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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/7989-0.txt b/7989-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5b7cac9 --- /dev/null +++ b/7989-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8028 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Great God Success, by +John Graham (David Graham Phillips) + +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: The Great God Success + +Author: John Graham (David Graham Phillips) + + +Release Date: April, 2005 [EBook #7989] +This file was first posted on June 10, 2003 +Last Updated: November 18, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREAT GOD SUCCESS *** + + + + +Produced by Eric Eldred, William Craig, Charles Franks and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + + + + +THE GREAT GOD SUCCESS + +A NOVEL + +By John Graham (David Graham Phillips) + + + +The Gregg Press / Ridgewood, N.J. + + + +CONTENTS. + +CHAPTER + +I. THE CANDIDATE FROM YALE + +II. THE CITY EDITOR RECONSIDERS + +III. A PARK ROW CELEBRITY + +IV. IN THE EDGE OF BOHEMIA + +V. ALICE + +VI. IN A BOHEMIAN QUICKSAND + +VII. A LITTLE CANDLE GOES OUT + +VIII. A STRUGGLE FOR SELF-CONTROL + +IX. AMBITION AWAKENS + +X. THE ETERNAL MASCULINE + +XI. TRESPASSING + +XII. MAKING THE MOST OF A MONTH + +XIII. RECKONING WITH DANVERS + +XIV. THE NEWS-RECORD GETS A NEW EDITOR + +XV. YELLOW JOURNALISM + +XVI. MR. STOKELY IS TACTLESS + +XVII. A WOMAN AND A WARNING + +XVIII. HOWARD EXPLAINS HIS MACHINE + +XIX. “I MUST BE RICH.” + +XX. ILLUSION + +XXI. WAVERING + +XXII. THE SHENSTONE EPISODE + +XXIII. EXPANDING AND CONTRACTING + +XXIV. “MR. VALIANT-FOR-TRUTH.” + +XXV. THE PROMISED LAND + +XXVI. IN POSSESSION + +XXVII. THE HARVEST + +XXVIII. SUCCESS + + + + +THE GREAT GOD SUCCESS + + + + +I. + +THE CANDIDATE FROM YALE. + + +“O your college paper, I suppose?” + +“No, I never wrote even a letter to the editor.” + +“Took prizes for essays?” + +“No, I never wrote if I could help it.” + +“But you like to write?” + +“I’d like to learn to write.” + +“You say you are two months out of college--what college?” + +“Yale.” + +“Hum--I thought Yale men went into something commercial; law or banking +or railroads. ‘Leave hope of fortune behind, ye who enter here’ is over +the door of this profession.” + +“I haven’t the money-making instinct.” + +“We pay fifteen dollars a week at the start.” + +“Couldn’t you make it twenty?” + +The Managing Editor of the _News-Record_ turned slowly in his chair +until his broad chest was full-front toward the young candidate for the +staff. He lowered his florid face slowly until his double chin swelled +out over his low “stick-up” collar. Then he gradually raised his eyelids +until his amused blue eyes were looking over the tops of his glasses, +straight into Howard’s eyes. + +“Why?” he asked. “Why should we?” + +Howard’s grey eyes showed embarrassment and he flushed to the line of +his black hair which was so smoothly parted in the middle. “Well--you +see--the fact is--I need twenty a week. My expenses are arranged on that +scale. I’m not clever at money matters. I’m afraid I’d get in a mess +with only fifteen.” + +“My dear young man,” said Mr. King, “I started here at fifteen dollars a +week. And I had a wife; and the first baby was coming.” + +“Yes, but your wife was an energetic woman. She stood right beside you +and worked too. Now I have only myself.” + +Mr. King raised his eyebrows and became a rosier red. He was evidently +preparing to rebuke this audacious intrusion into his private affairs by +a stranger whose card had been handed to him not ten minutes before. But +Howard’s tone and manner were simple and sincere. And they happened to +bring into Mr. King’s mind a rush of memories of his youth and his wife. +She had married him on faith. They had come to New York fifteen years +before, he to get a place as reporter on the _News-Record_, she to +start a boarding-house; he doubting and trembling, she with courage and +confidence for two. He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and +opened the book of memory at the place where the leaves most easily fell +apart: + +He is coming home at one in the morning, worn out, sick at heart from +the day’s buffetings. As he puts his key into the latch, the door opens. +There stands a handsome girl; her face is flushed; her eyes are bright; +her lips are held up for him to kiss; she shows no trace of a day that +began hours before his and has been a succession of exasperations and +humiliations against which her sensitive nature, trained in the home of +her father, a distinguished up-the-state Judge, gives her no protection, +“Victory,” she whispers, her arms about his neck and her head upon his +coat collar. “Victory! We are seventy-two cents ahead on the week, and +everything paid up!” + +Mr. King opened his eyes--they had been closed less than five seconds. +“Well, let it be twenty--though just why I’m sure I don’t know. And +we’ll give you a four weeks’ trial. When will you begin?” + +“Now,” answered the young man, glancing about the room. “And I shall try +to show that I appreciate your consideration, whether I deserve it or +not.” + +It was a large bare room, low of ceiling. Across one end were five +windows overlooking from a great height the tempest that rages about +the City Hall day and night with few lulls and no pauses. Mr. King’s +roll-top desk was at the first window. Under each of the other windows +was a broad flat table desk--for copy-readers. At the farthest of these +sat the City Editor--thin, precise-looking, with yellow skin, hollow +cheeks, ragged grey-brown moustache, ragged scant grey-brown hair and +dark brown eyes. He looked nervously tired and, because brown was his +prevailing shade, dusty. He rose as Mr. King came with young Howard. + +“Here, Mr. Bowring, is a young man from Yale. He wishes you to teach him +how to write. Mr. Howard, Mr. Bowring. I hope you gentlemen will get on +comfortably together.” + +Mr. King went back to his desk. Mr. Bowring and Howard looked each at +the other. Mr. Bowring smiled, with good-humour, without cordiality. +“Let me see, where shall we put you?” And his glance wandered along +the rows of sloping table-desks--those nearer the windows lighted by +daylight; those farther away, by electric lamps. Even on that cool, +breezy August afternoon the sunlight and fresh air did not penetrate far +into the room. + +“Do you see the young man with the beautiful fair moustache,” said Mr. +Bowring, “toiling away in his shirt-sleeves--there?” + +“Near the railing at the entrance?” + +“Precisely. I think I will put you next him.” Mr. Bowring touched a +button on his desk and presently an office boy--a mop of auburn curls, +a pert face and gangling legs in knickerbockers--hurried up with a “Yes, +Sir?” + +“Please tell Mr. Kittredge that I would like to speak to him and--please +scrape your feet along the floor as little as possible.” + +The boy smiled, walking away less as if he were trying to terrorize park +pedestrians by a rush on roller skates. Kittredge and Howard were made +acquainted and went toward their desks together. “A few moments--if you +will excuse me--and I’m done,” said Kittredge motioning Howard into the +adjoining chair as he sat and at once bent over his work. + +Howard watched him with interest, admiration and envy. The reporter was +perhaps twenty-five years old--fair of hair, fair of skin, goodlooking +in a pretty way. His expression was keen and experienced yet too +self-complacent to be highly intelligent. He was rapidly covering sheet +after sheet of soft white paper with bold, loose hand-writing. Howard +noticed that at the end of each sentence he made a little cross with a +circle about it, and that he began each paragraph with a paragraph sign. +Presently he scrawled a big double cross in the centre of the sheet +under the last line of writing and gathered up his sheets in the +numbered order. “Done, thank God,” he said. “And I hope they won’t +butcher it.” + +“Do you send it to be put in type?” asked Howard. + +“No,” Kittredge answered with a faint smile. “I hand it in to Mr. +Bowring--the City Editor, you know. And when the copyreaders come at +six, it will be turned over to one of them. He reads it, cuts it down +if necessary, and writes headlines for it. Then it goes upstairs to the +composing room--see the box, the little dumb-waiter, over there in the +wall?--well, it goes up by that to the floor above where they set the +type and make up the forms.” + +“I’m a complete ignoramus,” said Howard, “I hope you’ll not mind my +trying to find out things. I hope I shall not bore you.” + +“Glad to help you, I’m sure. I had to go through this two years ago when +I came here from Princeton.” + +Kittredge “turned in” his copy and returned to his seat beside Howard. + +“What were you writing about, if I may ask?” inquired Howard. + +“About some snakes that came this morning in a ‘tramp’ from South +America. One of them, a boa constrictor, got loose and coiled around a +windlass. The cook was passing and it caught him. He fainted with fright +and the beast squeezed him to death. It’s a fine story--lots of amusing +and dramatic details. I wrote it for a column and I think they won’t cut +it. I hope not, anyhow. I need the money.” + +“You are paid by the column?” + +“Yes. I’m on space--what they call a space writer. If a man is of any +account here they gradually raise him to twenty-five dollars a week and +then put him on space. That means that he will make anywhere from forty +to a hundred a week, or perhaps more at times. The average for the best +is about eighty.” + +“Eighty dollars a week,” thought Howard. “Fifty-two times eighty is +forty-one hundred and sixty. Four thousand a year, counting out +two weeks for vacation.” To Howard it seemed wealth at the limit of +imagination. If he could make so much as that!--he who had grave doubts +whether, no matter how hard he worked, he would ever wrench a living +from the world. + +Just then a seedy young man with red hair and a red beard came through +the gate in the railing, nodded to Kittredge and went to a desk well up +toward the daylight end of the room. + +“That’s the best of ‘em all,” said Kittredge in a low tone. “His name is +Sewell. He’s a Harvard man--Harvard and Heidelberg. But drink! Ye gods, +how he does drink! His wife died last Christmas--practically starvation. +Sewell disappeared--frightful bust. A month afterward they found him +under an assumed name over on Blackwell’s Island, doing three months for +disorderly conduct. He wrote a Christmas carol while his wife was dying. +It began “Merrily over the Snow” and went on about light hearts and +youth and joy and all that--you know, the usual thing. When he got the +money, she didn’t need it or anything else in her nice quiet grave over +in Long Island City. So he ‘blew in’ the money on a wake.” + +Sewell was coming toward them. Kittredge called out: “Was it a good +story, Sam?” + +“Simply great! You ought to have seen the room. Only the bed and the +cook-stove and a few dishes on a shelf--everything else gone to the +pawnshop. The man must have killed the children first. They lay side by +side on the bed, each with its hands folded on its chest--suppose the +mother did that; and each little throat was cut from ear to ear--suppose +the father did that. Then he dipped his paint brush in the blood and +daubed on the wall in big scrawling letters: ‘There is no God!’ Then +he took his wife in his arms, stabbed her to the heart and cut his own +throat. And there they lay, his arms about her, his cheek against hers, +dead. It was murder as a fine art. Gad, I wish I could write.” + +Kittredge introduced Howard--“a Yale man--just came on the paper.” + +“Entering the profession? Well, they say of the other professions that +there is always room at the top. Journalism is just the reverse. The +room is all at the bottom--easy to enter, hard to achieve, impossible to +leave. It is all bottom, no top.” Sewell nodded, smiled attractively in +spite of his swollen face and his unsightly teeth, and went back to his +work. + +“He’s sober,” said Kittredge when he was out of hearing, “so his story +is pretty sure to be the talk of Park Row tomorrow.” + +Howard was astonished at the cheerful, businesslike point of view +of these two educated and apparently civilised young men as to the +tragedies of life. He had shuddered at Kittredge’s story of the man +squeezed to death by the snake. Sewell’s story, so graphically outlined, +filled him with horror, made it a struggle for him to conceal his +feelings. + +“I suppose you must see a lot of frightful things,” he suggested. + +“That’s our business. You soon get used to it, just as a doctor does. +You learn to look at life from the purely professional standpoint. Of +course you must feel in order to write. But you must not feel so keenly +that you can’t write. You have to remember always that you’re not there +to cheer or sympathise or have emotions, but only to report, to record. +You tell what your eyes see. You’ll soon get so that you can and will +make good stories out of your own calamaties.” + +“Is that a portrait of the editor?” asked Howard, pointing to a grimed +oil-painting, the only relief to the stretch of cracked and streaked +white wall except a few ragged maps. + +“That--oh, that is old man Stone--the ‘great condenser.’ He’s there for +a double purpose, as an example of what a journalist should be and as a +warning of what a journalist comes to. After twenty years of fine work +at crowding more news in good English into one column than any other +editor could get in bad English into four columns, he was discharged for +drunkenness. Soon afterwards he walked off the end of a dock one night +in a fog. At least it was said that there was a fog and that he was +drunk. I have my doubts.” + +“Cheerful! I have not been in the profession an hour but I have already +learned something very valuable.” + +“What’s that?” asked Kittredge, “that it’s a good profession to get out +of?” + +“No. But that bad habits will not help a man to a career in journalism +any more than in any other profession.” + +“Career?” smiled Kittredge, resenting Howard’s good-humoured irony +and putting on a supercilious look that brought out more strongly the +insignificance of his face. “Journalism is not a career. It is either a +school or a cemetery. A man may use it as a stepping-stone to something +else. But if he sticks to it, he finds himself an old man, dead and done +for to all intents and purposes years before he’s buried.” + +“I wonder if it doesn’t attract a great many men who have a little +talent and fancy that they have much. I wonder if it does not disappoint +their vanity rather than their merit.” + +“That sounds well,” replied Kittredge, “and there’s some truth in +it. But, believe me, journalism is the dragon that demands the annual +sacrifice of youth. It will have only youth. Why am I here? Why are you +here? Because we are young, have a fresh, a new point of view. As soon +as we get a little older, we shall be stale and, though still young in +years, we must step aside for young fellows with new ideas and a new +point of view.” + +“But why should not one have always new ideas, always a new point of +view? Why should one expect to escape the penalties of stagnation in +journalism when one can’t escape them in any other profession?” + +“But who has new ideas all the time? The average successful man has at +most one idea and makes a whole career out of it. Then there are the +temptations.” + +“How do you mean?” + +Kittredge flushed slightly and answered in a more serious tone: + +“We must work while others amuse themselves or sleep. We must sleep +while others are at work. That throws us out of touch with the whole +world of respectability and regularity. When we get done at night, +wrought up by the afternoon and evening of this gambling with our brains +and nerves as the stake, what is open to us?” + +“That is true,” said Howard. “There are the all-night saloons and--the +like.” + +“And if we wish society, what society is open to us? What sort of young +women are waiting to entertain us at one, two, three o’clock in the +morning? Why, I have not made a call in a year. And I have not seen a +respectable girl of my acquaintance in at least that time, except once +or twice when I happened to have assignments that took me near Fifth +Avenue in the afternoon.” + +“Mr. Kittredge, Mr. Bowring wishes to speak to you,” an office boy said +and Kittredge rose. As he went, he put his hand on Howard’s shoulder +and said: “No, I am getting out of it as fast as ever I can. I’m writing +books.” + +“Kittredge,” thought Howard, “I wonder, is this Henry Jennings +Kittredge, whose stories are on all the news stands?” He saw an envelope +on the floor at his feet. The address was “Henry Jennings Kittredge, +Esq.” + +When Kittredge came back for his coat, Howard said in a tone of frank +admiration: “Why, I didn’t know you were the Kittredge that everybody is +talking about. You certainly have no cause for complaint.” + +Kittredge shrugged his shoulders. “At fifteen cents a copy, I have to +sell ten thousand copies before I get enough to live on for four months. +And you’d be surprised how much reputation and how little money a man +can make out of a book. Don’t be distressed because they keep you here +with nothing to do but wonder how you’ll have the courage to face the +cashier on pay day. It’s the system. Your chance will come.” + +It was three days before Howard had a chance. On a Sunday afternoon the +Assistant City Editor who was in charge of the City Desk for the day +sent him up to the Park to write a descriptive story of the crowds. “Try +to get a new point of view,” he said, “and let yourself loose. There’s +usually plenty of room in Monday’s paper.” + +Howard wandered