wondering. She wondered why it was that so many of the men at + the dictionary place were very old men; she wondered if it would be a good + dictionary—one that would be used in the schools; she wondered if + Dr. Bunting had made a great deal of money, and most of all she wondered + about the man at the next table whose voice was like—like a dream + which she did not know that she had dreamed. + </p> + <p> + When she had returned to the straggling old building, had stumbled down + the narrow, dark hall and opened the door of the big bleak room, she saw + that the man at the next table was the only one who had returned from + luncheon. Something in his profile made her stand there very still. He had + not heard her come in, and he was looking straight ahead, eyes half + closed, mouth set—no unsurrendered boyishness there now. Wholly + unconsciously she took an impulsive step forward. But she stopped, for she + saw, and felt without really understanding, that it was not just the + moment's pain, but the revealed pain of years. Just then he began to + cough, and it seemed the cough, too, was more than of the moment. And then + he turned and saw her, and smiled, and the smile changed all. + </p> + <p> + As the afternoon wore on the man stopped working and turning a little in + his chair sat there covertly watching the girl. She was just typically + girl. It was written that she had spent her days in the happy ways of + healthful girlhood. He supposed that a great many young fellows had fallen + in love with her—nice, clean young fellows, the kind she would + naturally meet. And then his eyes closed for a minute and he put up his + hand and brushed back his hair; there was weariness, weariness weary of + itself, in the gesture. He looked about the room and scanned the faces of + the men, most of them older than he, many of them men whose histories were + well known to him. They were the usual hangers on about newspaper offices; + men who, for one reason or other—age, dissipation, antiquated + methods—had been pitched over, men for whom such work as this came + as a godsend. They were the men of yesterday—men whom the world had + rushed past. She was the only one there, this girl who would probably sit + here beside him for many months, with whom the future had anything to do. + Youth!—Goodness!—Joy!—Hope!—strange things to + bring to a place like this. And as if their alienism disturbed him, he + moved restlessly, almost resentfully, bit his lips nervously, moistened + them, and began putting away his things. + </p> + <p> + As the girl was starting home along Dearborn Street a few minutes later, + she chanced to look in a window. She saw that it was a saloon, but before + she could turn away she saw a man with a white face—white with the + peculiar whiteness of a dark face, standing before the bar drinking from a + small glass. She stood still, arrested by a look such as she had never + seen before: a panting human soul sobbingly fluttering down into something + from which it had spent all its force in trying to rise. When she recalled + herself and passed on, a mist which she could neither account for nor + banish was dimming the clear hazel of her eyes. + </p> + <p> + The next day was a hard one at the dictionary place. She told herself it + was because the novelty of it was wearing away, because her fingers ached, + because it tired her back to sit in that horrid chair. She did not admit + of any connection between her flagging interest and the fact that the + place at the next table was vacant. + </p> + <p> + The following day he was still absent. She assumed that it was nervousness + occasioned by her queer surroundings made her look around whenever she + heard a step behind her. Where was he? Where had that look carried him? If + he were in trouble, was there no one to help him? + </p> + <p> + The third day she did an unpremeditated thing. The man in the skull cap + had been showing her something about the copy. As he was leaving, she + asked: “Is the man who sits at the next table coming back?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes,” he replied grimly, “he'll be back.” + </p> + <p> + “Because,” she went on, “if he wasn't, I thought I would take his shears. + These hurt my fingers.” + </p> + <p> + He made the exchange for her—and after that things went better. + </p> + <p> + He did return late the next morning. After he had taken his place he + looked over at her and smiled. He looked sick and shaken—as if + something that knew no mercy had taken hold of him and wrung body and + soul. + </p> + <p> + “You have been ill?” she asked, with timid solicitude. + </p> + <p> + “Oh no,” he replied, rather shortly. + </p> + <p> + He was quiet all that day, but the next day they talked about the work, + laughed together over funny definitions they found. She felt that he could + tell many interesting things about himself, if he cared to. + </p> + <p> + As the days went on he did tell some of those things—out of the way + places where he had worked, queer people whom he had known. It seemed that + words came to him as gifts, came freely, happily, pleased, perhaps, to be + borne by so sympathetic a voice. And there was another thing about him. He + seemed always to know just what she was trying to say; he never missed the + unexpressed. That made it easy to say things to him; there seemed a + certain at-homeness between his thought and hers. She accounted for her + interest in him by telling herself she had never known any one like that + before. Now Harold, the boy whom she knew best out at the university, why + one had to <i>say</i> things to Harold to make him understand! And Harold + never left one wondering—wondering what he had meant by that smile, + what he had been going to say when he started to say something and + stopped, wondering what it was about his face that one could not + understand. Harold never could claim as his the hour after he had left + her, and was one ever close to anyone with whom one did not spend some of + the hours of absence? She began to see that hours spent together when + apart were the most intimate hours of all. + </p> + <p> + And as Harold did not make one wonder, so he did not make one worry. Never + in all her life had there been a lump in her throat when she thought of + Harold. There was often a lump in her throat when the man at the next + table was coughing. + </p> + <p> + One day, she had been there about two months, she said something to him + about it. It was hard; it seemed forcing one's way into a room that had + never been opened to one—there were several doors he kept closed. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Clifford,” she turned to him impetuously as they were putting away + their things that night, “will you mind if I say something to you?” + </p> + <p> + He was covering his paste-pot. He looked up at her strangely. The closed + door seemed to open a little way. “I can't conceive of 'minding' anything + you might say to me, Miss Noah,”—he had called her Miss Noah ever + since she, by mistake, had one day called him Mr. Webster. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” she hurried on, very timid, now that the door had opened a + little, “you have been so good to me. Because you have been so good to me + it seems that I have some right to—to—” + </p> + <p> + His head was resting upon his hand, and he leaned a little closer as + though listening for something he wanted to hear. + </p> + <p> + “I had a cousin who had a cough like yours,”—brave now that she + could not go back—“and he went down to New Mexico and stayed for a + year, and when he came back—when he came back he was as well as any + of us. It seems so foolish not to”—her voice broke, now that it had + so valiantly carried it—“not to—” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her, and that was all. But she was never wholly the same + again after that look. It enveloped her being in a something which left + her richer—different. It was a look to light the dark place between + two human souls. It seemed for the moment that words would follow it, but + as if feeling their helplessness—perhaps needlessness—they + sank back unuttered, and at the last he got up, abruptly, and walked away. + </p> + <p> + One night, while waiting for the elevator, she heard two of the men + talking about him. When she went out on the street it was with head high, + cheeks hot. For nothing is so hard to hear as that which one has half + known, and evaded. One never denies so hotly as in denying to one's self + what one fears is true, and one never resents so bitterly as in resenting + that which one cannot say one has the right to resent. + </p> + <p> + That night she lay in her bed with wide open eyes, going over and over the + things they had said. “<i>Cure?</i>”—one of them had scoffed, after + telling how brilliant he had been before he “went to pieces”—“why + all the cures on earth couldn't help him! He can go just so far, and then + he can no more stop himself—oh, about as much as an ant could stop a + prairie fire!” + </p> + <p> + She finally turned over on her pillow and sobbed; and she wondered why—wondered, + yet knew. + </p> + <p> + But it resulted in the flowering of her tenderness for him. Interest + mounted to defiance. It ended in blind, passionate desire to “make it up” + to him. And again he was so different from Harold; Harold did not impress + himself upon one by upsetting all one's preconceived ideas. + </p> + <p> + She felt now that she understood better—understood the closed doors. + He was—she could think of no better word than sensitive. + </p> + <p> + And that is why, several mornings later, she very courageously—for + it did take courage—threw this little note over on his desk—they + had formed a habit of writing notes to each other, sometimes about the + words, sometimes about other things. + </p> + <p> + “IN-VI-TA-TION, <i>n.</i> That which Miss Noah extends to Mr. Webster for + Friday evening, December second, at the house where she lives—hasn't + she already told him where that is? It is the wish of Miss Noah to present + Mr. Webster to various other Miss Noahs, all of whom are desirous of + making his acquaintance.” + </p> + <p> + She was absurdly nervous at luncheon that day, and kept telling herself + with severity not to act like a high-school girl. He was late in returning + that noon, and though there seemed a new something in his voice when he + asked if he hadn't better sharpen her pencils, he said nothing about her + new definition of invitation. It was almost five o'clock when he threw + this over on her desk: + </p> + <p> + “AP-PRE-CI-A-TION, <i>n.</i> That sentiment inspired in Mr. Webster by the + kind invitation of Miss Noah for Friday evening. + </p> + <p> + “RE-GRET, <i>n.</i> That which Mr. Webster experiences because, for + reasons into which he cannot go in detail, it is impossible for him to + accept Miss Noah's invitation. + </p> + <p> + “RE-SENT-MENT, <i>n.</i> That which is inspired in Mr. Webster by the + insinuation that there are other Miss Noahs in the world.” + </p> + <p> + Then below he had written: “Three hours later. Miss Noah, the world is + queer. Some day you may find out—though I hope you never will—that + it is frequently the things we most want to do that we must leave undone. + Miss Noah, won't you go on bringing me as much of yourself as you can to + Dearborn Street, and try not to think much about my not being able to know + the Miss Noah of Hyde Park? And little Miss Noah—I thank you. There + aren't words enough in this old book of ours to tell you how much—or + why.” + </p> + <p> + That night he hurried away with never a joke about how many words she had + written that day. She did not look up as he stood there putting on his + coat. + </p> + <p> + It was spring now, and the dictionary staff had begun on W. + </p> + <p> + They had written of Joy, of Hope and Life and Love, and many other things. + Life seemed pressing just behind some of those definitions, pressing the + harder, perhaps, because it could not break through the surface. + </p> + <p> + For it did not break through; it flooded just beneath. + </p> + <p> + How did she know that he cared for her? She could not possibly have told. + Perhaps the nearest to actual proof she could bring was that he always saw + that her overshoes were put in a warm place. And when one came down to + facts, the putting of a girl's rubbers near the radiator did not + necessarily mean love. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps then it was because there was no proof of it that she was most + sure. For some of the most sure things in the world are things which + cannot be proved. + </p> + <p> + It was only that they worked together and were friends; that they laughed + together over funny definitions they found, that he was kind to her, and + that they seemed remarkably close together. + </p> + <p> + That is as far as facts can take it. + </p> + <p> + And just there—it begins. + </p> + <p> + For the force which rushes beneath the facts of life, caring nothing for + conditions, not asking what one desires or what one thinks best, caring as + little about a past as about a future—save its own future—the + force which can laugh at man's institutions and batter over in one sweep + what he likes to call his wisdom, was sweeping them on. And because it + could get no other recognition it forced its way into the moments when he + asked her for an eraser, when she wanted to know how to spell a word. He + could not so much as ask her if she needed more copy-paper without seeming + to be lavishing upon her all the love of all the ages. + </p> + <p> + And so the winter had worn on, and there was really nothing whatever to + tell about it. + </p> + <p> + She was quiet this morning, and kept her head bent low over her work. For + she had estimated the number of pages there were between W and Z. Soon + they would be at Z;—and then? Then? Shyly she turned and looked at + him; he too was bent over his work. When she came in she had said + something about its being spring, and that there must be wild flowers in + the woods. Since then he had not looked up. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly it came to her—tenderly, hotly, fearfully yet bravely, that + it was she who must meet Z. She looked at him again, covertly. And she + felt that she understood. It was the lines in his face made it clearest. + Years, and things blacker, less easily surmounted than years—oh yes, + that too she faced fearlessly—were piled in between. She knew now + that it was she—not he—who could push them aside. + </p> + <p> + It was all very unmaidenly, of course; but maidenly is a word love and + life and desire may crowd from the page. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps she would not have thrown it after all—the little note she + had written—had it not been that when she went over for more + copy-paper she stood for a minute looking out the window. Even on Dearborn + Street the seductiveness of spring was in the air. Spring, and all that + spring meant, filled her. + </p> + <p> + Because, way beyond the voice of Dr. Bunting she heard the songs of + far-away birds, and because beneath the rumble of a printing press she + could get the babble of a brook, because Z was near and life was strong, + the woman vanquished the girl, and she threw this over to his desk: + </p> + <p> + “CHAFING-DISH, n. That out of which Miss Noah asks Mr. Webster to eat his + Sunday night lunch tomorrow. All the other Miss Noahs are going to be + away, and if Mr. Webster does not come, Miss Noah will be all alone. Miss + Noah does not like to be lonely.” + </p> + <p> + She ate no lunch that day; she only drank a cup of coffee and walked + around. + </p> + <p> + He did not come back that afternoon. It passed from one to two, from two + to three, and then very slowly from three to four, and still he had not + come. + </p> + <p> + He too was walking about. He had walked down to the lake and was standing + there looking out across it. + </p> + <p> + Why not?—he was saying to himself—fiercely, doggedly. Over and + over again—Well, <i>why</i> not? + </p> + <p> + A hundred nights, alone in his room, he had gone over it. Had not life + used him hard enough to give him a little now?—longing had pleaded. + And now there was a new voice—more prevailing voice—the voice + of her happiness. His face softened to an almost maternal tenderness as he + listened to that voice. + </p> + <p> + Too worn to fight any longer, he gave himself up to it, and sat there + dreaming. They were dreams of joy rushing in after lonely years, dreams of + stepping into the sunlight after long days in fog and cold, dreams of a + woman before a fireplace—her arms about him, her cheer and her + tenderness, her comradeship and her passion—all his to take! Ah, + dreams which even thoughts must not touch—so wonderful and sacred + they were. + </p> + <p> + A long time he sat there, dreaming dreams and seeing visions. The force + that rules the race was telling him that the one crime was the denial of + happiness—his happiness, her happiness; and when at last his fight + seemed but a puerile fight against forces worlds mightier than he, he + rose, and as one who sees a great light, started back toward Dearborn + Street. + </p> + <p> + On the way he began to cough. The coughing was violent, and he stepped + into a doorway to gain breath. And after he had gone in there he realised + that it was the building of Chicago's greatest newspaper. + </p> + <p> + He had been city editor of that paper once. Facts, the things he knew + about himself, talked to him then. There was no answer. + </p> + <p> + It left him weak and dizzy and crazy for a drink. He walked on slowly, + unsteadily, his white face set. For he had vowed that if it took the last + nerve in his body there should be no more of that until after they had + finished with Z. He knew himself too well to vow more. He was not even + sure of that. + </p> + <p> + He did not turn in where he wanted to go, but resistance took the last bit + of force that was in him. He was trembling like a sick man when he stepped + into the elevator. + </p> + <p> + She was just leaving. She was in the little cloak room putting on her + things. She was all alone in there. + </p> + <p> + He stepped in. He pushed the door shut, and stood there leaning against + it, looking at her, saying nothing. + </p> + <p> + “Oh—you are ill?” she gasped, and laid a frightened hand upon him. + </p> + <p> + The touch crazed him. All resistance gone, he swept her into his arms; he + held her fiercely, and between sobs kissed her again and again. He could + not let her go. He frightened her. He hurt her. And he did not care—he + did not know. + </p> + <p> + Then he held her off and looked at her. And as he looked into her eyes, + passion melted to tenderness. It was she now—not he; love—not + hunger. Holding her face in his two hands, looking at her as if getting + something to take away, his white lips murmured words too inarticulate for + her to hear. And then again he put his arms around her—all + differently. Reverently, sobbingly, he kissed her hair. And then he was + gone. + </p> + <p> + He did not come out that Sunday afternoon, but Harold dropped in instead, + and talked of some athletic affairs over at the university. She wondered + why she did not go crazy in listening to him, and yet she could answer + intelligently. It was queer—what one <i>could</i> do. + </p> + <p> + They had come at last to Z. There would be no more work upon the + dictionary after that day. And it was raining—raining as in Chicago + alone it knows how to rain. + </p> + <p> + They wrote no notes to each other now. It had been different since that + day. They made small effort to cover their raw souls with the mantle of + commonplace words. + </p> + <p> + Both of them had tried to stay away that last day. But both were in their + usual places. + </p> + <p> + The day wore on eventlessly. Those men with whom she had worked, the men + of yesterday, who had been kind to her, came up at various times for + little farewell chats. The man in the skull cap told her that she had done + excellent work. She was surprised at the ease with which she could make + decent reply, thinking again that it was queer—what one could do. + </p> + <p> + He was moving. She saw him lay some sheets of yellow paper on the desk in + front. He had finished with his “take.” There would not be another to give + him. He would go now. + </p> + <p> + He came back to his desk. She could hear him putting away his things. And + then for a long time there was no sound. She knew that he was just sitting + there in his chair. + </p> + <p> + Then she heard him get up. She heard him push his chair up to the table, + and then for a minute he stood there. She wanted to turn toward him; she + wanted to say something—do something. But she had no power. + </p> + <p> + She saw him lay an envelope upon her desk. She heard him walking away. She + knew, numbly, that his footsteps were not steady. She knew that he had + stopped; she was sure that he was looking back. But still she had no + power. + </p> + <p> + And then she heard him go. + </p> + <p> + Even then she went on with her work; she finished her “take” and laid down + her pencil. It was finished now—and he had gone. Finished?—<i>Gone?</i> + She was tearing open the envelope of the letter. + </p> + <p> + This was what she read: + </p> + <p> + “Little dictionary sprite, sunshine vender, and girl to be loved, if I + were a free man I would say to you—Come, little one, and let us + learn of love. Let us learn of it, not as one learns from dictionaries, + but let us learn from the morning glow and the evening shades. But Miss + Noah, maker of dictionaries and creeper into hearts, the bound must not + call to the free. They might fittingly have used my name as one of the + synonyms under that word Failure, but I trust not under Coward. + </p> + <p> + “And now, you funny little Miss Noah from the University of Chicago, don't + I know that your heart is blazing forth the assurance that you don't <i>care</i> + for any of those things—the world, people, common sense—that + you want just love? They made a grand failure of you out at your + university; they taught you philosophy and they taught you Greek, and + they've left you just as much the woman as women were five thousand years + ago. Oh, I know all about you—you little girl whose hair tried so + hard to be red. Your soul touched mine as we sat there writing words—words—words, + the very words in which men try to tell things, and can't—and I know + all about what you would do. But you shall not do it. Dear little copy + maker, would a man standing out on the end of a slippery plank have any + right to cry to someone on the shore—'Come out here on this plank + with me?' If he loved the someone on the shore, would he not say instead—'Don't + get on this plank?' Me get off the plank—come with you to the shore—you + are saying? But you see, dear, you only know slippery planks as viewed + from the shore—God grant you may never know them any other way! + </p> + <p> + “It was you, was it not, who wrote our definition of happiness? Yes, I + remember the day you did it. You were so interested; your cheeks grew so + very red, and you pulled and pulled at your wavy hair. You said it was + such an important definition. And so it is, Miss Noah, quite the most + important of all. And on the page of life, Miss Noah, may happiness be + written large and unblurred for you. It is because I cannot help you write + it that I turn away. I want at least to leave the page unspoiled. + </p> + <p> + “I carry a picture of you. I shall carry it always. You are sitting before + a fireplace, and I think of that fireplace as symbolising the warmth and + care and tenderness and the safety that will surround you. And sometimes + as you sit there let a thought of me come for just a minute, Miss Noah—not + long enough nor deep enough to bring you any pain. But only think—I + brought him happiness after he believed all happiness had gone. He was so + grateful for that light which came after he thought the darkness had + settled down. It will light his way to the end. + </p> + <p> + “We've come to Z, and it's good-bye. There is one thing I can give you + without hurting you,—the hope, the prayer, that life may be very, + very good to you.” + </p> + <p> + The sheets of paper fell from her hands. She sat staring out into Dearborn + Street. She began to see. After all, he had not understood her. Perhaps + men never understood women; certainly he had not understood her. What he + did not know was that she was willing to <i>pay</i> for her happiness—<i>pay</i>—pay + any price that might be exacted. And anyway—she had no choice. + Strange that he could not see that! Strange that he could not see the + irony and cruelty of bidding her good-bye and then telling her to be + happy! + </p> + <p> + It simplified itself to such an extent that she <i>grew</i> very calm. It + would be easy to find him, easy to make him see—for it was so very + simple—and then.... + </p> + <p> + She turned in her copy. She said good-bye quietly, naturally, rode down in + the lumbering old elevator and started out into the now drenching rain + toward the elevated trains which would take her to the West Side; it was + so fortunate that she had heard him telling one day where he lived. + </p> + <p> + When she reached the station she saw that more people were coming down the + stairs than were going up. They were saying things about the trains, but + she did not heed them. But at the top of the stairs a man in uniform said: + “Blockade, Miss. You'll have to take the surface cars.” + </p> + <p> + She was sorry, for it would delay her, and there was not a minute to lose. + She was dismayed, upon reaching the surface cars, to find she could not + get near them; the rain, the blockade on the “L” had caused a great crowd + to congregate there. She waited a long time, getting more and more wet, + but it was impossible to get near the cars. She thought of a cab, but + could see none, they too having all been pressed into service. + </p> + <p> + She determined, desperately, to start and walk. Soon she would surely get + either a cab or a car. And so she started, staunchly, though she was wet + through now, and trembling with cold and nervousness. + </p> + <p> + As she hurried through the driving rain she faced things fearlessly. Oh + yes, she understood—everything. But if he were not well—should + he not have her with him? If he had that thing to fight, did he not need + her help? What did men think women were like? Did he think she was one to + sit down and reason out what would be advantageous? Better a little while + with him on a slippery plank than forever safe and desolate upon the + shore! + </p> + <p> + She never questioned her going; were not life and love too great to be + lost through that which could be so easily put right? + </p> + <p> + The buildings were reeling, the streets moving up and down—that + awful rain, she thought, was making her dizzy. Labouriously she walked on—more + slowly, less steadily, a pain in her side, that awful reeling in her head. + </p> + <p> + Carriages returning to the city were passing her, but she had not strength + to call to them, and it seemed if she walked to the curbing she would + fall. She was not thinking so clearly now. The thing which took all of her + force was the lifting of her feet and the putting them down in the right + place. Her throat seemed to be closing up—and her side—and her + head.... + </p> + <p> + Someone had her by the arm. Then someone was speaking her name; speaking + it in surprise—consternation—alarm. + </p> + <p> + It was Harold. + </p> + <p> + It was all vague then. She knew that she was in a carriage, and that + Harold was talking to her kindly. “You're taking me there?” she murmured. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—yes, Edna, everything's all right,” he replied soothingly. + </p> + <p> + “Everything's all right,” she repeated, in a whisper, and leaned her head + back against the cushions. + </p> + <p> + They stopped after a while, and Harold was standing at the open door of + the cab with something steaming hot which he told her to drink. “You need + it,” he said decisively, and thinking it would help her to tell it, she + drank it down. + </p> + <p> + The world was a little more defined after that, and she saw things which + puzzled her. “Why, it looks like the city,” she whispered, her throat too + sore now to speak aloud. + </p> + <p> + “Why sure,” he replied banteringly; “don't you know we have to go through + the city to get out to the South Side?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but you see,” she cried, holding her throat, “but you see, it's the + <i>other</i> way!” + </p> + <p> + “Not to-night,” he insisted; “the place for you to-night is home. I'm + taking you where you belong.” + </p> + <p> + She reached over wildly, trying to open the door, but he held her back; + she began to cry, and he talked to her, gently but unbendingly. “But you + don't <i>understand!