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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/7368-0.txt b/7368-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..290d0e5 --- /dev/null +++ b/7368-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6890 @@ +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 *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne L. Shell, Charles Franks and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + + + + +LIFTED MASKS + +STORIES + +By Susan Glaspell + +1912 + + +TO + +THE MEMORY OF MY FRIEND + +JENNIE PRESTON + + + +CONTENTS + + +I “ONE OF THOSE IMPOSSIBLE AMERICANS” + +II THE PLEA + +III FOR LOVE OF THE HILLS + +IV FRECKLES M'GRATH + +V FROM A TO Z + +VI THE MAN OF FLESH AND BLOOD + +VII HOW THE PRINCE SAW AMERICA + +VIII THE LAST SIXTY MINUTES + +IX “OUT THERE” + +X THE PREPOSTEROUS MOTIVE + +XI HIS AMERICA + +XII THE ANARCHIST: HIS DOG + +XIII AT TWILIGHT + + + + +LIFTED MASKS + + + + +I + +“ONE OF THOSE IMPOSSIBLE AMERICANS” + + +“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 _bien chic_ 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: + +“_Mais, n'avez_--” + +“Say, Young Lady,” a voice which adequately represented the figure broke +in, “_you_, aren't French, are you?” + +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?” + +“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!” + +“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. + +“Well, Sir--I don't know. I don't think it can be the +clothes,”--judicially surveying her. + +“The clothes,” murmured Virginia, “were bought in Paris.” + +“Well, you've got _me_. 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.” + +“But why--?” + +“Lord--don't begin on _why_. You can say _why_ 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--_why_ 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.” + +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. + +“Was it for your wife you were thinking of buying these red stockings?” + she ventured. + +“Sure. What do you think of 'em? Look as if they came from Paris all +right, don't they?” + +“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?” + +“Don't believe she ever had a pair in her life. That's why I thought it +might please her.” + +Virginia looked down and away. There were times when dimples made things +hard for one. + +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.” + +“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 _dash_ 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.” + +“Oh no--no--no!” cried Virginia, her face instantly the colour of the +condemned stockings. Then, standing straight: “Certainly _not_.” + +“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.” + +The clerk was bending forward holding up the stockings alluringly. +“_Pour mademoiselle, n'est-ce-pas_?” + +“_Mais--non!_” pronounced Virginia, with emphasis. + +There followed an untranslatable gesture. “How droll!” shoulder and +outstretched hands were saying. “If the kind gentleman _wishes_ to give +mademoiselle the _joli bas_--!” + +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.” + +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--” + +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--? + +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 _petite Americaine_ was not too--oh, not _too_--” those French +eyebrows were saying. + +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. + +“I loathe them when their eyebrows go up,” she fumed. “Now _his_ weren't +going up--not even in his mind.” + +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 +_business_ to be let loose in a store all by himself.” + +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 _work_ us!” she stormed. “They think we're _easy_. I suppose +they think he's a _fool_. I just wish they could get him in a business +deal! I just wish--!” + +“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--” + +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 _thing_,” she murmured, almost tenderly, “he +doesn't know what to do. He just _does_ 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? + +“For seven hundred francs,” she heard the suave voice saying. + +_Seven hundred francs_! 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. + +“Seven hundred francs for _that_?” 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!” + +“Gee, but I'm grateful to you!” he breathed, again wiping his brow. “You +know, I was a little leery of it myself.” + +The manager, quivering with rage and glaring uglily, stepped up to +Virginia. “May I ask--?” + +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 +_mine_--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. + +“This was no place to buy dresses,” said she crossly. + +“Well, I wish I knew where the places _were_ to buy things,” he replied, +humbly, forlornly. + +“Well, what do you want to buy?” demanded she, still crossly. + +“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 _go_.” + +“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 _alone_. _Seven hundred francs_!” + +“I suppose it was too much,” he conceded meekly. “I tell you I _will_ +be grateful if you'll just stay by me a little while. I never felt so up +against it in all my life.” + +“Now, a very nice thing to take one's wife from Paris,” began Virginia +didactically, when they reached the sidewalk, “is lace.” + +“L--ace? Um! Y--es, I suppose lace is all right. Still it never struck +me there was anything so very _lively_ looking about lace.” + +“'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.” + +“Very well,” acquiesced he, truly chastened. “Here, let's get in this +cab.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“U--m. You have to do that here to get--lace?” + +“You have to do that here to get _anything_---at the price you should +get it. You, and people who go shopping the way you do, bring discredit +upon the entire American nation.” + +“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.” + +“Groan and hold my head,” she heard him murmuring as they entered the +shop. + +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. + +“I didn't mean you to act like _that_!” she stormed. + +“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'm_ going to bring +discredit on the American nation! Not a bad scheme--taking out my watch +that way, was it?” + +“Oh, beautiful _scheme_. I presume you notice, however, that we have no +lace.” + +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.” + +“Sort of as if I was feeble-minded, eh?” + +“Oh, don't _try_ 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.” + +“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 _buy_ things--the way you do in +Cincinnati? Can't you get their stuff without making a comic opera out +of it?” + +“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.” + +“Fools--eh? I'll show them a thing or two!” + +“Oh, please show them nothing here! Please just--sit.” + +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. + +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 _was_ 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. + +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--_S-ay!_--_what_ do you +think of _that?_” + +“That” was in a window across the street. It was an opera cloak. He +walked toward it, Virginia following. “Now _there_,” he turned to her, +his large round face all aglow, “is what I want.” + +It was yellow; it was long; it was billowy; it was insistently and +recklessly regal. + +“That's the ticket!” he gloated. + +“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 _with_ or one wouldn't--one +couldn't--” + +“Sure! Good idea. We'll just get everything to go with it.” + +“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. + +“Can't sidetrack me!” he beamed. “I _want_ it. Very thing I'm after, +Young Lady.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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?” + +“Guess not. Anyway, if it don't look right on her head she may enjoy +having it around to look at.” + +Virginia stared out at him. The _oddest_ man! As if a hat were any good +at all if it didn't look right on one's head! + +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 _fait rien_; +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 _naturellement_ it must be +_tout a fait_ perfect. She would send out and get one that would be oh! +so, so, _so_ perfect. It would take half an hour. + +“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, _so_ perfect hat.” + +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 _would_ 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--? + +So she agreed. “There's a nice little tea-shop right round the corner. +We girls often go there.” + +“Tea? Like tea? All right, then”--and he started manfully on. + +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.” + +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. + +Recollecting this, also for the first time remembering the musicale, she +bowed with the _hauteur_ of self-consciousness. + +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. + +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. + +Expansively, and not softly, he discoursed of these things. What did +they think a fellow was to do with his _knees_? Didn't they sell tea +enough to afford any decent chairs? Did all these women pretend to +really _like_ tea? + +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, _petit gateau_, the whole service gave the +fancy of his sitting down to a tea-party given by a little girl for her +dollies. + +But after a time he fell silent, looking around the room. And when he +broke that pause his voice was different. + +“These women here, all dressed so fine, nothing to do but sit around and +eat this folderol, _they_ have it easy--don't they?” + +The bitterness in it, and a faint note of wistfulness, puzzled her. +Certainly _he_ had money. + +“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?” + +She grew more bewildered. Wasn't he “getting it back?” The money he had +been spending that day! + +“Young Lady,” he said abruptly, “you must think I'm a queer one.” + +She murmured feeble protest. + +“Yes, you must. Must wonder what I want with all this stuff, don't you?” + +“Why, it's for your wife, isn't it?” she asked, startled. + +“Oh yes, but you must wonder. You're a shrewd one, Young Lady; judging +the thing by me, you must wonder.” + +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. + +“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 _would_ think I was queer, wouldn't you?” + +She was forced to admit that that would seem rather strange. + +“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.” + +She smiled at him warmly; there was something so real about him when he +talked that way. + +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.” + +“Oh, it's not that she _has_ to,” he answered her look, “but she +_thinks_ 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 _got_ her--those hard, lonely, grinding years _took_ +her. She's”--he shrunk from the terrible word and faltered out--“her +mind's not--” + +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 _could_ not have them +laughing at him--now. + +“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!” + +Unconsciously Virginia's hand went out, following the rush of sympathy +and understanding. “But can't they--restrain her?” she murmured. + +“Makes her worse. Says she's got it to do--frets her to think she's not +getting it done.” + +“But isn't there some _way_?” she whispered. “Some way to make her +_know_?” + +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.” + +She was silent, the tears too close for words. And she had thought it +cheap ambition!--vulgar aspiration--silly show--vanity! + +“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.” + +Still the girl did not speak. Her hand was shading her eyes. + +“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.” + +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 _opera cloak_--a _velvet +dress_--_those hats_--_red silk stockings_. + +The mockery of them wrung her heart. Right there in the tea-shop +Virginia was softly crying. + +“Oh, now that's too bad,” he expostulated clumsily. “Why, look here, +Young Lady, I didn't mean you to take it so hard.” + +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 _too faithful doin' 'em_--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 _out_ of it--and +I _can't reach_ her--oh, it's _rotten!_ I tell you it's _rotten!_ +Sometimes I can just hear my money _laugh_ at me! Sometimes I get to +going round and round in a circle about it till it seems I'm going crazy +myself.” + +“I think you are a--a noble man,” choked Virginia. + +That disconcerted him. “Oh Lord--don't think that. No, Young Lady, don't +try to make any plaster saint out of _me_. 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 _sore as a boil_!” + +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--” + +“Where do you get 'em?” he demanded promptly. + +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 _robe de nuit_--so +soothingly soft, so caressingly luxurious, it seemed that surely it +might help bring release from the bondage of those crushing years. + +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.” + +“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. + +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 _cocher_ had cracked his whip when +he came running after her. “Why, Young Lady,” he called out, “we don't +know each other's _names_.” + +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 _sick_. 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.” + +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. + +“You never can tell,” murmured Virginia. “It just goes to show that you +never can tell.” + +And whatever it was you never could tell had brought to Virginia's +girlish face the tender knowingness of the face of a woman. + + + + +II + +THE PLEA + + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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?” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +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: + +“Ayes, 30; Noes, 32.” + +The Senator from Johnson had proven too faithful a servant of his +constituents. The boy in the penitentiary was denied his chance. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Mr. President,” he said, pulling at his collar and looking straight +ahead, “I rise to move a reconsideration.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +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?” + +The Senator from Johnson moved impatiently. “You think it 'fine,'” he +asked, almost resentfully, “to be a coward?” + +“Coward?” cried the other man. “Well, that's scarcely the word. It +was--heroic!” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + + + + +III + +FOR LOVE OF THE HILLS + + +“Sure you're done with it?” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“I am from Colorado, too,” she said softly, laying a hand upon the bent +shoulders. + +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. + +“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?” + +The girl half turned away, but she pressed the woman's hand tightly in +hers. “I know what you mean,” she murmured. + +“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.” + +“I know what you mean,” said the girl again, unsteadily. + +“And it's the closest I will ever get!” sobbed the woman. + +“Oh, don't say that,” protested the girl, brushing away her own tears, +and trying to smile; “you'll go back home some day.” + +The woman shook her head. “And if I should,” she said, “even if I +should, 'twill be too late.” + +“But it couldn't be too late,” insisted the girl. “The mountains, you +know, will be there forever.” + +“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.” + +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.” + +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.” + +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!” + +“Yes; but why can't you? Why not? You won't go--your eyesight will last +until you get back home, won't it?” + +“But I can't go back home; not now.” + +“Why not?” demanded the girl. “Why can't you go home?” + +“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. + +“But what are you going to do in the meantime? It would cost less to get +you home than to keep you here.” + +“No, I stay with my nephew here. He's willin' I should stay with him +till I get my money to go home.” + +“Yes, but this nephew, can't he get you the money? Doesn't he know,” she +insisted, heatedly, “what it means to you?” + +“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. + +“Well, _someone_ 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!” + +“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.” + +The girl raised her head. “But you _are_ reasonable. I tell you, you +_are_ reasonable!” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +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. + +The girl put her rounded hand over on the thin, withered one. “Tell me +about it,” she said again. + +“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. + +“Oh, very often,” replied the girl. “I love every inch of that country!” + +A tear stole down the woman's face. “It's most like being home to find +someone that knows about it,” she whispered. + +“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.” + +The girl nodded. + +“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.'” + +She was crying outright now, and the girl did not try to stop her. + +“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.” + +“I know what you mean,” said the girl, brokenly. “I know all about it.” + +“And you don't think I'm just notional,” she asked wistfully, “in pinin' +to get back while--whilst I can look at them?” + +The girl held the old hand tightly in hers with a clasp more responsive +than words. + +“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!” + +“Oh, but you won't,” the girl assured her. “You'll remember just how +they look.” + +“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!” + +“You must try not to worry about it,” murmured the girl. “You'll +remember.” + +“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!” + +“You will see them,” insisted the girl passionately. “I'm not going to +believe the world can be so hideous as that!” + +“Well, maybe so,” said the woman, rising. “But I don't know where 'twill +come from,” she added doubtfully. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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.” + + * * * * * + +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. + +“Not a cent,” said the city editor, his voice gruff with the attempt to +keep it steady. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“I'm very thankful to you,” she said, as she rose to go. + +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--” + +“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. + +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.” + + * * * * * + +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. + + + + +IV + +FRECKLES M'GRATH + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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!” + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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!” + +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. + +“Something broke?” asked an anxious voice. + +Freckles looked around into Mr. Ludlow's face, and he saw that the +eminent lobbyist was nervous. + +“Yes,” he said calmly. “It's acting queer. Something's all out of +whack.” + +“Well, drop it to the basement and let me out,” said Mr. Ludlow sharply. + +“Can't drop it,” responded Freckles. “She's stuck.” + +Mr. Ludlow came and looked things over, but his knowledge did not extend +to the mechanism of elevators. + +“Better call someone to come and take us out,” he said nervously. + +Freckles straightened himself up. A glitter had come into his small grey +eyes, and red spots were burning in his freckled cheeks. + +“I think she'll run now,” he said. + +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. + +“Stop it, boy!” he cried in alarm. + +“Can't!” responded Freckles, his voice thick with terror. “Running +away!” he gasped. + +“Will it--fall?” whispered the lobbyist. + +“I--I think so!” blubbered Freckles. + +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. + +“She's falling!” panted Freckles. “Climb!” + +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. + +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! + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +“You may take me down to the office of the Governor,” said Mr. Ludlow +stonily, meaningly. + +“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.” + +Mr. Ludlow's lips drew in tightly. He squared his shoulders, and his +silence was tremendous. + +In just fifteen minutes Freckles was sent for from the executive office. + +“I demand his discharge!” Mr. Ludlow was saying as the elevator boy +entered. + +“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.” + +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. + +It was a very innocent looking boy who stood before him and looked +inquiringly into his face. + +“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.” + +Freckles looked at Mr. Ludlow in a hurt way, and waited for the Governor +to proceed. + +“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?” + +“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--” + +“You little liar!” broke in Ludlow. + +The Governor held up his hand. “You had your chance. Let him have his.” + +“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?” + +“Of course not for money,” sneered Mr. Ludlow. + +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.” + +“Strange it should have happened this very afternoon,” put in the +eminent lobbyist. + +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.” + +There was nothing to be said. Mr. Ludlow said nothing. + +“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?” + +“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.” + +The Governor put his hand to his mouth and coughed. + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“The door was locked,” snarled the eminent lobbyist. + +“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.” + +Once more the Governor put his hand to his mouth. + +“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.” + +When he was almost at the door the Governor called to him. + +“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?” + +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.” + +And a third time the Governor's hand was raised to his mouth. + +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.” + + + + +V + +FROM A TO Z + + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +In the _other_ 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. + +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. + +“Has Professor Lee explained to you the nature of our work?” he wanted +to know. + +“No,” she replied, half grimly, a little humourously, and not far from +tearfully, “he didn't--explain.” + +“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.” + +“A _dic--?_” but she swallowed the gasp in the laugh coming up to meet +it, and of their union was born a saving cough. + +“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 _not_ 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?” + +“Yes, _wasn't_ it--neat?” she agreed, wildly. + +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 _not_ 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.” + +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?” + +She had never heard a voice like that before. Or, _had_ 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. + +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. + +“You can tell me how _not_ to infringe the copyright,” she laughed. “I'm +not sure that I know what a copyright is.” + +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.” + +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 _see_!” 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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?” + +“Oh yes,” he replied grimly, “he'll be back.” + +“Because,” she went on, “if he wasn't, I thought I would take his +shears. These hurt my fingers.” + +He made the exchange for her--and after that things went better. + +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. + +“You have been ill?” she asked, with timid solicitude. + +“Oh no,” he replied, rather shortly. + +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. + +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 _say_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +“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?” + +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. + +“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--” + +His head was resting upon his hand, and he leaned a little closer as +though listening for something he wanted to hear. + +“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--” + +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. + +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. + +That night she lay in her bed with wide open eyes, going over and over +the things they had said. “_Cure?