through the Central Park for two hours, struggling for +the “new point of view” of the crowds he saw there--these monotonous +millions, he thought, lazily drinking at a vast trough of country air in +the heart of the city. He planned an article carefully as he dined +alone at the Casino. He went down to the office early and wrote +diligently--about two thousand words. When he had finished, the Night +City Editor told him that he might go as there would be nothing more +that night. + +He was in the street at seven the next morning. As he walked along with +a News-Record, bought at the first news-stand, he searched every page: +first, the larger “heads”--such a long story would call for a “big +head;” then the smaller “heads”--they may have been crowded and have +had to cut it down; then the single-line “heads”--surely they found a +“stickful” or so worth printing. + +At last he found it. A dozen items in the smallest type, agate, were +grouped under the general heading “City Jottings” at the end of an +inside column of an inside page. The first of these City Jottings was +two lines in length: + +“The millions were in the Central Park yesterday, lazily drinking at +that vast trough of country air in the heart of the city.” + +As he entered the office Howard looked appealingly and apologetically +at the boy on guard at the railing and braced himself to receive the +sneering frown of the City Editor and to bear the covert smiles of his +fellow reporters. But he soon saw that no one had observed his mighty +spring for a foothold and his ludicrous miss and fall. + +“Had anything in yet?” Kittredge inquired casually, late in the +afternoon. + +“I wrote a column and a half yesterday and I found two lines among the +City Jottings,” replied Howard, reddening but laughing. + +“The first story I wrote was cut to three lines but they got a libel +suit on it.” + + + + + +II. + +THE CITY EDITOR RECONSIDERS. + + +At the end of six weeks, the City Editor called Howard up to the desk +and asked him to seat himself. He talked in a low tone so that the +Assistant City Editor, reading the newspapers at a nearby desk, could +not hear. + +“We like you, Mr. Howard.” Mr. Bowring spoke slowly and with a +carefulness in selecting words that indicated embarrassment. “And we +have been impressed by your earnestness. But we greatly fear that you +are not fitted for this profession. You write well enough, but you +do not seem to get the newspaper--the news--idea. So we feel that in +justice to you and to ourselves we ought to let you know where you +stand. If you wish, we shall be glad to have you remain with us two +weeks longer. Meanwhile you can be looking about you. I am certain that +you will succeed somewhere, in some line, sooner or later. But I think +that the newspaper profession is a waste of your time.” + +Howard had expected this. Failure after failure, his articles thrown +away or rewritten by the copyreaders, had prepared him for the blow. Yet +it crushed him for the moment. His voice was not steady as he replied: + +“No doubt you are right. Thank you for taking the trouble to study my +case and tell me so soon.” + +“Don’t hesitate to stay on for the two weeks,” Mr. Bowring continued. +“We can make you useful to us. And you can look about to much better +advantage than if you were out of a place.” + +“I’ll stay the two weeks,” Howard said, “unless I find something +sooner.” + +“Don’t be more discouraged than you can help,” said Mr. Bowring. “You +may be very grateful before long for finding out so early what many of +us--I myself, I fear--find out after years and--when it is too late.” + +Always that note of despair; always that pointing to the motto over the +door of the profession: “Abandon hope, ye who enter here.” What was +the explanation? Were these men right? Was he wrong in thinking that +journalism offered the most splendid of careers--the development of the +mind and the character; the sharpening of all the faculties; the service +of truth and right and human betterment, in daily combat with injustice +and error and falsehood; the arousing and stimulating of the drowsy +minds of the masses of mankind? + +Howard looked about at the men who held on where he was slipping. “Can +it be,” he thought, “that I cannot survive in a profession where the +poorest are so poor in intellect and equipment? Why am I so dull that I +cannot catch the trick?” + +He set himself to study newspapers, reading them line by line, noting +the modes of presenting facts, the arrangement of headlines, the order +in which the editors put the several hundred items before the eyes +of the reader--what they displayed on each page and why; how they +apportioned the space. With the energy of unconquerable resolution he +applied himself to solving for himself the puzzle of the press--the +science and art of catching the eye and holding the attention of the +hurrying, impatient public. + +He learned much. He began to develop the news-instinct, that subtle +instant realisation of what is interesting and what is not interesting +to the public mind. But the time was short; a sense of impending +calamity and the lack of self-confidence natural to inexperience made it +impossible for him effectively to use his new knowledge in the few small +opportunities which Mr. Bowring gave him. With only six days of his two +weeks left, he had succeeded in getting into the paper not a single item +of a length greater than two sticks. He slept little; he despaired not +at all; but he was heart-sick and, as he lay in his bed in the little +hall-room of the furnished-room house, he often envied women the relief +of tears. What he endured will be appreciated only by those who have +been bred in sheltered homes; who have abruptly and alone struck out +for themselves in the ocean of a great city without a single lesson +in swimming; who have felt themselves seized from below and dragged +downward toward the deep-lying feeding-grounds of Poverty