</i>” she whispered, passionately. “I've <i>got</i> to + go!” + </p> + <p> + “Not to-night,” he said again, and something in the way he said it made + her finally huddle back in the corner of the carriage. + </p> + <p> + Block after block, mile after mile, they rode on in silence. She felt + overpowered. And with submission she knew that it was Z. For the whole + city was piled in between. Great buildings were in between, and thousands + of men running to and fro on the streets; man, and all man had builded up, + were in between. And then Harold—Harold who had always seemed to + count for so little, had come and taken her away. + </p> + <p> + Dully, wretchedly—knowing that her heart would ache far worse + to-morrow than it did to-night—she wondered about things. Did things + like rain and street-cars and wet feet and a sore throat determine life? + Was it that way with other people, too? Did other people have barriers—whole + cities full of them—piled in between? And then did the Harolds come + and take them where they said they belonged? Were there not <i>some</i> + people strong enough to go where they wanted to go? + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI. — THE MAN OF FLESH AND BLOOD + </h2> + <p> + The elements without were not in harmony with the spirit which it was + desired should be engendered within. By music, by gay decorations, by + speeches from prominent men, the board in charge of the boys' reformatory + was striving to throw about this dedication of the new building an + atmosphere of cheerfulness and good-will—an atmosphere vibrant with + the kindness and generosity which emanated from the State, and the + thankfulness and loyalty which it was felt should emanate from the boys. + </p> + <p> + Outside the world was sobbing. Some young trees which had been planted + along the driveway of the reformatory grounds, and which were expected to + grow up in the way they should go, were rocking back and forth in + passionate insurrection. Fallen leaves were being spit viciously through + the air. It was a sullen-looking landscape which Philip Grayson, he who + was to be the last speaker of the afternoon, saw stretching itself down + the hill, across the little valley, and up another little hill of that + rolling prairie state. In his ears was the death wail of the summer. It + seemed the spirit of out-of-doors was sending itself up in mournful, + hopeless cries. + </p> + <p> + The speaker who had been delivering himself of pedantic encouragement + about the open arms with which the world stood ready to receive the most + degraded one, would that degraded one but come to the world in proper + spirit, sat down amid perfunctory applause led by the officers and + attendants of the institution, and the boys rose to sing. The brightening + of their faces told that their work as performers was more to their liking + than their position as auditors. They threw back their heads and waited + with well-disciplined eagerness for the signal to begin. Then, with the + strength and native music there are in some three hundred boys' throats, + there rolled out the words of the song of the State. + </p> + <p> + There were lips which opened only because they must, but as a whole they + sang with the same heartiness, the same joy in singing, that he had heard + a crowd of public-school boys put into the song only the week before. When + the last word had died away it seemed to Philip Grayson that the sigh of + the world without was giving voice to the sigh of the world within as the + well-behaved crowd of boys sat down to resume their duties as auditors. + </p> + <p> + And then one of the most important of the professors from the State + University was telling them about the kindness of the State: the State had + provided for them this beautiful home; it gave them comfortable clothing + and nutritious food; it furnished that fine gymnasium in which to train + their bodies, books and teachers to train their minds; it provided those + fitted to train their souls, to work against the unfortunate tendencies—the + professor stumbled a little there—which had led to their coming. The + State gave liberally, gladly, and in return it asked but one thing: that + they come out into the world and make useful, upright citizens, citizens + of which any State might be proud. Was that asking too much? the professor + from the State University was saying. + </p> + <p> + The sobbing of the world without was growing more intense. Many pairs of + eyes from among the auditors were straying out to where the summer lay + dying. Did they know—those boys whom the State classed as + unfortunates—that out of this death there would come again life? Or + did they see but the darkness—the decay—of to-day? + </p> + <p> + The professor from the State University was putting the case very fairly. + There were no flaws—seemingly—to be picked in his logic. The + State had been kind; the boys were obligated to good citizenship. But the + coldness!—comfortlessness!—of it all. The open arms of the + world!—how mocking in its abstractness. What did it mean? Did it + mean that they—the men who uttered the phrase so easily—would + be willing to give these boys aid, friendship when they came out into the + world? What would they say, those boys whose ears were filled with + high-sounding, non-committal phrases, if some man were to stand before + them and say, “And so, fellows, when you get away from this place, and are + ready to get your start in the world, just come around to my office and + I'll help you get a job?” At thought of it there came from Philip Grayson + a queer, partly audible laugh, which caused those nearest him to look his + way in surprise. + </p> + <p> + But he was all unconscious of their looks of inquiry, absorbed in the + thoughts that crowded upon him. How far away the world—his kind of + people—must seem to these boys of the State Reform School. The + speeches they had heard, the training that had been given them, had taught + them—unconsciously perhaps, but surely—to divide the world + into two great classes: the lucky and the unlucky, those who made speeches + and those who must listen, the so-called good and the so-called bad; + perhaps—he smiled a little at his own cynicism—those who were + caught and those who were not. + </p> + <p> + There came to him these words of a poet of whom he used to be fond: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In men whom men pronounce as ill, + I find so much of goodness still; + In men whom men pronounce divine, + I find so much of sin and blot; + I hesitate to draw the line + Between the two, when God has not. +</pre> + <p> + When God has not! He turned and looked out at the sullen sky, returning—as + most men do at times—to that conception of his childhood that + somewhere beyond the clouds was God. God! Did God care for the boys of the + State Reformatory? Was that poet of the western mountains right when he + said that God was not a drawer of lines, but a seer of the good that was + in the so-called bad, and of the bad in the so-called good, and a lover of + them both? + </p> + <p> + If that was God, it was not the God the boys of the reformatory had been + taught to know. They had been told that God would forgive the wicked, but + it had been made clear to them—if not in words, in implications—that + it was they who were the wicked. And the so-called godly men, men of such + exemplary character as had been chosen to address them that afternoon, had + so much of the spirit of God that they, too, were willing to forgive, be + tolerant, and—he looked out at the bending trees with a smile—disburse + generalities about the open arms of the world. + </p> + <p> + What would they think—those three hundred speech-tired boys—if + some man who had been held before them as exemplary were to rise and lay + bare his own life—its weaknesses, its faults, perhaps its crimes—and + tell them there was weakness and there was strength in every human being, + and that the world-old struggle of life was to overcome one's weakness + with one's strength. + </p> + <p> + The idea took strange hold on him. It seemed the method of the world—at + any rate it had been the method of that afternoon—for the men who + stood before their fellows with clean hands to plant themselves on the far + side of a chasm of conventions, or narrow self-esteem, or easily won + virtue, and cry to those beings who struggled on the other side of that + chasm—to those human beings whose souls had never gone to school: + “Look at us! Our hands are clean, our hearts are pure. See how beautiful + it is to be good! Come ye, poor sinners, and be good also.” And the poor + sinners, the untaught, birthmarked human souls, would look over at the + self-acclaimed goodness they could see far across the chasm, and even + though attracted to it (which, he grimly reflected, would not seem likely) + the thing that was left with them was a sense of the width of the chasm. + </p> + <p> + He had a sense of needless waste, of unnecessary blight. He looked down at + those three hundred faces and it was as if looking at human waste; and it + was human stupidity, human complacency and cowardice kept those human + beings human drift. + </p> + <p> + With what a smug self-satisfaction—under the mask of benevolence—the + speakers of that afternoon had flaunted their virtue—their position! + How condescendingly they had spoken of the home which we, the good, + prepare for you, the bad, and what namby-pambyness there was, after all, + in that sentiment which all of them had voiced—and now you must pay + us back by being good! + </p> + <p> + Oh for a man of flesh and blood to stand up and tell how he himself had + failed and suffered! For a man who could bridge that chasm with strong, + broad, human understanding and human sympathies—a man who would + stand among them pulse-beat to pulse-beat and cry out, “I know! I + understand! I fought it and I'll help you fight it too!” + </p> + <p> + The sound of his own name broke the spell that was upon him. He looked to + the centre of the stage and saw that the professor from the State + University had seated himself and that the superintendent of the + institution was occupying the place of the speaker. And the superintendent + was saying: + </p> + <p> + “We may esteem ourselves especially fortunate in having him with us this + afternoon. He is one of the great men of the State, one of the men who by + high living, by integrity and industry, has raised himself to a position + of great honour among his fellow men. A great party—may I say the + greatest of all parties?—has shown its unbounded confidence in him + by giving him the nomination for the governorship of the State. No man in + the State is held in higher esteem to-day than he. And so it is with + special pleasure that I introduce to you that man of the future—Philip + Grayson.” + </p> + <p> + The superintendent sat down then, and he himself—Philip Grayson—was + standing in the place where the other speakers had stood. It was with a + rush which almost swept away his outward show of calm that it came to him + that he—candidate for the governorship—was well fitted to be + that man of flesh and blood for whom he had sighed. That he himself was + within grasp of an opportunity to get beneath the jackets and into the + very hearts and souls of those boys, and make them feel that a man of sins + and virtues, of weaknesses and strength, a man who had had much to + conquer, and for whom the fight would never be finally won, was standing + before them stripped of his coat of conventions and platitudes, and in + nakedness of soul and sincerity of heart was talking to them as a man who + understood. + </p> + <p> + Almost with the inception of the idea was born the consciousness of what + it might cost. And as in answer to the silent, blunt question, Is it worth + it? there looked up at him three hundred pairs of eyes—eyes behind + which there was good as well as bad, eyes which had burned with the fatal + rush of passion, and had burned, too, with the hot tears of remorse—eyes + which had opened on a hostile world. + </p> + <p> + And then the eyes of Philip Grayson could not see the eyes which were + before him, and he put up his hand to break the mist—little caring + what the men upon the platform would think of him, little thinking what + effect the words which were crowding into his heart would have upon his + candidacy. But one thing was vital to him now: to bring upon that ugly + chasm the levelling forces of a common humanity, and to make those boys + who were of his clay feel that a being who had fallen and risen again, a + fellow being for whom life would always mean a falling and a rising again, + was standing before them, and—not as the embodiment of a distant + goodness, not as a pattern, but as one among them, verily as man to man—was + telling them a few things which his own life had taught him were true. + </p> + <p> + It was his very consecration which made it hard to begin. He was fearful + of estranging them in the beginning, of putting between them and him that + very thing he was determined there should not be. + </p> + <p> + “I have a strange feeling,” he said, with a winning little smile, “that if + I were to open my heart to-day, just open it clear up the way I'd like to + if I could, that you boys would look into it, and then jump back in a + scared kind of way and cry, 'Why—that's me!' You would be a little + surprised—wouldn't you?—if you could look back and see the + kind of boy I was, and find I was much the kind of boy you are? + </p> + <p> + “Do you know what I think? I think hypocrisy is the worst thing in the + world. I think it's worse than stealing, or lying, or any of the other bad + things you can name. And do you know where I think lots of the hypocrisy + comes from? I think it comes from the so-called self-made men—from + the real good men, the men who say 'I haven't got one bad thing charged up + to my account.' + </p> + <p> + “Now the men out campaigning for me call me a self-made man. Your + superintendent just now spoke of my integrity, of the confidence reposed + in me, and all that. But do you know what is the honest truth? If I am any + kind of a man worth mentioning, if I am deserving of any honour, any + confidence, it is not because I was born with my heart filled with good + and beautiful things, for I was not. It is because I was born with much in + my heart that we call the bad, and because, after that bad had grown + stronger and stronger through the years it was unchecked, and after it had + brought me the great shock, the great sorrow of my life, I began then, + when older than you boys are now, to see a little of that great truth + which you can put briefly in these words: 'There is good and there is bad + in every human heart, and it is the struggle of life to conquer the bad + with the good.' What I am trying to say is, that if I am worthy any one's + confidence to-day, it is because, having seen that truth, I have been + able, through never ceasing trying, through slow conquering, to crowd out + some of the bad and make room for a little of the good. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” he went on, three hundred pairs of eyes hard upon him now, + “some of us are born to a harder struggle than others. There are people + who would object to my saying that to you, even if I believed it. They + would say you would make the fact of being born with much against which to + struggle an excuse for being bad. But look here a minute; if you were born + with a body not as strong as other boys' bodies, if you couldn't run as + far, or jump as high, you wouldn't be eternally saying, 'I can't be + expected to do much; I wasn't born right.' Not a bit of it! You'd make it + your business to get as strong as you could, and you wouldn't make any + parade of the fact that you weren't as strong as you should be. We don't + like people who whine, whether it's about weak bodies or weak souls. + </p> + <p> + “I've been sitting here this afternoon wondering what to say to you boys. + I had intended telling some funny stories about things which happened to + me when I was a boy. But for some reason a serious mood has come over me, + and I don't feel just like those stories now. I haven't been thinking of + the funny side of life in the last half-hour. I've been thinking of how + much suffering I've endured since the days when I, too, was a boy.” + </p> + <p> + He paused then; and when he went on his voice tested to the utmost the + silence of the room: “There is lots of sorrow in this old world. Maybe I'm + on the wrong track, but as I see it to-day human beings are making a much + harder thing of their existence than there is any need of. There are + millions and millions of them, and year after year, generation after + generation, they fight over the same old battles, live through the same + old sorrows. Doesn't it seem all wrong that after the battle has been + fought a million times it can't be made a little easier for those who + still have it before them? + </p> + <p> + “If a farmer had gone over a bad road, and the next day saw another farmer + about to start over the same road, wouldn't he send him back? Doesn't it + seem too bad that in things which concern one's whole life people can't be + as decent as they are about things which involve only an inconvenience? + Doesn't it seem that when we human beings have so much in common we might + stand together a little better? I'll tell you what's the matter. Most of + the people of this world are coated round and round with self-esteem, and + they're afraid to admit any understanding of the things which aren't good. + Suppose the farmer had thought it a disgrace to admit he had been over + that road, and so had said: 'From what I have read in books, and from what + I have learned in a general way, I fancy that road isn't good.' Would the + other farmer have gone back? I rather think he would have said he'd take + his chances. But you see the farmer said he <i>knew</i>; and how did he + know? Why, because he'd been over the road himself.” + </p> + <p> + As he paused again, looking at them, he saw it all with a clarifying + simplicity. He himself knew life for a fine and beautiful thing. He had + won for himself some of the satisfactions of understanding, certain rare + delights of the open spirit. He wanted to free the spirits of these boys + to whom he talked; wanted to show them that spirits could free themselves, + indicate to them that self-control and self-development carried one to + pleasures which sordid self-indulgences had no power to bestow. It was a + question of getting the most from life. It was a matter of happiness. + </p> + <p> + It was thus he began, slowly, the telling of his life's story: + </p> + <p> + “I was born with strange, wild passions in my heart. I don't know where + they came from; I only know they were there. I resented authority. If + someone who had a right to dictate to me said, 'Philip, do this,' then + Philip would immediately begin to think how much he would rather do the + other thing. And,” he smiled a little, and some of the boys smiled with + him in anticipation, “it was the other thing which Philip usually did. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't go to a reform school, for the very good reason that there + wasn't any in the State where I lived.” Some of he boys smiled again, and + he could hear the nervous coughing of one of the party managers sitting + close to him. “I was what you would call a very bad boy. I didn't mind any + one. I was defiant—insolent. I did bad things just because I knew + they were bad, and—and I took a great deal of satisfaction out of + it.” + </p> + <p> + The sighing of the world without was the only sound which vibrated through + the room. “I say,” he went on, “that I got a form of satisfaction from it. + I did not say I got happiness; there is a vast difference between a kind + of momentary satisfaction and that thing—that most precious of all + things—which we call happiness. Indeed, I was very far from happy. I + had hours when I was so morose and miserable that I hated the whole world. + And do you know what I thought? I thought there was no one in all the + world who had the same kind of things surging up in his heart that I did. + I thought there was no one else with whom it was as easy to be bad, or as + hard to be good. I thought that no one understood. I thought that I was + all alone. + </p> + <p> + “Did you ever feel like that? Did you ever feel that no one else knew + anything about such feelings as you had? Did you ever feel that here was + you, and there was the rest of the world, and that the rest of the world + didn't know anything about you, and was just generally down on you? Now + that's the very thing I want to talk away from you to-day. You're not the + only one. We're all made of the same kind of stuff, and there's none of us + made of stuff that's flawless. We all have a fight; some an easy one, and + some a big one, and if you have formed the idea that there is a kind of + dividing-line in the world, and that on the one side is the good, and on + the other side the bad, why, all I can say is that you have a wrong notion + of things. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I grew up to be a man, and because I hadn't fought against any of + the stormy things in my heart they kept growing stronger and stronger. I + did lots of wild, ugly things, things of which I am bitterly ashamed. I + went to another place, and I fell in with the kind of fellows you can + imagine I felt at home with. I had been told when I was a boy that it was + wrong to drink and gamble. I think that was the chief reason I took to + drink and gambling.” + </p> + <p> + There was another cough, more pronounced this time, from the party + manager, and the superintendent was twisting uneasily in his seat. It was + the strangest speech that had ever been delivered at the boys' + reformatory. The boys were leaning forward—self-forgetful, intent. + “One night I was playing cards with a crowd of my friends, and one of the + men, the best friend I had, said something that made me mad. There was a + revolver right there which one of the men had been showing us. Some kind + of a demon got hold of me, and without so much as a thought I picked up + that revolver and fired at my friend.” + </p> + <p> + The party manager gave way to an exclamation of horror, and the + superintendent half rose from his seat. But before any one could say a + word Philip Grayson continued, looking at the half-frightened faces before + him: “I suppose you wonder why I am not in the penitentiary. I had been + drinking, and I missed my aim; and I was with friends, and it was hushed + up.” + </p> + <p> + He rested his hand upon the table, and looked out at the sullen landscape. + His voice was not steady as he went on: “It's not an easy thing to talk + about, boys. I never talked about it to any one before in all my life. I'm + not telling it now just to entertain you or to create a sensation. I'm + telling it,” his voice grew tense in its earnestness, “because I believe + that this world could be made a better and a sweeter place if those who + have lived and suffered would not be afraid to reach out their hands and + cry: 'I know that road—it's bad! I steered off to a better place, + and I'll help you steer off, too.'” + </p> + <p> + There was not one of the three hundred pairs of eyes but was riveted upon + the speaker's colourless face. The masks of sullenness and defiance had + fallen from them. They were listening now—not because they must, but + because into their hungry and thirsty souls was being poured the very + sustenance for which—unknowingly—they had yearned. + </p> + <p> + “We sometimes hear people say,” resumed the candidate for Governor, “that + they have lived through hell. If by that they mean they've lived through + the deepest torments the human heart can know, then I can say that I, too, + have lived through hell. What I suffered after I went home that night no + one in this world will ever know. Words couldn't tell it; it's not the + kind of thing words can come anywhere near. My whole life spread itself + out before me; it was not a pleasant thing to look at. But at last, boys, + out of the depths of my darkness, I began to get a little light. I began + to get some understanding of the battle which it falls to the lot of some + of us human beings to wage. There was good in me, you see, or I wouldn't + have cared like that, and it came to me then, all alone that terrible + night, that it is the good which lies buried away somewhere in our hearts + must fight out the bad. And so—all alone, boys—I began the + battle of trying to get command of my own life. And do you know—this + is the truth—it was with the beginning of that battle I got my first + taste of happiness. There is no finer feeling in this world than the sense + of coming into mastery of one's self. It is like opening a door that has + shut you in. Oh, you don't do it all in a minute. This is no miracle I'm + talking about. It's a fight. But it's a fight that can be won. It's a + fight that's gloriously worth the winning. I'm not saying to you, 'Be good + and you'll succeed.' Maybe you won't succeed. Life as we've arranged it + for ourselves makes success a pretty tough proposition. But that doesn't + alter the fact that it pays to be a decent sort. You and I know about how + much happiness there is in the other kind of thing. And there is happiness + in feeling you're doing what you can to develop what's in you. Success or + failure, it brings a sense of having done your part,—that bully + sense of having put up the best fight you could.” + </p> + <p> + He leaned upon the table then, as though very weary. “I don't know, I am + sure, what the people of my State will think of all this. Perhaps they + won't want a man for their Governor who once tried to kill another man. + But,” he looked around at them with that smile of his which got straight + to men's hearts, “there's only one of me, and there are three hundred of + you, and how do I know but that in telling you of that stretch of bad road + ahead I've made a dozen Governors this very afternoon!” + </p> + <p> + He looked from row to row of them, trying to think of some last word which + would leave them with a sense of his sincerity. What he did say was: “And + so, boys, when you get away from here, and go out into the world to get + your start, if you find the arms of that world aren't quite as wide open + as you were told they would be, if there seems no place where you can get + a hold, and you are saying to yourself, 'It's no use—I'll not try,' + before you give up just remember there was one man who said he knew all + about it, and give that one man a chance to show he meant what he said. So + look me up, if luck goes all against you, and maybe I can give you a + little lift.” He took a backward step, as though to resume his seat, and + then he said, with a dry little smile which took any suggestion of heroics + from what had gone before, “If I'm not at the State-house, you'll find my + name in the directory of the city where your programme tells you I live.” + </p> + <p> + He sat down, and for a moment there was silence. Then, full-souled, + heart-given, came the applause. It was not led by the attendants this + time; it was the attendants who rose at last to stop it. And when the + clapping of the hands had ceased, many of those hands were raised to eyes + which had long been dry. + </p> + <p> + The exercises were drawn to a speedy close, and he found the party manager + standing by his side. “It was very grand,” he sneered, “very high-sounding + and heroic, but I suppose you know,” jerking his hand angrily toward a + table where a reporter for the leading paper of the opposition was + writing, “that you've given them the winning card.” + </p> + <p> + As he replied, in far-off tone, “I hope so,” the candidate for Governor + was looking, not at the reporter who was sending out a new cry for the + opposition, but into those faces aglow with the light of new understanding + and new-born hopes. He stood there watching them filing out into the + corridor, craning their necks to throw him a last look, and as he turned + then and looked from the window it was to see that the storm had sobbed + itself away, and that along the driveway of the reformatory grounds the + young trees—unbroken and unhurt—were rearing their heads in + the way they should go. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII. — HOW THE PRINCE SAW AMERICA + </h2> + <p> + They began work at seven-thirty, and at ten minutes past eight every + hammer stopped. In the Senate Chamber and in the House, on the stairways + and in the corridors, in every office from the Governor's to the + custodian's they laid down their implements and rose to their feet. A long + whistle had sounded through the building. There was magic in its note. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter with you fellows?” asked the attorney-general, swinging + around in his chair. + </p> + <p> + “Strike,” declared one of the men, with becoming brevity. + </p> + <p> + “Strike of what?” + </p> + <p> + “Carpet-Tackers' Union Number One,” replied the man, kindly gathering up a + few tacks. + </p> + <p> + “Never heard of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Organised last night,” said the carpet-tacker, putting on his coat. + </p> + <p> + “Well I'll—” he paused expressively, then inquired: “What's your + game?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you see, boss, this executive council that runs the State-house has + refused our demands.” + </p> + <p> + “What are your demands?” + </p> + <p> + “Double pay.” + </p> + <p> + “Double pay! Now how do you figure it out that you ought to have double + pay?” + </p> + <p> + “Rush work. You see we were under oath, or pretty near that, to get every + carpet in the State-house down by four o'clock this afternoon. Now you + know yourself that rush work is hard on the nerves. Did you ever get rush + work done at a laundry and not pay more for it? We was anxious as anybody + to get the Capitol in shape for the big show this afternoon. But there's + reason in all things.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” agreed his auditor, “there is.” + </p> + <p> + The man looked at him a little doubtfully. “Our president—we elected + Johnny McGuire president last night—went to the Governor this + morning with our demands.” + </p> + <p> + The Governor's fellow official smiled—he knew the Governor pretty + well. “And he turned you down?” + </p> + <p> + The striker nodded. “But there's an election next fall; maybe the turning + down will be turned around.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe so—you never can tell. I don't know just what power + Carpet-Tackers' Union Number One will wield, but the Governor's pretty + solid, you know, with Labour as a whole.” + </p> + <p> + That was true, and went home. The striker rubbed his foot uncertainly + across the floor, and took courage from its splinters. “Well, there's one + thing sure. When Prince Ludwig and his train-load of big guns show up at + four o'clock this afternoon they'll find bare floors, and pretty bum bare + floors, on deck at this place.” + </p> + <p> + The attorney-general rubbed his own foot across the splintered, miserable + boards. “They are pretty bum,” he reflected. “I wonder,” he added, as the + man was half-way out of the door, “what Prince Ludwig will think of the + American working-man when he arrives this afternoon?” + </p> + <p> + “Just about as much,” retorted the not-to-be-downed carpet-tacker, “as he + does about American generosity. And he may think a few things,” he added + weightily, “about American independence.