_”--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!” + +She finally turned over on her pillow and sobbed; and she wondered +why--wondered, yet knew. + +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. + +She felt now that she understood better--understood the closed doors. He +was--she could think of no better word than sensitive. + +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. + +“IN-VI-TA-TION, _n._ 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.” + +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: + +“AP-PRE-CI-A-TION, _n._ That sentiment inspired in Mr. Webster by the +kind invitation of Miss Noah for Friday evening. + +“RE-GRET, _n._ 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. + +“RE-SENT-MENT, _n._ That which is inspired in Mr. Webster by the +insinuation that there are other Miss Noahs in the world.” + +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.” + +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. + +It was spring now, and the dictionary staff had begun on W. + +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. + +For it did not break through; it flooded just beneath. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +That is as far as facts can take it. + +And just there--it begins. + +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. + +And so the winter had worn on, and there was really nothing whatever to +tell about it. + +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. + +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. + +It was all very unmaidenly, of course; but maidenly is a word love and +life and desire may crowd from the page. + +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. + +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: + +“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.” + +She ate no lunch that day; she only drank a cup of coffee and walked +around. + +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. + +He too was walking about. He had walked down to the lake and was +standing there looking out across it. + +Why not?--he was saying to himself--fiercely, doggedly. Over and over +again--Well, _why_ not? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +He had been city editor of that paper once. Facts, the things he knew +about himself, talked to him then. There was no answer. + +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. + +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. + +She was just leaving. She was in the little cloak room putting on her +things. She was all alone in there. + +He stepped in. He pushed the door shut, and stood there leaning against +it, looking at her, saying nothing. + +“Oh--you are ill?” she gasped, and laid a frightened hand upon him. + +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. + +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. + +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 _could_ do. + +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. + +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. + +Both of them had tried to stay away that last day. But both were in +their usual places. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +And then she heard him go. + +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?--_Gone?_ She was tearing open the envelope of the letter. + +This was what she read: + +“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. + +“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 _care_ 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! + +“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. + +“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. + +“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.” + +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 _pay_ for her +happiness--_pay_--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! + +It simplified itself to such an extent that she _grew_ very calm. It +would be easy to find him, easy to make him see--for it was so very +simple--and then.... + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +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! + +She never questioned her going; were not life and love too great to be +lost through that which could be so easily put right? + +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. + +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.... + +Someone had her by the arm. Then someone was speaking her name; speaking +it in surprise--consternation--alarm. + +It was Harold. + +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. + +“Yes--yes, Edna, everything's all right,” he replied soothingly. + +“Everything's all right,” she repeated, in a whisper, and leaned her +head back against the cushions. + +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. + +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. + +“Why sure,” he replied banteringly; “don't you know we have to go +through the city to get out to the South Side?” + +“Oh, but you see,” she cried, holding her throat, “but you see, it's the +_other_ way!” + +“Not to-night,” he insisted; “the place for you to-night is home. I'm +taking you where you belong.” + +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 _understand!_” she whispered, passionately. “I've _got_ to go!” + +“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. + +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. + +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 _some_ people +strong enough to go where they wanted to go? + + + + +VI + +THE MAN OF FLESH AND BLOOD + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +There came to him these words of a poet of whom he used to be fond: + + 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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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!” + +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: + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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? + +“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.' + +“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. + +“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. + +“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.” + +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? + +“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 _knew_; and how did he know? Why, because he'd been over the road +himself.” + +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. + +It was thus he began, slowly, the telling of his life's story: + +“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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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. + +“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.” + +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.” + +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.” + +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.'” + +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. + +“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.” + +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!” + +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.” + +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. + +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.” + +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. + + + + +VII + +HOW THE PRINCE SAW AMERICA + + +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. + +“What's the matter with you fellows?” asked the attorney-general, +swinging around in his chair. + +“Strike,” declared one of the men, with becoming brevity. + +“Strike of what?” + +“Carpet-Tackers' Union Number One,” replied the man, kindly gathering up +a few tacks. + +“Never heard of it.” + +“Organised last night,” said the carpet-tacker, putting on his coat. + +“Well I'll--” he paused expressively, then inquired: “What's your game?” + +“Well, you see, boss, this executive council that runs the State-house +has refused our demands.” + +“What are your demands?” + +“Double pay.” + +“Double pay! Now how do you figure it out that you ought to have double +pay?” + +“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.” + +“Yes,” agreed his auditor, “there is.” + +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.” + +The Governor's fellow official smiled--he knew the Governor pretty well. +“And he turned you down?” + +The striker nodded. “But there's an election next fall; maybe the +turning down will be turned around.” + +“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.” + +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.” + +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?” + +“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.” + +“Oh, he's sure to do that,” agreed the attorney-general. + +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.” + +“What's the situation?” asked a stranger within the gates. + +“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. + +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. + +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.” + +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.” + +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!” + +They all laughed, but the Governor's laugh stopped suddenly, and he +looked hard at the young man. + +“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?” + +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!” + +“Leave it to me!”--and he was lost in the crowd. + +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. + +“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?” + +There were loud cries of “No!”--“Well, I should say not!” + +“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?” + +They didn't get it for a minute, and then everybody laughed. + +“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!” + +“But you've got more fellows than anybody else,” cried a member of the +Senate. + +“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. + +“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.” + +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.” + +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.” + +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!” + +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.” + +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! + +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. + +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.” + +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.” + +“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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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.” + +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.” + +Senator Bruner beamed. “That's just the point. He's caught my idea +exactly.” + +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.” + +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. + +“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?” + +“I see,” replied the Prince, and he looked as though he really did. + +“You know--say, dodge there! Move back! No--too late. The Governor's +caught us. Look at him!” + +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.” + +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.” + +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.” + + + + +VIII + +THE LAST SIXTY MINUTES + + +“Nine--ten--” The old clock paused as if in dramatic appreciation of +the situation, and then slowly, weightily, it gave the final stroke, +“Eleven!” + +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. + +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. + +His secretary came in just then with some letters. “Could you see +Whitefield now?” he asked. “He's waiting out here for you.” + +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.” + +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.” + +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?” + +He frowned and moved impatiently as he answered, curtly: “Oh, yes.” + +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. + +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.” + +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? + +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.” + +“Indulging in a little meditation?” + +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.” + +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 _entree_ to the Governor's office by afternoon.” He +laughed, the easy, good-humoured laugh of one too sophisticated to spend +emotion uselessly. + +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.” + +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.” + +Francis roused himself and murmured: “Fools!--amateurs.” + +“Leyman?” ventured the Governor. + +“Leyman and all of his crowd!” + +“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.” + +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 _how_. 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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“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!” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _them_, 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. + +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!” + +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.” + +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 _sign the contracts_? + +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? + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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!” + +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!” + +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! + +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. + +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. + +The band was playing the opening strains as he closed the door behind +him and started upstairs. + + + + +IX + +“OUT THERE” + + +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.” + +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.” + +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. + +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 _see_, +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.” + +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. + +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 +_them_ could buy it,” he pronounced severely, adding, contemptuously, +“or wanted to.” + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +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 _thirsty_--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. + +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. + +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.” + +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 _goes_ there. It's--oh, Lord”--irritated at getting beyond his +depth--“_I_ don't know!” + +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.” + +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 _soul!_” 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. + +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.” + +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! + +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!” + +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. + +“Don't you worry,” he murmured affectionately to her retreating form, +“it won't never be gone again.” + +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. _Her_ 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.” + +But the lady made no comment, and stood there holding the picture up +before her. “I will take it,” she said, quietly. + +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.” + +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. _Forty dollars!_--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 _knew things_--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 _anyway_, suddenly furious at the lady, furious at +himself--“he'd be gol-_darned_ if it wasn't _her_ picture!” + +He walked firmly back to the front of the store. + +“I forgot at first,” he said, brusquely, “that this picture belongs to +someone else.” + +The lady looked at him in astonishment. “I do not understand,” she said. + +“There's nothing to understand,” he fairly shouted, “except that it +belongs to someone else!” + +She turned away, but came back to him. “I will give you fifty dollars +for it,” she said, in her quiet way. + +“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 _hear_?” + +“I certainly do,” replied the lady, and walked from the store. + +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 +_hern_--and anybody that comes along here with any nonsense is just +going to hear from _me_!” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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 _proved_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +She pushed her chair back and rose to go. “Are you alone in the world?” + he asked abruptly then, + +“Yes; I--oh yes.” + +It was too much for him. “How would you like,” he asked recklessly, “to +have me get you transportation out West?” + +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--” + +“You wouldn't want to go?” + +“I mean”--it was but a whisper--“it would be--too wonderful.” + +“You would like it then?” + +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. + +“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.” + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _into_ 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. + +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. + +On Monday she felt she could wait no longer. It did not seem that it +would be _safe_. 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _was_ it--? And then +she was sinking down into an abyss. + +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.” + + + + +X + +THE PREPOSTEROUS MOTIVE + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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!” + +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. + +“Well, have you anything better to offer?” + +“No, I haven't,” replied the Governor, tartly; “but it seems to me you +ought to have.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“Well, to-morrow morning I announce the senatorial appointment.” + +“You do, eh?” returned the farmer. + +“Yes, there's no need of waiting any longer, and it's getting on to the +time the State wants two senators in Washington.” + +“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?” + +The Governor threw back his head with a scoffing laugh. + +“I guess it didn't require much thought on my part,” he answered +carelessly. + +“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?” + +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. + +“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.” + +The old farmer was scratching his head. + +“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?” + +“That's the situation--if you want to put it that way.” + +“And now you're going to appoint the Governor?” + +“Of course I am; I couldn't do anything else if I wanted to.” + +“Why not?” + +“Why, look here, Hiram, haven't you any idea of political obligation? +It's expected of me.” + +“Oh, it is, eh? Did you promise to appoint the Governor?” + +“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. + +The farmer turned a troubled face to the fire. + +“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?” + +“Oh, Lord, no, Hiram!” exclaimed the Governor irritably. “I don't think +that at all!” + +Hiram Berriman's brown face warmed to a dull red. + +“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, _why do you appoint him_?” + +“I wish I could make you understand, Hiram,” said the Governor in an +injured voice, “that it's not for me to say.” + +“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!” + +“Hold on, please--that's a little too strong!” flamed the Governor. + +“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!” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Will you sign these now, Governor?” asked a voice behind him. + +It was his secretary, a man who knew the affairs of the State well, and +whom every one seemed to respect. + +“Mr. Haines,” he said abruptly, “who do you think is the best man we +have for the United States Senate?” + +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. + +“Why, I presume,” he ventured, “that the Governor is looked upon as the +logical candidate, isn't he?” + +“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.” + +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.” + +“You think most of the people feel that way?” + +“I know they do.” + +“You believe if it were a matter of popular vote, Huntington would be +the new Senator?” + +“There can be no doubt of that, Governor. I think they all have to admit +that. Huntington is the man the people want.” + +“That's all, Mr. Haines. I merely wondered what you thought about it.” + +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. + +“Good-morning, Governor,” he said briskly “how's everything to-day?” + +“All right, Mr. Markham. I have nothing to tell you to-day, except that +I've made the senatorial appointment.” + +“Oh,” laughed the reporter excitedly, “that's all, is it?” + +“Yes,” replied the Governor, smiling too; “that's all!” + +The reporter looked at the clock. “I'll just catch the noon edition,” he +said, “if I telephone right away.” + +He was moving to the other room when the Governor called to him. + +“See here, it seems to me you're a strange newspaper man!” + +“How so?” + +“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.” + +The reporter gave a forced laugh. He wished the Governor would not +detain him with a joke now when every second counted. + +“That's right,” he said, with strained pleasantness. “Well, who's the +man?” + +The Governor raised his head. “Huntington,” he said quietly, and resumed +his work. + +“What?” gasped the reporter. “What?” + +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?” + +“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?” + +But for the minute the reporter seemed unable to speak. “May I ask,” he +fumbled at last, “why you did it?” + +“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. + +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 _too_ 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. + + + + +XI + +HIS AMERICA + + +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. + +But even when the man's footsteps were at last sounding on the stairway, +he still clung to him. + +“Father,” he asked, fretfully, “why do you always talk to those +fellows?” + +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.” + +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.” + +“Nobody--_reads_?” + +“Why, nobody cares anything about the _Leader_. It's dead.” + +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. + +The boy had opened the drawer of his study table and was fingering some +papers he had taken out. + +“Sure you know it?” the man asked with affectionate parental anxiety. + +“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. + +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. + +“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. + +It made his father laugh. “Yes, my boy, I should call it decent--and +comfortable.” He grew thoughtful after that. + +“Pretty different from the place you had, father?” + +“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.” + +“Well, you _got_ there, father!” the boy burst out with feeling. “By +Jove, there aren't many of them _know_ the things you know!” + +“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.” + +The boy turned away. Something in the kindly words seemed as the cut of +a whip across his face. + +“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.” + +The boy stood up. “Father, I have something to tell you.” He said it +shortly and sharply. + +The father stood there, puzzled. + +“You won't like my oration to-night, father.” + +And still the man did not speak. The words would not have bothered him +much--it was the boy's manner. + +“In fact, father, you're going to be desperately disappointed in it.” + +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--” + +“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.” + +“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 _think_?” 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. + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +“Father,” he asked quietly, “are you satisfied with your life?” + +The man simply stared--waiting, seeking his bearings. + +“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?” + +Again he nodded. + +“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?” + +“I don't know what you mean,” the man said, searching his son's quiet, +passionate face. “I can't make you out, Fritz.” + +“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. + +“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!” + +“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.” + +“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, _What's the use?_ Father, I'm telling you that +_I'm_ going to join the other party and make some money!” + +The man just sat there, staring. + +“Well,” the boy took it up defiantly, “why not?” + +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.” + +“You're not _seeing_ 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 _own +this State_, 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.” + +“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?” + +“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 _why?