and Failure. + +“Buck up, old man,” said Kittredge to whom he told his bad news after +several days of hesitation and after Kittredge had shown him that he +strongly suspected it. “Don’t mind old Bowring. You’re sure to get on, +and, if you insist upon the folly, in this profession. I’ll give you a +note to Montgomery--he’s City Editor over at the _World_-shop--and he’ll +take you on. In some ways you will do better there. You’ll rise faster, +get a wider experience, make more money. In fact, this shop has only one +advantage. It does give a man peace of mind. It’s more like a club +than an office. But in a sense that is a drawback. I’ll give you a note +to-night. You will be at work over there to-morrow.” + +“I think I’ll wait a few days,” said Howard, his tone corresponding to +the look in his eyes and the compression of his resolute mouth. + +The next day but one Mr. Bowring called him up to the City Desk and gave +him a newspaper-clipping which read: + + “Bald Peak, September 29--Willie Dent, the three-year-old baby + of John Dent, a farmer living two miles from here, strayed away + into the mountains yesterday and has not been seen since. His + dog, a cur, went with him. Several hundred men are out searching. + It has been storming, and the mountains are full of bears + and wild cats.” + +“Yes, I saw this in the _Herald_,” said Howard. + +“Will you take the train that leaves at eleven tonight and get us the +story--if it is not a ‘fake,’ as I strongly suspect. Telegraph your +story if there is not time for you to get back here by nine to-morrow +night.” + +“Of course it’s a fake, or at least a wild exaggeration,” thought Howard +as he turned away. “If Bowring had not been all but sure there was +nothing in it, he would never have given it to me.” + +He was not well, his sleepless nights having begun to tell even upon +his powerful constitution. The rest of that afternoon and all of a night +without sleep in the Pullman he was in a depth of despond. He had been +in the habit of getting much comfort out of an observation his father +had made to him just before he died: “Remember that ninety per cent +of these fourteen hundred million human beings are uncertain where +to-morrow’s food is to come from. Be prudent but never be afraid.” But +just then he could get no consolation out of this maxim of grim cheer. +He seemed to himself incompetent and useless, a predestined failure. +“What is to become of me?” he kept repeating, his heart like lead and +his mind fumbling about in a confused darkness. + +At Bald Peak he was somewhat revived by the cold mountain air of the +early morning. As he alighted upon the station platform he spoke to the +baggage-master standing in front of the steps. + +“Was the little boy of a man named Dent lost in the mountains near +here?” + +“Yes--three days ago,” replied the baggage-man. + +“Have they found him yet?” + +“No--nor never will alive--that’s my opinion.” + +Howard asked for the nearest livery-stable and within twenty minutes was +on his way to Dent’s farm. His driver knew all about the lost child. Two +hundred men were still searching. “And Mrs. Dent, she’s been sittin’ +by the window, list’nin’ day and night. She won’t speak nor eat and +she ain’t shed a tear. It was her only child. The men come in sayin’ it +ain’t no use to hunt any more, an’ they look at her an’ out they goes +ag’in.” + +Soon the driver pointed to a cottage near the road. The gate was open; +the grass and the flower-beds were trampled into a morass. The door was +thrown wide and several women were standing about the threshold. At the +window within view of the road and the mountains sat the mother--a +young woman with large brown eyes, and clear-cut features, refined, +beautified, exalted by suffering. Her look was that of one listening for +a faint, far away sound upon which hangs the turn of the balances to joy +or to despair. + + * * * * * + +That morning two of the searchers went to the northeast into the dense +and tangled swamp woods between Bald Peak and Cloudy Peak--the wildest +wilderness in the mountains. The light barely penetrates the foliage on +the brightest days. The ground is rough, sometimes precipitous, closely +covered with bushes and tangled creepers. + +The two explorers, almost lost themselves, came at last to the edge of a +swamp surrounded by cedars. They half-crawled, half-climbed through the +low trees and festooning creepers to the edge of a clear bit of open, +firm ground. + +In the middle was a cedar tree. Under it, seated upon the ground, was +the lost boy. His bare, brown legs, torn and bleeding, were stretched +straight in front of him. His bare feet were bruised and cut. His +gingham dress was torn and wet and stained. His small hands were smears +of dirt and blood. He was playing with a tin can. He had put a stone +into it and was making a great rattling. The dog was running to and fro, +apparently enjoying the noise. The little boy’s face was tear-stained +and his eyes were swollen. But he was not crying just then and laughter +lurked in his thin, fever-flushed face. + +As the men came into view, the dog began to bark angrily, but the boy +looked a solemn welcome. + +“Want mamma,” he said. “I’se hungry.” + +One of the men picked him up--the gingham dress was saturated. + +“You’re hungry?” asked the man, his voice choking. + +“Yes. An’ I’se so wet. It wained and wained.” Then the child began to +sob. “It was dark,” he whispered, “an’ cold. I want my mamma.” + +It was an hour’s tedious journey back to Dent’s by the shortest route. +At the top of the hill those near the cottage saw the boy in the arms of +the man who had found him. They shouted and the mother sprang out of the +house and came running, stumbling down the path to the gate. She caught +at the gate-post and stood there, laughing, screaming, sobbing. + +“Baby! Baby!” she called. + +The little boy turned his head and stretched out his thin, blood-stained +arms. She ran toward him