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he's sure to do that,” agreed the attorney-general. + </p> + <p> + He joined the crowd in the corridor. They were swarming out from all the + offices, all talking of the one thing. “It was a straight case of + hold-up,” declared the Governor's secretary. “They supposed they had us on + the hip. They were getting extra money as it was, but you see they just + figured it out we'd pay anything rather than have these wretched floors + for the reception this afternoon. They thought the Governor would argue + the question, and then give in, or, at any rate, compromise. They never + intended for one minute that the Prince should find bare floors here. And + I rather think,” he concluded, “that they feel a little done up about it + themselves.” + </p> + <p> + “What's the situation?” asked a stranger within the gates. + </p> + <p> + “It's like this,” a newspaper reporter told him; “about a month ago there + was a fire here and the walls and carpets were pretty well knocked out + with smoke and water. The carpets were mean old things anyway, so they + voted new ones. And I want to tell you”—he swelled with pride—“that + the new ones are beauties. The place'll look great when we get 'em down. + Well, you know Prince Ludwig and his crowd cross the State on their way to + the coast, and of course they were invited to stop. Last week Billy Patton—he's + running the whole show—declined the invitation on account of lack of + time, and then yesterday comes a telegram saying the Prince himself + insisted on stopping. You know he's keen about Indian dope—and we've + got Indian traditions to burn. So Mr. Bill Patton had to make over his + schedule to please the Prince, and of course we were all pretty tickled + about it, for more reasons than one. The telegram didn't come until five + o'clock yesterday afternoon, but you know what a hummer the Governor is + when he gets a start. He made up his mind this building should be put in + shape within twenty-four hours. They engaged a whole lot of fellows to + work on the carpets to-day. Then what did they do but get together last + night—well, you know the rest. Pretty bum-looking old shack just + now, isn't it?” and the reporter looked around ruefully. + </p> + <p> + It was approaching the hour for the legislature to convene, and the + members who were beginning to saunter in swelled the crowd—and the + indignation—in the rotunda. + </p> + <p> + The Governor, meanwhile, had been trying to get other men, but + Carpet-Tackers' Union Number One had looked well to that. The biggest + furniture dealer in the city was afraid of the plumbers. “Pipes burst last + night,” he said, “and they may not do a thing for us if we get mixed up in + this. Sorry—but I can't let my customers get pneumonia.” + </p> + <p> + Another furniture man was afraid of the teamsters. For one reason or + another no one was disposed to respond to the Macedonian cry, and when the + Governor at last gave it up and walked out into the rotunda he was about + as disturbed as he permitted himself to get. “It's the idea of lying + down,” he said. “I'd do anything—anything!—if I could only + think what to do.” + </p> + <p> + A popular young member of the House overheard the remark. “By George, + Governor,” he burst forth, after a minute's deep study—“say—by + Jove, I say, let's do it ourselves!” + </p> + <p> + They all laughed, but the Governor's laugh stopped suddenly, and he looked + hard at the young man. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” the young legislator went on. “It's a big job, but there are a + lot of us. We've all put down carpets at home; what are we afraid to + tackle it here for?” + </p> + <p> + Again the others laughed, but the Governor did not. “Say, Weston,” he + said, “I'd give a lot—I tell you I'd give a lot—if we just + could!” + </p> + <p> + “Leave it to me!”—and he was lost in the crowd. + </p> + <p> + The Governor's eyes followed him. He had always liked Harry Weston. He was + the very sort to inspire people to do things. The Governor smiled + knowingly as he noted the men Weston was approaching, and his different + manner with the various ones. And then he had mounted a few steps of the + stairway, and was standing there facing the crowd. + </p> + <p> + “Now look here,” he began, after silence had been obtained, “this isn't a + very formal meeting, but it's a mighty important one. It's a clear case of + Carpet-Tackers' Union against the State. What I want to know is—Is + the State going to lie down?” + </p> + <p> + There were loud cries of “No!”—“Well, I should say not!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, see here. The Governor's tried for other men and can't get + them. Now the next thing I want to know is—What's the matter with + us?” + </p> + <p> + They didn't get it for a minute, and then everybody laughed. + </p> + <p> + “It's no joke! You've all put down carpets at home; what's the use of + pretending you don't know how to do it? Oh yes—I know, bigger + building, and all that, but there are more of us, and the principle of + carpet-tacking is the same, big building or little one. Now my scheme is + this—Every fellow his own carpet-tacker! The Governor's office puts + down the Governor's carpet; the Secretary's office puts down the + Secretary's carpet; the Senate puts down the Senate carpet—and we'll + look after our little patch in the House!” + </p> + <p> + “But you've got more fellows than anybody else,” cried a member of the + Senate. + </p> + <p> + “Right you are, and we'll have an over-flow meeting in the corridors and + stairways. The House, as usual, stands ready to do her part,”—that + brought a laugh for the Senators, and from them. + </p> + <p> + “Now get it out of your heads this is a joke. The carpets are here; the + building is full of able-bodied men; the Prince is coming at four—by + his own request, and the proposition is just this: Are we going to receive + him in a barn or in a palace? Let's hear what Senator Arnold thinks about + it.” + </p> + <p> + That was a good way of getting away from the idea of its being a joke. + Senator Arnold was past seventy. Slowly he extended his right arm and + tested his muscle. “Not very much,” he said, “but enough to drive a tack + or two.” That brought applause and they drew closer together, and the + atmosphere warmed perceptibly. “I've fought for the State in more ways + than one,”—Senator Arnold was a distinguished veteran of the Civil + War—“and if I can serve her now by tacking down carpets, then it's + tacking down carpets I'm ready to go at. Just count on me for what little + I'm worth.” + </p> + <p> + Someone started the cry for the Governor. “Prince Ludwig is being + entertained all over the country in the most lavish manner,” he began, + with his characteristic directness in stating a situation. “By his own + request he is to visit our Capitol this afternoon. I must say that I, for + one, want to be in shape for him. I don't like to tell him that we had a + labour complication and couldn't get the carpets down. Speaking for + myself, it is a great pleasure to inform you that the carpet in the + Governor's office will be in proper shape by four o'clock this afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + That settled it. Finally Harry Weston made himself heard sufficiently to + suggest that when the House and Senate met at nine o'clock motions to + adjourn be entertained. “And as to the rest of you fellows,” he cried, “I + don't see what's to hinder your getting busy right now!” + </p> + <p> + There were Republicans and there were Democrats; there were friends and + there were enemies; there were good, bad and—no, there were no + indifferent. An unprecedented harmony of thought, a millennium-like unity + of action was born out of that sturdy cry—Every man his own + carpet-tacker! The Secretary of State always claimed that he drove the + first tack, but during the remainder of his life the Superintendent of + Public Instruction also contended hotly for that honour. The rivalry as to + who would do the best job, and get it done most quickly, became intense. + Early in the day Harry Weston made the rounds of the building and + announced a fine of one-hundred dollars for every wrinkle. There were + pounded fingers and there were broken backs, but slowly, steadily and + good-naturedly the State-house carpet was going down. It was a good deal + bigger job than they had anticipated, but that only added zest to the + undertaking. The news of how the State officials were employing themselves + had spread throughout the city, and guards were stationed at every door to + keep out people whose presence would work more harm than good. All + assistance from women was courteously refused. “This is solemn business,” + said the Governor, in response to a telephone from some of the fair sex, + “and the introduction of the feminine element might throw about it a + social atmosphere which would result in loss of time. And then some of the + boys might feel called upon to put on their collars and coats.” + </p> + <p> + Stretch—stretch—stretch, and tack—tack—tack, all + morning long it went on, for the State-house was large—oh, very + large. There should have been a Boswell there to get the good things, for + the novelty of the situation inspired wit even in minds where wit had + never glowed before. Choice bits which at other times would fairly have + gone on official record were now passed almost unnoticed, so great was the + surfeit. Instead of men going out to lunch, lunch came in to them. Bridget + Haggerty, who by reason of her long connection with the boarding-house + across the street was a sort of unofficial official of the State, came + over and made the coffee and sandwiches, all the while calling down + blessings on the head of every mother's son of them, and announcing in + loud, firm tones that while all five of her boys belonged to the union + she'd be after tellin' them what she thought of this day's work! + </p> + <p> + It was a United States Senator who did the awful trick, and, to be fair, + the Senator did not think of it as an awful trick at all. He came over + there in the middle of the morning to see the Governor, and in a few + hurried words—it was no day for conversation—was told what was + going on. It was while standing out in the corridor watching the + perspiring dignitaries that the idea of his duty came to him, and one + reason he was sure he was right was the way in which it came to him in the + light of a duty. Here was America in undress uniform! Here was—not a + thing arranged for show, but absolutely the thing itself! Prince Ludwig + had come with a sincere desire to see America. Every one knew that he was + not seeing it at all. He would go back with memories of bands and flags + and people all dressed up standing before him making polite speeches. But + would he carry back one small whiff of the spirit of the country? Again + Senator Bruner looked about him. The Speaker of the House was just + beginning laying the stair carpet; a judge of the Supreme Court was + contending hotly for a better hammer. “It's an insult to expect any decent + man to drive tacks with a hammer like this,” he was saying. Here were men—real, + live men, men with individuality, spirit. When the Prince had come so far, + wasn't it too bad that he should not see anything but uniforms and cut + glass and dress suits and other externals and non-essentials? Senator + Bruner was a kind man; he was a good fellow; he was hospitable—patriotic. + He decided now in favour of the Prince. + </p> + <p> + He had to hurry about it, for it was almost twelve then. One of the + vice-presidents of the road lived there, and he was taken into confidence, + and proved an able and eager ally. They located the special train bearing + the Prince and ordered it stopped at the next station. The stop was made + that Senator Patton might receive a long telegram from Senator Bruner. “I + figure it like this,” the Senator told the vice-president. “They get to + Boden at a quarter of one and were going to stop there an hour. Then they + were going to stop a little while at Creyville. I've told Patton the + situation, and that if he wants to do the right thing by the prince he'll + cut out those stops and rush right through here. That will bring him in—well, + they could make it at a quarter of two. I've told him I'd square it with + Boden and Creyville. Oh, he'll do it all right.” + </p> + <p> + And even as he said so came the reply from Patton: “Too good to miss. Will + rush through. Arrive before two. Have carriage at Water Street.” + </p> + <p> + “That's great!” cried the Senator. “Trust Billy Patton for falling in with + a good thing. And he's right about missing the station crowd. Patton can + always go you one better,” he admitted, grinningly. + </p> + <p> + They had luncheon together, and they were a good deal more like sophomores + in college than like a United States Senator and a big railroad man. “You + don't think there's any danger of their getting through too soon?” McVeigh + kept asking, anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit,” the Senator assured him. “They can't possibly make it before + three. We'll come in just in time for the final skirmish. It's going to be + a jolly rush at the last.” + </p> + <p> + They laid their plans with skill worthy of their training. The State + library building was across from the Capitol, and they were connected by + tunnel. “I never saw before,” said the Senator, “what that tunnel was for, + but I see now what a great thing it is. We'll get him in at the west door + of the library—we can drive right up to it, you know, and then we + walk him through the tunnel. That's a stone floor”—the Senator was + chuckling with every sentence—“so I guess they won't be carpeting + it. There's a little stairway running up from the tunnel—-and say, + we must telephone over and arrange about those keys. There'll be a good + deal of climbing, but the Prince is a good fellow, and won't mind. It + wouldn't be safe to try the elevator, for Harry Weston would be in it + taking somebody a bundle of tacks. The third floor is nothing but store + rooms; we'll not be disturbed up there, and we can look right down the + rotunda and see the whole show. Of course we'll be discovered in time; + some one is sure to look up and see us, but we'll fix it so they won't see + us before we've had our fun, and it strikes me, McVeigh, that for two old + fellows like you and me we've put the thing through in pretty neat shape.” + </p> + <p> + It was a very small and unpretentious party which stepped from the special + at Water Street a little before two. The Prince was wearing a long coat + and an automobile cap and did not suggest anything at all formidable or + unusual. “You've saved the country,” Senator Patton whispered in an aside. + “He was getting bored. Never saw a fellow jolly up so in my life. Guess he + was just spoiling for some fun. Said it would be really worth while to see + somebody who wasn't looking for him.” + </p> + <p> + Senator Bruner beamed. “That's just the point. He's caught my idea + exactly.” + </p> + <p> + It went without a hitch. “I feel,” said the Prince, as they were hurrying + him through the tunnel, “that I am a little boy who has run away from + school. Only I have a terrible fear that at any minute some band may begin + to play, and somebody may think of making a speech.” + </p> + <p> + They gave this son of a royal house a seat on a dry-goods box, so placed + that he could command a good view, and yet be fairly secure. The final + skirmish was on in earnest. Two State Senators—coatless, tieless, + collarless, their faces dirty, their hair rumpled, were finishing the + stair carpet. The chairman of the appropriations committee in the House + was doing the stretching in a still uncarpeted bit of the corridor, and a + member who had recently denounced the appropriations committee as a + disgrace to the State was presiding at the hammer. They were doing most + exquisitely harmonious team work. A railroad and anti-railroad member who + fought every time they came within speaking distance of one another were + now in an earnest and very chummy conference relative to a large wrinkle + which had just been discovered on the first landing. Many men were + standing around holding their backs, and many others were deeply absorbed + in nursing their fingers. The doors of the offices were all open, and + there was a general hauling in of furniture and hanging of pictures. + Clumsy but well-meaning fingers were doing their best with “finishing + touches.” The Prince grew so excited about it all that they had to keep + urging him not to take too many chances of being seen. + </p> + <p> + “And I'll tell you,” Senator Bruner was saying, “it isn't only because I + knew it would be funny that I wanted you to see it; but—well, you + see America isn't the real America when she has on her best clothes and is + trying to show off. You haven't seen anybody who hasn't prepared for your + coming, and that means you haven't seen them as they are at all. Now here + we are. This is us! You see that fellow hanging a picture down there? He's + president of the First National Bank. Came over a little while ago, got + next to the situation, and stayed to help. And—say, this is good! + Notice that red-headed fellow just getting up from his knees? Well, he's + president of the teamsters' union—figured so big in a strike here + last year. I call that pretty rich! He's the fellow they are all so afraid + of, but I guess he liked the idea of the boys doing it themselves, and + just sneaked in and helped.—There's the Governor. He's a fine + fellow. He wouldn't be held up by anybody—not even to get ready for + a Prince, but he's worked like a Trojan all day to make things come his + way. Yes sir—this is the sure-enough thing. Here you have the boys + off dress parade. Not that we run away from our dignity every day, but—see + what I mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” replied the Prince, and he looked as though he really did. + </p> + <p> + “You know—say, dodge there! Move back! No—too late. The + Governor's caught us. Look at him!” + </p> + <p> + The Governor's eyes had turned upward, and he had seen. He put his hands + on his back—he couldn't look up without doing that—and gave a + long, steady stare. First, Senator Bruner waved; then Senator Patton + waved; then Mr. McVeigh waved; and then the Prince waved. Other people + were beginning to look up. “They're all on,” laughed Patton, “let's go + down.” + </p> + <p> + At first they were disposed to think it pretty shabby treatment. “We + worked all day to get in shape,” grumbled Harry Weston, “and then you go + ring the curtain up on us before it's time for our show to begin.” + </p> + <p> + But the Prince made them feel right about it. He had such a good time that + they were forced to concede the move had been a success. And he said to + the Governor as he was leaving: “I see that the only way to see America is + to see it when America is not seeing you.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VIII. — THE LAST SIXTY MINUTES + </h2> + <p> + “Nine—ten—” The old clock paused as if in dramatic + appreciation of the situation, and then slowly, weightily, it gave the + final stroke, “Eleven!” + </p> + <p> + The Governor swung his chair half-way round and looked the timepiece full + in the face. Already the seconds had begun ticking off the last hour of + his official life. On the stroke of twelve another man would be Governor + of the State. He sat there watching the movement of the minute hand. + </p> + <p> + The sound of voices, some jovial, some argumentative, was borne to him + through the open transom. People were beginning to gather in the + corridors, and he could hear the usual disputes about tickets of admission + to the inaugural. + </p> + <p> + His secretary came in just then with some letters. “Could you see + Whitefield now?” he asked. “He's waiting out here for you.” + </p> + <p> + The old man looked up wearily. “Oh, put him off, Charlie. Tell him you can + talk to him about whatever it is he wants to know.” + </p> + <p> + The secretary had his hand on the knob, when the Governor added, “And, + Charlie, keep everybody out, if you can. I'm—I've got a few private + matters to go over.” + </p> + <p> + The younger man nodded and opened the door. He half closed it behind him, + and then turned to say, “Except Francis. You'll want to see him if he + comes in, won't you?” + </p> + <p> + He frowned and moved impatiently as he answered, curtly: “Oh, yes.” + </p> + <p> + Francis! Of course it never occurred to any of them that he could close + the door on Francis. He drummed nervously on his desk, then suddenly + reached down and, opening one of the drawers, tossed back a few things and + drew out a newspaper. He unfolded this and spread it out on the desk. + Running across the page was the big black line, “Real Governors of Some + Western States,” and just below, the first of the series, and played up as + the most glaring example of nominal and real in governorship, was a sketch + of Harvey Francis. + </p> + <p> + He sat there looking at it, knowing full well that it would not contribute + to his peace of mind. It did not make for placidity of spirit to be told + at the end of things that he had, as a matter of fact, never been anybody + at all. And the bitterest part of it was that, looking back on it now, + getting it from the viewpoint of one stepping from it, he could see just + how true was the statement: “Harvey Francis has been the real Governor of + the State; John Morrison his mouthpiece and figurehead.” + </p> + <p> + He walked to the window and looked out over the January landscape. It may + have been the snowy hills, as well as the thoughts weighing him down, that + carried him back across the years to one snowy afternoon when he stood up + in a little red schoolhouse and delivered an oration on “The + Responsibilities of Statesmanship.” He smiled as the title came back to + him, and yet—what had become of the spirit of that + seventeen-year-old boy? He had meant it all then; he could remember the + thrill with which he stood there that afternoon long before and poured out + his sentiments regarding the sacredness of public trusts. What was it had + kept him, when his chance came, from working out in his life the things he + had so fervently poured into his schoolboy oration? + </p> + <p> + Someone was tapping at the door. It was an easy, confident tap, and there + was a good deal of reflex action in the Governor's “Come in.” + </p> + <p> + “Indulging in a little meditation?” + </p> + <p> + The Governor frowned at the way Francis said it, and the latter went on, + easily: “Just came from a row with Dorman. Everybody is holding him up for + tickets, and he—poor young fool—looks as though he wanted to + jump in the river. Takes things tremendously to heart—Dorman does.” + </p> + <p> + He lighted a cigar, smiling quietly over that youthful quality of + Dorman's. “Well,” he went on, leaning back in his chair and looking about + the room, “I thought I'd look in on you for a minute. You see I'll not + have the <i>entree</i> to the Governor's office by afternoon.” He laughed, + the easy, good-humoured laugh of one too sophisticated to spend emotion + uselessly. + </p> + <p> + It was he who fell into meditation then, and the Governor sat looking at + him; a paragraph from the newspaper came back to him: “Harvey Francis is + the most dangerous type of boss politician. His is not the crude and + vulgar method that asks a man what his vote is worth. He deals gently and + tenderly with consciences. He knows how to get a man without fatally + injuring that man's self-respect.” + </p> + <p> + The Governor's own experience bore out the summary. When elected to office + as State Senator he had cherished old-fashioned ideas of serving his + constituents and doing his duty. But the very first week Francis had asked + one of those little favours of him, and, wishing to show his appreciation + of support given him in his election, he had granted it. Then various + courtesies were shown him; he was let in on a “deal,” and almost before he + realised it, it seemed definitely understood that he was a “Francis man.” + </p> + <p> + Francis roused himself and murmured: “Fools!—amateurs.” + </p> + <p> + “Leyman?” ventured the Governor. + </p> + <p> + “Leyman and all of his crowd!” + </p> + <p> + “And yet,” the Governor could not resist, “in another hour this same fool + will be Governor of the State. The fool seems to have won.” + </p> + <p> + Francis rose, impatiently. “For the moment. It won't be lasting. In any + profession, fools and amateurs may win single victories. They can't keep + it up. They don't know <i>how</i>. Oh, no,” he insisted, cheerfully, + “Leyman will never be re-elected. Fact is, I'm counting on this contract + business we've saved up for him getting in good work.” He was moving + toward the door. “Well,” he concluded, with a curious little laugh, “see + you upstairs.” + </p> + <p> + The Governor looked at the clock. It pointed now to twenty-five minutes + past eleven. The last hour was going fast. In a very short time he must + join the party in the anteroom of the House. But weariness had come over + him. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. + </p> + <p> + He was close upon seventy, and to-day looked even older than his years. It + was not a vicious face, but it was not a strong one. People who wanted to + say nice things of the Governor called him pleasant or genial or kindly. + Even the men in the appointive offices did not venture to say he had much + force. + </p> + <p> + He felt it to-day as he never had before. He had left no mark; he had done + nothing, stood for nothing. Never once had his personality made itself + felt. He had signed the documents; Harvey Francis had always “suggested”—the + term was that man's own—the course to be pursued. And the + “suggestions” had ever dictated the policy that would throw the most of + influence or money to that splendidly organised machine that Francis + controlled. + </p> + <p> + With an effort he shook himself free from his cheerless retrospect. There + was a thing or two he wanted to get from his desk, and his time was + growing very short. He found what he wanted, and then, just as he was + about to close the drawer, his eye fell on a large yellow envelope. + </p> + <p> + He closed the drawer; but only to reopen it, take out the envelope and + remove the documents it contained; and then one by one he spread them out + before him on the desk. + </p> + <p> + He sat there looking down at them, wondering whether a man had ever + stepped into office with as many pitfalls laid for him. During the last + month they had been busy about the old State-house setting traps for the + new Governor. The “machine” was especially jubilant over those contracts + the Governor now had spread out before him. The convict labour question + was being fought out in the State just then—organised labour + demanding its repeal; country taxpayers insisting that it be maintained. + Under the system the penitentiary had become self-supporting. In November + the contracts had come up for renewal; but on the request of Harvey + Francis the matter had been put off from time to time, and still remained + open. Just the week before, Francis had put it to the Governor something + like this: + </p> + <p> + “Don't sign those contracts. We can give some reason for holding them off, + and save them up for Leyman. Then we can see that the question is + agitated, and whatever he does about it is going to prove a bad thing for + him. If he doesn't sign, he's in bad with the country fellows, the men who + elected him. Don't you see? At the end of his administration the + penitentiary, under you self-sustaining, will have cost them a pretty + penny. We've got him right square!” + </p> + <p> + The clock was close to twenty minutes of twelve, and he concluded that he + would go out and join some of his friends he could hear in the other room. + It would never do for him to go upstairs with a long, serious face. He had + had his day, and now Leyman was to have his, and if the new Governor did + better than the old one, then so much the better for the State. As for the + contracts, Leyman surely must understand that there was a good deal of + rough sailing on political waters. + </p> + <p> + But it was not easy to leave the room. Walking to the window he again + stood there looking out across the snow, and once more he went back now at + the end of things to that day in the little red schoolhouse which stood + out as the beginning. + </p> + <p> + He was called back from that dreaming by the sight of three men coming up + the hill. He smiled faintly in anticipation of the things Francis and the + rest of them would say about the new Governor's arriving on foot. Leyman + had requested that the inaugural parade be done away with—but one + would suppose he would at least dignify the occasion by arriving in a + carriage. Francis would see that the opposing papers handled it as a + grand-stand play to the country constituents. + </p> + <p> + And then, forgetful of Francis, and of the approaching ceremony, the old + man stood there by the window watching the young man who was coming up to + take his place. How firmly the new Governor walked! With what confidence + he looked ahead at the State-house. The Governor—not considering the + inconsistency therein—felt a thrill of real pride in thought of the + State's possessing a man like that. + </p> + <p> + Standing though he did for the things pitted against him, down in his + heart John Morrison had all along cherished a strong admiration for that + young man who, as District Attorney of the State's metropolis, had aroused + the whole country by his fearlessness and unquestionable sincerity. Many a + day he had sat in that same office reading what the young District + Attorney was doing in the city close by—the fight he was making + almost single-handed against corruption, how he was striking in the high + places fast and hard as in the low, the opposition, threats, and time + after time there had been that same secret thrill at thought of there + being a man like that. And when the people of the State, convinced that + here was one man who would serve <i>them</i>, began urging the District + Attorney for chief executive, Governor Morrison, linked with the opposing + forces, doing all he could to bring about Leyman's defeat, never lost that + secret feeling for the young man, who, unbacked by any organisation, + struck blow after blow at the machine that had so long dominated the + State, winning in the end that almost incomprehensible victory. + </p> + <p> + The new Governor had passed from sight, and a moment later his voice came + to the ear of the lonely man in the executive office. Some friends had + stopped him just outside the Governor's door with a laughing “Here's + hoping you'll do as much for us in the new office as you did in the old,” + and the new Governor replied, buoyantly: “Oh, but I'm going to do a great + deal more!” + </p> + <p> + The man within the office smiled a little wistfully and with a sigh sat + down before his desk. The clock now pointed to thirteen minutes of twelve; + they would be asking for him upstairs. There were some scraps of paper on + his desk and he threw them into the waste-basket, murmuring: “I can at + least give him a clean desk.” + </p> + <p> + He pushed his chair back sharply. A clean desk! The phrase opened to + deeper meanings.... Why not clean it up in earnest? Why not give him a + square deal—a real chance? Why not <i>sign the contracts</i>? + </p> + <p> + Again he looked at the clock—not yet ten minutes of twelve. For ten + minutes more he was Governor of the State! Ten minutes of real + governorship! Might it not make up a little, both to his own soul and to + the world, for the years he had weakly served as another man's puppet? The + consciousness that he could do it, that it was not within the power of any + man to stop him, was intoxicating. Why not break the chains now at the + last, and just before the end taste the joy of freedom? + </p> + <p> + He took up his pen and reached for the inkwell. With trembling, excited + fingers he unfolded the contracts. He dipped his pen into the ink; he even + brought it down on the paper; and then the tension broke. He sank back in + his chair, a frightened, broken old man. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” he whispered; “no, not now. It's—” his head went lower and + lower until at last it rested on the desk—“too late.” + </p> + <p> + When he raised his head and grew more steady, it was only to see the + soundness of his conclusion. He had not the right now in the final hour to + buy for himself a little of glory. It would only be a form of + self-indulgence. They would call it, and perhaps rightly, hush money to + his conscience. They would say he went back on them only when he was + through with them. Oh, no, there would be no more strength in it than in + the average deathbed repentance. He would at least step out with + consistency. + </p> + <p> + He folded the contracts and put them back into the envelope. The minute + hand now pointed to seven minutes to twelve. Some one was tapping at the + door, and the secretary appeared to say they were waiting for him + upstairs. He replied that he would be there in a minute, hoping that his + voice did not sound as strange to the other man as it had to himself. + </p> + <p> + Slowly he walked to the door leading into the corridor. This, then, was + indeed the end; this the final stepping down from office! After years of + what they called public service, he was leaving it all now with a sense of + defeat and humiliation. A lump was in the old man's throat; his eyes were + blurred. “But you, Frank Leyman,” he whispered passionately, turning as if + for comfort to the other man, “it will be different with you! They'll not + get you—not you!” + </p> + <p> + It lifted him then as a great wave—this passionate exultation that + here was one man whom corruption could not claim as her own. Here was one + human soul not to be had for a price! There flitted before him again a + picture of that seventeen-year-old boy in the little red schoolhouse, and + close upon it came the picture of this other young man against whom all + powers of corruption had been turned in vain. With the one it had been the + emotional luxury of a sentiment, a thing from life's actualities apart; + with the other it was a force that dominated all things else, a force over + which circumstances and design could not prevail. “I know all about it,” + he was saying. “I know about it all! I know how easy it is to fall! I know + how fine it is to stand!” + </p> + <p> + His sense of disappointment in his own empty, besmirched career was almost + submerged then as he projected himself on into the career of this other + man who within the hour would come there in his stead. How glorious was + his opportunity, how limitless his possibilities, and how great to his own + soul the satisfaction the years would bring of having done his best! + </p> + <p> + It had all changed now. That passionate longing to vindicate himself, add + one thing honourable and fine to his own record, had altogether left him, + and with the new mood came new insight and what had been an impulse + centred to a purpose. + </p> + <p> + It pointed to three minutes to twelve as he walked over to his desk, + unfolded the contracts, and one by one affixed his signature. In a dim way + he was conscious of how the interpretation of his first motive would be + put upon it, how they would call him traitor and coward; but that mattered + little. The very fact that the man for whom he was doing it would never + see it as it was brought him no pang. And when he had carefully blotted + the papers, affixed the seal and put them away, there was in his heart the + clean, sweet joy of a child because he had been able to do this for a man + in whom he believed. + </p> + <p> + The band was playing the opening strains as he closed the door behind him + and started upstairs. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IX. — “OUT THERE” + </h2> + <p> + The old man held the picture up before him and surveyed it with admiring + but disapproving eye. “No one that comes along this way'll have the price + for it,” he grumbled. “It'll just set here 'till doomsday.” + </p> + <p> + It did seem that the picture failed to fit in with the rest of the shop. A + persuasive young fellow who claimed he was closing out his stock let the + old man have it for what he called a song. It was only a little + out-of-the-way store which subsisted chiefly on the framing of pictures. + The old man looked around at his views of the city, his pictures of cats + and dogs and gorgeous young women, his flaming bits of landscape. “Don't + belong in here,” he fumed, “any more 'an I belong in Congress.” + </p> + <p> + And yet the old man was secretly proud of his acquisition. He seemed all + at once to be lifted from his realm of petty tradesman to that of patron + of art. There was a hidden dignity in his scowling as he shuffled about + pondering the least ridiculous place for the picture. + </p> + <p> + It is not fair to the picture to try repainting it in words, for words + reduce it to a lithograph. It was a bit of a pine forest, through which + there exuberantly rushed an unspoiled little mountain stream. Chromos and + works of art may deal with kindred subjects. There is just that one + difference of dealing with them differently. “It ain't what you <i>see</i>, + so much as what you can guess is there,” was the thought it brought to the + old man who was dusting it. “Now this frame ain't three feet long, but it + wouldn't surprise me a bit if that timber kept right on for a hundred + miles. I kind of suspect it's on a mountain—looks cool enough in + there to be on a mountain. Wish I was there. Bet they never see no such + days as we do in Chicago. Looks as though a man might call his soul his + own—out there.” + </p> + <p> + He began removing some views of Lincoln Park and some corpulent Cupids in + order to make room in the window for the new picture. When he went outside + to look at it he shook his head severely and hastened in to take away some + ardent young men and women, some fruit and flowers and fish which he had + left thinking they might “set it off.” It was evident that the new picture + did not need to be “set off.” “And anyway,” he told himself, in + vindication of entrusting all his goods to one bottom, “I might as well + take them out, for the new one makes them look so kind of sick that no one + would have them, anyhow.” Then he went back to mounting views with the + serenity of one who stands for the finer things. + </p> + <p> + His clamorous little clock pointed to a quarter of six when he finally + came back to the front of the store. It was time to begin closing up for + the night, but for the minute he stood there watching the crowd of workers + coming from the business district not far away over to the boarding-house + region, a little to the west. He watched them as they came by in twos and + threes and fours: noisy people and worn-out people, people hilarious and + people sullen, the gaiety and the weariness, the acceptance and the + rebellion of humanity—he saw it pass. “As if any of <i>them</i> + could buy it,” he pronounced severely, adding, contemptuously, “or wanted + to.” + </p> + <p> + The girl was coming along by herself. He watched her as she crossed to his + side of the street, thinking it was too bad for a poor girl to be as tired + as that. She was dressed like many of the rest of them, and yet she looked + different—like the picture and the chromo. She turned an indifferent + glance toward the window, and then suddenly she stood there very still, + and everything about her seemed to change. “For all the world,” he told + himself afterward, “as if she'd found a long-lost friend, and was 'fraid + to speak for fear it was too good to be true.” + </p> + <p> + She did seem afraid to speak—afraid to believe. For a minute she + stood there right in the middle of the sidewalk, staring at the picture. + And when she came toward the window it was less as if coming than as if + drawn. What she really seemed to want to do was to edge away; yet she came + closer, as close as she could, her eyes never leaving the picture, and + then fear, or awe, or whatever it was made her look so queer gave way to + wonder—that wondering which is ready to open the door to delight. + She looked up and down the street as one rubbing one's eyes to make sure + of a thing, and then it all gave way to a joy which lighted her pale + little face like—“Well, like nothing I ever saw before,” was all the + old man could say of it. “Why, she'd never know if the whole fire + department was to run right up here on the sidewalk,” he gloated. Just + then she drew herself up for a long breath. “See?” he chuckled, + delightedly. “She knows it has a smell!” She looked toward the door, but + shook her head. “Knows she can't pay the price,” he interpreted her. Then, + she stepped back and looked at the number above the door. “Coming again,” + he made of that; “ain't going to run no chances of losing the place.” And + then for a long time she stood there before the picture, so deeply and so + strangely quiet that he could not translate her. “I can't just get the run + of it,” was his bewildered conclusion. “I don't see why it should make + anybody act like that.” And yet he must have understood more than he knew, + for suddenly he was seeing her through a blur of tears. + </p> + <p> + As he began shutting up for the night he was so excited about the way she + looked when she finally turned away that it never occurred to him to be + depressed about her inability to pay the price. + </p> + <p> + He kept thinking of her, wondering about her, during the next day. At a + little before six he took up his station near the front window. Once more + the current of workers flowed by. “I'm an old fool,” he told himself, + irritated at the wait; “as if it makes any difference whether she comes or + not—when she can't buy it, anyhow. She's just as big a fool as I am—liking + it when she can't have it, only I'm the biggest fool of all—caring + whether she likes it or not.” But just then the girl passed quickly by a + crowd of girls who were ahead of her and came hurrying across the street. + She was walking fast, and looked excited and anxious. “Afraid it might be + gone,” he said—adding, grimly: “Needn't worry much about that.” + </p> + <p> + She came up to the picture as some people would enter a church. And yet + the joy which flooded her face is not well known to churches. “I'll tell + you what it's like”—the old man's thoughts stumbling right into the + heart of it—“it's like someone that's been wandering round in a + desert country all of a sudden coming on a spring. She's <i>thirsty</i>—she's + drinking it in—she can't get enough of it. It's—it's the water + of life to her!” And then, ashamed of saying a thing that sounded as if it + were out of a poem, he shook his shoulders roughly as if to shake off a + piece of sentiment unbecoming his age and sex. + </p> + <p> + He went to the door and watched her as she passed away. “I'll bet she'd + never tip the scale to one hundred pounds,” he decided. “Looks like a good + wind could blow her away.” She stooped a little and just as she passed + from sight he saw that she was coughing. + </p> + <p> + Then the old man made what he prided himself was a great deduction. “She's + been there, and she wants to go back. This kind of takes her back for a + minute, and when she gets the breath of it she ain't so homesick.” + </p> + <p> + All through those July days he watched each night for the frail-looking + little girl who liked the picture of the pines. She would always come + hurrying across the street in the same eager way, an eagerness close to + the feverish. But the tenseness would always relax as she saw the picture. + “She never looks quite so wilted down when she goes away as she does when + she comes,” the old man saw. “Upon my soul, I believe she really <i>goes</i> + there. It's—oh, Lord”—irritated at getting beyond his depth—“<i>I</i> + don't know!” + </p> + <p> + He never called it anything now but “Her Picture.” One day at just ten + minutes of six he took it out of the window. “Seems kind of mean,” he + admitted, “but I just want to find out how much she does think of it.” + </p> + <p> + And when he found out he told himself that of all the mean men God had + ever let live, he was the meanest. The girl came along in the usual + hurried, anxious fashion. And when she saw the empty window he thought for + a minute she was going to sink right down there on the sidewalk. + Everything about her seemed to give way—as if something from which + she had been drawing had been taken from her. The luminousness gone from + her face, there were cruel revelations. “Blast my <i>soul!</i>” the old + man muttered angrily, not far from tearfully. She looked up and down the + noisy, dirty, parched street, then back to the empty window. For a minute + she just stood there—that was the worst minute of all. And then—accepting—she + turned and walked slowly away, walked as the too-weary and the too-often + disappointed walk. + </p> + <p> + It was with not wholly steady hand that the old man hastened to replace + the picture, all the while telling himself what he thought of himself: + more low-down than the cat who plays with the mouse, meaner than the man + who'd take the bone from the dog, less to be loved than the man who would + kick over the child's play-house, only to be compared with the brute who + would snatch the cup of water from the dying—such were the verdicts + he pronounced. He thought perhaps she would come back, and stayed there + until almost seven, waiting for her, though pretending it was necessary + that he take down and then put up again the front curtains. All the next + day he was restless and irritable. As if to make up to the girl for the + contemptible trick he had played he spent a whole hour that afternoon + arranging a tapestry background for the picture. “She'll think,” he told + himself, “that this was why it was out, and won't be worried about its + being gone again. This will just be a little sign to her that it's here to + stay.” + </p> + <p> + He began his watch that night at half-past five. After fifteen minutes the + thought came to him that she might be so disheartened she would go home by + another street. He became so gloomily certain she would do this that he + was jubilant when he finally saw her coming along on the other side—coming + purposelessly, shorn of that eagerness which had always been able, for the + moment, to vanquish the tiredness. But when she came to the place where + she always crossed the street she only stood there an instant and then, a + little more slowly, a little more droopingly, walked on. She had given up! + She was not coming over! + </p> + <p> + But she did come. After she had gone a few steps she hesitated again and + this time started across the street. “That's right,” approved the old man, + “never give up the ship!” + </p> + <p> + She passed the store as if she were not going to look in; she seemed + trying not to look, but her head turned—and she saw the picture. + First her body seemed to stiffen, and then something—he couldn't + make out whether or not it was a sob—shook her, and as she came + toward the picture on her white, tired face were the tears. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you worry,” he murmured affectionately to her retreating form, “it + won't never be gone again.” + </p> + <p> + The very next week he was put to the test. The kind of lady who did not + often pass along that street entered the shop and asked to see the picture + in the window. He looked at her suspiciously. Then he frowned at her, as + he stood there, fumbling. <i>Her</i> picture! What would she think? What + would she do? Then a crafty smile stole over his face and he walked to the + window and got the picture. “The price of this picture, madame,” he said, + haughtily, “is forty dollars,”—adding to himself, “That'll fix her.” + </p> + <p> + But the lady made no comment, and stood there holding the picture up + before her. “I will take it,” she said, quietly. + </p> + <p> + He stared at her stupidly. Forty dollars! Then it must be that the picture + was better than the young man had known. “Will you wrap it, please?” she + asked. “I will take it with me.” + </p> + <p> + He turned to the back of the store. Forty dollars!—he kept repeating + it in dazed fashion. And they had raised the rent on him, and the papers + said coal would be high that winter—those facts seemed to have + something to do with forty dollars. <i>Forty dollars!</i>—it was + hammering at him, overwhelmed him, too big a sum to contend with. With + long, grim stroke he tore off the wrapping paper; stoically he began + folding it. But something was the matter. The paper would not go on right. + Three times he took it off, and each time he could not help looking down + at the picture of the pines. And each time the forest seemed to open a + little farther; each time it seemed bigger—bigger even than forty + dollars; it seemed as if it <i>knew things</i>—things more important + than even coal and rent. And then the strangest thing of all happened: the + forest faded away into its own shadowy distances, and in its place was a + noisy, crowded, sun-baked street, and across the street was eagerly + hurrying an anxious little girl, a frail little wisp of a girl who + probably should not be crossing hot, noisy streets at all—then a + light in tired eyes, a smile upon a worn face, relief as from a cooling + breeze—and <i>anyway</i>, suddenly furious at the lady, furious at + himself—“he'd be gol-<i>darned</i> if it wasn't <i>her</i> picture!” + </p> + <p> + He walked firmly back to the front of the store. + </p> + <p> + “I forgot at first,” he said, brusquely, “that this picture belongs to + someone else.” + </p> + <p> + The lady looked at him in astonishment. “I do not understand,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “There's nothing to understand,” he fairly shouted, “except that it + belongs to someone else!” + </p> + <p> + She turned away, but came back to him. “I will give you fifty dollars for + it,” she said, in her quiet way. + </p> + <p> + “Madame,” he thundered at her, “you can stand there and offer me five + hundred dollars, and I'm here to tell you that this picture is not for + sale. Do you <i>hear</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “I certainly do,” replied the lady, and walked from the store. + </p> + <p> + He was a long time in cooling off. “I tell you,” he stormed to a very blue + Lake Michigan he was putting into a frame, “it's hers—it's <i>hern</i>—and + anybody that comes along here with any nonsense is just going to hear from + <i>me</i>!” + </p> + <p> + In the days which followed he often thought to go out and speak to her, + but perhaps the old man had a restraining sense of values. He planned some + day to go out and tell her the picture was hers, but that seemed a silly + thing to tell her, for surely she knew it anyway. He worried a good deal + about her cough, which seemed to be getting worse, and he had it all + figured out that when cold weather came he would have her come in where it + was warm, and take her look in there. He felt that he knew all about her, + and though he did not know her name, though he had never heard her speak + one word, in some ways he felt closer to her than to any one else in the + world. + </p> + <p> + Yet if the old man had known just how it was with the girl it is + altogether unlikely that he would have understood. It would have mystified + and disappointed him had he known that she had never seen a pine forest or + a mountain in her life. Indeed there was a great deal about the little + girl which the old man, together with almost all the rest of the world, + would not have understood. + </p> + <p> + Not that the surface facts about her were either incomprehensible or + interesting. The tale of her existence would sound much like that of a + hundred other girls in the same city. Inquiry about her would have + developed the facts that she did typewriting for a land company, that she + did not seem to have any people, and lived at a big boarding-house. At the + boarding-house they would have told you that she was a nice little thing, + quiet as a mouse, and that it was too bad she had to work, for she seemed + more than half sick. There the story would have rested, and the real + things about her would not have been touched. + </p> + <p> + She worked for the Chicago branch of a big Northwestern land company. They + dealt in the lands of Idaho, Montana, Oregon and Washington. The things + she sat at her typewriter and wrote were of the wonders of that great + country: the great timber lands, the valleys and hills, towering mountain + peaks and rushing rivers. She typewrote “literature” telling how there was + a chance for every man out there, how the big, exhaustless land was eager + to yield of its store to all who would come and seek. Day after day she + wrote those things telling how the sick were made well and the poor were + made rich, how it was a land of indescribable wonders which the feeble pen + could not hope to portray. + </p> + <p> + And the girl with whom almost everything in life had gone wrong came to + think of Out There as the place where everything was right. It was the far + country where there was no weariness nor loneliness, the land where one + did not grow tired, where one never woke up in the morning too tired to + get up, where no one went to bed at night too tired to go to sleep. The + street-cars did not ring their gongs so loud Out There, the newsboys had + pleasant voices, and there were no elevated trains. It was a pure, high + land which knew no smoke nor dirt, a land where great silences drew one to + the heart of peace, where the people in the next room did not come in and + bang things around late at night. Out There was a wide land where + buildings were far apart and streets were not crowded. Even the horses did + not grow tired Out There. Oh, it was a land where dreams came true—a + beautiful land where no one ate prunes, where the gravy was never greasy + and the potatoes never burned. It was a land of flowers and birds and + lovely people—a land of wealth and health and many smiles. + </p> + <p> + Her imagination made use of it all. She knew how men were reclaiming the + desert of Idaho, of the tremendous undeveloped wealth of what had been an + almost undiscovered State. She thrilled to the poetry of irrigation. Often + when hot and tired and dusty her fancy would follow the little mountain + stream from its birth way up in the clouds, her imagination rushing with + it through sweetening forest and tumbling with it down cooling rocks until + finally strong, bold, wise men guided it to the desert which had yearned + for it through all the years, and the grateful desert smiled rich smiles + of grain and flowers. She could make it more like a story than any story + in any book. And she could always breathe better in thinking of the pine + forests of Oregon. There was something liberating—expanding—in + just the thought of them. She dreamed cooling dreams about them, dreams of + their reaching farther than one's fancy could reach, big widening dreams + of their standing there serene in the consciousness of their own + immensity. They stood to her for a beautiful idea: the idea of space, of + room—room for everybody, and then much more room! Even one's + understanding grew big as one turned to them. + </p> + <p> + And she loved to listen for the Pacific Ocean, coming from + incomprehensible distances and unknowable countries, now rushing with + passion to the wild coast of Oregon, again stealing into the Washington + harbours. She loved to address the letters to Portland, Seattle, Spokane, + Tacoma—all those pulsing, vivid cities of a country of big chances + and big beauty. She loved to picture Seattle, a city builded upon many + hills—how wonderful that a city should be builded upon hills!—in + Chicago there was nothing that could possibly be thought of as a hill. And + she loved to shut her eyes and let the great mountain peak grow in the + distance, as one could see it from Portland—how noble a thing to see + a mountain peak from a city! Sometimes she trembled before that + consciousness of a mountain. Often when so tired she scarcely knew what + she was doing she found she was saying her prayers to a mountain. Indeed, + Out There seemed the place to send one's prayers—for was it not a + place where prayers were answered? + </p> + <p> + During that summer when the West was overrun with tourists who grumbled + about everything from the crowded trains to the way in which sea-foods + were served, this little girl sat in one of the hot office buildings of + Chicago and across the stretch of miles drew to herself the spirit of that + country of coming days. Thousands rode in Pullman cars along the banks of + the Columbia—saw, and felt not; she sat before her typewriter in a + close, noisy room and heard the cooling rush of waters and got the freeing + message of the pines. In some rare moments when she rose from the things + about her to the things of which she dreamed she possessed the whole great + land, and as the sultry days sapped of her meagre strength, and the + bending over the typewriter cramped an already too cramped chest she clung + with a more and more passionate tenacity to the bigness and the beauty and + rightness of things Out There. And it was so kind to her—that land + of deep breaths and restoring breezes. It never shut her out. It always + kept itself bigger and more wonderful than one could ever hope to fancy + it. + </p> + <p> + And the night she found the picture she knew that it was all really so. + That was why it was so momentous a night. The picture was a dream + visualised—a dreamer vindicated. They had pictures in the office, of + course—some pictures trying to tell of that very kind of a place. + But those were just pictures; this <i>proved</i> it, told what it meant. + It told that she had been right, and there was joy in knowing that she had + known. She clung to the picture as one would to that which proves as real + all one has long held dear, loved it as the dreamer loves that which + secures him in his dreaming. + </p> + <p> + She came to think of it as her own abiding place. Often when too tired for + long wings of fancy she would just sink down in the deep, cool shadows of + the pines, beside the little river which one knew so well was the gift of + distant snows. It rested her most of all; it quieted her. + </p> + <p> + She smiled sometimes to think how no one in the office knew about it, + wondered what they would think if they knew. Often she would find someone + in the office looking at her strangely. She used to wonder about it a + little. + </p> + <p> + And then one day Mr. Osborne sent for her to come into his office. He + acted so queerly. As she came in and sat down near his desk he swung his + chair around and sat there with his back to her. After that he got up and + walked to the window. + </p> + <p> + The head stenographer had complained of her cough. She said she did not + think it right either to the girl or to the rest of them for her to be + there. She said she hated to speak of it, but could not stand it any + longer. That had been the week before, and ever since he had been putting + it off. But now he could put it off no longer; the head stenographer was + valuable, and besides he knew that she was right. + </p> + <p> + And so he told her—this was all he could think of just then—that + they were contemplating some changes in the office, and for a time would + have less desk room. If he sent her machine to her home, would she be + willing to do her work there for a while? Hers was the kind of work that + could be done at home. + </p> + <p> + She was sorry, for she wondered if she could find a place in her room for + the typewriter, and it did not seem there would be air enough there to + last her all day long. And she had grown fond of the office, with its + “literature” and pictures and maps and the men who had just come from Out + There coming in every once in a while. It was a bond—a place to + touch realities. But of course there was nothing for her to do but comply, + and she made no comment on the arrangement. + </p> + <p> + She pushed her chair back and rose to go. “Are you alone in the world?” he + asked abruptly then, + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I—oh yes.” + </p> + <p> + It was too much for him. “How would you like,” he asked recklessly, “to + have me get you transportation out West?” + </p> + <p> + She sank back in her chair. Every particle of colour had left her face. + Her deep eyes had grown almost wild. “Oh,” she gasped—“you can't + mean—you don't think—” + </p> + <p> + “You wouldn't want to go?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean”—it was but a whisper—“it would be—too + wonderful.” + </p> + <p> + “You would like it then?” + </p> + <p> + She only nodded; but her lips were parted, her eyes glowing. He wondered + why he had never seen before how different looking and—yes, + beautiful, in a strange kind of way—she was. + </p> + <p> + “I see you have a cold,” he said, “and I think you would get along better + out there. I'll see if I can fix up the transportation, and get something + with our people in one of the towns that would be good for you.” + </p> + <p> + She leaned back in her chair and sat there smiling at him. Something in + the smile made him say, abruptly: “That's all; you may go now, and I'll + send a boy with your machine.” + </p> + <p> + She walked through the streets as one who had already found another + country. More than one turned to look at her. She reached her room at last + and pulling her one little chair up to the window sat staring out across + the alley at the brick wall across from her. But she was not seeing a + narrow alley and a high brick wall. She was seeing rushing rivers and + mighty forests and towering peaks. She leaned back in her chair—an + indulgence less luxurious than it sounds, as the chair only reached the + middle of her back—and looked out at the high brick wall and saw a + snow-clad range of hills. But she was tired; this tremendous idea was too + much for her; the very wonder of it was exhausting. She lay down on her + bed—radiant, but languid. Soon she heard a rush of waters. At first + it was only someone filling the bath-tub, but after a while it was the + little stream which flowed through her forest. And then she was not lying + on a lumpy bed; she was sinking down under pine trees—all so sweet + and still and cool. But an awful thing was happening!