_” + +The old man had risen. “Tell me this,” he said. “None of it matters +much, if you just tell me this: You _believe_ these things? You've +thought it all out for yourself--and you _feel_ that way? You're honest, +aren't you, Fritz?” He put that last in a whisper. + +The boy made no reply; after a minute the man sank back to his chair. +The years seemed coming to him with the minutes. + +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. + +“Five,” said the man heavily. + +“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, _you_ +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! + +“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. + +“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.” + +There was a silence. + +“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.” + +Again there was silence. It was the silences that seemed to be saying +the most. + +“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. + +“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!” + +“My _God!_” it wrenched from the man. “_This?_ 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 _this?_” + +“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.” + +“I never was sure I was a failure until this hour.” + +“Father! Can't you see--” + +“Oh, don't _talk_ 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!” + +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 _of_ 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, _what's the use?_ In this State, anyway, it's hopeless. It has +been so through your lifetime; it will be through mine.” + +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. + +“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 _are_ 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.” + +“Father! How extravagant! _Why_ 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 _go_.” + +He looked at him for a long minute. “My boy,” he said, “I fear you are +becoming so American that I am losing you.” + +“Father,” the boy pleaded, affectionately, “now don't--” + +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 +_using_ it--makes this the hardest thing I've been called upon to meet.” + +“Father, don't look like that! How do you think I am going to get up and +speak tonight with _that_ face before me?” + +“You didn't think, did you,” the man laughed bitterly, “that I would +inspire you to your effort?” + +The boy stood looking at his father, a strange new fire in his eyes. + +“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?” + +“My boy,” answered the old man, and the tears came with it, “I wanted +you to travel the road of an honest man.” + +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. + +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 _had_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +“Gamey old brute!” was what one of the reporters said in the elevator. + +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. + +In the morning he went home. He got away without seeing any of his +friends. + +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. _What's the use? +What's the use?_ Was that a phrase one learned in college? + +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. + +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. + +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 _his_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Yes, he had had a good wife. + +Then there was that other thing to tell her--about Fritz. That was +harder. + +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. + +It was much harder; and in the telling of it he broke down. + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +As she washed the dishes Martha was thinking that likely Fritz's wife +would have a hired girl. + +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. + +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?” + +Well, what _was_ the use? Perhaps, after all, the boy was right. What +had it all amounted to? What was there left? What had he done? + +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. + +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 _making_--every +man his equal chance. He told of rich land which a man could have for +nothing, which would be _his_, 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! + +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? + +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. + +But there was something which he had always had--that something was +_his_ 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. + +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? + +Twice Martha had called to him, but still he sat, smoking, thinking. +There was much to think about to-night. + +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? + +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?” + +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.” + +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. + +“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.” + + + + +XII + +THE ANARCHIST: HIS DOG + + +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 _Leader_ 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 _that_ any more. If he does, you know it +isn't so. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _help_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _sake_, little +boy, don't chase him back _here_.” + +“Why--why, ain't he yours?” called Stubby. + +“Mercy, _no_. We can't chase him away.” + +“Who's is he?” demanded Stubby. + +“Why, he's nobody's! He just hangs around. I wish you'd coax him away.” + +Well, that was a _new_ 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 _wanted_ him coaxed away--be his dog. + +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! + +“Oh, little _boy_,” called the woman, “why, don't _drown_ him!” + +“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 _brutal_ paper boy! + +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!” + +Stubby snapped his fingers behind his back as much as to say, “Wait a +minute.” + +“A woman gave him to me,” he said to his mother. + +“_Gave_ him to you?” she scoffed. “I sh' think she would!” + +Then something happened that had not happened many times in Stubby's +short lifetime. He acknowledged his feelings. + +“I'd like to keep him. I'd like to have a dog.” + +His mother shook her hands and the flying suds seemed expressing her +scorn. “Huh! _That_ ugly good-for-nothing thing?” + +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.” + +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. + +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 _was_ kind of little to be carrying papers +all by himself. + +Stubby looked up. “He could eat what's thrown away.” + +That was an error in diplomacy. The woman's face hardened. “Mighty +little'll be thrown away _this_ winter,” she muttered. + +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'!” + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +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?” + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +His father looked up. “Why's he going to be shot? You got any two +dollars and a half to pay for him?” + +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.” + +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.” + +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?” + +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?” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +His father's chair had been tilted back against a tree. Now it came down +with a thud. “Oh, you _do_, do you?” + +“I can earn the other fifty cents at little jobs.” + +“You _can_, can you? Now ain't you smart!” + +The tone brought the blood to Stubby's face. “I think I got a right to,” + he said, his voice low. + +The man's face, which had been taunting, grew ugly. “Look a-here, young +man, none o' your lip!” + +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.” + +At that his father stared for a minute and then burst into a loud laugh. +Blinded with tears, the boy turned to the house. + +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. + +“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.” + +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.” + +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.” + +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.” + +“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. + +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.” + +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 +_you_ do?” and then Stubby would stalk out, but possibly a little less +sturdily. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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?” + +It seemed at first it must be a joke--or a dream--anybody asking him if +he _wanted_ one, but the man was beckoning to him, so he pulled himself +together and ran up the steps. + +“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?” + +Stubby nodded. + +As he was going down the steps the man called: “Say, boy, how'd you like +a steady job?” + +For the first minute it seemed pretty mean--making fun of a fellow that +way! + +“This will be here every day. Suppose you come each day, about this +time, and take it over there--not mentioning it to anybody.” + +Stubby felt weak. “Why, all right,” he managed to say. + +“I'll give you fifty cents a week. That fair?” + +“Yes, sir,” said Stubby, doing some quick calculation. + +“Then here goes for the first week”--and he handed him the other forty +cents. + +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, _sir_, when you +had a job you had to 'tend to things! + +Well, a person could do things, if he had to, thought Stubby. No use +saying you couldn't, you _could_, 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. + +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. + +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. + +When it was well into the second week Stubby ventured to say something +about the next fifty cents. + +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. + +“I haven't got the change. Pay you at the end of next week for the whole +business. That all right?” + +Stubby considered. “I've got to have it before the first of August,” he +said. + +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. + +It bothered Stubby. He wished the man had given it to him _then_. He +would rather get it each week and keep it himself. A little of the +grown-up look stole back. + +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. + +Stubby was wary. “Oh, I've got a little job I do for Mr. Stuart.” + +The man laughed. “I had a little job I did for Mr. Stuart, too. You paid +in advance?” + +Stubby pricked up his ears. + +“'Cause if you ain't, I'd advise you to look out for a little job +some'eres else.” + +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! + +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?” + +“'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.” + +“I _got_ to have it!” cried Stubby. “I tell you, I _got_ to!” + +The man shook his head. “_That_ 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. + +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.” + +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. + +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, _that_ 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. + +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. + +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 _almost_ enough--do they sometimes let you +off?”--the detachment was a shade less perfect on that last. + +His father laughed scoffingly. “Well, I guess _not!_” + +“I thought maybe,” said Stubby, “if a person had _tried_ awful hard--and +had _most_ enough--” + +Something inside him was all shaky, so he didn't go on. His father said +that _trying_ didn't have anything to do with it. + +It was hard for Stubby not to sob out that he thought trying _ought_ 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. + +“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--” + +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. + +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?” + +The man turned upon him roughly. “Uh-_huh_! _That's_ it, is it? _That's_ +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 _eat_ this winter. Do you know there's talk of the factory shuttin' +down? _Dog_ tax! Why you're lucky if you git _shoes_.” + +Stubby had turned away and was standing with his back to his father, +hands in his pockets. + +“And l'me tell you some'en else, young man. If you got any dollar and +eighty cents, you give it to your mother!” + +As Stubby was turning the corner of the house he called after him: +“How'd you like to have me get you an automobile?” + +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. + +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. + +“Well, what is an anarchist, anyhow?” Stubby's mother wanted to know. + +“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.” + +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 _tried_--didn't care whether you had been cheated--didn't care how +you _felt_--didn't care about anything except getting the money! His +brain got hotter. Well, _he_ didn't believe in the government, either. +He was one of those people--those anarchists--that were against the laws +of the land. + +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--_couldn't_ +get--that other seventy cents. + +Stubby's mother didn't hear her son crying that night. That was because +Stubby was successful in holding the pillow over his head. + +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 _care_. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +Suddenly he wanted to rush over and throw himself down at that +policeman's feet--sob out the story--ask him to please, _please_ wait +till he could get that other seventy cents. + +But just then the policeman got up and went in the station, and Stubby +was afraid to go in the police-station. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +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-- + +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. + +Thought I would tell you first. + +Yours truly, + +F. LYNCH. + +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. + +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. + +1113 Willow street. + +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. + +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. + +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!” + +They were getting ready to shoot Hero! That box was the way the police +did it! He must--oh, he _must--must_ ... Boy and dog sank to the +ground--but just the same the boy was shielding the dog! + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +XIII + +AT TWILIGHT + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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--” + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +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? + +He sighed, and began gathering together his papers. Thoughts about life +tired him to-day. + +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. + +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. + +“That's all very well; we know, of course, that he doesn't believe, but +what will he do when it comes to _himself?_” + +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. + +“Do? Why, face it, of course. Face it as squarely as he's faced every +other fact of life.” + +That was Gretta, and though, mindful of the library mandate for silence, +her tone was low, it was vibrant with a fine scorn. + +“Well,” said the first speaker, “I guess he'll have to face it before +very long.” + +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. + +“Haven't you noticed, Gretta, how he's losing his grip?” + +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 _laugh!_ + +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. + +“_Noticed_ it? Why it breaks my heart!” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +It was now that the loneliness that blights seemed waiting for him.... +Life _used_ 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 _was_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +That was why he told her. He pointed to the address on the envelope, +saying: “That carries my resignation, Gretta.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +She was not going to deny it! She was not going to pretend! + +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. + +“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?” + +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.” + +She brought him a sense of his advantage in experience--his riches. To +be sure, there was that. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +“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!” + +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?” + +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.” + +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. + +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. + + +THE END + + + + + + + + +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 7368-0.txt or 7368-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/3/6/7368/ + +Produced by Suzanne L. 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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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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: July 5, 2013 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LIFTED MASKS *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne L. Shell, Charles Franks and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + + + + +LIFTED MASKS + +STORIES + +By Susan Glaspell + +1912 + + +TO + +THE MEMORY OF MY FRIEND + +JENNIE PRESTON + + + +CONTENTS + + +I "ONE OF THOSE IMPOSSIBLE AMERICANS" + +II THE PLEA + +III FOR LOVE OF THE HILLS + +IV FRECKLES M'GRATH + +V FROM A TO Z + +VI THE MAN OF FLESH AND BLOOD + +VII HOW THE PRINCE SAW AMERICA + +VIII THE LAST SIXTY MINUTES + +IX "OUT THERE" + +X THE PREPOSTEROUS MOTIVE + +XI HIS AMERICA + +XII THE ANARCHIST: HIS DOG + +XIII AT TWILIGHT + + + + +LIFTED MASKS + + + + +I + +"ONE OF THOSE IMPOSSIBLE AMERICANS" + + +"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 _bien chic_ 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: + +"_Mais, n'avez_--" + +"Say, Young Lady," a voice which adequately represented the figure broke +in, "_you_, aren't French, are you?" + +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?" + +"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!" + +"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. + +"Well, Sir--I don't know. I don't think it can be the +clothes,"--judicially surveying her. + +"The clothes," murmured Virginia, "were bought in Paris." + +"Well, you've got _me_. 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." + +"But why--?" + +"Lord--don't begin on _why_. You can say _why_ 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--_why_ 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." + +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. + +"Was it for your wife you were thinking of buying these red stockings?" +she ventured. + +"Sure. What do you think of 'em? Look as if they came from Paris all +right, don't they?" + +"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?" + +"Don't believe she ever had a pair in her life. That's why I thought it +might please her." + +Virginia looked down and away. There were times when dimples made things +hard for one. + +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." + +"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 _dash_ 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." + +"Oh no--no--no!" cried Virginia, her face instantly the colour of the +condemned stockings. Then, standing straight: "Certainly _not_." + +"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." + +The clerk was bending forward holding up the stockings alluringly. +"_Pour mademoiselle, n'est-ce-pas_?" + +"_Mais--non!_" pronounced Virginia, with emphasis. + +There followed an untranslatable gesture. "How droll!" shoulder and +outstretched hands were saying. "If the kind gentleman _wishes_ to give +mademoiselle the _joli bas_--!" + +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." + +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--" + +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--? + +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 _petite Americaine_ was not too--oh, not _too_--" those French +eyebrows were saying. + +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. + +"I loathe them when their eyebrows go up," she fumed. "Now _his_ weren't +going up--not even in his mind." + +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 +_business_ to be let loose in a store all by himself." + +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 _work_ us!" she stormed. "They think we're _easy_. I suppose +they think he's a _fool_. I just wish they could get him in a business +deal! I just wish--!" + +"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--" + +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 _thing_," she murmured, almost tenderly, "he +doesn't know what to do. He just _does_ 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? + +"For seven hundred francs," she heard the suave voice saying. + +_Seven hundred francs_! 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. + +"Seven hundred francs for _that_?" 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!" + +"Gee, but I'm grateful to you!" he breathed, again wiping his brow. "You +know, I was a little leery of it myself." + +The manager, quivering with rage and glaring uglily, stepped up to +Virginia. "May I ask--?" + +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 +_mine_--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. + +"This was no place to buy dresses," said she crossly. + +"Well, I wish I knew where the places _were_ to buy things," he replied, +humbly, forlornly. + +"Well, what do you want to buy?" demanded she, still crossly. + +"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 _go_." + +"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 _alone_. _Seven hundred francs_!" + +"I suppose it was too much," he conceded meekly. "I tell you I _will_ +be grateful if you'll just stay by me a little while. I never felt so up +against it in all my life." + +"Now, a very nice thing to take one's wife from Paris," began Virginia +didactically, when they reached the sidewalk, "is lace." + +"L--ace? Um! Y--es, I suppose lace is all right. Still it never struck +me there was anything so very _lively_ looking about lace." + +"'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." + +"Very well," acquiesced he, truly chastened. "Here, let's get in this +cab." + +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. + +"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." + +"U--m. You have to do that here to get--lace?" + +"You have to do that here to get _anything_---at the price you should +get it. You, and people who go shopping the way you do, bring discredit +upon the entire American nation." + +"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." + +"Groan and hold my head," she heard him murmuring as they entered the +shop. + +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. + +"I didn't mean you to act like _that_!" she stormed. + +"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'm_ going to bring +discredit on the American nation! Not a bad scheme--taking out my watch +that way, was it?" + +"Oh, beautiful _scheme_. I presume you notice, however, that we have no +lace." + +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." + +"Sort of as if I was feeble-minded, eh?" + +"Oh, don't _try_ 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." + +"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 _buy_ things--the way you do in +Cincinnati? Can't you get their stuff without making a comic opera out +of it?" + +"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." + +"Fools--eh? I'll show them a thing or two!" + +"Oh, please show them nothing here! Please just--sit." + +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. + +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 _was_ 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. + +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--_S-ay!_--_what_ do you +think of _that?_" + +"That" was in a window across the street. It was an opera cloak. He +walked toward it, Virginia following. "Now _there_," he turned to her, +his large round face all aglow, "is what I want." + +It was yellow; it was long; it was billowy; it was insistently and +recklessly regal. + +"That's the ticket!" he gloated. + +"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 _with_ or one wouldn't--one +couldn't--" + +"Sure! Good idea. We'll just get everything to go with it." + +"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. + +"Can't sidetrack me!" he beamed. "I _want_ it. Very thing I'm after, +Young Lady." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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?" + +"Guess not. Anyway, if it don't look right on her head she may enjoy +having it around to look at." + +Virginia stared out at him. The _oddest_ man! As if a hat were any good +at all if it didn't look right on one's head! + +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 _fait rien_; +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 _naturellement_ it must be +_tout a fait_ perfect. She would send out and get one that would be oh! +so, so, _so_ perfect. It would take half an hour. + +"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, _so_ perfect hat." + +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 _would_ 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--? + +So she agreed. "There's a nice little tea-shop right round the corner. +We girls often go there." + +"Tea? Like tea? All right, then"--and he started manfully on. + +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." + +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. + +Recollecting this, also for the first time remembering the musicale, she +bowed with the _hauteur_ of self-consciousness. + +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. + +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. + +Expansively, and not softly, he discoursed of these things. What did +they think a fellow was to do with his _knees_? Didn't they sell tea +enough to afford any decent chairs? Did all these women pretend to +really _like_ tea? + +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, _petit gateau_, the whole service gave the +fancy of his sitting down to a tea-party given by a little girl for her +dollies. + +But after a time he fell silent, looking around the room. And when he +broke that pause his voice was different. + +"These women here, all dressed so fine, nothing to do but sit around and +eat this folderol, _they_ have it easy--don't they?" + +The bitterness in it, and a faint note of wistfulness, puzzled her. +Certainly _he_ had money. + +"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?" + +She grew more bewildered. Wasn't he "getting it back?" The money he had +been spending that day! + +"Young Lady," he said abruptly, "you must think I'm a queer one." + +She murmured feeble protest. + +"Yes, you must. Must wonder what I want with all this stuff, don't you?" + +"Why, it's for your wife, isn't it?" she asked, startled. + +"Oh yes, but you must wonder. You're a shrewd one, Young Lady; judging +the thing by me, you must wonder." + +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. + +"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 _would_ think I was queer, wouldn't you?" + +She was forced to admit that that would seem rather strange. + +"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." + +She smiled at him warmly; there was something so real about him when he +talked that way. + +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." + +"Oh, it's not that she _has_ to," he answered her look, "but she +_thinks_ 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 _got_ her--those hard, lonely, grinding years _took_ +her. She's"--he shrunk from the terrible word and faltered out--"her +mind's not--" + +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 _could_ not have them +laughing at him--now. + +"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!" + +Unconsciously Virginia's hand went out, following the rush of sympathy +and understanding. "But can't they--restrain her?" she murmured. + +"Makes her worse. Says she's got it to do--frets her to think she's not +getting it done." + +"But isn't there some _way_?" she whispered. "Some way to make her +_know_?" + +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." + +She was silent, the tears too close for words. And she had thought it +cheap ambition!--vulgar aspiration--silly show--vanity! + +"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." + +Still the girl did not speak. Her hand was shading her eyes. + +"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." + +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 _opera cloak_--a _velvet +dress_--_those hats_--_red silk stockings_. + +The mockery of them wrung her heart. Right there in the tea-shop +Virginia was softly crying. + +"Oh, now that's too bad," he expostulated clumsily. "Why, look here, +Young Lady, I didn't mean you to take it so hard." + +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 _too faithful doin' 'em_--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 _out_ of it--and +I _can't reach_ her--oh, it's _rotten!_ I tell you it's _rotten!_ +Sometimes I can just hear my money _laugh_ at me! Sometimes I get to +going round and round in a circle about it till it seems I'm going crazy +myself." + +"I think you are a--a noble man," choked Virginia. + +That disconcerted him. "Oh Lord--don't think that. No, Young Lady, don't +try to make any plaster saint out of _me_. 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 _sore as a boil_!" + +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--" + +"Where do you get 'em?" he demanded promptly. + +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 _robe de nuit_--so +soothingly soft, so caressingly luxurious, it seemed that surely it +might help bring release from the bondage of those crushing years. + +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." + +"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. + +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 _cocher_ had cracked his whip when +he came running after her. "Why, Young Lady," he called out, "we don't +know each other's _names_." + +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 _sick_. 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." + +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. + +"You never can tell," murmured Virginia. "It just goes to show that you +never can tell." + +And whatever it was you never could tell had brought to Virginia's +girlish face the tender knowingness of the face of a woman. + + + + +II + +THE PLEA + + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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: + +"Ayes, 30; Noes, 32." + +The Senator from Johnson had proven too faithful a servant of his +constituents. The boy in the penitentiary was denied his chance. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Mr. President," he said, pulling at his collar and looking straight +ahead, "I rise to move a reconsideration." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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?" + +The Senator from Johnson moved impatiently. "You think it 'fine,'" he +asked, almost resentfully, "to be a coward?" + +"Coward?" cried the other man. "Well, that's scarcely the word. It +was--heroic!" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + + + + +III + +FOR LOVE OF THE HILLS + + +"Sure you're done with it?" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I am from Colorado, too," she said softly, laying a hand upon the bent +shoulders. + +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. + +"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?" + +The girl half turned away, but she pressed the woman's hand tightly in +hers. "I know what you mean," she murmured. + +"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." + +"I know what you mean," said the girl again, unsteadily. + +"And it's the closest I will ever get!" sobbed the woman. + +"Oh, don't say that," protested the girl, brushing away her own tears, +and trying to smile; "you'll go back home some day." + +The woman shook her head. "And if I should," she said, "even if I +should, 'twill be too late." + +"But it couldn't be too late," insisted the girl. "The mountains, you +know, will be there forever." + +"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." + +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." + +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." + +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!" + +"Yes; but why can't you? Why not? You won't go--your eyesight will last +until you get back home, won't it?" + +"But I can't go back home; not now." + +"Why not?" demanded the girl. "Why can't you go home?" + +"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. + +"But what are you going to do in the meantime? It would cost less to get +you home than to keep you here." + +"No, I stay with my nephew here. He's willin' I should stay with him +till I get my money to go home." + +"Yes, but this nephew, can't he get you the money? Doesn't he know," she +insisted, heatedly, "what it means to you?" + +"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. + +"Well, _someone_ 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!" + +"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." + +The girl raised her head. "But you _are_ reasonable. I tell you, you +_are_ reasonable!" + +"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." + +"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?" + +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. + +The girl put her rounded hand over on the thin, withered one. "Tell me +about it," she said again. + +"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. + +"Oh, very often," replied the girl. "I love every inch of that country!" + +A tear stole down the woman's face. "It's most like being home to find +someone that knows about it," she whispered. + +"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." + +The girl nodded. + +"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.'" + +She was crying outright now, and the girl did not try to stop her. + +"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." + +"I know what you mean," said the girl, brokenly. "I know all about it." + +"And you don't think I'm just notional," she asked wistfully, "in pinin' +to get back while--whilst I can look at them?" + +The girl held the old hand tightly in hers with a clasp more responsive +than words. + +"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!" + +"Oh, but you won't," the girl assured her. "You'll remember just how +they look." + +"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!" + +"You must try not to worry about it," murmured the girl. "You'll +remember." + +"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!" + +"You will see them," insisted the girl passionately. "I'm not going to +believe the world can be so hideous as that!" + +"Well, maybe so," said the woman, rising. "But I don't know where 'twill +come from," she added doubtfully. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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." + + * * * * * + +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. + +"Not a cent," said the city editor, his voice gruff with the attempt to +keep it steady. + +"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." + +"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." + +"I'm very thankful to you," she said, as she rose to go. + +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--" + +"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. + +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." + + * * * * * + +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. + + + + +IV + +FRECKLES M'GRATH + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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!" + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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!" + +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. + +"Something broke?" asked an anxious voice. + +Freckles looked around into Mr. Ludlow's face, and he saw that the +eminent lobbyist was nervous. + +"Yes," he said calmly. "It's acting queer. Something's all out of +whack." + +"Well, drop it to the basement and let me out," said Mr. Ludlow sharply. + +"Can't drop it," responded Freckles. "She's stuck." + +Mr. Ludlow came and looked things over, but his knowledge did not extend +to the mechanism of elevators. + +"Better call someone to come and take us out," he said nervously. + +Freckles straightened himself up. A glitter had come into his small grey +eyes, and red spots were burning in his freckled cheeks. + +"I think she'll run now," he said. + +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. + +"Stop it, boy!" he cried in alarm. + +"Can't!" responded Freckles, his voice thick with terror. "Running +away!" he gasped. + +"Will it--fall?" whispered the lobbyist. + +"I--I think so!" blubbered Freckles. + +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. + +"She's falling!" panted Freckles. "Climb!" + +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. + +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! + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"You may take me down to the office of the Governor," said Mr. Ludlow +stonily, meaningly. + +"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." + +Mr. Ludlow's lips drew in tightly. He squared his shoulders, and his +silence was tremendous. + +In just fifteen minutes Freckles was sent for from the executive office. + +"I demand his discharge!" Mr. Ludlow was saying as the elevator boy +entered. + +"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." + +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. + +It was a very innocent looking boy who stood before him and looked +inquiringly into his face. + +"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." + +Freckles looked at Mr. Ludlow in a hurt way, and waited for the Governor +to proceed. + +"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?" + +"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--" + +"You little liar!" broke in Ludlow. + +The Governor held up his hand. "You had your chance. Let him have his." + +"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?" + +"Of course not for money," sneered Mr. Ludlow. + +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." + +"Strange it should have happened this very afternoon," put in the +eminent lobbyist. + +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." + +There was nothing to be said. Mr. Ludlow said nothing. + +"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?" + +"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." + +The Governor put his hand to his mouth and coughed. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"The door was locked," snarled the eminent lobbyist. + +"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." + +Once more the Governor put his hand to his mouth. + +"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." + +When he was almost at the door the Governor called to him. + +"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?" + +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." + +And a third time the Governor's hand was raised to his mouth. + +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." + + + + +V + +FROM A TO Z + + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +In the _other_ 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. + +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. + +"Has Professor Lee explained to you the nature of our work?" he wanted +to know. + +"No," she replied, half grimly, a little humourously, and not far from +tearfully, "he didn't--explain." + +"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." + +"A _dic--?_" but she swallowed the gasp in the laugh coming up to meet +it, and of their union was born a saving cough. + +"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 _not_ 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?" + +"Yes, _wasn't_ it--neat?" she agreed, wildly. + +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 _not_ 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." + +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?" + +She had never heard a voice like that before. Or, _had_ 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. + +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. + +"You can tell me how _not_ to infringe the copyright," she laughed. "I'm +not sure that I know what a copyright is." + +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." + +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 _see_!" 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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?" + +"Oh yes," he replied grimly, "he'll be back." + +"Because," she went on, "if he wasn't, I thought I would take his +shears. These hurt my fingers." + +He made the exchange for her--and after that things went better. + +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. + +"You have been ill?" she asked, with timid solicitude. + +"Oh no," he replied, rather shortly. + +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. + +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 _say_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +"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--" + +His head was resting upon his hand, and he leaned a little closer as +though listening for something he wanted to hear. + +"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--" + +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. + +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. + +That night she lay in her bed with wide open eyes, going over and over +the things they had said. "_Cure?_"--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!" + +She finally turned over on her pillow and sobbed; and she wondered +why--wondered, yet knew. + +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. + +She felt now that she understood better--understood the closed doors. He +was--she could think of no better word than sensitive. + +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. + +"IN-VI-TA-TION, _n._ 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." + +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: + +"AP-PRE-CI-A-TION, _n._ That sentiment inspired in Mr. Webster by the +kind invitation of Miss Noah for Friday evening. + +"RE-GRET, _n._ 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. + +"RE-SENT-MENT, _n._ That which is inspired in Mr. Webster by the +insinuation that there are other Miss Noahs in the world." + +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." + +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. + +It was spring now, and the dictionary staff had begun on W. + +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. + +For it did not break through; it flooded just beneath. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +That is as far as facts can take it. + +And just there--it begins. + +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. + +And so the winter had worn on, and there was really nothing whatever to +tell about it. + +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. + +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. + +It was all very unmaidenly, of course; but maidenly is a word love and +life and desire may crowd from the page. + +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. + +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: + +"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." + +She ate no lunch that day; she only drank a cup of coffee and walked +around. + +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. + +He too was walking about. He had walked down to the lake and was +standing there looking out across it. + +Why not?--he was saying to himself--fiercely, doggedly. Over and over +again--Well, _why_ not? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +He had been city editor of that paper once. Facts, the things he knew +about himself, talked to him then. There was no answer. + +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. + +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. + +She was just leaving. She was in the little cloak room putting on her +things. She was all alone in there. + +He stepped in. He pushed the door shut, and stood there leaning against +it, looking at her, saying nothing. + +"Oh--you are ill?" she gasped, and laid a frightened hand upon him. + +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. + +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. + +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 _could_ do. + +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. + +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. + +Both of them had tried to stay away that last day. But both were in +their usual places. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +And then she heard him go. + +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?--_Gone?_ She was tearing open the envelope of the letter. + +This was what she read: + +"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. + +"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 _care_ 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! + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + +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 _pay_ for her +happiness--_pay_--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! + +It simplified itself to such an extent that she _grew_ very calm. It +would be easy to find him, easy to make him see--for it was so very +simple--and then.... + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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! + +She never questioned her going; were not life and love too great to be +lost through that which could be so easily put right? + +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. + +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.... + +Someone had her by the arm. Then someone was speaking her name; speaking +it in surprise--consternation--alarm. + +It was Harold. + +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. + +"Yes--yes, Edna, everything's all right," he replied soothingly. + +"Everything's all right," she repeated, in a whisper, and leaned her +head back against the cushions. + +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. + +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. + +"Why sure," he replied banteringly; "don't you know we have to go +through the city to get out to the South Side?" + +"Oh, but you see," she cried, holding her throat, "but you see, it's the +_other_ way!" + +"Not to-night," he insisted; "the place for you to-night is home. I'm +taking you where you belong." + +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 _understand!_" she whispered, passionately. "I've _got_ to go!" + +"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. + +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. + +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 _some_ people +strong enough to go where they wanted to go? + + + + +VI + +THE MAN OF FLESH AND BLOOD + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +There came to him these words of a poet of whom he used to be fond: + + 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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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!" + +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: + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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? + +"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.' + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + +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? + +"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 _knew_; and how did he know? Why, because he'd been over the road +himself." + +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. + +It was thus he began, slowly, the telling of his life's story: + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +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." + +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." + +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.'" + +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. + +"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." + +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!" + +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." + +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. + +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." + +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. + + + + +VII + +HOW THE PRINCE SAW AMERICA + + +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. + +"What's the matter with you fellows?" asked the attorney-general, +swinging around in his chair. + +"Strike," declared one of the men, with becoming brevity. + +"Strike of what?" + +"Carpet-Tackers' Union Number One," replied the man, kindly gathering up +a few tacks. + +"Never heard of it." + +"Organised last night," said the carpet-tacker, putting on his coat. + +"Well I'll--" he paused expressively, then inquired: "What's your game?" + +"Well, you see, boss, this executive council that runs the State-house +has refused our demands." + +"What are your demands?" + +"Double pay." + +"Double pay! Now how do you figure it out that you ought to have double +pay?" + +"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." + +"Yes," agreed his auditor, "there is." + +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." + +The Governor's fellow official smiled--he knew the Governor pretty well. +"And he turned you down?" + +The striker nodded. "But there's an election next fall; maybe the +turning down will be turned around." + +"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." + +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." + +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?" + +"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." + +"Oh, he's sure to do that," agreed the attorney-general. + +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." + +"What's the situation?" asked a stranger within the gates. + +"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. + +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. + +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." + +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." + +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!" + +They all laughed, but the Governor's laugh stopped suddenly, and he +looked hard at the young man. + +"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?" + +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!" + +"Leave it to me!"