and snatched him from the young farmer. + +“Hungry, mamma,” he sobbed, hiding his face on her shoulder. + + * * * * * + +Howard wrote his story on the train, going down to New York. It was a +straightforward chronicle of just what he had seen and heard. He began +at the beginning--the little mountain home, the family of three, the +disappearance of the child. He described the perils of the mountains, +the storm, the search, the wait, the listening mother, scene by scene, +ending with mother and child together again and the dog racing around +them, with wagging tail and hanging tongue. He wrote swiftly, making no +changes, without a trace of his usual self-consciousness in composition. +When he had done he went into the restaurant car and dined almost gaily. +He felt that he had failed again. How could he hope to tell such a +story? But he was not despondent. He was still under the spell of that +intense human drama with its climax of joy. His own concerns seemed +secondary, of no consequence. + +He reached the office at half-past nine, handed in his “copy” and went +away. He was in bed at half-past ten and was at once asleep. At eleven +the next morning a knocking awakened him from a sound sleep that had +restored and refreshed him. “A messenger from the office,” was called +through the door in answer to his inquiry. He took the note from the boy +and tore it open: + +“My dear Mr. Howard: Thank you for the splendid story you gave us last +night. It is one of the best, if not the best, we have had the pleasure +of publishing in years. Your salary has been raised to twenty-five +dollars a week. + +“Congratulations. You have ‘caught on’ at last. I’m glad to take back +what I said the other day. + +“HENRY C. BOWRING.” + + + + + +III. + +A PARK ROW CELEBRITY. + + +Kittredge was the first to congratulate him when he reached the office. +“Everybody is talking about your story,” he said. “I must say I was +surprised when I read it. I had begun to fear that you would never catch +the trick--for, with most of us writing is only a trick. But now I see +that you are a born writer. Your future is in your own hands.” + +“You think I can learn to write?” + +“That is the sane way to put it. Yes, I know that you can. If you’ll +only not be satisfied with the results that come easy, you will make a +reputation. Not a mere Park Row reputation, but the real thing.” + +Howard got flattery enough in the next few days to turn a stronger +head than was his at twenty-two. But a few partial failures within a +fortnight sobered him and steadied him. His natural good sense made him +take himself in hand. He saw that his success had been to a great extent +a happy accident; that to repeat it, to improve upon it he must study +life, study the art of expression. He must keep his senses open to +impression. He must work at style, enlarge his vocabulary, learn the use +of words, the effect of varying combinations of words both as to sound +and as to meaning. “I must learn to write for the people,” he thought, +“and that means to write the most difficult of all styles.” + +He was, then and always, one of those who like others and are liked by +them, yet never seek company and so are left to themselves. As he had +no money to spare and a deep aversion to debt, he was not tempted into +joining in the time-wasting dissipations that were now open to him. He +worked hard at his profession and, when he left the office, usually went +direct to his rooms to read until far into the morning. He was often +busy sixteen hours out of the twenty-four. His day at reporting was +long--from noon until midnight, and frequently until three in the +morning. But the work was far different from the grind which is the lot +of the young men striving in other professions or in business. It +was the most fascinating work imaginable for an intelligent, thirsty +mind--the study of human nature under stress of the great emotions. + +His mode of thought and his style made Mr. Bowring and Mr. King give him +much of this particular kind of reporting. So he was always observing +love, hate, jealousy, revenge, greed. He saw these passions in action in +the lives of people of all kinds and conditions. And he saw little else. +The reporter is a historian. And history is, as Gibbon says, for the +most part “a record of the crimes, follies and misfortunes of mankind.” + +For many a man this has been a ruinous, one-sided development. Howard +was saved by his extremely intelligent, sympathetic point of view. +He saw the whole of each character, each conflict that he was sent to +study. If the point of the story was the good side of human nature--some +act of generosity or self-sacrifice--he did not exaggerate it into +godlike heroism but adjusted it in its proper prospective by bringing +out its human quality and its human surroundings. If the main point was +violence or sordidness or baseness, he saw the characteristics which +relieved and partially redeemed it. His news-reports were accounts of +the doings not of angels or devils but of human beings, accounts written +from a thoroughly human standpoint. + +Here lay the cause of his success. In all his better stories--for +he often wrote poor ones--there was the atmosphere of sincerity, of +realism, the marks of an acute observer, without prejudice and with +a justifiable leaning toward a belief in the fundamental worth of +humanity. Where others were cynical he was just. Where others were +sentimental, he had sincere, healthful sentiment. Where others were +hysterical, he calmly and accurately described, permitting the tragedy +to reveal itself instead of burying it beneath high-heaped adjectives. +Simplicity of style was his aim and he was never more delighted by any +compliment than by one from the chief political reporter. + +“That story of yours this morning,” said this reporter whose lack as +a writer was more than compensated by his ability to get intimately +acquainted with public men, “reads