—the forest was + on fire—it was choking and burning her! She awoke to find smoke from + the building opposite pouring into her room; flies were buzzing about, and + her face and hands were hot. + </p> + <p> + She did little work in the next few days. It was hard to go on with the + same work when waiting for a thing which was to make over one's whole + life. The stress of dreams changing to hopes caused a great languor to + come over her. And her chair was not right for her typewriter, and the + smoke came in all the time. Strangely enough Out There seemed farther + away. Sometimes she could not go there at all; she supposed it was because + she was really going. + </p> + <p> + At the close of the week she went to the office with her work. She was + weak with excitement as she stepped into the elevator. Would Mr. Osborne + have the transportation for her? Would he tell her when she was to go? + </p> + <p> + But she did not see Mr. Osborne at all. When she asked for him the clerk + just replied carelessly that he was not there. She was going to ask if he + had left any message for her, but the telephone rang then and the man to + whom she was talking turned away. Someone was sitting at her old desk, and + they did not seem to be making the changes they had contemplated; everyone + in the office seemed very busy and uncaring, and because she knew her chin + was trembling she turned away. + </p> + <p> + She had a strange feeling as she left the office: as if standing on ground + which quivered, an impulse to reach out her hand and tell someone that + something must be done right away, a dreadful fear that she was going to + cry out that she could not wait much longer. + </p> + <p> + All at once she found that she was crossing the street, and saw ahead the + little art store with the wonderful picture which proved it was all really + so. In the same old way, her step quickened. It would show her again that + it was all just as she had thought it was, and if that were true, then it + must be true also that Mr. Osborne was going to get her the + transportation. It would prove that everything was all right. + </p> + <p> + But a cruel thing happened. It failed her. It was just as beautiful—but + something a long way off, impossible to reach. Try as she would, she could + not get <i>into</i> it, as she used to. It was only a picture; a beautiful + picture of some pine trees. And they were very far away, and they had + nothing at all to do with her. + </p> + <p> + Through the window, at the back of the store, she saw the old man standing + with his back to her. She thought of going in and asking to sit down—she + wanted to sit down—but perhaps he would say something cross to her—he + was such a queer looking old man—and she knew she would cry if + anything cross was said to her. That he had watched for her each night, + that he had tried and tried to think of a way of finding her, that he + would have been more glad to see her than to see anyone in the world, + would have been kinder to her than anyone on earth would have been—those + were the things she did not know. And so—more lonely than she had + ever been before—she turned away. + </p> + <p> + On Monday she felt she could wait no longer. It did not seem that it would + be <i>safe</i>. She got ready to go to see Mr. Osborne, but the getting + ready tired her so that she sat a long time resting, looking out at the + high brick wall beyond which there was nothing at all. She was counting + the blocks, thinking of how many times she would have to cross the street. + But just then it occurred to her that she could telephone. + </p> + <p> + When she came back upstairs she crept up on the bed and lay there very + still. The boy had said that Mr. Osborne was away and would be gone two + weeks. No one in the office had heard him say anything about her + transportation. + </p> + <p> + All through the day she lay there, and what she saw before her was a + narrow alley and a high brick wall. She had lost her mountains and her + forests and her rivers and her lakes. She tried to go out to them in the + same old way—but she could not get beyond the high brick wall. She + was shut in. She tried to draw them to her, but they could not come across + the wall. It shut them out. She tried to pray to the great mountain which + one could see from Portland. But even prayers could get no farther than + the wall. + </p> + <p> + Late that afternoon, because she was so shut in that she was choking, + because she was consumed with the idea that she must claim her country now + or lose it forever, she got up and started for the picture. It was a long, + long way to go, and dreadful things were in between—people who would + bump against her, hot, uneven streets, horses that might run over her—but + she must make the journey. She must make it because the things that she + lived on were slipping from her—and she was choking—sinking + down—and all alone. + </p> + <p> + Step by step, never knowing just how her foot was going to make the next + step, sick with the fear that people were going to run into her—the + streets going up and down, the buildings round and round, she did go; + holding to the window casings for the last few steps—each step a + terrible chasm which she was never sure she was going to be able to cross—she + was there at last. And in the window as she stood there, swayingly, was a + dark, blurred thing which might have been anything at all. She tried to + remember why she had come. What <i>was</i> it—? And then she was + sinking down into an abyss. + </p> + <p> + That the hemorrhage came then, that the old man came out and found her and + tenderly took her in, that he had her taken where she should have been + taken long before, that the doctors said it was too late, and that soon + their verdict was confirmed—those are the facts which would seem to + tell the rest of the story. But deep down beneath facts rests truth, and + the truth is that this is a story with the happiest kind of a happy + ending. What facts would call the breeze from an electric fan was in truth + the gracious breath of the pines. And when the nurse said “She's going,” + she was indeed going, but to a land of great spaces and benign breezes, a + land of deep shadows and rushing waters. For a most wondrous thing had + happened. She had called to the mountain, and the mountain had heard her + voice; and because it was so mighty and so everlasting it drew her to + itself, across high brick walls and past millions of hurrying, noisy + people—oh, a most triumphant flight! And the mountain said—“I + give you this whole great land. It is yours because you have loved it so + well. Hills and valleys and rivers and forests and lakes—it is all + for you.” Yes, the nurse was quite right; she was going: going for a long + sweet sleep beneath trees of many shadows, beside clear waters which had + come from distant snows—really going “Out There.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + X. — THE PREPOSTEROUS MOTIVE + </h2> + <p> + The Governor was sitting alone in his private office with an open letter + in his hand. He was devoutly and gloomily wishing that some other man was + just then in his shoes. The Governor had not devoted a large portion of + his life to nursing a desire of that nature, for he was a man in whose + soul the flame of self-satisfaction glowed cheeringly; but just now there + were reasons, and he deemed them ample, for deploring that he had been + made chief executive of his native State. + </p> + <p> + Had he chosen to take you into his confidence—a thing the Governor + would assuredly choose not to do—he would have told you there were + greater things in the world than the governorship of that State. He might + have suggested a seat in the Senate of the United States as one of those + things. It was of the United States Senate his Excellency was thinking as + he sat there alone moodily deploring the gubernatorial shoes. + </p> + <p> + The senior Senator was going to die. He differed therein from his fellows + in that he was going to die soon, almost immediately. He had reached the + tottering years even at the time of his reelection, and it had never been + supposed that his life would outstretch his term. He had been sent back, + not for another six years of service, but to hold out the leader of the + Boxers, as they called themselves—the younger and unorthodox element + of the party in the State, an element growing to dangerous proportions. It + was only by returning the aged Senator, whom they held it would be brutal + to turn down after a life of service to the party, that the “machine” won + the memorable fight of the previous winter. + </p> + <p> + From the viewpoint of the machine, the Governor was the senior Senator's + logical successor. Had it not been for the heavy inroads of the Boxers, + his Excellency would even then have been sitting in the Senate Chamber at + Washington. It had not been considered safe to nominate the Governor. Had + his supporters conceded that the time was at hand for a change, there + would have been a general clamour for the leader of the Boxers—Huntington, + undeniably the popular man of the State. And so they concocted a beautiful + sentiment about “rounding out the veteran's career,” and letting him “die + with his boots on”; and through the omnipotence of sentiment, they won. + </p> + <p> + Down in his heart the venerable Senator was not seeking to die with his + boots on. He would have preferred sitting in a large chair before the fire + and reading quietly of what other men were doing in the Senate of the + United States. But they told him he must sacrifice that wish, for if he + retired he would be succeeded by a dangerous man. And the old man, + believing them, had gone dutifully back into the arena. + </p> + <p> + Now it seemed that a power outside man's control was declaring against the + well-laid plans of the machine. As the machine saw things, the time was + not ripe for the senior Senator to die. He had just entered upon his new + term, and the Governor himself had but lately stepped into a second term. + They had assumed that the Senator would live on for at least two years, + but now they heard that he was likely to die almost at once. His + Excellency could not very well name himself for the vacancy, and it seemed + dangerous just then to risk a call of the Assembly. They dared not let the + Governor appoint a weaker man, even if he would consent to do so, for they + would need the best they had to put up against the leader of the Boxers. + With the Governor, they believed they could win, but the question of + appointing him had suddenly become a knotty one. + </p> + <p> + The Governor himself was bowed with chagrin. He saw now that he had erred + in taking a second term, and he was not the man to enjoy reviewing his + mistakes. As he sat there reading and rereading the letter which told him + that the work of the senior Senator was almost done, he said to himself + that it was easy enough to wrestle with men, but a harder thing to try + one's mettle with fate. He spent a gloomy and unprofitable day. + </p> + <p> + Late in the afternoon a telegram reached the executive office. Styles was + coming to town that night, and wanted to see the Governor at the hotel. + Things always cleared when Styles came to town; and so, though still + unable to foresee the outcome, he brightened at once. + </p> + <p> + Styles was a railroad man, and rich. People to whom certain things were a + sealed book said that it was nice of Mr. Styles to take an interest in + politics when he had so many other things on his mind, and that he must be + a very public-spirited man. That he took an interest in politics, no one + familiar with the affairs of the State would deny. The orthodox papers + painted him as a public benefactor, but the Boxers arrayed him with hoofs + and horns. + </p> + <p> + The Governor and Mr. Styles were warm friends. It was said that their + friendship dated from mere boyhood, and that the way the two men had held + together through all the vicissitudes of life was touching and beautiful—at + least, so some people observed. There were others whose eyebrows went up + when the Governor and Mr. Styles were mentioned in their Damon and Pythias + capacity. + </p> + <p> + That night, in the public benefactor's room at the hotel, the Governor and + his old friend had a long talk. When twelve o'clock came they were still + talking; more than that, the Governor was excitedly pacing the floor. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you, Styles,” he expostulated, “I don't like it! It doesn't put me + in a good light. It's too apparent, and I'll suffer for it, sure as fate. + Mark my words, we'll all suffer for it!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Styles was sitting in an easy attitude before the table. The public + benefactor never paced the floor; it did not seem necessary. He smoked in + silence for a minute; then raised himself a little in his chair. + </p> + <p> + “Well, have you anything better to offer?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I haven't,” replied the Governor, tartly; “but it seems to me you + ought to have.” + </p> + <p> + Styles sank back in his chair and for several minutes more devoted himself + to the art of smoking. There were times when this philanthropic dabbler in + politics was irritating. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” he began presently, “that you exaggerate the unpleasant + features of the situation. It will cause talk, of course; but isn't it + worth it? You say it's unheard of; maybe, but so is the situation, and + wasn't there something in the copy-books about meeting new situations with + new methods? If you have anything better to offer, produce it; if not, + we've got to go ahead with this. And really, I don't see that it's so bad. + You have to go South to look after your cotton plantation; you find now + that it's going to take more time than you feel you should take from the + State; you can't afford to give it up; consequently, you withdraw in favor + of the Lieutenant-Governor. We all protest, but you say Berriman is a good + man, and the State won't suffer, and you simply can't afford to go on. + Well, we can keep the Senator's condition pretty quiet here; and after + all, he's sturdy, and may live on to the close of the year. After due + deliberation Berriman appoints you. A little talk?—Yes. But it's + worth a little talk. It seems to me the thing works out very smoothly.” + </p> + <p> + When Tom Styles leaned back in his chair and declared a thing worked out + very smoothly, that thing was quite likely to go. In three days the + Governor went South. When he returned, the newspaper men were startled by + the announcement that business considerations which he could not afford to + overlook demanded his withdrawal from office. Previous to this time the + Lieutenant-Governor and Mr. Styles had met and the result of their meeting + was not made a matter of public record. + </p> + <p> + As the Governor had anticipated, many things were said. Inquiries were + made into the venerable Senator's condition—which, the orthodox + papers declared, was but another example of the indecency of the Boxer + journals. The Governor went to his cotton plantation. The + Lieutenant-Governor went into office, and was pronounced a worthy + successor to a good executive. The venerable Senator continued to live. As + Mr. Styles had predicted, the gossip soon quieted into a friendly hope + that the Governor would realise large sums with his cotton. + </p> + <p> + It was late in the fall when the senior Senator finally succumbed. The day + the papers printed the story of his death, they printed speculative + editorials on his probable successor. When the bereaved family commented + with bitterness on this ill-concealed haste, they were told that it was + politics—enterprise—life. + </p> + <p> + The old man's remains lay in state in the rotunda of the State Capitol, + and the building was draped in mourning. Many came and looked upon the + quiet face; but far more numerous than those who gathered at his bier to + weep were those who assembled in secluded corners to speculate on the + wearing of his toga. It was politics—enterprise—life. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Styles told the Lieutenant-Governor to be deliberate. There was no + need of an immediate appointment, he said. And so for a time things went + on about the State-house much as usual, save that the absorbing topic was + the senatorial situation, and that every one was watching the new chief + executive. The retired Governor now spent part of his time in the South, + and part at home. The cotton plantation was not demanding all his + attention, after all. + </p> + <p> + It could not be claimed that John Berriman had ever done any great thing. + He was not on record as having ever risen grandly to an occasion; but + there may have been something in the fact that an occasion admitting of a + grand rising had never presented itself. Before he became + Lieutenant-Governor, he had served inoffensively in the State Senate for + two terms. No one had ever worked very hard for Senator Berriman's vote. + He had been put in by the machine, and it had always been assumed that he + was machine property. + </p> + <p> + Berriman himself had never given the matter of his place in the human + drama much thought. He had an idea that it was proper for him to vote with + his friends, and he always did it. Had he been called a tool, he would + have been much ruffled; he merely trusted to the infallibility of the + party. + </p> + <p> + The Boxers did not approach him now concerning the appointment of + Huntington. That, of course, was a fixed matter, and they were not young + and foolish enough to attempt to change it. + </p> + <p> + One day the Governor received a telegram from Styles suggesting that he + “adjust that matter” immediately. He thought of announcing the appointment + that very night, but the newspaper men had all left the building, and as + he had promised that they should know of it as soon as it was made, he + concluded to wait until the next morning. + </p> + <p> + Governor Berriman had a brother in town that week, attending a meeting of + the State Agricultural Society. Hiram Berriman had a large farm in the + southern part of the State. He knew but little of political methods, and + had primitive ideas about honesty. There had always been a strong tie + between the brothers, despite the fact that Hiram was fifteen years the + Governor's senior. They talked of many things that night, and the hour was + growing late. They were about to retire when the Governor remarked, a + little sleepily: + </p> + <p> + “Well, to-morrow morning I announce the senatorial appointment.” + </p> + <p> + “You do, eh?” returned the farmer. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, there's no need of waiting any longer, and it's getting on to the + time the State wants two senators in Washington.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I suppose, John,” Hiram said, turning a serious face to his + brother, “that you've thought the matter all over, and are sure you are + right?” + </p> + <p> + The Governor threw back his head with a scoffing laugh. + </p> + <p> + “I guess it didn't require much thought on my part,” he answered + carelessly. + </p> + <p> + “I don't see how you figure that out,” contended Hiram warmly. “You're + Governor of the State, and your own boss, ain't you?” + </p> + <p> + It was the first time in all his life that anyone had squarely confronted + John Berriman with the question whether or not he was his own boss, and + for some reason it went deep into his soul, and rankled there. + </p> + <p> + “Now see here, Hiram,” he said at length, “there's no use of your putting + on airs and pretending you don't understand this thing. You know well + enough it was all fixed before I went in.” The other man looked at him in + bewilderment, and the Governor continued brusquely: “The party knew the + Senator was going to die, and so the Governor pulled out and I went in + just so the thing could be done decently when the time came.” + </p> + <p> + The old farmer was scratching his head. + </p> + <p> + “That's it, eh? They got wind the Senator was goin' to die, and so the + Governor told that lie about having to go South just so he could step into + the dead man's shoes, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “That's the situation—if you want to put it that way.” + </p> + <p> + “And now you're going to appoint the Governor?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I am; I couldn't do anything else if I wanted to.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, look here, Hiram, haven't you any idea of political obligation? It's + expected of me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it is, eh? Did you promise to appoint the Governor?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I don't know that I exactly made any promises, but that doesn't make + a particle of difference. The understanding was that the Governor was to + pull out and I was to go in and appoint him. It's a matter of honour;” and + Governor Berriman drew himself up with pride. + </p> + <p> + The farmer turned a troubled face to the fire. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose, then,” he said finally, “that you all think the Governor is + the best man we have for the United States Senate. I take it that in + appointing him, John, you feel sure he will guard the interests of the + people before everything else, and that the people—I mean the + working people of this State—will always be safe in his hands; do + you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Lord, no, Hiram!” exclaimed the Governor irritably. “I don't think + that at all!” + </p> + <p> + Hiram Berriman's brown face warmed to a dull red. + </p> + <p> + “You don't?” he cried. “You mean to sit there, John Berriman, and tell me + that you don't think the man you're going to put in the United States + Senate will be an honest man? What do you mean by saying you're going to + put a dishonest man in there to make laws for the people, to watch over + them and protect them? If you don't think he's a good man, if you don't + think he's the best man the State has”—the old farmer was pounding + the table heavily with his huge fist—“if you don't think that, in + God's name, <i>why do you appoint him</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could make you understand, Hiram,” said the Governor in an + injured voice, “that it's not for me to say.” + </p> + <p> + “Why ain't it for you to say? Why ain't it, I want to know? Who's running + you, your own conscience or some gang of men that's trying to steal from + the State? Good God, I wish I had never lived to see the day a brother of + mine put a thief in the United States Senate to bamboozle the honest, + hard-working people of this State!” + </p> + <p> + “Hold on, please—that's a little too strong!” flamed the Governor. + </p> + <p> + “It ain't too strong. If a Senator ain't an honest man, he's a thief; and + if he ain't lookin' after the welfare of the people, he's bamboozlin' + them, and that's all there is about it. I don't know much about politics, + but I ain't lived my life without learning a little about right and wrong, + and it's a sorry day we've come to, John Berriman, if right and wrong + don't enter into the makin' of a Senator!” + </p> + <p> + The Governor could think of no fitting response, so he held his peace. + This seemed to quiet the irate farmer, and he surveyed his brother + intently, and not unkindly. + </p> + <p> + “You're in a position now, John,” he said, and there was a kind of homely + eloquence in his serious voice, “to be a friend to the people. It ain't + many of us ever get the chance of doin' a great thing. We work along, and + we do the best we can with what comes our way, but most of us don't get + the chance to do a thing that's goin' to help thousands of people, and + that the whole country's goin' to say was a move for the right. You want + to think of that, and when you're thinkin' so much about honour, you don't + want to clean forget about honesty. Don't you stick to any foolish notions + about bein' faithful to the party; it ain't the party that needs helpin'. + No matter how you got where you are, you're Governor of the State right + now, John, and your first duty is to the people of this State, not to Tom + Styles or anybody else. Just you remember that when you're namin' your + Senator in the morning.” + </p> + <p> + It was long before the Governor retired. He sat there by the fireplace + until after the fire had died down, and he was too absorbed to grow cold. + He thought of many things. Like the man who had preceded him in office, he + wished that some one else was just then encumbered with the gubernatorial + shoes. + </p> + <p> + The next morning there was a heavy feeling in his head which he thought a + walk in the bracing air might dispel, so he started on foot for the + Statehouse. A light snow was on the ground, and there was something + reassuring in the crispness of the morning. It would make a slave feel + like a free man to drink in such air, he was thinking. Snatches of his + brother's outburst of the night before kept breaking into his + consciousness but curiously enough they did not greatly disturb him. He + concluded that it was wonderful what a walk in the bracing air could do. + From the foot of the hill he looked up at the State-house, for the first + time in his experience seeing and thinking about it—not simply + taking it for granted. There seemed a nobility about it—in the + building itself, and back of that in what it stood for. + </p> + <p> + As he walked through the corridor to his office he was greeted with + cheerful, respectful salutations. His mood let him give the greetings a + value they did not have and from that rose a sense of having the trust and + goodwill of his fellows. + </p> + <p> + But upon reaching his desk he found another telegram from Styles. It was + imperatively worded and as he read it the briskness and satisfaction went + from his bearing. He walked to the window and stood there looking down at + the city, and, as it had been in looking ahead at the State-house, he now + looked out over the city really seeing and understanding it, not merely + taking it for granted. He found himself wondering if many of the people in + that city—in that State—looked to their Governor with the + old-fashioned trust his brother had shown. His eyes dimmed; he was + thinking of the satisfaction it would afford his children, if—long + after he had gone—they could tell how a great chance had once come + into their father's life, and how he had proved himself a man. + </p> + <p> + “Will you sign these now, Governor?” asked a voice behind him. + </p> + <p> + It was his secretary, a man who knew the affairs of the State well, and + whom every one seemed to respect. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Haines,” he said abruptly, “who do you think is the best man we have + for the United States Senate?” + </p> + <p> + The secretary stepped back, dumfounded; amazed that the question should be + put to him, startled at that strange way of putting it. Then he told + himself he must be discreet. Like many of the people at the State-house, + in his heart Haines was a Boxer. + </p> + <p> + “Why, I presume,” he ventured, “that the Governor is looked upon as the + logical candidate, isn't he?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not talking about logical candidates. I want to know who you think is + the man who would most conscientiously and creditably represent this State + in the Senate of the United States.” + </p> + <p> + It was so simply spoken that the secretary found himself answering it as + simply. “If you put it that way, Governor, Mr. Huntington is the man, of + course.” + </p> + <p> + “You think most of the people feel that way?” + </p> + <p> + “I know they do.” + </p> + <p> + “You believe if it were a matter of popular vote, Huntington would be the + new Senator?” + </p> + <p> + “There can be no doubt of that, Governor. I think they all have to admit + that. Huntington is the man the people want.” + </p> + <p> + “That's all, Mr. Haines. I merely wondered what you thought about it.” + </p> + <p> + Soon after that Governor Berriman rang for a messenger boy and sent a + telegram. Then he settled quietly down to routine work. It was about + eleven when one of the newspaper men came in. + </p> + <p> + “Good-morning, Governor,” he said briskly “how's everything to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “All right, Mr. Markham. I have nothing to tell you to-day, except that + I've made the senatorial appointment.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” laughed the reporter excitedly, “that's all, is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied the Governor, smiling too; “that's all!” + </p> + <p> + The reporter looked at the clock. “I'll just catch the noon edition,” he + said, “if I telephone right away.” + </p> + <p> + He was moving to the other room when the Governor called to him. + </p> + <p> + “See here, it seems to me you're a strange newspaper man!” + </p> + <p> + “How so?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I tell you I've made a senatorial appointment—a matter of some + slight importance—and you rush off never asking whom I've + appointed.” + </p> + <p> + The reporter gave a forced laugh. He wished the Governor would not detain + him with a joke now when every second counted. + </p> + <p> + “That's right,” he said, with strained pleasantness. “Well, who's the + man?” + </p> + <p> + The Governor raised his head. “Huntington,” he said quietly, and resumed + his work. + </p> + <p> + “What?” gasped the reporter. “What?” + </p> + <p> + Then he stopped in embarrassment, as if ashamed of being so easily taken + in. “Guess you're trying to jolly me a little, aren't you, Governor?” + </p> + <p> + “Jolly you, Mr. Markham? I'm not given to 'jollying' newspaper reporters. + Here's a copy of the telegram I sent this morning, if you are still + sceptical. Really, I don't see why you think it so impossible. Don't you + consider Mr. Huntington a fit man for the place?” + </p> + <p> + But for the minute the reporter seemed unable to speak. “May I ask,” he + fumbled at last, “why you did it?” + </p> + <p> + “I had but one motive, Mr. Markham. I thought the matter over and it + seemed to me the people should have the man they wanted. I am with them in + believing Huntington the best man for the place.” He said it simply, and + went quietly back to his work. + </p> + <p> + For many a long day politicians and papers continued the search for “the + motive.” Styles and his crowd saw it as a simple matter of selling out; + they knew, of course, that it could be nothing else. After their first + rage had subsided, and they saw there was nothing they could do, they + wondered, sneeringly, why he did not “fix up a better story.” That was a + little <i>too</i> simple-minded. Did he think people were fools? And even + the men who profited by the situation puzzled their brains for weeks + trying to understand it. There was something behind it, of course. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XI. — HIS AMERICA + </h2> + <p> + He hated to see the reporter go. With the closing of that door it seemed + certain that there was no putting it off any longer. + </p> + <p> + But even when the man's footsteps were at last sounding on the stairway, + he still clung to him. + </p> + <p> + “Father,” he asked, fretfully, “why do you always talk to those fellows?” + </p> + <p> + Herman Beckman turned in his chair and stared at his son. Then he laughed. + “Now, that's a fine question to come from the honour man of a law school! + I hope, Fritz, that your oration to-night is going to have a little more + sense in it than that.” + </p> + <p> + The calling up of his oration made him reach out another clutching hand to + the vanished reporter. “But it's farcical, father, to be always + interviewed by a paper nobody reads.” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody—<i>reads</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, nobody cares anything about the <i>Leader</i>. It's dead.” + </p> + <p> + Herman Beckman looked at his son sharply; something about him seemed + strange. He decided that he was nervous about the commencement programme. + Fritz had the one oration. + </p> + <p> + The boy had opened the drawer of his study table and was fingering some + papers he had taken out. + </p> + <p> + “Sure you know it?” the man asked with affectionate parental anxiety. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I know it all right,” Fred answered grimly, and again the father + decided that he was nervous about the thing. He wasn't just like himself. + </p> + <p> + The man walked to the window and stood looking across at the university + buildings. Colleges had always meant much to Herman Beckman. The very day + Fritz was born he determined that the boy was to go to college. It was + good to witness the fulfilment of his dreams. He turned his glance to the + comfortable room. + </p> + <p> + “Pretty decent comfortable sort of place, isn't it, father?” Fred asked, + following his father's look and thought from the Morris chair to the + student's lamp, and all those other things which nowadays seem an + inevitable part of the acquirement of learning. + </p> + <p> + It made his father laugh. “Yes, my boy, I should call it decent—and + comfortable.” He grew thoughtful after that. + </p> + <p> + “Pretty different from the place you had, father?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh—me? My place to study was any place I could find. Sometimes on + top of a load of hay, lots of times by the light of the logs. I've studied + in some funny places, Fritz.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you <i>got</i> there, father!” the boy burst out with feeling. “By + Jove, there aren't many of them <i>know</i> the things you know!” + </p> + <p> + “I know enough to know what I don't know,” said the old man, a little + sadly. “I know enough to know what I missed. I wanted to go to college. No + one will ever know how I wanted to! I began to think I'd never feel right + about it. But I have a notion that when I sit there to-night listening to + you, Fritz, knowing that you're speaking for two hundred boys, half of + whose fathers did go to college, I think I'm going to feel better about it + then.” + </p> + <p> + The boy turned away. Something in the kindly words seemed as the cut of a + whip across his face. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Fritz,” his father continued, getting into his coat, “I'll be going + downtown. Leave you to put on an extra flourish or two.” He laughed in + proud parental fashion. “Anyway, I have some things to see about.” + </p> + <p> + The boy stood up. “Father, I have something to tell you.” He said it + shortly and sharply. + </p> + <p> + The father stood there, puzzled. + </p> + <p> + “You won't like my oration to-night, father.” + </p> + <p> + And still the man did not speak. The words would not have bothered him + much—it was the boy's manner. + </p> + <p> + “In fact, father, you're going to be desperately disappointed in it.” + </p> + <p> + The dull red was creeping into the man's cheeks. He was one to have little + patience with that thing of not doing one's work. “Why am I going to be + disappointed? This is no time to shirk! You should—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you'll not complain of the time and thought I've put on it,” the boy + broke in with a short, hard laugh. “But, you see, father—you see”—his + armour had slipped from him—“it doesn't express—your views.” + </p> + <p> + “Did I ever say I wanted you to express 'my views'? Did I bring you up to + be a mouthpiece of mine? Haven't I told you to <i>think</i>?” But with a + long, sharp glance at his boy anger gave way. “Come, boy”—going over + and patting him on the back—“brace up now. You're acting like a + seven-year-old girl afraid to speak her first piece,” and his big laugh + rang out, eager to reassure. + </p> + <p> + “You won't see it! You won't believe it! I don't suppose you'll believe it + when you hear it!” He turned away, overwhelmed by a sudden realisation of + just how difficult was the thing that lay before him. + </p> + <p> + The man started toward his son, but instead he walked over and sat down at + the opposite side of the table, waiting. He was beginning to see that + there was something in this which he did not understand. + </p> + <p> + At last the boy turned to him, fighting back some things, taking on other + things. He gazed at the care-worn, rugged face—face of a worker and + a dreamer, reading in those lines the story of that life, seeing more + clearly than he had ever seen before the beauty and futility of it. Here + was the idealist, the man who would give his whole lifetime to a dream he + had dreamed. He loved his father very tenderly as he looked at him, read + him, then. + </p> + <p> + “Father,” he asked quietly, “are you satisfied with your life?” + </p> + <p> + The man simply stared—waiting, seeking his bearings. + </p> + <p> + “You came to this country when you were nineteen years old—didn't + you, father?” The man nodded. “And now you're—it's sixty-one, isn't + it?” + </p> + <p> + Again he nodded. + </p> + <p> + “You've been in America, then, forty-two years. Father, do you think as + much of it now as you did forty-two years ago?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what you mean,” the man said, searching his son's quiet, + passionate face. “I can't make you out, Fritz.” + </p> + <p> + “My favourite story as a kid,” the boy went on, “was to hear you tell of + how you felt when your boat came sailing into New York Harbour, and you + saw the first outlines of a country you had dreamed about all through your + boyhood, which you had saved pennies for, worked nights for, ever since + you were old enough to know the meaning of America. I mean,” he corrected, + significantly, “the meaning of what you thought was America. + </p> + <p> + “It's a bully story, father,” he continued, with a smile at once tender + and hard; “the simple German boy, born a dreamer, standing there looking + out at the dim shores of that land he had idealised. If ever a man came to + America bringing it rich gifts, that man was you!” + </p> + <p> + “Fritz,” his father's voice was rendered harsh by mystification and + foreboding, “tell me what you're talking about. Come to the point. Clear + this up.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm talking about American politics—your party—having ruined + your life! I'm talking about working like a slave all your days and having + nothing but a mortgaged farm at sixty-one! I'm talking about playing a + losing game! I'm saying, <i>What's the use?</i> Father, I'm telling you + that <i>I'm</i> going to join the other party and make some money!” + </p> + <p> + The man just sat there, staring. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” the boy took it up defiantly, “why not?” + </p> + <p> + And then he moved, laid a not quite steady hand out upon the table. “My + boy, you're not well. You've studied too hard. Now brace yourself up for + to-night, and then we'll go down home and fix you up. What you need, + Fritz,” he said, trying to laugh, “is the hayfield.” + </p> + <p> + “You're not <i>seeing</i> it!” The boy pushed back his chair and began + moving about the room. “The only way I can brace myself up for to-night is + to get so mad—father, usually you see things so easily! Don't you + understand? It was my chance, my one moment, my time to strike. It will be + years before I get such a hearing again. You see, father, the thing will + be printed, and the men I want to have hear it, the men who <i>own this + State</i>, will be there. One of them is to preside. And the story of it, + the worth of it, to them, is that I'm your son. You see, after all,” he + seized at this wildly, “I'm getting my start on the fact that I'm your + son.” + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” said the man; the brown of his wind-beaten face had yielded to a + tinge of grey. “Just what is it you are going to say?” + </p> + <p> + “I call it 'The New America,' a lot of this talk about doing things, the + glory of industrial America, the true Americans the men of constructive + genius, the patriotism of railroad and factory building, a eulogy of + railroad officials and corporation presidents,” he rushed on with a laugh. + “Singing the song of Capital. Father, can't you see <i>why?</i>” + </p> + <p> + The old man had risen. “Tell me this,” he said. “None of it matters much, + if you just tell me this: You <i>believe</i> these things? You've thought + it all out for yourself—and you <i>feel</i> that way? You're honest, + aren't you, Fritz?” He put that last in a whisper. + </p> + <p> + The boy made no reply; after a minute the man sank back to his chair. The + years seemed coming to him with the minutes. + </p> + <p> + Fred was leaning against the wall. “Father,” he said at last, “I hope + you'll let me be a little roundabout. It's only fair to me to let me + ramble on a little. I've got to put it all right before you or—or—You + know, dad,”—he came back to his place by the table, “the first thing + I remember very clearly is those men, your party managers, coming down to + the farm one time and asking you to run for Governor. How many times is it + you've run for Governor, father?” He put the question slowly. + </p> + <p> + “Five,” said the man heavily. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know which time this was; but you didn't want to. You were sorry + when you saw them coming. I heard some of the talk. You talked about your + farm, what you wanted to do that summer, how you couldn't afford the time + or the money. They argued that you owed it to the party—they always + got you there; how no other man could hold down majorities as you could—a + man like you giving the best years of his life to holding down majorities! + They said you were the one man against whom no personal attack could be + made. And when there was so much to fight, anyway—oh, I know that + speech by heart! They've made great capital of your honesty and your clean + life. In fact, they've held that up as a curtain behind which a great many + things could go on. Oh, <i>you</i> didn't know about them; you were out in + front of the curtain, but I haven't lived in this town without finding out + that they needed your integrity and your clean record pretty bad! + </p> + <p> + “That was out on the side porch. Mother had brought out some buttermilk, + and they drank it while they talked. You put up a good fight. Your time + was money to you at that time of year; a man shouldn't neglect his farm—but + you never yet could hold out against that 'needing-you' kind of talk. They + knew there was no chance for your election. You knew it. But it takes a + man of just your grit to put any snap into a hopeless campaign. + </p> + <p> + “Mother cried when you went to drive them back to town. You see, I + remember all those things. She told about how hard you would work, and how + it would do no good—that the State belonged to the other party. She + talked about the farm, too, and the addition she had wanted for the house, + and how now she wouldn't have it. Mother felt pretty bad that night. She's + gone through a lot of those times.” + </p> + <p> + There was a silence. + </p> + <p> + “You were away a lot that summer, and all fall. You looked pretty well + used up when you came home, but you said that you had held down majorities + splendidly.” + </p> + <p> + Again there was silence. It was the silences that seemed to be saying the + most. + </p> + <p> + “You had one term in Congress—that's the only thing you ever had. + Then you did so much that they concentrated in your district and saw to it + that you never got back. Julius Caesar couldn't have been elected again,” + he laughed harshly. + </p> + <p> + “Father,” the boy went on, after a pause, “you asked me if I were honest. + There are two kinds of honesty. The primitive kind—like yours—and + then the kind you develop for yourself. Do I believe the things I'm going + to say to-night? No—not now. But I'll believe them more after I've + heard the applause I'm sure to get. I'll believe them still more after + I've had my first case thrown to me by our railroad friends who own this + State. More and more after I've said them over in campaigning next fall, + and pretty soon I'll be so sure I believe them that I really will believe + them—and that,” he concluded, flippantly, “is the new brand of + American honesty. Why, any smart man can persuade himself he's not a + hypocrite!” + </p> + <p> + “My <i>God!</i>” it wrenched from the man. “<i>This?</i> If you'd stolen + money—killed a man—but hypocrisy, cant—the very thing + I've fought hardest, hated most! You lived all your life with me to learn + <i>this?</i>” + </p> + <p> + “I lived all my life with you to learn what pays, and what doesn't. I + lived all my life with you to learn from failure the value of success.” + </p> + <p> + “I never was sure I was a failure until this hour.” + </p> + <p> + “Father! Can't you see—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don't <i>talk</i> to me!” cried the old man, rising, reaching out his + fist as though he would strike him. “Son of mine sitting there telling me + he is fixing up a brand of honesty for himself!” + </p> + <p> + The boy grew quieter as self-restraint left his father. “I mean that—just + that,” he said at last. “Let a man either give or get. If he gives, let it + be to the real thing. There are two Americas. The America of you dreamers—and + then the real America. Yours is an idea—an idea quite as much as an + ideal. I don't think you have the slightest comprehension of how far apart + it is from the real America. The people who dream of it over in Europe are + a great deal nearer it than you people who work for it here. Father, the + spirit of this country flows in a strong, swift, resistless current. You + never got into it at all. Your kind of idealists influence it about as + much—about as much as red lights burned on the banks of the great + river would influence the current of that river. You're not <i>of</i> it. + You came here, throbbing with the love for America; and with your ideal + America you've fought the real, and you've worked and you've believed and + you've sacrificed. Father, <i>what's the use?</i> In this State, anyway, + it's hopeless. It has been so through your lifetime; it will be through + mine.” + </p> + <p> + The man sat looking at him. He felt that he should say something, but the + words did not come—held back, perhaps, by a sense of their + uselessness. It was not so much what Fred said as it was the look in his + eyes as he said it. There was nothing impetuous or youthful about that + look, nothing to be laughed at or argued away. He had always felt that + Fred had a mind which saw things straight, saw them in their right + relations, and at that moment he had no words to plead for what Fred + called the America of the dreamers. + </p> + <p> + “I'm of the second generation, dad,” the boy went on, at length, “and the + second generation has an ideal of its own, and that ideal is Success. It + took us these forty years to come to understand the spirit of America. You + were a dreamer who loved America. I'm an American. We've translated + democracy and brotherhood and equality into enterprise and opportunity and + success—and that's getting Americanised. Now, father,” he sought + refuge in the tone of every-day things, “you'll get used to it—won't + you? I don't expect you to feel very good about it, but you aren't going + to be broken up about it—are you? After all, father,” laughing and + moving about as if to break the seriousness of things, “there's nothing + criminal about being one of the other fellows—is there? Just + remember that there <i>are</i> folks who even think it's respectable!” The + father had risen and picked up his hat. “No, Fred,” he said, with a + sadness in which there was great dignity, “there is nothing criminal in it + if a man's conviction sends him that way. But to me there is something—something + too sad for words in a man's selling his own soul.” + </p> + <p> + “Father! How extravagant! <i>Why</i> is it selling one's soul to sit down + and figure out what's the best thing to do?” He hesitated, hating to add + hurt to hurt, not wanting to say that his father's fight should have been + with the revolutionists, that his life was ineffective because, seeing his + dream from within a dream, his thinking had been muddled. He only said: + “As I say, father, it's a question of giving or getting. I couldn't even + give in your way. And I've seen enough of giving to want a taste of + getting. I want to make things go—and I see my chance. Why father,” + he laughed, trying to turn it, “there's nothing so American as wanting to + make things <i>go</i>.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at him for a long minute. “My boy,” he said, “I fear you are + becoming so American that I am losing you.” + </p> + <p> + “Father,” the boy pleaded, affectionately, “now don't—” + </p> + <p> + The old man held up his hand. “You've tried to make me understand it,” he + said, “and succeeded. You can't complain of the way you've succeeded. I + don't know why I don't argue with you—plead; there are things I + could say—should say, perhaps—but something assures me it + would be useless. I feel a good many years older than I did when I came + into this room, but the reason for it is not that you're joining the other + party. You know what I think of the men who control this State, the men + with whom you desire to cast your lot, but I trust the years I've spent + fighting them haven't made a bigot of me. It's not joining their party—it's + <i>using</i> it—makes this the hardest thing I've been called upon + to meet.” + </p> + <p> + “Father, don't look like that! How do you think I am going to get up and + speak tonight with <i>that</i> face before me?” + </p> + <p> + “You didn't think, did you,” the man laughed bitterly, “that I would + inspire you to your effort?” + </p> + <p> + The boy stood looking at his father, a strange new fire in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, quietly, tenderly, “you will inspire me. When I get up + before those men tonight I'm going to see the picture of that boy + straining for his first glimpse of New York Harbour. I'm going to think + for just a minute of the things that boy brought with him—things he + has never lost. And then I'll see you as you stand here now—-it will + be enough. What I need to do is to get mad. If I falter I'll just think of + some of those times when you came home from your campaigns—how you + looked—what you said. It will bring the inspiration. Father, I + figure it out like this. We're going to get it back. We're going to get + what's coming to us. There's another America than the America of you + dreamers. To yours you have given; from mine I will get. And the irony of + it—don't think I don't see the irony of it—is that I will be + called the real American. Do you know what I'm going to do? I'm going to + make the railroads of this State—oh, it sounds like schoolboy talk, + but just give me a little time—I'm going to make the railroads of + this State pay off every cent of that mortgage on your farm! Father,” he + finished, impetuously, in a last appeal, “you're broken up now, + disappointed, but would you honestly want me to travel the road you've + traveled?” + </p> + <p> + “My boy,” answered the old man, and the tears came with it, “I wanted you + to travel the road of an honest man.” + </p> + <p> + Herman Beckman did not go to the commencement exercises that night. There + was no train home until morning, so he had the night to spend in town. He + was alone, for his friends assumed that he would be out at the university. + But he preferred being alone. + </p> + <p> + He sat in his room at the hotel, reading. And he could read. Years of + discipline stood him in good stead now. His life had taught him to read + anywhere, at any time. He had never permitted himself the luxury of not + being “in the mood.” It was only the men who had gone to college who could + do that. He <i>had</i> to read. He always carried some little book with + him, for how did a man know that he might not have to wait an hour for a + train somewhere? The man had a simple-minded veneration for knowledge. He + wanted to know about things. And he had never learned to pretend that he + didn't want to know. He quite lacked the modern art of flippancy. He + believed in great books. + </p> + <p> + And so on the night that his son was being graduated from college he sat + in his room at the hotel—cheap room in a mediocre hotel; he had + never learned to feel at home in the rich ones—reading Marcus + Aurelius. But his hand as he turned the pages trembled as the hand of a + very old man. At midnight some reporters came in to ask him what he + thought of his son's oration. They wanted a statement from him. + </p> + <p> + He told them that he had never believed the sins of a parent should be + visited on a child, and that it was even so with the thought. He had + always contended that a man should do his own thinking. The contention + applied to his son. + </p> + <p> + “Gamey old brute!” was what one of the reporters said in the elevator. + </p> + <p> + He could not read Marcus Aurelius after that. He went to bed, but he did + not sleep. Many things passed before him. His anticipations, his dreams + for Fritz, had brought the warmest pleasure of his stern, unrelaxing life. + There was a great emptiness tonight. What was a man to turn to, think + about, when he seemed stripped, not only of the future, but of the past? + He seemed called upon to readjust the whole of his life, giving up that + which he had held dearest. What was left? Daylight found him turning it + over and over. + </p> + <p> + In the morning he went home. He got away without seeing any of his + friends. + </p> + <p> + He did not try to read this morning; somehow it seemed there was no use in + trying to read any more. He watched the country through which they were + passing, thinking of the hundreds of times he had ridden over it in + campaigning. He wondered, vaguely, just how much money he had spent on + railroad fare—he had never accepted mileage. Fred's “What's the + use?” kept ringing in his ears. There was something about that phrase + which made one feel very tired and old. It even seemed there was no use + looking out to see how the crops were getting on. <i>What's the use? + What's the use?</i> Was that a phrase one learned in college? + </p> + <p> + There had been two things to tell “mother” that night. The first was that + he had stopped in town and told Claus Hansen he could have that south + hundred and sixty he had been wanting for two years. + </p> + <p> + It was not easy to tell the woman who had worked shoulder to shoulder with + him for thirty years, the woman who during those years had risen with him + in the early morning and worked with him until darkness rescued the weary + bodies, that in their old age they must surrender the fruit of their toil. + They would have left just what they had started with. They had just held + their own. + </p> + <p> + Coming down on the train he had made up his mind that if Hansen were in + town he would tell him that he could have the land. He felt so very tired + and old, so bowed down with Fred's “What's the use?” that he saw that he + himself would never get the mortgage paid off. And Fred had said something + about making the railroads pay it. He did not know just how the boy + figured that out—indeed, he was getting a little dazed about the + whole thing—but if Fritz had any idea of having the railroads pay + off the mortgage on <i>his</i> farm—he couldn't forget how the boy + looked when he said it, face white, eyes burning—he would see to it + right now that there was no chance of that. + </p> + <p> + He tried not to look at the land as he drove past it on the way home. He + wondered just how much campaign literature it had paid for. He wondered if + he would ever get used to seeing Claus Hansen putting up his hay over + there in that field. + </p> + <p> + He had felt so badly about telling mother that he told it very bluntly. + And because he felt so sorry for her he said not one kind word, but just + sat quiet, looking the other way. + </p> + <p> + She was clearing off the table. He heard her scraping out the potato dish + with great care. Then she was coming over to him. She came awkwardly, + hesitatingly—her life had not schooled her in meeting emotional + moments beautifully—but she laid her hand upon him, patted him on + the shoulder as one would a child. “Never mind, papa—never you mind. + It will make it easier for us. There's enough left—and it will make + it easier. We're getting on—we're—” There she broke off + abruptly into a vigorous scolding of the dog, who was lifting covetous + nostrils to a piece of meat. + </p> + <p> + That was all. And there was no woman in the country had worked harder. And + Martha was ambitious; she liked land, and she did not like Claus Hansen's + wife. + </p> + <p> + Yes, he had had a good wife. + </p> + <p> + Then there was that other thing to tell her—about Fritz. That was + harder. + </p> + <p> + Mother had not gone up to the city to hear Fritz “speak” because her feet + were bothering her, and she could not wear her shoes. He had had a vague + idea of how disappointed she was, though she had said very little about + it. Martha never had been one to say much about things. When he came back, + of course she had wanted to know all about it, and he had put her off. Now + he had to tell her. + </p> + <p> + It was much harder; and in the telling of it he broke down. + </p> + <p> + This time she did not come over and pat his shoulder. Perhaps Martha knew—likely + she had never heard the word intuition, but, anyway, she knew—that + it was beyond that. + </p> + <p> + It seemed difficult for her to comprehend. She was bewildered to find that + Fritz could change parties all in a minute. She seemed to grasp, first of + all, that it was disrespectful to his father. Some boys at school had been + putting notions into his head. + </p> + <p> + But gradually she began to see it. Fritz wanted to make money. Fritz + wanted to have it easier. And the other people did “have it easier.” + </p> + <p> + It divided her feeling: sorry and indignant for the father, secretly glad + and relieved for the boy. “He will have it easier than we had it, papa,” + she said at the last. “But it was not right of Fritz,” she concluded, + vaguely but severely. + </p> + <p> + As she washed the dishes Martha was thinking that likely Fritz's wife + would have a hired girl. + </p> + <p> + Then Martha went up to bed. He said that he would come in a few minutes, + but many minutes went by while he sat out on the side porch trying to + think it out. + </p> + <p> + The moon was shining brightly down on that hundred and sixty which Claus + Hansen was to have. And the moon, too, seemed to be saying: “What's the + use?” + </p> + <p> + Well, what <i>was</i> the use? Perhaps, after all, the boy was right. What + had it all amounted to? What was there left? What had he done? + </p> + <p> + Two Americas, Fred had said, and his but the America of the dreamers. He + had always thought that he was fighting for the real. And now Fred said + that he had never become an American at all. + </p> + <p> + From the time he was twelve years old he had wanted to be an American. A + queer old man back in the German village—an old man, he recalled + strangely now, who had never been in America—told him about it. He + told how all men were brothers in America, how the poor and the rich loved + each other—indeed, how there were no poor and rich at all, but the + same chance for every man who would work. He told about the marvellous + resources of that distant America—gold in the earth, which men were + free to go and get, hundreds upon hundreds of miles of untouched forests + and great rivers—all for men to use, great cities no older than the + men who were in them, which men at that present moment were <i>making</i>—every + man his equal chance. He told of rich land which a man could have for + nothing, which would be <i>his</i>, if he would but go and work upon it. + In the heart of the little German boy there was kindled then a fire which + the years had never put out. His cheeks grew red, his eyes bright and very + deep as he listened to the story. He went home that night and dreamed of + going to America. And through the years of his boyhood, penny by penny, he + saved his money for America. It was his dream. It was the passion of his + life. More plainly than the events of yesterday, he remembered his first + glimpse of those wonderful shores—the lump in his throat, the + passionate excitement, the uplift. Leaning over the railing of his boat, + staring, searching, penetrating, worshipping, he lifted up his heart and + sent out his pledge of allegiance to the new land. How he would love + America, work for it, be true to it! + </p> + <p> + He had three dollars and sixty cents in his pocket when he stepped upon + American soil. He wondered if any man had ever felt richer. For had he not + reached the land where there was an equal chance for every man who would + work, where men loved each other as brothers, and where the earth itself + was so rich and so gracious in its offerings? + </p> + <p> + The old man crossed one leg over the other—slowly, stiffly. It made + him tired and stiff now just to think of the work he had done between that + day and this. + </p> + <p> + But there was something which he had always had—that something was + <i>his</i> America. That had never wavered, though he soon learned that + between it and realities were many things which were wrong and + unfortunate. With the whole force and passion of his nature, with all his + single mindedness—would some call it simple mindedness?