--and he was lost in the crowd. + +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. + +"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?" + +There were loud cries of "No!"--"Well, I should say not!" + +"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?" + +They didn't get it for a minute, and then everybody laughed. + +"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!" + +"But you've got more fellows than anybody else," cried a member of the +Senate. + +"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. + +"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." + +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." + +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." + +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!" + +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." + +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! + +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. + +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." + +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." + +"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. + +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. + +"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." + +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." + +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." + +Senator Bruner beamed. "That's just the point. He's caught my idea +exactly." + +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." + +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. + +"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?" + +"I see," replied the Prince, and he looked as though he really did. + +"You know--say, dodge there! Move back! No--too late. The Governor's +caught us. Look at him!" + +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." + +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." + +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." + + + + +VIII + +THE LAST SIXTY MINUTES + + +"Nine--ten--" The old clock paused as if in dramatic appreciation of +the situation, and then slowly, weightily, it gave the final stroke, +"Eleven!" + +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. + +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. + +His secretary came in just then with some letters. "Could you see +Whitefield now?" he asked. "He's waiting out here for you." + +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." + +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." + +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?" + +He frowned and moved impatiently as he answered, curtly: "Oh, yes." + +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. + +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." + +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? + +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." + +"Indulging in a little meditation?" + +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." + +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 _entree_ to the Governor's office by afternoon." He +laughed, the easy, good-humoured laugh of one too sophisticated to spend +emotion uselessly. + +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." + +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." + +Francis roused himself and murmured: "Fools!--amateurs." + +"Leyman?" ventured the Governor. + +"Leyman and all of his crowd!" + +"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." + +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 _how_. 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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _them_, 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. + +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!" + +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." + +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 _sign the contracts_? + +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? + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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!" + +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!" + +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! + +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. + +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. + +The band was playing the opening strains as he closed the door behind +him and started upstairs. + + + + +IX + +"OUT THERE" + + +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." + +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." + +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. + +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 _see_, +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." + +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. + +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 +_them_ could buy it," he pronounced severely, adding, contemptuously, +"or wanted to." + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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 _thirsty_--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. + +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. + +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." + +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 _goes_ there. It's--oh, Lord"--irritated at getting beyond his +depth--"_I_ don't know!" + +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." + +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 _soul!_" 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. + +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." + +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! + +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!" + +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. + +"Don't you worry," he murmured affectionately to her retreating form, +"it won't never be gone again." + +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. _Her_ 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." + +But the lady made no comment, and stood there holding the picture up +before her. "I will take it," she said, quietly. + +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." + +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. _Forty dollars!_--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 _knew things_--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 _anyway_, suddenly furious at the lady, furious at +himself--"he'd be gol-_darned_ if it wasn't _her_ picture!" + +He walked firmly back to the front of the store. + +"I forgot at first," he said, brusquely, "that this picture belongs to +someone else." + +The lady looked at him in astonishment. "I do not understand," she said. + +"There's nothing to understand," he fairly shouted, "except that it +belongs to someone else!" + +She turned away, but came back to him. "I will give you fifty dollars +for it," she said, in her quiet way. + +"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 _hear_?" + +"I certainly do," replied the lady, and walked from the store. + +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 +_hern_--and anybody that comes along here with any nonsense is just +going to hear from _me_!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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 _proved_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +She pushed her chair back and rose to go. "Are you alone in the world?" +he asked abruptly then, + +"Yes; I--oh yes." + +It was too much for him. "How would you like," he asked recklessly, "to +have me get you transportation out West?" + +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--" + +"You wouldn't want to go?" + +"I mean"--it was but a whisper--"it would be--too wonderful." + +"You would like it then?" + +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. + +"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." + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _into_ 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. + +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. + +On Monday she felt she could wait no longer. It did not seem that it +would be _safe_. 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _was_ it--? And then +she was sinking down into an abyss. + +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." + + + + +X + +THE PREPOSTEROUS MOTIVE + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +"Well, have you anything better to offer?" + +"No, I haven't," replied the Governor, tartly; "but it seems to me you +ought to have." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"Well, to-morrow morning I announce the senatorial appointment." + +"You do, eh?" returned the farmer. + +"Yes, there's no need of waiting any longer, and it's getting on to the +time the State wants two senators in Washington." + +"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?" + +The Governor threw back his head with a scoffing laugh. + +"I guess it didn't require much thought on my part," he answered +carelessly. + +"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?" + +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. + +"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." + +The old farmer was scratching his head. + +"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?" + +"That's the situation--if you want to put it that way." + +"And now you're going to appoint the Governor?" + +"Of course I am; I couldn't do anything else if I wanted to." + +"Why not?" + +"Why, look here, Hiram, haven't you any idea of political obligation? +It's expected of me." + +"Oh, it is, eh? Did you promise to appoint the Governor?" + +"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. + +The farmer turned a troubled face to the fire. + +"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?" + +"Oh, Lord, no, Hiram!" exclaimed the Governor irritably. "I don't think +that at all!" + +Hiram Berriman's brown face warmed to a dull red. + +"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, _why do you appoint him_?" + +"I wish I could make you understand, Hiram," said the Governor in an +injured voice, "that it's not for me to say." + +"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!" + +"Hold on, please--that's a little too strong!" flamed the Governor. + +"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!" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Will you sign these now, Governor?" asked a voice behind him. + +It was his secretary, a man who knew the affairs of the State well, and +whom every one seemed to respect. + +"Mr. Haines," he said abruptly, "who do you think is the best man we +have for the United States Senate?" + +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. + +"Why, I presume," he ventured, "that the Governor is looked upon as the +logical candidate, isn't he?" + +"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." + +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." + +"You think most of the people feel that way?" + +"I know they do." + +"You believe if it were a matter of popular vote, Huntington would be +the new Senator?" + +"There can be no doubt of that, Governor. I think they all have to admit +that. Huntington is the man the people want." + +"That's all, Mr. Haines. I merely wondered what you thought about it." + +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. + +"Good-morning, Governor," he said briskly "how's everything to-day?" + +"All right, Mr. Markham. I have nothing to tell you to-day, except that +I've made the senatorial appointment." + +"Oh," laughed the reporter excitedly, "that's all, is it?" + +"Yes," replied the Governor, smiling too; "that's all!" + +The reporter looked at the clock. "I'll just catch the noon edition," he +said, "if I telephone right away." + +He was moving to the other room when the Governor called to him. + +"See here, it seems to me you're a strange newspaper man!" + +"How so?" + +"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." + +The reporter gave a forced laugh. He wished the Governor would not +detain him with a joke now when every second counted. + +"That's right," he said, with strained pleasantness. "Well, who's the +man?" + +The Governor raised his head. "Huntington," he said quietly, and resumed +his work. + +"What?" gasped the reporter. "What?" + +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?" + +"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?" + +But for the minute the reporter seemed unable to speak. "May I ask," he +fumbled at last, "why you did it?" + +"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. + +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 _too_ 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. + + + + +XI + +HIS AMERICA + + +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. + +But even when the man's footsteps were at last sounding on the stairway, +he still clung to him. + +"Father," he asked, fretfully, "why do you always talk to those +fellows?" + +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." + +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." + +"Nobody--_reads_?" + +"Why, nobody cares anything about the _Leader_. It's dead." + +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. + +The boy had opened the drawer of his study table and was fingering some +papers he had taken out. + +"Sure you know it?" the man asked with affectionate parental anxiety. + +"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. + +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. + +"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. + +It made his father laugh. "Yes, my boy, I should call it decent--and +comfortable." He grew thoughtful after that. + +"Pretty different from the place you had, father?" + +"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." + +"Well, you _got_ there, father!" the boy burst out with feeling. "By +Jove, there aren't many of them _know_ the things you know!" + +"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." + +The boy turned away. Something in the kindly words seemed as the cut of +a whip across his face. + +"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." + +The boy stood up. "Father, I have something to tell you." He said it +shortly and sharply. + +The father stood there, puzzled. + +"You won't like my oration to-night, father." + +And still the man did not speak. The words would not have bothered him +much--it was the boy's manner. + +"In fact, father, you're going to be desperately disappointed in it." + +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--" + +"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." + +"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 _think_?" 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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +"Father," he asked quietly, "are you satisfied with your life?" + +The man simply stared--waiting, seeking his bearings. + +"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?" + +Again he nodded. + +"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?" + +"I don't know what you mean," the man said, searching his son's quiet, +passionate face. "I can't make you out, Fritz." + +"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. + +"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!" + +"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." + +"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, _What's the use?_ Father, I'm telling you that +_I'm_ going to join the other party and make some money!" + +The man just sat there, staring. + +"Well," the boy took it up defiantly, "why not?" + +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." + +"You're not _seeing_ 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 _own +this State_, 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." + +"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?" + +"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 _why?_" + +The old man had risen. "Tell me this," he said. "None of it matters +much, if you just tell me this: You _believe_ these things? You've +thought it all out for yourself--and you _feel_ that way? You're honest, +aren't you, Fritz?" He put that last in a whisper. + +The boy made no reply; after a minute the man sank back to his chair. +The years seemed coming to him with the minutes. + +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. + +"Five," said the man heavily. + +"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, _you_ +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! + +"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. + +"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." + +There was a silence. + +"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." + +Again there was silence. It was the silences that seemed to be saying +the most. + +"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. + +"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!" + +"My _God!_" it wrenched from the man. "_This?_ 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 _this?_" + +"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." + +"I never was sure I was a failure until this hour." + +"Father! Can't you see--" + +"Oh, don't _talk_ 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!" + +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 _of_ 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, _what's the use?_ In this State, anyway, it's hopeless. It has +been so through your lifetime; it will be through mine." + +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. + +"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 _are_ 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." + +"Father! How extravagant! _Why_ 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 _go_." + +He looked at him for a long minute. "My boy," he said, "I fear you are +becoming so American that I am losing you." + +"Father," the boy pleaded, affectionately, "now don't--" + +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 +_using_ it--makes this the hardest thing I've been called upon to meet." + +"Father, don't look like that! How do you think I am going to get up and +speak tonight with _that_ face before me?" + +"You didn't think, did you," the man laughed bitterly, "that I would +inspire you to your effort?" + +The boy stood looking at his father, a strange new fire in his eyes. + +"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?" + +"My boy," answered the old man, and the tears came with it, "I wanted +you to travel the road of an honest man." + +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. + +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 _had_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +"Gamey old brute!" was what one of the reporters said in the elevator. + +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. + +In the morning he went home. He got away without seeing any of his +friends. + +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. _What's the use? +What's the use?_ Was that a phrase one learned in college? + +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. + +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. + +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 _his_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Yes, he had had a good wife. + +Then there was that other thing to tell her--about Fritz. That was +harder. + +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. + +It was much harder; and in the telling of it he broke down. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +As she washed the dishes Martha was thinking that likely Fritz's wife +would have a hired girl. + +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. + +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?" + +Well, what _was_ the use? Perhaps, after all, the boy was right. What +had it all amounted to? What was there left? What had he done? + +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. + +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 _making_--every +man his equal chance. He told of rich land which a man could have for +nothing, which would be _his_, 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! + +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? + +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. + +But there was something which he had always had--that something was +_his_ 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. + +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? + +Twice Martha had called to him, but still he sat, smoking, thinking. +There was much to think about to-night. + +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? + +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?" + +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." + +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. + +"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." + + + + +XII + +THE ANARCHIST: HIS DOG + + +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 _Leader_ 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 _that_ any more. If he does, you know it +isn't so. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _help_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _sake_, little +boy, don't chase him back _here_." + +"Why--why, ain't he yours?" called Stubby. + +"Mercy, _no_. We can't chase him away." + +"Who's is he?" demanded Stubby. + +"Why, he's nobody's! He just hangs around. I wish you'd coax him away." + +Well, that was a _new_ 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 _wanted_ him coaxed away--be his dog. + +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! + +"Oh, little _boy_," called the woman, "why, don't _drown_ him!" + +"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 _brutal_ paper boy! + +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!" + +Stubby snapped his fingers behind his back as much as to say, "Wait a +minute." + +"A woman gave him to me," he said to his mother. + +"_Gave_ him to you?" she scoffed. "I sh' think she would!" + +Then something happened that had not happened many times in Stubby's +short lifetime. He acknowledged his feelings. + +"I'd like to keep him. I'd like to have a dog." + +His mother shook her hands and the flying suds seemed expressing her +scorn. "Huh! _That_ ugly good-for-nothing thing?" + +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." + +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. + +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 _was_ kind of little to be carrying papers +all by himself. + +Stubby looked up. "He could eat what's thrown away." + +That was an error in diplomacy. The woman's face hardened. "Mighty +little'll be thrown away _this_ winter," she muttered. + +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'!" + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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?" + +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. + +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." + +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. + +His father looked up. "Why's he going to be shot? You got any two +dollars and a half to pay for him?" + +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." + +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." + +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?" + +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?" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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." + +His father's chair had been tilted back against a tree. Now it came down +with a thud. "Oh, you _do_, do you?" + +"I can earn the other fifty cents at little jobs." + +"You _can_, can you? Now ain't you smart!" + +The tone brought the blood to Stubby's face. "I think I got a right to," +he said, his voice low. + +The man's face, which had been taunting, grew ugly. "Look a-here, young +man, none o' your lip!" + +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." + +At that his father stared for a minute and then burst into a loud laugh. +Blinded with tears, the boy turned to the house. + +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. + +"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." + +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." + +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." + +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." + +"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. + +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." + +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 +_you_ do?" and then Stubby would stalk out, but possibly a little less +sturdily. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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?" + +It seemed at first it must be a joke--or a dream--anybody asking him if +he _wanted_ one, but the man was beckoning to him, so he pulled himself +together and ran up the steps. + +"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?" + +Stubby nodded. + +As he was going down the steps the man called: "Say, boy, how'd you like +a steady job?" + +For the first minute it seemed pretty mean--making fun of a fellow that +way! + +"This will be here every day. Suppose you come each day, about this +time, and take it over there--not mentioning it to anybody." + +Stubby felt weak. "Why, all right," he managed to say. + +"I'll give you fifty cents a week. That fair?" + +"Yes, sir," said Stubby, doing some quick calculation. + +"Then here goes for the first week"--and he handed him the other forty +cents. + +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, _sir_, when you +had a job you had to 'tend to things! + +Well, a person could do things, if he had to, thought Stubby. No use +saying you couldn't, you _could_, 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. + +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. + +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. + +When it was well into the second week Stubby ventured to say something +about the next fifty cents. + +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. + +"I haven't got the change. Pay you at the end of next week for the whole +business. That all right?" + +Stubby considered. "I've got to have it before the first of August," he +said. + +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. + +It bothered Stubby. He wished the man had given it to him _then_. He +would rather get it each week and keep it himself. A little of the +grown-up look stole back. + +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. + +Stubby was wary. "Oh, I've got a little job I do for Mr. Stuart." + +The man laughed. "I had a little job I did for Mr. Stuart, too. You paid +in advance?" + +Stubby pricked up his ears. + +"'Cause if you ain't, I'd advise you to look out for a little job +some'eres else." + +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! + +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?" + +"'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." + +"I _got_ to have it!" cried Stubby. "I tell you, I _got_ to!" + +The man shook his head. "_That_ 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. + +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." + +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. + +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, _that_ 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. + +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. + +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 _almost_ enough--do they sometimes let you +off?"--the detachment was a shade less perfect on that last. + +His father laughed scoffingly. "Well, I guess _not!_" + +"I thought maybe," said Stubby, "if a person had _tried_ awful hard--and +had _most_ enough--" + +Something inside him was all shaky, so he didn't go on. His father said +that _trying_ didn't have anything to do with it. + +It was hard for Stubby not to sob out that he thought trying _ought_ 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. + +"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--" + +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. + +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?" + +The man turned upon him roughly. "Uh-_huh_! _That's_ it, is it? _That's_ +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 _eat_ this winter. Do you know there's talk of the factory shuttin' +down? _Dog_ tax! Why you're lucky if you git _shoes_." + +Stubby had turned away and was standing with his back to his father, +hands in his pockets. + +"And l'me tell you some'en else, young man. If you got any dollar and +eighty cents, you give it to your mother!" + +As Stubby was turning the corner of the house he called after him: +"How'd you like to have me get you an automobile?" + +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. + +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. + +"Well, what is an anarchist, anyhow?" Stubby's mother wanted to know. + +"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." + +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 _tried_--didn't care whether you had been cheated--didn't care how +you _felt_--didn't care about anything except getting the money! His +brain got hotter. Well, _he_ didn't believe in the government, either. +He was one of those people--those anarchists--that were against the laws +of the land. + +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--_couldn't_ +get--that other seventy cents. + +Stubby's mother didn't hear her son crying that night. That was because +Stubby was successful in holding the pillow over his head. + +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 _care_. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +Suddenly he wanted to rush over and throw himself down at that +policeman's feet--sob out the story--ask him to please, _please_ wait +till he could get that other seventy cents. + +But just then the policeman got up and went in the station, and Stubby +was afraid to go in the police-station. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +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-- + +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. + +Thought I would tell you first. + +Yours truly, + +F. LYNCH. + +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. + +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. + +1113 Willow street. + +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. + +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. + +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!" + +They were getting ready to shoot Hero! That box was the way the police +did it! He must--oh, he _must--must_ ... Boy and dog sank to the +ground--but just the same the boy was shielding the dog! + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +XIII + +AT TWILIGHT + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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--" + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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? + +He sighed, and began gathering together his papers. Thoughts about life +tired him to-day. + +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. + +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. + +"That's all very well; we know, of course, that he doesn't believe, but +what will he do when it comes to _himself?_" + +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. + +"Do? Why, face it, of course. Face it as squarely as he's faced every +other fact of life." + +That was Gretta, and though, mindful of the library mandate for silence, +her tone was low, it was vibrant with a fine scorn. + +"Well," said the first speaker, "I guess he'll have to face it before +very long." + +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. + +"Haven't you noticed, Gretta, how he's losing his grip?" + +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 _laugh!_ + +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. + +"_Noticed_ it? Why it breaks my heart!" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +It was now that the loneliness that blights seemed waiting for him.... +Life _used_ 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 _was_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +That was why he told her. He pointed to the address on the envelope, +saying: "That carries my resignation, Gretta." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +She was not going to deny it! She was not going to pretend! + +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. + +"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?" + +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." + +She brought him a sense of his advantage in experience--his riches. To +be sure, there was that. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +"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!" + +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?" + +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." + +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. + +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. + + +THE END + + + + + + + + +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.txt or 7368.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/3/6/7368/ + +Produced by Suzanne L. 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Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Lifted Masks + Stories + +Author: Susan Glaspell + +Release Date: January, 2005 [EBook #7368] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on April 21, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LIFTED MASKS *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne L. Shell, Charles Franks +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + +LIFTED MASKS + + +STORIES BY + + +SUSAN GLASPELL + +1912 + + + + + +[Dedication] +To +THE MEMORY OF MY FRIEND +JENNIE PRESTON + + + + +CONTENTS + + +I "ONE OF THOSE IMPOSSIBLE AMERICANS" + +II THE PLEA + +III FOR LOVE OF THE HILLS + +IV FRECKLES M'GRATH + +V FROM A TO Z + +VI THE MAN OF FLESH AND BLOOD + +VII HOW THE PRINCE SAW AMERICA + +VIII THE LAST SIXTY MINUTES + +IX "OUT THERE" + +X THE PREPOSTEROUS MOTIVE + +XI HIS AMERICA + +XII THE ANARCHIST: HIS DOG + +XIII AT TWILIGHT + + + + +LIFTED MASKS + + + + +I + +"ONE OF THOSE IMPOSSIBLE AMERICANS" + + +"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 _bien chic_ 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: +"_Mais, n'avez_--" + +"Say, Young Lady," a voice which adequately represented the figure +broke in, "_you_, aren't French, are you?" + +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?" + +"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!" + +"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. + +"Well, Sir--I don't know. I don't think it can be the +clothes,"--judicially surveying her. + +"The clothes," murmured Virginia, "were bought in Paris." + +"Well, you've got _me_. 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." + +"But why--?" + +"Lord--don't begin on _why_. You can say _why_ 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--_why_ 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." + +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. + +"Was it for your wife you were thinking of buying these red +stockings?" she ventured. + +"Sure. What do you think of 'em? Look as if they came from Paris all +right, don't they?" + +"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?" + +"Don't believe she ever had a pair in her life. That's why I thought +it might please her." + +Virginia looked down and away. There were times when dimples made +things hard for one. + +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." + +"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 _dash_ 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." + +"Oh no--no--no!" cried Virginia, her face instantly the colour of +the condemned stockings. Then, standing straight: "Certainly +_not_." + +"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." + +The clerk was bending forward holding up the stockings alluringly. +"_Pour mademoiselle, n'est-ce-pas_?" + +"_Mais--non!_" pronounced Virginia, with emphasis. + +There followed an untranslatable gesture. "How droll!" shoulder and +outstretched hands were saying. "If the kind gentleman _wishes_ +to give mademoiselle the _joli bas_--!" + +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." + +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--" + +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--? + +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 _petite Americaine_ was not too--oh, not _too_--" those +French eyebrows were saying. + +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. + +"I loathe them when their eyebrows go up," she fumed. "Now +_his_ weren't going up--not even in his mind." + +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 _business_ to be let loose in a store all by himself." + +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 _work_ us!" she stormed. "They think we're +_easy_. I suppose they think he's a _fool_. I just wish +they could get him in a business deal! I just wish--!" + +"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--" + +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 _thing_," she murmured, almost +tenderly, "he doesn't know what to do. He just _does_ 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? + +"For seven hundred francs," she heard the suave voice saying. + +_Seven hundred francs_! 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. + +"Seven hundred francs for _that_?" 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!" + +"Gee, but I'm grateful to you!" he breathed, again wiping his brow. +"You know, I was a little leery of it myself." + +The manager, quivering with rage and glaring uglily, stepped up to +Virginia. "May I ask--?" + +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 +_mine_--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. + +"This was no place to buy dresses," said she crossly. + +"Well, I wish I knew where the places _were_ to buy things," he +replied, humbly, forlornly. + +"Well, what do you want to buy?" demanded she, still crossly. + +"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 +_go_." + +"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 _alone_. _Seven hundred francs_!" + +"I suppose it was too much," he conceded meekly. "I tell you I +_will_ be grateful if you'll just stay by me a little while. I +never felt so up against it in all my life." + +"Now, a very nice thing to take one's wife from Paris," began +Virginia didactically, when they reached the sidewalk, "is lace." + +"L--ace? Um! Y--es, I suppose lace is all right. Still it never +struck me there was anything so very _lively_ looking about +lace." + +"'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." + +"Very well," acquiesced he, truly chastened. "Here, let's get in +this cab." + +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. + +"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." + +"U--m. You have to do that here to get--lace?" + +"You have to do that here to get _anything_---at the price you +should get it. You, and people who go shopping the way you do, bring +discredit upon the entire American nation." + +"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." + +"Groan and hold my head," she heard him murmuring as they entered +the shop. + +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. + +"I didn't mean you to act like _that_!" she stormed. + +"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'm_ going +to bring discredit on the American nation! Not a bad scheme--taking +out my watch that way, was it?" + +"Oh, beautiful _scheme_. I presume you notice, however, that we +have no lace." + +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." + +"Sort of as if I was feeble-minded, eh?" + +"Oh, don't _try_ 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." + +"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 _buy_ things--the way you +do in Cincinnati? Can't you get their stuff without making a comic +opera out of it?" + +"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." + +"Fools--eh? I'll show them a thing or two!" + +"Oh, please show them nothing here! Please just--sit." + +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. + +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 _was_ 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. + +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--_S-ay!_--_what_ do you think of +_that?_" + +"That" was in a window across the street. It was an opera cloak. He +walked toward it, Virginia following. "Now _there_," he turned +to her, his large round face all aglow, "is what I want." + +It was yellow; it was long; it was billowy; it was insistently and +recklessly regal. + +"That's the ticket!" he gloated. + +"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 _with_ or +one wouldn't--one couldn't--" + +"Sure! Good idea. We'll just get everything to go with it." + +"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. + +"Can't sidetrack me!" he beamed. "I _want_ it. Very thing I'm +after, Young Lady." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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?" + +"Guess not. Anyway, if it don't look right on her head she may enjoy +having it around to look at." + +Virginia stared out at him. The _oddest_ man! As if a hat were +any good at all if it didn't look right on one's head! + +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 _fait rien_; 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 _naturellement_ it must be _tout a fait_ perfect. She would +send out and get one that would be oh! so, so, _so_ perfect. It +would take half an hour. + +"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, _so_ perfect hat." + +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 +_would_ 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--? + +So she agreed. "There's a nice little tea-shop right round the +corner. We girls often go there." + +"Tea? Like tea? All right, then"--and he started manfully on. + +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." + +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. + +Recollecting this, also for the first time remembering the musicale, +she bowed with the _hauteur_ of self-consciousness. + +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. + +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. + +Expansively, and not softly, he discoursed of these things. What did +they think a fellow was to do with his _knees_? Didn't they +sell tea enough to afford any decent chairs? Did all these women +pretend to really _like_ tea? + +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, _petit gateau_, the whole service +gave the fancy of his sitting down to a tea-party given by a little +girl for her dollies. + +But after a time he fell silent, looking around the room. And when +he broke that pause his voice was different. + +"These women here, all dressed so fine, nothing to do but sit around +and eat this folderol, _they_ have it easy--don't they?" + +The bitterness in it, and a faint note of wistfulness, puzzled her. +Certainly _he_ had money. + +"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?" + +She grew more bewildered. Wasn't he "getting it back?" The money he +had been spending that day! + +"Young Lady," he said abruptly, "you must think I'm a queer one." + +She murmured feeble protest. + +"Yes, you must. Must wonder what I want with all this stuff, don't +you?" + +"Why, it's for your wife, isn't it?" she asked, startled. + +"Oh yes, but you must wonder. You're a shrewd one, Young Lady; +judging the thing by me, you must wonder." + +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. + +"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 _would_ think I was queer, wouldn't you?" + +She was forced to admit that that would seem rather strange. + +"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." + +She smiled at him warmly; there was something so real about him when +he talked that way. + +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." + +"Oh, it's not that she _has_ to," he answered her look, "but +she _thinks_ 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 _got_ her--those +hard, lonely, grinding years _took_ her. She's"--he shrunk from the +terrible word and faltered out--"her mind's not--" + +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 _could_ +not have them laughing at him--now. + +"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!" + +Unconsciously Virginia's hand went out, following the rush of +sympathy and understanding. "But can't they--restrain her?" she +murmured. + +"Makes her worse. Says she's got it to do--frets her to think she's +not getting it done." + +"But isn't there some _way_?" she whispered. "Some way to make +her _know_?" + +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." + +She was silent, the tears too close for words. And she had thought +it cheap ambition!--vulgar aspiration--silly show--vanity! + +"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." + +Still the girl did not speak. Her hand was shading her eyes. + +"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." + +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 _opera cloak_--a +_velvet dress_--_those hats_--_red silk stockings_. + +The mockery of them wrung her heart. Right there in the tea-shop +Virginia was softly crying. + +"Oh, now that's too bad," he expostulated clumsily. "Why, look here, +Young Lady, I didn't mean you to take it so hard." + +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 _too faithful doin' 'em_--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 _out_ of it--and I _can't reach_ her--oh, it's _rotten!_ I +tell you it's _rotten!_ Sometimes I can just hear my money _laugh_ +at me! Sometimes I get to going round and round in a circle about it +till it seems I'm going crazy myself." + +"I think you are a--a noble man," choked Virginia. + +That disconcerted him. "Oh Lord--don't think that. No, Young Lady, +don't try to make any plaster saint out of _me_. 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 _sore as a +boil_!" + +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--" + +"Where do you get 'em?" he demanded promptly. + +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 _robe de +nuit_--so soothingly soft, so caressingly luxurious, it seemed +that surely it might help bring release from the bondage of those +crushing years. + +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." + +"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. + +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 _cocher_ had cracked his whip +when he came running after her. "Why, Young Lady," he called out, +"we don't know each other's _names_." + +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 _sick_. 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." + +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. + +"You never can tell," murmured Virginia. "It just goes to show that +you never can tell." + +And whatever it was you never could tell had brought to Virginia's +girlish face the tender knowingness of the face of a woman. + + + + +II + +THE PLEA + + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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: + +"Ayes, 30; Noes, 32." + +The Senator from Johnson had proven too faithful a servant of his +constituents. The boy in the penitentiary was denied his chance. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Mr. President," he said, pulling at his collar and looking straight +ahead, "I rise to move a reconsideration." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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?" + +The Senator from Johnson moved impatiently. "You think it 'fine,'" +he asked, almost resentfully, "to be a coward?" + +"Coward?" cried the other man. "Well, that's scarcely the word. It +was--heroic!" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + + + + +III + +FOR LOVE OF THE HILLS + + +"Sure you're done with it?" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I am from Colorado, too," she said softly, laying a hand upon the +bent shoulders. + +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. + +"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?" + +The girl half turned away, but she pressed the woman's hand tightly +in hers. "I know what you mean," she murmured. + +"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." + +"I know what you mean," said the girl again, unsteadily. + +"And it's the closest I will ever get!" sobbed the woman. + +"Oh, don't say that," protested the girl, brushing away her own +tears, and trying to smile; "you'll go back home some day." + +The woman shook her head. "And if I should," she said, "even if I +should, 'twill be too late." + +"But it couldn't be too late," insisted the girl. "The mountains, +you know, will be there forever." + +"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." + +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." + +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." + +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!" + +"Yes; but why can't you? Why not? You won't go--your eyesight will +last until you get back home, won't it?" + +"But I can't go back home; not now." + +"Why not?" demanded the girl. "Why can't you go home?" + +"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. + +"But what are you going to do in the meantime? It would cost less to +get you home than to keep you here." + +"No, I stay with my nephew here. He's willin' I should stay with him +till I get my money to go home." + +"Yes, but this nephew, can't he get you the money? Doesn't he know," +she insisted, heatedly, "what it means to you?" + +"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. + +"Well, _someone_ 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!" + +"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." + +The girl raised her head. "But you _are_ reasonable. I tell +you, you _are_ reasonable!" + +"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." + +"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?" + +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. + +The girl put her rounded hand over on the thin, withered one. "Tell +me about it," she said again. + +"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. + +"Oh, very often," replied the girl. "I love every inch of that +country!" + +A tear stole down the woman's face. "It's most like being home to +find someone that knows about it," she whispered. + +"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." + +The girl nodded. + +"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.'" + +She was crying outright now, and the girl did not try to stop her. + +"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." + +"I know what you mean," said the girl, brokenly. "I know all about +it." + +"And you don't think I'm just notional," she asked wistfully, "in +pinin' to get back while--whilst I can look at them?" + +The girl held the old hand tightly in hers with a clasp more +responsive than words. + +"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!" + +"Oh, but you won't," the girl assured her. "You'll remember just how +they look." + +"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!" + +"You must try not to worry about it," murmured the girl. "You'll +remember." + +"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!" + +"You will see them," insisted the girl passionately. "I'm not going +to believe the world can be so hideous as that!" + +"Well, maybe so," said the woman, rising. "But I don't know where +'twill come from," she added doubtfully. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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." + + * * * * * + +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. + +"Not a cent," said the city editor, his voice gruff with the attempt +to keep it steady. + +"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." + +"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." + +"I'm very thankful to you," she said, as she rose to go. + +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--" + +"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. + +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." + + * * * * * + +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. + + + + +IV + +FRECKLES M'GRATH + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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!" + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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!" + +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. + +"Something broke?" asked an anxious voice. + +Freckles looked around into Mr. Ludlow's face, and he saw that the +eminent lobbyist was nervous. + +"Yes," he said calmly. "It's acting queer. Something's all out of +whack." + +"Well, drop it to the basement and let me out," said Mr. Ludlow +sharply. + +"Can't drop it," responded Freckles. "She's stuck." + +Mr. Ludlow came and looked things over, but his knowledge did not +extend to the mechanism of elevators. + +"Better call someone to come and take us out," he said nervously. + +Freckles straightened himself up. A glitter had come into his small +grey eyes, and red spots were burning in his freckled cheeks. + +"I think she'll run now," he said. + +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. + +"Stop it, boy!" he cried in alarm. + +"Can't!" responded Freckles, his voice thick with terror. "Running +away!" he gasped. + +"Will it--fall?" whispered the lobbyist. + +"I--I think so!" blubbered Freckles. + +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. + +"She's falling!" panted Freckles. "Climb!" + +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. + +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! + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"You may take me down to the office of the Governor," said Mr. +Ludlow stonily, meaningly. + +"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." + +Mr. Ludlow's lips drew in tightly. He squared his shoulders, and his +silence was tremendous. + +In just fifteen minutes Freckles was sent for from the executive +office. + +"I demand his discharge!" Mr. Ludlow was saying as the elevator boy +entered. + +"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." + +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. + +It was a very innocent looking boy who stood before him and looked +inquiringly into his face. + +"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." + +Freckles looked at Mr. Ludlow in a hurt way, and waited for the +Governor to proceed. + +"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?" + +"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--" + +"You little liar!" broke in Ludlow. + +The Governor held up his hand. "You had your chance. Let him have +his." + +"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?" + +"Of course not for money," sneered Mr. Ludlow. + +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." + +"Strange it should have happened this very afternoon," put in the +eminent lobbyist. + +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." + +There was nothing to be said. Mr. Ludlow said nothing. + +"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?" + +"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." + +The Governor put his hand to his mouth and coughed. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"The door was locked," snarled the eminent lobbyist. + +"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." + +Once more the Governor put his hand to his mouth. + +"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." + +When he was almost at the door the Governor called to him. + +"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?" + +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." + +And a third time the Governor's hand was raised to his mouth. + +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." + + + + +V + +FROM A TO Z + + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +In the _other_ 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. + +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. + +"Has Professor Lee explained to you the nature of our work?" he +wanted to know. + +"No," she replied, half grimly, a little humourously, and not far +from tearfully, "he didn't--explain." + +"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." + +"A _dic--?_" but she swallowed the gasp in the laugh coming up +to meet it, and of their union was born a saving cough. + +"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 _not_ 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?" + +"Yes, _wasn't_ it--neat?" she agreed, wildly. + +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 _not_ 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." + +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?" + +She had never heard a voice like that before. Or, _had_ 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. + +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. + +"You can tell me how _not_ to infringe the copyright," she +laughed. "I'm not sure that I know what a copyright is." + +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." + +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 _see_!" 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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?" + +"Oh yes," he replied grimly, "he'll be back." + +"Because," she went on, "if he wasn't, I thought I would take his +shears. These hurt my fingers." + +He made the exchange for her--and after that things went better. + +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. + +"You have been ill?" she asked, with timid solicitude. + +"Oh no," he replied, rather shortly. + +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. + +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 _say_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +"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--" + +His head was resting upon his hand, and he leaned a little closer as +though listening for something he wanted to hear. + +"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--" + +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. + +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. + +That night she lay in her bed with wide open eyes, going over and +over the things they had said. "_Cure?_"--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!" + +She finally turned over on her pillow and sobbed; and she wondered +why--wondered, yet knew. + +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. + +She felt now that she understood better--understood the closed +doors. He was--she could think of no better word than sensitive. + +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. + +"IN-VI-TA-TION, _n._ 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." + +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: + +"AP-PRE-CI-A-TION, _n._ That sentiment inspired in Mr. Webster +by the kind invitation of Miss Noah for Friday evening. + +"RE-GRET, _n._ 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. + +"RE-SENT-MENT, _n._ That which is inspired in Mr. Webster by +the insinuation that there are other Miss Noahs in the world." + +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." + +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. + +It was spring now, and the dictionary staff had begun on W. + +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. + +For it did not break through; it flooded just beneath. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +That is as far as facts can take it. + +And just there--it begins. + +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. + +And so the winter had worn on, and there was really nothing whatever +to tell about it. + +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. + +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. + +It was all very unmaidenly, of course; but maidenly is a word love +and life and desire may crowd from the page. + +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. + +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: + +"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." + +She ate no lunch that day; she only drank a cup of coffee and walked +around. + +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. + +He too was walking about. He had walked down to the lake and was +standing there looking out across it. + +Why not?--he was saying to himself--fiercely, doggedly. Over and +over again--Well, _why_ not? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +He had been city editor of that paper once. Facts, the things he +knew about himself, talked to him then. There was no answer. + +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. + +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. + +She was just leaving. She was in the little cloak room putting on +her things. She was all alone in there. + +He stepped in. He pushed the door shut, and stood there leaning +against it, looking at her, saying nothing. + +"Oh--you are ill?" she gasped, and laid a frightened hand upon him. + +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. + +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. + +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 _could_ +do. + +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. + +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. + +Both of them had tried to stay away that last day. But both were in +their usual places. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +And then she heard him go. + +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?--_Gone?_ She was tearing open the envelope of the +letter. + +This was what she read: + +"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. + +"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 _care_ 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! + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + +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 _pay_ for her happiness--_pay_--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! + +It simplified itself to such an extent that she _grew_ very +calm. It would be easy to find him, easy to make him see--for it was +so very simple--and then.... + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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! + +She never questioned her going; were not life and love too great to +be lost through that which could be so easily put right? + +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. + +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.... + +Someone had her by the arm. Then someone was speaking her name; +speaking it in surprise--consternation--alarm. + +It was Harold. + +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. + +"Yes--yes, Edna, everything's all right," he replied soothingly. + +"Everything's all right," she repeated, in a whisper, and leaned her +head back against the cushions. + +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. + +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. + +"Why sure," he replied banteringly; "don't you know we have to go +through the city to get out to the South Side?" + +"Oh, but you see," she cried, holding her throat, "but you see, it's +the _other_ way!" + +"Not to-night," he insisted; "the place for you to-night is home. +I'm taking you where you belong." + +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 _understand!_" she whispered, passionately. "I've +_got_ to go!" + +"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. + +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. + +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 _some_ people strong enough to go +where they wanted to go? + + + + +VI + +THE MAN OF FLESH AND BLOOD + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +There came to him these words of a poet of whom he used to be fond: + + 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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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!" + +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: + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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? + +"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.' + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + +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? + +"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 _knew_; and how did he know? Why, because he'd been +over the road himself." + +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. + +It was thus he began, slowly, the telling of his life's story: + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +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." + +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." + +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.'" + +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. + +"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." + +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!" + +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." + +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. + +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." + +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. + + + + +VII + +HOW THE PRINCE SAW AMERICA + + +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. + +"What's the matter with you fellows?" asked the attorney-general, +swinging around in his chair. + +"Strike," declared one of the men, with becoming brevity. + +"Strike of what?" + +"Carpet-Tackers' Union Number One," replied the man, kindly +gathering up a few tacks. + +"Never heard of it." + +"Organised last night," said the carpet-tacker, putting on his coat. + +"Well I'll--" he paused expressively, then inquired: "What's your +game?" + +"Well, you see, boss, this executive council that runs the +State-house has refused our demands." + +"What are your demands?" + +"Double pay." + +"Double pay! Now how do you figure it out that you ought to have +double pay?" + +"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." + +"Yes," agreed his auditor, "there is." + +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." + +The Governor's fellow official smiled--he knew the Governor pretty +well. "And he turned you down?" + +The striker nodded. "But there's an election next fall; maybe the +turning down will be turned around." + +"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." + +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." + +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?" + +"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." + +"Oh, he's sure to do that," agreed the attorney-general. + +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." + +"What's the situation?" asked a stranger within the gates. + +"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. + +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. + +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." + +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." + +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!" + +They all laughed, but the Governor's laugh stopped suddenly, and he +looked hard at the young man. + +"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?" + +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!" + +"Leave it to me!"--and he was lost in the crowd. + +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. + +"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?" + +There were loud cries of "No!"--"Well, I should say not!" + +"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?" + +They didn't get it for a minute, and then everybody laughed. + +"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!" + +"But you've got more fellows than anybody else," cried a member of +the Senate. + +"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. + +"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." + +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." + +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." + +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!" + +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." + +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! + +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. + +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." + +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." + +"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. + +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. + +"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." + +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." + +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." + +Senator Bruner beamed. "That's just the point. He's caught my idea +exactly." + +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." + +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. + +"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?" + +"I see," replied the Prince, and he looked as though he really did. + +"You know--say, dodge there! Move back! No--too late. The Governor's +caught us. Look at him!" + +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." + +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." + +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." + + + + +VIII + +THE LAST SIXTY MINUTES + + +"Nine--ten--" The old clock paused as if in dramatic appreciation of +the situation, and then slowly, weightily, it gave the final stroke, +"Eleven!" + +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. + +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. + +His secretary came in just then with some letters. "Could you see +Whitefield now?" he asked. "He's waiting out here for you." + +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." + +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." + +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?" + +He frowned and moved impatiently as he answered, curtly: "Oh, yes." + +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. + +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." + +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? + +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." + +"Indulging in a little meditation?" + +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." + +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 _entree_ to the Governor's office by afternoon." +He laughed, the easy, good-humoured laugh of one too sophisticated +to spend emotion uselessly. + +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." + +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." + +Francis roused himself and murmured: "Fools!--amateurs." + +"Leyman?" ventured the Governor. + +"Leyman and all of his crowd!" + +"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." + +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 _how_. 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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _them_, 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. + +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!" + +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." + +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 _sign the contracts_? + +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? + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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!" + +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!" + +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! + +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. + +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. + +The band was playing the opening strains as he closed the door +behind him and started upstairs. + + + + +IX + +"OUT THERE" + + +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." + +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." + +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. + +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 _see_, 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." + +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. + +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 _them_ could buy it," he pronounced +severely, adding, contemptuously, "or wanted to." + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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 +_thirsty_--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. + +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. + +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." + +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 _goes_ there. It's--oh, +Lord"--irritated at getting beyond his depth--"_I_ don't know!" + +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." + +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 _soul!_" 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. + +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." + +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! + +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!" + +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. + +"Don't you worry," he murmured affectionately to her retreating +form, "it won't never be gone again." + +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. _Her_ 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." + +But the lady made no comment, and stood there holding the picture up +before her. "I will take it," she said, quietly. + +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." + +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. _Forty +dollars!_--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 _knew things_--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 _anyway_, suddenly furious at the +lady, furious at himself--"he'd be gol-_darned_ if it wasn't +_her_ picture!" + +He walked firmly back to the front of the store. + +"I forgot at first," he said, brusquely, "that this picture belongs +to someone else." + +The lady looked at him in astonishment. "I do not understand," she +said. + +"There's nothing to understand," he fairly shouted, "except that it +belongs to someone else!" + +She turned away, but came back to him. "I will give you fifty +dollars for it," she said, in her quiet way. + +"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 _hear_?" + +"I certainly do," replied the lady, and walked from the store. + +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 _hern_--and anybody that comes along here with any +nonsense is just going to hear from _me_!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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 _proved_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +She pushed her chair back and rose to go. "Are you alone in the +world?" he asked abruptly then, + +"Yes; I--oh yes." + +It was too much for him. "How would you like," he asked recklessly, +"to have me get you transportation out West?" + +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--" + +"You wouldn't want to go?" + +"I mean"--it was but a whisper--"it would be--too wonderful." + +"You would like it then?" + +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. + +"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." + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _into_ 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. + +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. + +On Monday she felt she could wait no longer. It did not seem that it +would be _safe_. 