as if a child might have written it. +I don’t see how you get such effects without any style at all. You just +let your story tell itself.” + +“Well, you see,” replied Howard, “I am writing for the masses, and fine +writing would be wasted upon them.” + +“You’re right,” said Jackman, “we don’t need literature on this +paper--long words, high-sounding phrases and all that sort of thing. +What we want is just plain, simple English that goes straight to the +point.” + +“Like Shakespeare’s and Bunyan’s,” suggested Kittredge with a grin. + +“Shakespeare? Fudge!” scoffed Jackman. “Why he couldn’t have made a +living as a space-writer on a New York newspaper.” + +“No, I don’t think he would have staid long in Park Row,” replied +Kittredge with a subtlety of meaning that escaped Jackman. + +A few days before New Year’s the Managing Editor looked up and smiled as +Howard was passing his desk. + +“How goes it?” he asked. + +“Oh, not so badly,” Howard answered, “but I am a good deal depressed at +times.” + +“Depressed? Nonsense! You’ve got everything--youth, health and freedom. +And by the way, you are going on space the first of the year. Our rule +is a year on salary before space. But we felt that it was about time to +strengthen the rule by making an exception.” + +Howard stammered thanks and went away. This piece of news, dropped +apparently so carelessly by Mr. King, meant a revolution in fortune for +him. It was the transition from close calculation on twenty-five dollars +a week to wealth beyond his most fanciful dreams of six months ago. Not +having the money-getting instinct and being one of those who compare +their work with the best instead of with the inferior, Howard never felt +that he was “entitled to a living.” He had a lively sense of gratitude +for the money return for his services which prudence presently taught +him to conceal. + +“Space” meant to him eighty dollars a week at least--circumstances of +ease. So vast a sum did it seem that he began to consider the problem of +investment. “I have been not badly off on twenty-five dollars a week,” + he thought. “With, well, say forty dollars a week I shall be able to +satisfy all my wants. I can save at least forty a week and that will +mean an independence with a small income by the time I am thirty-four.” + +But--a year after he was put “on space” he was still just about even +with his debts. He seemed to himself to be living no better and it +was only by careful counting-up that he could see how that dream of +independence had eluded him. A more extensive wardrobe, a little better +food, a more comfortable suite of rooms, an occasional dinner to some +friends, loans to broken-down reporters, and the mysteriously vanished +two thousand dollars was accounted for. + +Howard tried to retrench, devised small ingenious schemes for saving +money, lectured himself severely and frequently for thus trifling away +his chance to be a free man. But all in vain. He remained poor; and, +whenever he gave the matter thought, which was not often, gloomy +forebodings as to the future oppressed him. “I shall find myself old,” + he thought, “with nothing accomplished, with nothing laid by. I shall +be an old drudge.” He understood the pessimistic tone of his profession. +All about him were men like himself--leading this gambler’s life of +feverish excitement and evanescent achievement, earning comfortable +incomes and saving nothing, looking forward to the inevitable time of +failing freshness and shattered nerves and declining income. + +He spasmodically tried to write stories for the magazines, contrived +plots for novels and plays, wrote first chapters, first scenes of +first acts. But the exactions of newspaper life, the impossibility of +continuous effort at any one piece of work and his natural inertia--he +was inert but neither idle nor lazy--combined to make futile his efforts +to emancipate himself from hand-to-mouth journalism. + +He had been four years a reporter and was almost twenty-six years old. +He was known throughout his profession in New York, although he had +never signed an article. One remarkable “human interest” story after +another had forced the knowledge of his abilities upon the reporters and +editors of other newspapers. And he was spoken of as one of the best and +in some respects the best “all round reporter” in the city. This meant +that he was capable to any emergency--that, whatever the subject, he +could write an accurate, graphic, consecutive and sustained story and +could get it into the editor’s hands quickly. + +Indeed he possessed facility to the perilous degree. What others +achieved only after long toil, he achieved without effort. This was +due chiefly to the fact that he never relaxed but was at all times +the journalist, reading voraciously newspapers, magazines and the best +books, and using what he read; observing constantly and ever trying to +see something that would make “good copy”; turning over phrases in his +mind to test the value of words both as to sound and as to meaning. +He was an incessantly active man. His great weakness was the common +weakness--failure to concentrate. In Park Row they regarded him as a +brilliant success. Brilliant he was. But a success he was not. He knew +that he was a brilliant failure--and not very brilliant. + +“Why is it?” he asked himself again and again in periods of reaction +from the nervous strain of some exciting experience. “Shall I never +seize any of these chances that are always thrusting themselves at +me? Shall I always act like a Neapolitan beggar? Will the stimulus to +ambition never come?” + + + + + +IV. + +IN THE EDGE OF BOHEMIA. + + +Howard lived in Washington Square, South. He had gone to a +“furnished-room house” there because it was cheap. He staid because he +was comfortable and was without a motive for moving. + +It was the centre of the most varied life in New York. To the north lay +fashion and wealth, to the east and west, respectability