—he + threw himself into the fight against those things which were blurring + men's vision of his America. No work, no sacrifice was too great, for + America had enemies who called themselves friends, men who were striking + heavy blows at that equal chance for every man. When he failed, it was + because he did not know enough; he must work, he must study, he must + think, in order to make more real to other men the America which was in + his heart. He must fight for it because it was his. + </p> + <p> + And now it seemed that the end had come; he was old, he was tired, he was + not sure. Claus Hansen would have his land and his son would join hands + with the things which he had spent his life in fighting. And far deeper + and sadder and more bitter than that, he had not transmitted the America + of his heart even to his own son. He was not leaving someone to fight for + it in his stead, to win where he had failed. Fred saw in it but a place + for gain. “I lived all my life with you to learn from failure the value of + success.” That was what he had given to his boy. Yes, that was what he had + bequeathed to America. Could the failure, the futility of his life be more + clearly revealed? + </p> + <p> + Twice Martha had called to him, but still he sat, smoking, thinking. There + was much to think about to-night. + </p> + <p> + Finally, it was not thought, but visions. Too tired for conscious + thinking, he gave himself up to what came—Fred's America, his + America, the America of the dreamers—and the things which stood + between. The America of the future—-what would that America be? + </p> + <p> + At the last, taking form from many things which came and went, shaping + itself slowly, form giving place to new form, he seemed to see it grow. + Out beyond that land Claus Hansen was to have, a long way off, there rose + the vision of the America of the future—an America of realities, and + yet an America of dreams; for the dreamers had become the realists—-or + was it that the realists had become dreamers? In the manifold forms taken + on and cast aside destroying dualism had made way for the strength and the + dignity and harmony of unity. He watched it as breathlessly, as + yearningly, as the nineteen-year-old boy had watched the other America + taking shape in the distance some forty years before. “How did you come?” + he whispered. “What are you?” + </p> + <p> + And the voice of that real America seemed to answer: “I came because for a + long-enough time there were enough men who held me in their hearts. I came + because there were men who never gave me up. I was won by men who believed + that they had failed.” + </p> + <p> + Again there was a lump in his throat—once more an exultation flooded + all his being. For to the old man—tired, stiff, smitten though he + had been, there came again that same uplift which long before had come to + the boy. Was there not here an answer to “What's the use?” For he would + leave America as he came to it—loving it, believing in it. What were + the work and the failure of a lifetime when there was something in his + heart which was his? Should he say that he had fought in vain when he had + kept it for himself? It was as real, as wonderful—yes as inevitable, + as it had been forty years before. Realities had taken his land, his + career, his hopes for the boy. But realities had not stripped him of his + dream. The futility of the years could not harm the things which were in + his heart. Even in America he had not lost His America. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps it is then that it is like that,” he murmured, his vision + carrying him back to the days of his broken English. “Perhaps it is that + every man's America is in the inside of his own heart. Perhaps it is that + it will come when it has grown big—big and very strong—in the + hearts.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XII. — THE ANARCHIST: HIS DOG + </h2> + <p> + Stubby had a route, and that was how he happened to get a dog. For the + benefit of those who have never carried papers it should be thrown in that + having a route means getting up just when there is really some fun in + sleeping, lining up at the <i>Leader</i> office—maybe having a scrap + with the fellow who says you took his place in the line—getting your + papers all damp from the press and starting for the outskirts of the city. + Then you double up the paper in the way that will cause all possible + difficulty in undoubling and hurl it with what force you have against the + front door. It is good to have a route, for you at least earn your salt, + so your father can't say <i>that</i> any more. If he does, you know it + isn't so. + </p> + <p> + When you have a route, you whistle. All the fellows whistle. They may not + feel like it, but it is the custom—as could be sworn to by many + sleepy citizens. And as time goes on you succeed in acquiring the easy + manner of a brigand. + </p> + <p> + Stubby was little and everything about him seemed sawed off just a second + too soon,—his nose, his fingers, and most of all, his hair. His head + was a faithful replica of a chestnut burr. His hair did not lie down and + take things easy. It stood up—and out!—gentle ladies couldn't + possibly have let their hands sink into it—as we are told they do—for + the hands just wouldn't sink. They'd have to float. + </p> + <p> + And alas, gentle ladies didn't particularly want their hands to sink into + it. There was not that about Stubby's short person to cause the hands of + gentle ladies to move instinctively to his head. Stubby bristled. That is, + he appeared to bristle. Inwardly, Stubby yearned, though he would have + swung into his very best brigand manner on the spot were you to suggest so + offensive a thing. Just to look at Stubby you'd never in a thousand years + guess what a funny feeling he had sometimes when he got to the top of the + hill where his route began and could see a long way down the river and the + town curled in on the other side. Sometimes when the morning sun was + shining through a mist—making things awful queer—some of the + mist got into Stubby's squinty little eyes. After the mist behaved that + way he always whistled so rakishly and threw his papers with such + abandonment that people turned over in their beds and muttered things + about having that little heathen of a paper boy shot. + </p> + <p> + All along the route are dogs. Indeed, routes are distinguished by their + dogs. Mean routes are those that have terraces and mean dogs; good routes—where + the houses are close together and the dogs run out and wag their tails. + Though Stubby's greater difficulty came through the wagging tails; he + carried in a collie neighbourhood, and all collies seemed consumed with + mighty ambitions to have routes. If you spoke to them—and how could + you <i>help</i> speaking to a collie when he came bounding out to you that + way?—you had an awful time chasing him back, and when he got lost—and + it seemed collies spent most of their time getting lost—the woman + would put her head out next morning and want to know if you had coaxed her + dog away. + </p> + <p> + Some of the fellows had dogs that went with them on their routes. One day + one of them asked Stubby why he didn't have a dog and he replied in surly + fashion that he didn't have one 'cause he didn't want one. If he wanted + one, he guessed he'd have one. + </p> + <p> + And there was no one within ear-shot old enough or wise enough—or + tender enough?—to know from the meanness of Stubby's tone, and by + his evil scowl, that his heart was just breaking to own a dog. + </p> + <p> + One day a new dog appeared along the route. He was yellow and looked like + a cheap edition of a bull-dog. He was that kind of dog most accurately + described by saying it is hard to describe him, the kind you say is just + dog—and everybody knows. + </p> + <p> + He tried to follow Stubby; not in the trusting, bounding manner of the + collies—not happily, but hopingly. Stubby, true to the ethics of his + profession, chased him back where he had come from. That there might be + nothing whatever on his conscience, he even threw a stone after him. + Stubby was an expert in throwing things at dogs. He could seem to just + miss them and yet never hit them. + </p> + <p> + The next day it happened again; but just as he had a clod poised for + throwing, a window went up and a woman called: “For pity <i>sake</i>, + little boy, don't chase him back <i>here</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Why—why, ain't he yours?” called Stubby. + </p> + <p> + “Mercy, <i>no</i>. We can't chase him away.” + </p> + <p> + “Who's is he?” demanded Stubby. + </p> + <p> + “Why, he's nobody's! He just hangs around. I wish you'd coax him away.” + </p> + <p> + Well, that was a <i>new</i> one! And then all in a heap it rushed over + Stubby that this dog who was nobody's dog could, if he coaxed him away—and + the woman <i>wanted</i> him coaxed away—be his dog. + </p> + <p> + And because that idea had such a strange effect on him he sang out, in + off-hand fashion: “Oh, all right, I'll take him away and drown him for + you! + </p> + <p> + “Oh, little <i>boy</i>,” called the woman, “why, don't <i>drown</i> him!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, all right, I'll shoot him then!” called obliging Stubby, whistling + for the dog—while all morning long the woman grieved over having + sent a helpless little dog away with that perfectly <i>brutal</i> paper + boy! + </p> + <p> + Stubby's mother was washing. She looked up from her tubs on the back porch + to say, “Wish you'd take that bucket—” then seeing what was slinking + behind her son, straightway assumed the role of destiny with, “Git out o' + here!” + </p> + <p> + Stubby snapped his fingers behind his back as much as to say, “Wait a + minute.” + </p> + <p> + “A woman gave him to me,” he said to his mother. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Gave</i> him to you?” she scoffed. “I sh' think she would!” + </p> + <p> + Then something happened that had not happened many times in Stubby's short + lifetime. He acknowledged his feelings. + </p> + <p> + “I'd like to keep him. I'd like to have a dog.” + </p> + <p> + His mother shook her hands and the flying suds seemed expressing her + scorn. “Huh! <i>That</i> ugly good-for-nothing thing?” + </p> + <p> + The dog had edged in between Stubby's feet and crouched there. “He could + go with me on my route,” said Stubby. “He'd kind of be company for me.” + </p> + <p> + And when he had said that he knew all at once just how lonesome he had + been sometimes on his route, how he had wanted something to “kind of be + company” for him. + </p> + <p> + His face twitched as he stooped down to pat the dog. Mrs. Lynch looked at + her son—youngest of her five. Not the hardness of her heart but the + hardness of her life had made her unpractised in moments of tenderness. + Something in the way Stubby was patting the dog suggested to her that + Stubby was a “queer one.” He <i>was</i> kind of little to be carrying + papers all by himself. + </p> + <p> + Stubby looked up. “He could eat what's thrown away.” + </p> + <p> + That was an error in diplomacy. The woman's face hardened. “Mighty + little'll be thrown away <i>this</i> winter,” she muttered. + </p> + <p> + But just then Mrs. Johnson appeared on the other side of the fence and + began hanging up her clothes and with that Mrs. Lynch saw her way to + justify herself in indulging her son. Mrs. Johnson and Mrs. Lynch had “had + words.” “You just let him stay around, Stubby,” she called, and you would + have supposed from her tone it was Stubby who was on the other side of the + fence, “maybe he'll keep the neighbour's chickens out! Them that ain't got + chickens o' their own don't want to be bothered with the neighbours'!” + </p> + <p> + That was how it happened that he stayed; and no one but Stubby knew—and + possibly Stubby didn't either—how it happened that he was named + Hero. It would seem that Hero should be a noble St. Bernard, or a + particularly mean-looking bulldog, not a stocky, shapeless, squint-eyed + yellow dog with one ear bitten half off and one leg built on an entirely + different plan from its fellow legs. Possibly Stubby's own spiritual + experiences had suggested to him that you weren't necessarily the way you + looked. + </p> + <p> + The chickens were pretty well kept out, though no one ever saw Hero doing + any of it. Perhaps Hero had been too long associated with chasing to + desire any part in it—even with roles reversed. If Stubby could help + it, no one really saw Stubby doing the chasing either; he became skilled + in chasing when he did not appear to be chasing; then he would get Hero to + barking and turn to his mother with, “Guess you don't see so many chickens + round nowadays.” + </p> + <p> + The fellows in the line jeered at Hero at first, but they soon tired of it + when Stubby said he didn't want the cur but his mother made him stay + around to keep the chickens out. He was a fine chicken dog, Stubby + grudgingly admitted. He couldn't keep him from following, said Stubby, so + he just let him come. Sometimes when they were waiting in line Stubby made + ferocious threats at Hero. He was going to break his back and wring his + head off and do other heartless things which for some reason he never + started in right then and there to accomplish. + </p> + <p> + It was different when they were alone—and they were alone a good + deal. Stubby's route wasn't nearly so long after he had Hero to go with + him. When winter came and five o'clock was dark and cold for starting out + it was pretty good to have Hero trotting at his heels. And Hero always + wanted to go; it was never so rainy nor so cold that that yellow dog + seemed to think he would rather stay home by the fire. Then Hero was + always waiting for him when he came home from school. Stubby would sing + out, “Hello, cur!” and the tone was such that Hero did not grasp that he + was being insulted. Sometimes when there was nobody about, Stubby picked + Hero up in his arms and squeezed him—Stubby had not had a large + experience with squeezing. At those times Hero would lick Stubby's face + and whimper a little love whimper and such were the workings of Stubby's + heart and mind that that made him of quite as much account as if he really + had chased the chickens. Stubby, who had seen the way dogs can look at you + out of their eyes, was not one to say of a dog, “What good is he?” + </p> + <p> + But it seemed there were such people. There were even people who thought + you oughtn't to have a dog to love and to love you if you weren't one of + those rich people who could pay two dollars and a half a year for the + luxury. + </p> + <p> + Stubby first heard of those people one night in June. The father of the + Lynch family was sitting in the back yard reading the paper when Hero and + Stubby came running in from the alley. It was one of those moments when + Hero, forgetting the bleakness of his youth, abandoned himself to the joy + of living. He was tearing round and round Stubby, barking, when Stubby's + father called out: “Here!—shut up there, you cur. You better lie + low. You're going to be shot the first of August.” + </p> + <p> + Stubby, and as regards the joy of living Hero had done as much for Stubby + as Stubby for Hero, came to a halt. The fun and frolic just died right out + of him and he stood there staring at his father, who had turned the page + and was settling himself to a new horror. At last Stubby spoke. “Why's he + going to be shot on the first of August?” he asked in a tight little + voice. + </p> + <p> + His father looked up. “Why's he going to be shot? You got any two dollars + and a half to pay for him?” + </p> + <p> + He laughed as though that were a joke. Well, it was something of a joke. + Stubby got ten cents a week out of his paper money. The rest he “turned + in.” + </p> + <p> + Then he went back to his paper. There was another long pause before Stubby + asked, in that tight queer little voice: “What'd I have to pay two dollars + and a half for? Nobody owns him.” + </p> + <p> + His parent stirred scornfully. “Suppose you never heard of a dog tax, did + you? S'pose they don't learn you nothing like that at school?” + </p> + <p> + Yes, Stubby did know that dogs had to have checks, but he hadn't thought + anything about that in connection with Hero. He ventured another question. + “You have to have 'em for all dogs, even if you just picked 'em up on the + street and took care of 'em when nobody else would?” + </p> + <p> + “You bet you do,” his parent assured him genially. “You pay your dog tax + or the policeman comes on the first of August and shoots your dog.” + </p> + <p> + With that he dismissed it for good, burying himself in his paper. For a + minute the boy stood there in silence. Then he walked slowly round the + house and sat down where his father couldn't see him. Hero followed—it + was a way Hero had. The dog sat down beside the boy and after a couple of + minutes the boy's arm stole furtively around him and they sat there very + still for a long time. + </p> + <p> + As nobody but Hero paid much attention to him, nobody save Hero noticed + how quiet and queer Stubby was for the next three days. Hero must have + noticed it, for he was quiet and queer too. He followed wherever Stubby + would let him, and every time he got a chance he would nestle up to him + and look into his face—that way even cur dogs have of doing when + they fear something is wrong. + </p> + <p> + At the end of three days Stubby, his little freckled face set and grim, + took his stand in front of his father and came right out with: “I want to + keep one week's paper money to pay Hero's tax.” + </p> + <p> + His father's chair had been tilted back against a tree. Now it came down + with a thud. “Oh, you <i>do</i>, do you?” + </p> + <p> + “I can earn the other fifty cents at little jobs.” + </p> + <p> + “You <i>can</i>, can you? Now ain't you smart!” + </p> + <p> + The tone brought the blood to Stubby's face. “I think I got a right to,” + he said, his voice low. + </p> + <p> + The man's face, which had been taunting, grew ugly. “Look a-here, young + man, none o' your lip!” + </p> + <p> + The tears rushed to Stubby's eyes but he stumbled on: “I guess Hero's got + a right to some of my paper money when he goes with me every day on my + route.” + </p> + <p> + At that his father stared for a minute and then burst into a loud laugh. + Blinded with tears, the boy turned to the house. + </p> + <p> + After she had gone to bed that night Stubby's mother heard a sound from + the alcove at the head of the stairs where her youngest child slept. As + the sound kept on she got out of her bed and went to Stubby's cot. + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” she said, awkwardly but not unkindly, “this won't do. We're + poor folks, Freddie” (it was only once in a while she called him that), + “all we can do to live these times—we can't pay no dog tax.” + </p> + <p> + As Stubby did not speak she added: “I know you've taken to the dog, but + just the same you ain't to feel hard to your pa. He can't help it—and + neither can I. Things is as they is—and nobody can help it.” + </p> + <p> + As, despite this bit of philosophy Stubby was still gulping back sobs, she + added what she thought a master stroke in consolation. “Now you just go + right to sleep, and if they come to take this dog away maybe you can pick + up another one in the fall.” + </p> + <p> + The sobs suddenly stopped and Stubby stared at her. And what he said after + a long stare was: “I guess there ain't no use in you and me talking about + it.” + </p> + <p> + “That's right,” said she, relieved; “now you go right off to sleep.” And + she left him, never dreaming why Stubby had seen there was no use talking + about it. + </p> + <p> + Nor did he talk about it; but a change came over Stubby's funny little + person in the next few days. The change was particularly concerned with + his jaw, though there was something different, too, in the light in his + eyes as he looked straight ahead, and something different in his voice + when he said: “Come on, Hero.” + </p> + <p> + He got so he could walk into a store and demand, in a hard little voice: + “Want a boy to do anything for you?” and when they said, “Got more boys + than we know what to do with, sonny,” Stubby would say, “All right,” and + stalk sturdily out again. Sometimes they laughed and said: “What could <i>you</i> + do?” and then Stubby would stalk out, but possibly a little less sturdily. + </p> + <p> + Vacation came the next week, and still he had found nothing. His father, + however, had been more successful. He found a place where they wanted a + boy to work in a yard a couple of hours in the morning. For that Stubby + was to get a dollar and a half a week. But that was to be turned in for + his “keep.” There were lots of mouths to feed—as Stubby's mother was + always calling to her neighbour across the alley. + </p> + <p> + But the yard gave Stubby an idea, and he earned some dimes and one quarter + in the next week. Most folks thought he was too little—one kind lady + told him he ought to be playing, not working—but there were people + who would let him take a big shears and cut grass around flower beds, and + things like that. This he had to do afternoons, when he was supposed to be + off playing, and when he came home his mother sometimes said some folks + had it easy—playing around all day. + </p> + <p> + It was now the first week in July and Stubby had a dollar and twenty + cents. It was getting to the point where he would wake in the night and + find himself sitting up in bed, hands clenched. He dreamed dreams about + how folks would let him live if he had ninety-nine cents but how he only + had ninety-seven and a half, so they were going to shoot him. + </p> + <p> + Then one day he found Mr. Stuart. He was passing the house after having + asked three people if they wanted a boy, and they didn't, and seemed so + surprised at the idea of their wanting him that Stubby's throat was all + tight, when Mr. Stuart sang out: “Say, boy, want a little job?” + </p> + <p> + It seemed at first it must be a joke—or a dream—anybody asking + him if he <i>wanted</i> one, but the man was beckoning to him, so he + pulled himself together and ran up the steps. + </p> + <p> + “Now here's a little package”—he took something out of the mail box. + “It doesn't belong here. It's to go to three-hundred-two Pleasant street. + You take it for a dime?” + </p> + <p> + Stubby nodded. + </p> + <p> + As he was going down the steps the man called: “Say, boy, how'd you like a + steady job?” + </p> + <p> + For the first minute it seemed pretty mean—making fun of a fellow + that way! + </p> + <p> + “This will be here every day. Suppose you come each day, about this time, + and take it over there—not mentioning it to anybody.” + </p> + <p> + Stubby felt weak. “Why, all right,” he managed to say. + </p> + <p> + “I'll give you fifty cents a week. That fair?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” said Stubby, doing some quick calculation. + </p> + <p> + “Then here goes for the first week”—and he handed him the other + forty cents. + </p> + <p> + It was funny how fast the world could change! Stubby wanted to run—he + hadn't been doing much running of late. He wanted to go home and get Hero + to go with him to Pleasant street, but didn't. No, <i>sir</i>, when you + had a job you had to 'tend to things! + </p> + <p> + Well, a person could do things, if he had to, thought Stubby. No use + saying you couldn't, you <i>could</i>, if you had to. He was back in tune + with life. He whistled; he turned up his collar in the old rakish way; he + threw a stick at a cat. Back home he jumped over the fence instead of + going in the gate—lately he had actually been using the gate. And he + cried, “Get out of my sight, you cur!” in tones which, as Hero understood + things, meant anything but getting out of his sight. + </p> + <p> + He was a little boy again. He slept at night as little boys sleep. He + played with Hero along the route—taught him some new tricks. His jaw + relaxed from its grown-upishness. + </p> + <p> + It was funny about those Stuarts. Sometimes he saw Mr. Stuart, but never + anybody else; the place seemed shut up. But each day the little package + was there, and every day he took it to Pleasant street and left it at the + door there—that place seemed shut up, too. + </p> + <p> + When it was well into the second week Stubby ventured to say something + about the next fifty cents. + </p> + <p> + The man fumbled in his pockets. Something in his face was familiar to + experienced Stubby. It suggested a having to have two dollars and a half + by August first and only having a dollar and a quarter state of mind. + </p> + <p> + “I haven't got the change. Pay you at the end of next week for the whole + business. That all right?” + </p> + <p> + Stubby considered. “I've got to have it before the first of August,” he + said. + </p> + <p> + At that the man laughed—funny kind of laugh, it was, and muttered + something. But he told Stubby he would have it before the first. + </p> + <p> + It bothered Stubby. He wished the man had given it to him <i>then</i>. He + would rather get it each week and keep it himself. A little of the + grown-up look stole back. + </p> + <p> + After that he didn't see Mr. Stuart, and one day, a week or so later, the + package was not in the box and a man who wore the kind of clothes Stubby's + father wore came around the house and asked him what he was doing. + </p> + <p> + Stubby was wary. “Oh, I've got a little job I do for Mr. Stuart.” + </p> + <p> + The man laughed. “I had a little job I did for Mr. Stuart, too. You paid + in advance?” + </p> + <p> + Stubby pricked up his ears. + </p> + <p> + “'Cause if you ain't, I'd advise you to look out for a little job + some'eres else.” + </p> + <p> + Then it came out. Mr. Stuart was broke; more than that, he was “off his + nut.” Lots of people were doing little jobs for him—there was no + sense in any of them, and now he had suddenly been called out of town! + </p> + <p> + There was a trembly feeling through Stubby's insides, but outwardly he was + bristling just like his hair bristled as he demanded: “Where am I to get + what's coming to me?” + </p> + <p> + “'Fraid you won't get it, sonny. We're all in the same boat.” He looked + Stubby up and down and then added: “Kind of little for that boat.” + </p> + <p> + “I <i>got</i> to have it!” cried Stubby. “I tell you, I <i>got</i> to!” + </p> + <p> + The man shook his head. “<i>That</i> cuts no ice. Hard luck, sonny, but + we've got to take our medicine in this world. 'Taint no medicine for kids, + though,” he muttered. + </p> + <p> + Stubby's face just then was too much for him. He put his hand in his + pocket and drew out a dime, saying: “There now. You run along and get you + a soda and forget your troubles. It ain't always like this. You'll have + better luck next time.” + </p> + <p> + But Stubby did not get the soda. He put the dime in his pocket and turned + toward home. Something was the matter with his legs—they acted funny + about carrying him. He tried to whistle, but something was the matter with + his lips, too. + </p> + <p> + Counting this dime, he now had a dollar and eighty cents, and it was the + twenty-eighth day of July. “Thirty days has September—April, June + and November—” he was saying to himself. Then July was one of the + long ones. Well, <i>that</i> was a good thing! Been a great deal worse if + July was a short one. Again he tried to whistle, and that time did manage + to pipe out a few shrill little notes. + </p> + <p> + When Hero came running up the hill to meet him he slapped him on the back + and cried, “Hello, Hero!” in tones fairly swaggering with bravado. + </p> + <p> + That night he engaged his father in conversation—the phrase is well + adapted to the way Stubby went about it. “How is it about—'bout + things like taxes”—Stubby crossed his knees and swung one foot to + show his indifference—“if you have <i>almost</i> enough—do + they sometimes let you off?”—the detachment was a shade less perfect + on that last. + </p> + <p> + His father laughed scoffingly. “Well, I guess <i>not!</i>” + </p> + <p> + “I thought maybe,” said Stubby, “if a person had <i>tried</i> awful hard—and + had <i>most</i> enough—” + </p> + <p> + Something inside him was all shaky, so he didn't go on. His father said + that <i>trying</i> didn't have anything to do with it. + </p> + <p> + It was hard for Stubby not to sob out that he thought trying <i>ought</i> + to have something to do with it, but he only made a hissing noise between + his teeth that took the place of the whistle that wouldn't come. + </p> + <p> + “Kind of seems,” he resumed, “if a person would have had enough if they + hadn't been beat out of it, maybe—if he done the best he could—” + </p> + <p> + His father snorted derisively and informed him that doing the best you + could made no difference to the government; hard luck stories didn't go + when it came to the laws of the land. + </p> + <p> + Thereupon Stubby took a little walk out to the alley and spent a + considerable time in contemplation of the neighbour's chicken-yard. When + he came back he walked right up to his father and standing there, feet + planted, shoulders squared, wanted to know, in a desperate little voice: + “If some one else was to give—say a dollar and eighty cents for + Hero, could I take the other seventy out of my paper money?” + </p> + <p> + The man turned upon him roughly. “Uh-<i>huh</i>! <i>That's</i> it, is it? + <i>That's</i> why you're getting so smart all of a sudden about + government! Look a-here. Just l'me tell you something. You're lucky if you + git enough to <i>eat</i> this winter. Do you know there's talk of the + factory shuttin' down? <i>Dog</i> tax! Why you're lucky if you git <i>shoes</i>.” + </p> + <p> + Stubby had turned away and was standing with his back to his father, hands + in his pockets. + </p> + <p> + “And l'me tell you some'en else, young man. If you got any dollar and + eighty cents, you give it to your mother!” + </p> + <p> + As Stubby was turning the corner of the house he called after him: “How'd + you like to have me get you an automobile?” + </p> + <p> + He went doggedly from house to house the next afternoon, but nobody had + any jobs. When Hero came running out to him that night he patted him, but + didn't speak. + </p> + <p> + That evening as they were sitting in the back yard—Stubby and Hero a + little apart from the others—his father was discoursing with his + brother about anarchists. They were getting commoner, his father thought. + There were a good many of them at the shop. They didn't call themselves + that, but that was what they were. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what is an anarchist, anyhow?” Stubby's mother wanted to know. + </p> + <p> + “Why, an anarchist,” her lord informed her, “is one that's against the + government. He don't believe in the law and order. The real bad anarchists + shoot them that tries to enforce the laws of the land. Guess if you'd read + the papers these days you'd know.” + </p> + <p> + Stubby's brain had been going round and round and these words caught in it + as it whirled. The government—the laws of the land—why, it was + the government and the laws of the land that were going to shoot Hero! It + was the government—the laws of the land—that didn't care how + hard you had <i>tried</i>—didn't care whether you had been cheated—didn't + care how you <i>felt</i>—didn't care about anything except getting + the money! His brain got hotter. Well, <i>he</i> didn't believe in the + government, either. He was one of those people—those anarchists—that + were against the laws of the land. + </p> + <p> + He'd done the very best he could and now the government was going to take + Hero away from him just because he couldn't get—<i>couldn't</i> get—that + other seventy cents. + </p> + <p> + Stubby's mother didn't hear her son crying that night. That was because + Stubby was successful in holding the pillow over his head. + </p> + <p> + The next morning he looked in one of the papers he was carrying to see + what it said about anarchists. Sure enough, some place way off somewhere, + the anarchists had shot somebody that was trying to enforce the laws of + the land. The laws of the land—that didn't <i>care</i>. + </p> + <p> + That afternoon as Stubby tramped around looking for jobs he saw a good + many boys playing with dogs. None of them seemed to be worrying about + whether their dogs had checks. To Stubby's hot little brain and sore + little heart came the thought that they didn't love their dogs any more + than he loved Hero, either. But the government didn't care whether he + loved Hero or not! Pooh!