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _was_ it--? And then she was sinking down into an abyss. + +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." + + + + +X + +THE PREPOSTEROUS MOTIVE + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +"Well, have you anything better to offer?" + +"No, I haven't," replied the Governor, tartly; "but it seems to me +you ought to have." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"Well, to-morrow morning I announce the senatorial appointment." + +"You do, eh?" returned the farmer. + +"Yes, there's no need of waiting any longer, and it's getting on to +the time the State wants two senators in Washington." + +"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?" + +The Governor threw back his head with a scoffing laugh. + +"I guess it didn't require much thought on my part," he answered +carelessly. + +"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?" + +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. + +"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." + +The old farmer was scratching his head. + +"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?" + +"That's the situation--if you want to put it that way." + +"And now you're going to appoint the Governor?" + +"Of course I am; I couldn't do anything else if I wanted to." + +"Why not?" + +"Why, look here, Hiram, haven't you any idea of political +obligation? It's expected of me." + +"Oh, it is, eh? Did you promise to appoint the Governor?" + +"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. + +The farmer turned a troubled face to the fire. + +"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?" + +"Oh, Lord, no, Hiram!" exclaimed the Governor irritably. "I don't +think that at all!" + +Hiram Berriman's brown face warmed to a dull red. + +"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, _why do you appoint +him_?" + +"I wish I could make you understand, Hiram," said the Governor in an +injured voice, "that it's not for me to say." + +"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!" + +"Hold on, please--that's a little too strong!" flamed the Governor. + +"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!" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Will you sign these now, Governor?" asked a voice behind him. + +It was his secretary, a man who knew the affairs of the State well, +and whom every one seemed to respect. + +"Mr. Haines," he said abruptly, "who do you think is the best man we +have for the United States Senate?" + +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. + +"Why, I presume," he ventured, "that the Governor is looked upon as +the logical candidate, isn't he?" + +"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." + +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." + +"You think most of the people feel that way?" + +"I know they do." + +"You believe if it were a matter of popular vote, Huntington would +be the new Senator?" + +"There can be no doubt of that, Governor. I think they all have to +admit that. Huntington is the man the people want." + +"That's all, Mr. Haines. I merely wondered what you thought about +it." + +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. + +"Good-morning, Governor," he said briskly "how's everything to-day?" + +"All right, Mr. Markham. I have nothing to tell you to-day, except +that I've made the senatorial appointment." + +"Oh," laughed the reporter excitedly, "that's all, is it?" + +"Yes," replied the Governor, smiling too; "that's all!" + +The reporter looked at the clock. "I'll just catch the noon +edition," he said, "if I telephone right away." + +He was moving to the other room when the Governor called to him. + +"See here, it seems to me you're a strange newspaper man!" + +"How so?" + +"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." + +The reporter gave a forced laugh. He wished the Governor would not +detain him with a joke now when every second counted. + +"That's right," he said, with strained pleasantness. "Well, who's +the man?" + +The Governor raised his head. "Huntington," he said quietly, and +resumed his work. + +"What?" gasped the reporter. "What?" + +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?" + +"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?" + +But for the minute the reporter seemed unable to speak. "May I ask," +he fumbled at last, "why you did it?" + +"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. + +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 _too_ 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. + + + + +XI + +HIS AMERICA + + +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. + +But even when the man's footsteps were at last sounding on the +stairway, he still clung to him. + +"Father," he asked, fretfully, "why do you always talk to those +fellows?" + +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." + +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." + +"Nobody--_reads_?" + +"Why, nobody cares anything about the _Leader_. It's dead." + +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. + +The boy had opened the drawer of his study table and was fingering +some papers he had taken out. + +"Sure you know it?" the man asked with affectionate parental +anxiety. + +"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. + +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. + +"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. + +It made his father laugh. "Yes, my boy, I should call it decent--and +comfortable." He grew thoughtful after that. + +"Pretty different from the place you had, father?" + +"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." + +"Well, you _got_ there, father!" the boy burst out with +feeling. "By Jove, there aren't many of them _know_ the things +you know!" + +"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." + +The boy turned away. Something in the kindly words seemed as the cut +of a whip across his face. + +"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." + +The boy stood up. "Father, I have something to tell you." He said it +shortly and sharply. + +The father stood there, puzzled. + +"You won't like my oration to-night, father." + +And still the man did not speak. The words would not have bothered +him much--it was the boy's manner. + +"In fact, father, you're going to be desperately disappointed in +it." + +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--" + +"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." + +"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 _think_?" +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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +"Father," he asked quietly, "are you satisfied with your life?" + +The man simply stared--waiting, seeking his bearings. + +"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?" + +Again he nodded. + +"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?" + +"I don't know what you mean," the man said, searching his son's +quiet, passionate face. "I can't make you out, Fritz." + +"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. + +"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!" + +"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." + +"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, _What's the use?_ Father, +I'm telling you that _I'm_ going to join the other party and +make some money!" + +The man just sat there, staring. + +"Well," the boy took it up defiantly, "why not?" + +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." + +"You're not _seeing_ 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 _own this State_, 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." + +"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?" + +"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 _why?_" + +The old man had risen. "Tell me this," he said. "None of it matters +much, if you just tell me this: You _believe_ these things? +You've thought it all out for yourself--and you _feel_ that +way? You're honest, aren't you, Fritz?" He put that last in a +whisper. + +The boy made no reply; after a minute the man sank back to his +chair. The years seemed coming to him with the minutes. + +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. + +"Five," said the man heavily. + +"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, _you_ 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! + +"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. + +"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." + +There was a silence. + +"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." + +Again there was silence. It was the silences that seemed to be +saying the most. + +"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. + +"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!" + +"My _God!_" it wrenched from the man. "_This?_ 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 +_this?_" + +"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." + +"I never was sure I was a failure until this hour." + +"Father! Can't you see--" + +"Oh, don't _talk_ 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!" + +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 +_of_ 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, _what's +the use?_ In this State, anyway, it's hopeless. It has been so +through your lifetime; it will be through mine." + +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. + +"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 _are_ 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." + +"Father! How extravagant! _Why_ 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 +_go_." + +He looked at him for a long minute. "My boy," he said, "I fear you +are becoming so American that I am losing you." + +"Father," the boy pleaded, affectionately, "now don't--" + +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 _using_ it--makes +this the hardest thing I've been called upon to meet." + +"Father, don't look like that! How do you think I am going to get up +and speak tonight with _that_ face before me?" + +"You didn't think, did you," the man laughed bitterly, "that I would +inspire you to your effort?" + +The boy stood looking at his father, a strange new fire in his eyes. + +"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?" + +"My boy," answered the old man, and the tears came with it, "I +wanted you to travel the road of an honest man." + +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. + +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 _had_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +"Gamey old brute!" was what one of the reporters said in the +elevator. + +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. + +In the morning he went home. He got away without seeing any of his +friends. + +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. _What's the use? What's the use?_ Was that a phrase +one learned in college? + +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. + +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. + +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 _his_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Yes, he had had a good wife. + +Then there was that other thing to tell her--about Fritz. That was +harder. + +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. + +It was much harder; and in the telling of it he broke down. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +As she washed the dishes Martha was thinking that likely Fritz's +wife would have a hired girl. + +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. + +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?" + +Well, what _was_ the use? Perhaps, after all, the boy was +right. What had it all amounted to? What was there left? What had he +done? + +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. + +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 _making_--every man his equal chance. +He told of rich land which a man could have for nothing, which would +be _his_, 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! + +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? + +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. + +But there was something which he had always had--that something was +_his_ 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. + +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? + +Twice Martha had called to him, but still he sat, smoking, thinking. +There was much to think about to-night. + +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? + +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?" + +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." + +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. + +"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." + + + + +XII + +THE ANARCHIST: HIS DOG + + +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 _Leader_ 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 _that_ any more. If he does, you know it isn't so. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _help_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 +_sake_, little boy, don't chase him back _here_." + +"Why--why, ain't he yours?" called Stubby. + +"Mercy, _no_. We can't chase him away." + +"Who's is he?" demanded Stubby. + +"Why, he's nobody's! He just hangs around. I wish you'd coax him +away." + +Well, that was a _new_ 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 _wanted_ him coaxed away--be his dog. + +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! + +"Oh, little _boy_," called the woman, "why, don't _drown_ +him!" + +"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 +_brutal_ paper boy! + +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!" + +Stubby snapped his fingers behind his back as much as to say, "Wait +a minute." + +"A woman gave him to me," he said to his mother. + +"_Gave_ him to you?" she scoffed. "I sh' think she would!" + +Then something happened that had not happened many times in Stubby's +short lifetime. He acknowledged his feelings. + +"I'd like to keep him. I'd like to have a dog." + +His mother shook her hands and the flying suds seemed expressing her +scorn. "Huh! _That_ ugly good-for-nothing thing?" + +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." + +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. + +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 _was_ +kind of little to be carrying papers all by himself. + +Stubby looked up. "He could eat what's thrown away." + +That was an error in diplomacy. The woman's face hardened. "Mighty +little'll be thrown away _this_ winter," she muttered. + +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'!" + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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?" + +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. + +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." + +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. + +His father looked up. "Why's he going to be shot? You got any two +dollars and a half to pay for him?" + +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." + +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." + +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?" + +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?" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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." + +His father's chair had been tilted back against a tree. Now it came +down with a thud. "Oh, you _do_, do you?" + +"I can earn the other fifty cents at little jobs." + +"You _can_, can you? Now ain't you smart!" + +The tone brought the blood to Stubby's face. "I think I got a right +to," he said, his voice low. + +The man's face, which had been taunting, grew ugly. "Look a-here, +young man, none o' your lip!" + +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." + +At that his father stared for a minute and then burst into a loud +laugh. Blinded with tears, the boy turned to the house. + +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. + +"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." + +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." + +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." + +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." + +"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. + +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." + +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 _you_ do?" and then Stubby would stalk +out, but possibly a little less sturdily. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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?" + +It seemed at first it must be a joke--or a dream--anybody asking him +if he _wanted_ one, but the man was beckoning to him, so he +pulled himself together and ran up the steps. + +"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?" + +Stubby nodded. + +As he was going down the steps the man called: "Say, boy, how'd you +like a steady job?" + +For the first minute it seemed pretty mean--making fun of a fellow +that way! + +"This will be here every day. Suppose you come each day, about this +time, and take it over there--not mentioning it to anybody." + +Stubby felt weak. "Why, all right," he managed to say. + +"I'll give you fifty cents a week. That fair?" + +"Yes, sir," said Stubby, doing some quick calculation. + +"Then here goes for the first week"--and he handed him the other +forty cents. + +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, +_sir_, when you had a job you had to 'tend to things! + +Well, a person could do things, if he had to, thought Stubby. No use +saying you couldn't, you _could_, 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. + +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. + +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. + +When it was well into the second week Stubby ventured to say +something about the next fifty cents. + +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. + +"I haven't got the change. Pay you at the end of next week for the +whole business. That all right?" + +Stubby considered. "I've got to have it before the first of August," +he said. + +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. + +It bothered Stubby. He wished the man had given it to him +_then_. He would rather get it each week and keep it himself. A +little of the grown-up look stole back. + +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. + +Stubby was wary. "Oh, I've got a little job I do for Mr. Stuart." + +The man laughed. "I had a little job I did for Mr. Stuart, too. You +paid in advance?" + +Stubby pricked up his ears. + +"'Cause if you ain't, I'd advise you to look out for a little job +some'eres else." + +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! + +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?" + +"'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." + +"I _got_ to have it!" cried Stubby. "I tell you, I _got_ +to!" + +The man shook his head. "_That_ 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. + +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." + +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. + +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, _that_ 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. + +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. + +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 _almost_ enough--do they +sometimes let you off?"--the detachment was a shade less perfect on +that last. + +His father laughed scoffingly. "Well, I guess _not!_" + +"I thought maybe," said Stubby, "if a person had _tried_ awful +hard--and had _most_ enough--" + +Something inside him was all shaky, so he didn't go on. His father +said that _trying_ didn't have anything to do with it. + +It was hard for Stubby not to sob out that he thought trying +_ought_ 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. + +"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--" + +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. + +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?" + +The man turned upon him roughly. "Uh-_huh_! _That's_ it, +is it? _That's_ 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 _eat_ this winter. Do you know +there's talk of the factory shuttin' down? _Dog_ tax! Why +you're lucky if you git _shoes_." + +Stubby had turned away and was standing with his back to his father, +hands in his pockets. + +"And l'me tell you some'en else, young man. If you got any dollar +and eighty cents, you give it to your mother!" + +As Stubby was turning the corner of the house he called after him: +"How'd you like to have me get you an automobile?" + +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. + +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. + +"Well, what is an anarchist, anyhow?" Stubby's mother wanted to +know. + +"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." + +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 _tried_--didn't care whether you had been +cheated--didn't care how you _felt_--didn't care about anything +except getting the money! His brain got hotter. Well, _he_ +didn't believe in the government, either. He was one of those +people--those anarchists--that were against the laws of the land. + +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--_couldn't_ +get--that other seventy cents. + +Stubby's mother didn't hear her son crying that night. That was +because Stubby was successful in holding the pillow over his head. + +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 +_care_. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +Suddenly he wanted to rush over and throw himself down at that +policeman's feet--sob out the story--ask him to please, +_please_ wait till he could get that other seventy cents. + +But just then the policeman got up and went in the station, and +Stubby was afraid to go in the police-station. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +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-- + +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. + +Thought I would tell you first. + +Yours truly, + +F. LYNCH. + +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. + +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. + +1113 Willow street. + +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. + +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. + +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!" + +They were getting ready to shoot Hero! That box was the way the +police did it! He must--oh, he _must--must_ ... Boy and dog +sank to the ground--but just the same the boy was shielding the dog! + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +XIII + +AT TWILIGHT + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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--" + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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? + +He sighed, and began gathering together his papers. Thoughts about +life tired him to-day. + +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. + +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. + +"That's all very well; we know, of course, that he doesn't believe, +but what will he do when it comes to _himself?_" + +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. + +"Do? Why, face it, of course. Face it as squarely as he's faced +every other fact of life." + +That was Gretta, and though, mindful of the library mandate for +silence, her tone was low, it was vibrant with a fine scorn. + +"Well," said the first speaker, "I guess he'll have to face it +before very long." + +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. + +"Haven't you noticed, Gretta, how he's losing his grip?" + +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 _laugh!_ + +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. + +"_Noticed_ it? Why it breaks my heart!" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +It was now that the loneliness that blights seemed waiting for +him.... Life _used_ 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 _was_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +That was why he told her. He pointed to the address on the envelope, +saying: "That carries my resignation, Gretta." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +She was not going to deny it! She was not going to pretend! + +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. + +"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?" + +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." + +She brought him a sense of his advantage in experience--his riches. +To be sure, there was that. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +"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!" + +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?" + +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." + +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. + +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. + + +THE END + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Lifted Masks, by Susan Glaspell + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LIFTED MASKS *** + +This file should be named masks10.txt or masks10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, masks11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, masks10a.txt + +Produced by Suzanne L. 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