—what was that to the government? All it + cared about was getting the money. He stood for a long time watching a boy + giving his dog a bath. The dog was trying to get away and the boy and + another boy were having lots of fun about it. All of a sudden Stubby + turned and ran away—ran down an alley, ran through a number of + alleys, just kept on running, blinded by the tears. + </p> + <p> + And that night, in the middle of the night, that something in his head + going round and round, getting hotter and hotter, he decided that the only + thing for him to do was to shoot the policeman who came to take Hero away + on the morning of August first—that would be day after to-morrow. + </p> + <p> + All night long policemen with revolvers stood around his bed. When his + mother called him at half-past four he was shaking so he could scarcely + get into his clothes. + </p> + <p> + On his way home from his route Stubby had to pass a police-station. He + went on the other side of the street and stood there looking across. One + of the policemen was playing with a dog! + </p> + <p> + Suddenly he wanted to rush over and throw himself down at that policeman's + feet—sob out the story—ask him to please, <i>please</i> wait + till he could get that other seventy cents. + </p> + <p> + But just then the policeman got up and went in the station, and Stubby was + afraid to go in the police-station. + </p> + <p> + That policeman complicated things for Stubby. Before that it had been + quite simple. The policeman would come to enforce the law of the land; but + he did not believe in the law of the land, so he would just kill the + policeman. But it seemed a policeman wasn't just a person who enforced the + laws of the land. He was also a person who played with a dog. + </p> + <p> + After a whole day of walking around thinking about it—his eyes + burning, his heart pounding—he decided that the thing to do was to + warn the policeman by writing a letter. He did not know whether real + anarchists warned them or not, but Stubby couldn't get reconciled to the + idea of killing a person without telling him you were going to do it. It + seemed that even a policeman should be told—especially a policeman + who played with a dog. + </p> + <p> + The following letter was pencilled by a shaking hand, late that afternoon. + It was written upon a barrel in the Lynch wood-shed, on a piece of + wrapping paper, a bristly little head bending over it: + </p> + <p> + To the Policeman who comes to take my dog 'cause I ain't got the two fifty—'cause + I tried but could only get one eighty—'cause a man was off his nut + and didn't pay me what I earned— + </p> + <p> + This is to tell you I am an anarchist and do not believe in the government + or the law and the order and will shoot you when you come. I wouldn't a + been an anarchist if I could a got the money and I tried to get it but I + couldn't get it—not enough. I don't think the government had ought + to take things you like like I like Hero so I am against the government. + </p> + <p> + Thought I would tell you first. + </p> + <p> + Yours truly, + </p> + <p> + F. LYNCH. + </p> + <p> + I don't see how I can shoot you 'cause where would I get the revolver. So + I will have to do it with the butcher knife. Folks are sometimes killed + that way 'cause my father read it in the paper. + </p> + <p> + If you wanted to take the one eighty and leave Hero till I can get the + seventy I will not do anything to you and would be very much obliged. + </p> + <p> + 1113 Willow street. + </p> + <p> + The letter was properly addressed and sealed—not for nothing had + Stubby's teacher given those instructions in the art of letter writing. + The stamp he paid for out of the dime the man gave him to get a soda with—and + forget his troubles. + </p> + <p> + Now Bill O'Brien was on the desk at the police-station and Miss Murphy of + the Herald stood in with Bill. That was how it came about that the next + morning a fat policeman, an eager-looking girl and a young fellow with a + kodak descended into the hollow to 1113 Willow street. + </p> + <p> + A little boy peeped around the corner of the house—such a + wild-looking little boy—hair all standing up and eyes glittering. A + yellow dog ran out and barked. The boy darted out and grabbed the dog in + his arms and in that moment the girl called to the man with the black box: + “Right now! Quick! Get him!” + </p> + <p> + They were getting ready to shoot Hero! That box was the way the police did + it! He must—oh, he <i>must—must</i> ... Boy and dog sank to + the ground—but just the same the boy was shielding the dog! + </p> + <p> + When Stubby had pulled himself together the policeman was holding Hero. He + said that Hero was certainly a fine dog—he had a dog a good deal + like him at home. And Miss Murphy—she was choking back sobs herself—knew + how he could earn the seventy cents that afternoon. + </p> + <p> + In such wise do a good anarchist and a good story go down under the same + blow. Some of those sobs Miss Murphy choked back got into what she wrote + about Stubby and his yellow dog and the next day citizens with no sense of + the dramatic sent money enough to check Hero through life. + </p> + <p> + At first Stubby's father said he had a good mind to lick him. But + something in the quality of Miss Murphy's journalism left a hazy feeling + of there being something remarkable about his son. He confided to his good + wife that it wouldn't surprise him much if Stubby was some day President. + Somebody had to be President, said he, and he had noticed it was generally + those who in their youthful days did things that made lively reading in + the newspapers. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIII. — AT TWILIGHT + </h2> + <p> + A breeze from the May world without blew through the class-room, and as it + lifted his papers he had a curious sense of freshness and mustiness + meeting. He looked at the group of students before him, half smiling at + the way the breath of spring was teasing the hair of the girls sitting by + the window. Anna Lawrence was trying to pin hers back again, but May would + have none of such decorum, and only waited long enough for her to finish + her work before joyously undoing it. She caught the laughing, admiring + eyes of a boy sitting across from her and sought to conceal her pleasure + in her unmanageable wealth of hair by a wry little face, and then the eyes + of both strayed out to the trees that had scented that breeze for them, + looking with frank longing at the campus which stretched before them in + all its May glory that sunny afternoon. He remembered having met this boy + and girl strolling in the twilight the evening before, and as a buoyant + breeze that instant swept his own face he had a sudden, irrelevant + consciousness of being seventy-three years old. + </p> + <p> + Other eyes were straying to the trees and birds and lilacs of that world + from which the class-room was for the hour shutting them out. He was used + to it—that straying of young eyes in the spring. For more than forty + years he had sat at that desk and talked to young men and women about + philosophy, and in those forty years there had always been straying eyes + in May. The children of some of those boys and girls had in time come to + him, and now there were other children who, before many years went by, + might be sitting upon those benches, listening to lectures upon what men + had thought about life, while their eyes strayed out where life called. So + it went on—May, perhaps, the philosopher triumphant. + </p> + <p> + As, with a considerable effort—for the languor of spring, or some + other languor, was upon him too—he brought himself back to the + papers they had handed in, he found himself thinking of those first boys + and girls, now men and women, and parents of other boys and girls. He + hoped that philosophy had, after all, done something more than shut them + out from May. He had always tried, not so much to instruct them in what + men had thought, as to teach them to think, and perhaps now, when May had + become a time for them to watch the straying of other eyes, they were the + less desolate because of the habits he had helped them to form. He wanted + to think that he had done something more than hold them prisoners. + </p> + <p> + There was a sadness to-day in his sympathy. He was tired. It was hard to + go back to what he had been saying about the different things the world's + philosophers had believed about the immortality of the soul. So, as often + when his feeling for his thought dragged, he turned to Gretta Loring. She + seldom failed to bring a revival of interest—a freshening. She was + his favourite student. He did not believe that in all the years there had + been any student who had not only pleased, but helped him as she did. + </p> + <p> + He had taught her father and mother. And now there was Gretta, clear-eyed + and steady of gaze, asking more of life than either of them had asked; + asking, not only May, but what May meant. For Gretta there need be no + duality. She was one of those rare ones for whom the meaning of life + opened new springs to the joy of life, for whom life intensified with the + understanding of it. He never said a thing that gratified him as reaching + toward the things not easy to say but that he would find Gretta's face + illumined—and always that eager little leaning ahead for more. + </p> + <p> + She had that look of waiting now, but to-day it seemed less an expectant + than a troubled look. She wanted him to go on with what he had been saying + about the immortality of the soul. But it was not so much a demand upon + him—he had come to rely upon those demands, as it was—he had + an odd, altogether absurd sense of its being a fear for him. She looked + uncomfortable, fretted; and suddenly he was startled to see her searching + eyes blurred by something that must be tears. + </p> + <p> + She turned away, and for just a minute it seemed to leave him alone and + helpless. He rubbed his forehead with his hand. It felt hot. It got that + way sometimes lately when he was tired. And the close of that hour often + found him tired. + </p> + <p> + He believed he knew what she wanted. She would have him declare his own + belief. In the youthful flush of her modernism she was impatient with that + fumbling around with what other men had thought. Despising the muddled + thinking of some of her classmates, she would have him put it right to + them with “As for yourself—” + </p> + <p> + He tried to formulate what he would care to say. But, perhaps just because + he was too tired to say it right, the life the robin in the nearest tree + was that moment celebrating in song seemed more important than anything he + had to say about his own feeling toward the things men had thought about + the human soul. + </p> + <p> + It was ten minutes before closing time, but suddenly he turned to his + class with: “Go out-of-doors and think about it. This is no day to sit + within and talk of philosophy. What men have thought about life in the + past is less important than what you feel about it to-day.” He paused, + then added, he could not have said why, “And don't let the shadow of + either belief or unbelief fall across the days that are here for you now.” + Again he stopped, then surprised himself by ending, “Philosophy should + quicken life, not deaden it.” + </p> + <p> + They were not slow in going, their astonishment in his wanting them to go + quickly engulfed in their pleasure in doing so. It was only Gretta who + lingered a moment, seeming too held by his manner in sending her out into + the sunshine to care about going there. He thought she was going to come + to the desk and speak to him. He was sure she wanted to. But at the last + she went hastily, and he thought, just before she turned her face away, + that it was a tear he saw on her lashes. + </p> + <p> + Strange! Was she unhappy, she through whom life surged so richly? And yet + was it not true, that where it gave much it exacted much? Feeling much, + and understanding what she felt, and feeling for what she understood—must + she also suffer much? Must one always pay? + </p> + <p> + He sighed, and began gathering together his papers. Thoughts about life + tired him to-day. + </p> + <p> + On the steps he paused, unreasonably enough a little saddened as he + watched some of them beginning a tennis game. Certainly they were losing + no time—eager to let go thoughts about life for its pleasures, very + few of them awake to that rich life he had tried to make them ready for. + He drooped still more wearily at the thought that perhaps the most real + gift he had for them was that unexpected ten minutes. + </p> + <p> + Remembering a book he must have from the library, he turned back. He went + to the alcove where the works on philosophy were to be found, and was + reaching up for the volume he wanted, when a sentence from a lowly + murmured conversation in the next aisle came to him across the stack of + books. + </p> + <p> + “That's all very well; we know, of course, that he doesn't believe, but + what will he do when it comes to <i>himself?</i>” + </p> + <p> + It arrested him, coming as it did from one of the girls who had just left + his class-room. He stood there motionless, his hand still reaching up for + the book. + </p> + <p> + “Do? Why, face it, of course. Face it as squarely as he's faced every + other fact of life.” + </p> + <p> + That was Gretta, and though, mindful of the library mandate for silence, + her tone was low, it was vibrant with a fine scorn. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the first speaker, “I guess he'll have to face it before very + long.” + </p> + <p> + That was not answered; there was a movement on the other side of the + barricade of books—it might have been that Gretta had turned away. + His hand dropped down from the high shelf. He was leaning against the + books. + </p> + <p> + “Haven't you noticed, Gretta, how he's losing his grip?” + </p> + <p> + At that his head went up sharply; he stood altogether tense as he waited + for Gretta to set the other girl right—Gretta, so sure-seeing, so + much wiser and truer than the rest of them. Gretta would <i>laugh!</i> + </p> + <p> + But she did not laugh. And what his strained ear caught at last was—not + her scornful denial, but a little gasp of breath suggesting a sob. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Noticed</i> it? Why it breaks my heart!” + </p> + <p> + He stared at the books through which her low, passionate voice had + carried. Then he sank to the chair that fortunately was beside him. Power + for standing had gone from him. + </p> + <p> + “Father says—father's on the board, you know” (it was the first girl + who spoke)—“that they don't know what to do about it. It's not + justice to the school to let him begin another year. These things are + arranged with less embarrassment in the big schools, where a man begins + emeritus at a certain time. Though of course they'll pension him—he's + done a lot for the school.” + </p> + <p> + He thanked Gretta for her little laugh of disdain. The memory of it was + more comforting—more satisfying—than any attempt to put it + into words could have been. + </p> + <p> + He heard them move away, their skirts brushing the book-stacks in passing. + A little later he saw them out in the sunshine on the campus. Gretta + joined one of the boys for a game of tennis. Motionless, he sat looking + out at her. She looked so very young as she played. + </p> + <p> + For an hour he remained at the table in the alcove where he had overheard + what his students had to say of him. And when the hour had gone by he took + up the pen which was there upon the study table and wrote his resignation + to the secretary of the board of trustees. It was very brief—simply + that he felt the time had come when a younger man could do more for the + school than he, and that he should like his resignation to take effect at + the close of the present school year. He had an envelope, and sealed and + stamped the letter—ready to drop in the box in front of the building + as he left. He had always served the school as best he could; he lost no + time now, once convinced, in rendering to it the last service he could + offer it—that of making way for the younger man. + </p> + <p> + Looking things squarely in the face, and it was the habit of a lifetime to + look things squarely in the face, he had not been long in seeing that they + were right. Things tired him now as they had not once tired him. He had + less zest at the beginning of the hour, more relief at the close of it. He + seemed stupid in not having seen it for himself, but possibly many people + were a little stupid in seeing that their own time was over. Of course he + had thought, in a vague way, that his working time couldn't be much + longer, but it seemed part of the way human beings managed with themselves + that things in even the very near future kept the remoteness of future + things. + </p> + <p> + Now he understood Gretta's troubled look and her tears. He knew how those + fine nerves of hers must have suffered, how her own mind had wanted to + leap to the aid of his, how her own strength must have tormented her in + not being able to reach his flagging powers. It seemed part of the whole + hardness of life that she who would care the most would be the one to see + it most understandingly. + </p> + <p> + What he was trying to do was to see it all very simply, in matter-of-fact + fashion, that there might be no bitterness and the least of tragedy. It + was nothing unique in human history he was facing. One did one's work; + then, when through, one stopped. He tried to feel that it was as simple as + it sounded, but he wondered if back of many of those brief letters of + resignation that came at quitting-time there was the hurt, the desolation, + that there was no use denying to himself was back of his. + </p> + <p> + He hoped that most men had more to turn to. Most men of seventy-three had + grandchildren. That would help, surrounding one with a feeling of the + naturalness of it all. But that school had been his only child. And he had + loved it with the tenderness one gives a child. That in him which would + have gone to the child had gone to the school. + </p> + <p> + The woman whom he loved had not loved him; he had never married. His life + had been called lonely; but lonely though it undeniably had been, the life + he won from books and work and thinking had kept the chill from his heart. + He had the gift of drawing life from all contact with life. Working with + youth, he kept that feeling for youth that does for the life within what + sunshine and fresh air do for the room in which one dwells. + </p> + <p> + It was now that the loneliness that blights seemed waiting for him.... + Life <i>used</i> one—and that in the ugly, not the noble sense of + being used. Stripped of the fine fancies men wove around it, what was it + beyond just a matter of being sucked dry and then thrown aside? Why not + admit that, and then face it? And the abundance with which one might have + given—the joy in the giving—had no bearing upon the fact that + it came at last to that question of getting one out of the way. It was no + one's unkindness; it was just that life was like that. Indeed, the + bitterness festered around the thought that it <i>was</i> life itself—the + way of life—not the brutality of any particular people. “They'll + pension him—he's done a lot for the school.” Even the grateful + memory of Gretta's tremulous, scoffing little laugh for the way it fell + short could not follow to the deep place that had been hurt. + </p> + <p> + Getting himself in hand again, and trying to face this as simply and + honestly as he had sought to face the other, he knew that it was true he + had done a great deal for the school. He did not believe it too much to + say he had done more for it than any other man. Certainly more than any + other man he had given it what place it had with men who thought. He had + come to it in his early manhood, and at a time when the school was in its + infancy—just a crude, struggling little Western college. Gretta + Loring's grandfather had been one of its founders—founding it in + revolt against the cramping sectarianism of another college. He had + gloried in the spirit which gave it birth, and it was he who, through the + encroachings of problems of administration and the ensnarements and + entanglements of practicality, had fought to keep unattached and + unfettered that spirit of freedom in the service of truth. + </p> + <p> + His own voice had been heard and recognised, and a number of times during + the years calls had come from more important institutions, but he had not + cared to go. For year by year there deepened that personal love for the + little college to which he had given the youthful ardour of his own + intellectual passion. All his life's habits were one with it. His days + seemed beaten into the path that cut across the campus. The vines that + season after season went a little higher on the wall out there indicated + his strivings by their own, and the generation that had worn down even the + stones of those front steps had furrowed his forehead and stooped his + shoulders. He had grown old along with it! His days were twined around it. + It was the place of his efforts and satisfactions (joys perhaps he should + not call them), of his falterings and his hopes. He loved it because he + had given himself to it; loved it because he had helped to bring it up. On + the shelves all around him were books which it had been his pleasure—because + during some of those hard years they were to be had in no other way—to + order himself and pay for from his own almost ludicrously meagre salary. + He remembered the excitement there always was in getting them fresh from + the publisher and bringing them over there in his arms; the satisfaction + in coming in next day and finding them on the shelves. Such had been his + dissipations, his indulgences of self. Many things came back to him as he + sat there going back over busy years, the works on philosophy looking down + upon him, the shadows of that spring afternoon gathering around him. He + looked like a very old man indeed as he at last reached out for the letter + he had written to the trustees, relieving them of their embarrassment. + </p> + <p> + Twilight had come on. On the front steps he paused and looked around the + campus. It was growing dark in that lingering way it has in the spring—daylight + creeping away under protest, night coming gently, as if it knew that the + world having been so pleasant, day would be loath to go. The boys and + girls were going back and forth upon the campus and the streets. They + could not bear to go within. For more than forty years it had been like + that. It would be like that for many times forty years—indeed, until + the end of the world, for it would be the end of the world when it was not + like that. He was glad that they were out in the twilight, not indoors + trying to gain from books something of the meaning of life. That course + had its satisfactions along the way, but it was surely no port of peace to + which it bore one at the last. + </p> + <p> + He shrunk from going home. There were so many readjustments he must make, + once home. So, lingering, he saw that off among the trees a girl was + sitting alone. She threw back her head in a certain way just then, and he + knew by the gesture that it was Gretta Loring. He wondered what she was + thinking about. What did one who thought think about—over there on + the other side of life? Youth and age looked at life from opposite sides. + Then they could not see it alike, for what one saw in life seemed to + depend so entirely upon how the light was falling from where one stood. + </p> + <p> + He could not have said just what it was made him cross the campus toward + her. Part of it was the desire for human sympathy—one thing, at + least, which age did not deaden. But that was not the whole of it, nor the + deepest thing in it. It was an urge of the spirit to find and keep for + itself a place where the light was falling backward upon life. + </p> + <p> + She was quiet in her greeting, and gentle. Her cheeks were still flushed, + her hair tumbled from her game, but her eyes were thoughtful and, he + thought, sad. He felt that the sadness was because of him; of him and the + things of which he made her think. He knew of her affection for him, the + warmth there was in her admiration of the things for which he had fought. + He had discovered that it hurt her now that others should be seeing and + not he, pained her to watch so sorry a thing as his falling below himself, + wounded both pride and heart that men whom she would doubtless say had + never appreciated him were whispering among themselves about how to get + rid of him. Why, the poor child might even be tormenting herself with the + idea she ought to tell him! + </p> + <p> + That was why he told her. He pointed to the address on the envelope, + saying: “That carries my resignation, Gretta.” + </p> + <p> + Her start and the tears which rushed to her eyes told him he was right + about her feeling. She did not seem able to say anything. Her chin was + trembling. + </p> + <p> + “I see that the time has come,” he said, “when a younger man can do more + for the school than I can hope to do for it.” + </p> + <p> + Still she said nothing at all, but her eyes were deepening and she had + that very steadfast, almost inspired look that had so many times quickened + him in the class-room. + </p> + <p> + She was not going to deny it! She was not going to pretend! + </p> + <p> + After the first feeling of not having got something needed he rose to her + high ground—ground she had taken it for granted he would take. + </p> + <p> + “And will you believe it, Gretta,” he said, rising to that ground and + there asking, not for the sympathy that bends down, but for a hand in + passing, “there comes a hard hour when first one feels the time has come + to step aside and be replaced by that younger man?” + </p> + <p> + She nodded. “It must be,” she said, simply; “it must be very much harder + than any of us can know till we come to it.” + </p> + <p> + She brought him a sense of his advantage in experience—his riches. + To be sure, there was that. + </p> + <p> + And he was oddly comforted by the honesty in her which could not stoop to + dishonest comforting. In what superficially might seem her failure there + was a very real victory for them both. And there was nothing of coldness + in her reserve! There was the fulness of understanding, and of valuing the + moments too highly for anything there was to be said about it. There was a + great spiritual dignity, a nobility, in the way she was looking at him. It + called upon the whole of his own spiritual dignity. It was her old demand + upon him, but this time the tears through which her eyes shone were tears + of pride in fulfilment, not of sorrowing for failure. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly he felt that his life had not been spent in vain, that the lives + of all those men of his day who had fought the good fight for intellectual + honesty—spiritual dignity—had not been spent in vain if they + were leaving upon the earth even a few who were like the girl beside them. + </p> + <p> + It turned him from himself to her. She was what counted—for she was + what remained. And he remained in just the measure that he remained + through her; counted in so far as he counted for her. It was as if he had + been facing in the wrong direction and now a kindly hand had turned him + around. It was not in looking back there he would find himself. He was not + back there to be found. Only so much of him lived as had been able to wing + itself ahead—on in the direction she was moving. + </p> + <p> + It did not particularly surprise him that when she at last spoke it was to + voice a shade of that same feeling. “I was thinking,” she began, “of that + younger man. Of what he must mean to the man who gives way to him.” + </p> + <p> + She was feeling her way as she went—groping among the many dim + things that were there. He had always liked to watch her face when she was + thinking her way step by step. + </p> + <p> + “I think you used a word wrongly a minute ago,” she said, with a smile. + “You spoke of being replaced. But that isn't it. A man like you isn't + replaced; he's”—she got it after a minute and came forth with it + triumphantly—“fulfilled!” + </p> + <p> + Her face was shining as she turned to him after that. “Don't you see? He's + there waiting to take your place because you got him ready. Why, you made + that younger man! Your whole life has been a getting ready for him. He can + do his work be cause you first did yours. Of course he can go farther than + you can! Wouldn't it be a sorry commentary on you if he couldn't?” + </p> + <p> + Her voice throbbed warmly upon that last, and during the pause the light + it had brought still played upon her face. “We were talking in class about + immortality,” she went on, more slowly. “There's one form of immortality I + like to think about. It's that all those who from the very first have + given anything to the world are living in the world to-day.” There was a + rush of tears to her eyes and of affection to her voice as she finished, + very low: “You'll never die. You've deepened the consciousness of life too + much for that.” + </p> + <p> + They sat there as twilight drew near to night, the old man and the young + girl, silent. The laughter of boys and girls and the good-night calls of + the birds were all around them. The fragrance of life was around them. It + was one of those silences to which come impressions, faiths, longings, not + yet born as thoughts. + </p> + <p> + Something in the quality of that silence brought the rescuing sense of its + having been good to have lived and done one's part—that sense which, + from places of desolation and over ways rough and steep and dark, can find + its way to the meadows of serenity. + </p> + <p> + THE END + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Lifted Masks, by Susan Glaspell + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LIFTED MASKS *** + +***** This file should be named 7368-h.htm or 7368-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/3/6/7368/ + + +Text file produced by Suzanne L. 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