and moderate +means; to the south, poverty and squalor, vice and crime. All could be +seen and heard from the windows of his sitting room. In the evenings +toward spring he looked out upon a panorama of the human race such as +is presented by no other city in the world and by no other part of +that city. Within view were Americans of all kinds, French and Germans, +Italians and Austrians, Spaniards and Moors, Scandinavians and +negroes, born New Yorkers and born citizens of most of the capitals of +civilisation and semi-barbarism. There were actresses, dancers, shop +girls, cocottes; touts, thieves, confidence-men, mission workers; +artists and students from the musty University building, tramps and +drunkards from the “barrel-houses” and “stale-beer shops;” and, across +the square to the north, representatives of New York’s oldest and most +noted families. To the west were apartment houses whence stiff, prim +bookkeepers, floor-walkers, clerks and small shop-keepers issued with +their families on Sundays, bound for church. There were other apartment +houses--the most of them to the south--whence in the midnight hours +came slattern servants and reckless looking girls in loose wrappers and +high-heeled slippers, pitcher in hand, bound for the nearest saloon. + +After dusk from early spring until late fall a multitude of interesting +sounds mingled with the roar of the elevated trains to the west and +south and the rumble of carriages in “the Avenue” to the north. Howard, +reading or writing at his window on his leisure days, heard the young +men and young women laughing and shouting and making love under the +trees where the Washington Arch glistened in the twilight. Later came +the songs--“I want you, my honey, yes I do,” or “Lu, Lu, how I love my +Lu!”, or some other of the current concert-hall jingles. Many figures +could be seen flitting about in the shadows. Usually these figures were +in pairs; usually one was in white; usually at her waist-line there was +a black belt that continued on until it was lost in the other and darker +figure. + +Scraps of a score of languages--curses, jests, terms of +endearment--would float up to him. Then came the hours of comparative +silence, with the city breathing softly and regularly, with the moon +hanging low and the pale arch rising above the dark trees like a giant +ghost. There would be an occasional drunken shout or shriek; a riotous +roar of song from some staggering reveller making company for himself on +the journey home; the heavy step of the policeman. Or perhaps the only +sound to disturb the city’s sleep would be that soft tread, timid as +a mouse’s, stealthy as a jackal’s--the tread of a lonely woman with +draggled silk skirt and painted cheeks and eyes burning into the +darkness, and a heart as bitter and as sad as no money, no home, no +friends, no hope can make it. + +Once he threw a silver dollar from his window to the sidewalk well in +front of her. She did not see it flash downward but she heard it ring +upon the walk. She rushed forward and twice kicked it away from her in +her frenzy to get it. When her bare hand--or was it a claw?--at last +closed upon it, she gave a low scream, looked slyly and fearfully about, +then ran as if death were at her heels. + +Soon after Howard was put “on space” he took the best suite of rooms in +the house. It was a strange company which Mrs. Sands had gathered under +her roof. Except Howard there was no one, not even Mrs. Sands herself, +who did not have so much past that there was little left for future. +Indeed, perhaps none of these storm-tossed or wrecked human craft +had had more of a past than Mrs. Sands. There was no mistaking the +significance of those deep furrows filled with powder and plastered with +paint, those few hairs tinted and frizzed. But like all persons with +real pasts Mrs. Sands and her lodgers kept the veil tightly drawn. They +confessed to no yesterdays and they did not dare think of to-morrow. +They were incuriously awaiting the impulse which was sure to come, sure +to thrust them on downward. + +A new lodger at Mrs. Sand’s usually took the best rooms that were to be +had. Then, sometimes slowly, sometimes swiftly, came the retreat upward +until a cubby-hole under the eaves was reached. Finally came precipitate +and baggageless departure, often with a week or two of lodging unpaid. +The next pause, if pause there was, would be still nearer the river-bed +or the Morgue. + +One morning when he had been living in Washington Square, South, +about--three years, Howard was dressing hurriedly, the door of his +sitting-room accidentally ajar. Through the crack he saw some one +stooping over the serving tray which he had himself put outside his +door when he had finished breakfast. He looked more closely. It was +“the clergyman” from up under the eaves--an unfrocked priest, thin to +emaciation, misery written upon his face even more deeply than weakness. +He hastily bundled the bones of two chops and a bit of bread into a +stained and torn handkerchief, and sprang away up the stairs toward his +little hole at the roof. + +Howard was in a hurry and so put off for the time action upon the +natural impulse. When he came back at midnight, there was soon a knock +at his door. He opened it and invited in the man at the threshold--a +tall, strongly built, erect German, with a dissipated handsome face, +heavily scarred from university duels. + +“Pardon me for disturbing you,” said the German. His speech, his tone, +his manner, left no doubt as to his breeding though they raised the +gravest doubts as to his being willing to give a true account of why he +had become a tenant in that lodging house. + +“Will you have a cigarette and some whiskey?” inquired Howard. + +The German’s glance lit and lingered upon the bottle of Scotch on the +table. “Concentrated, double-distilled friendship,” said he as he poured +out his drink. + +“But a friend that drives all others away,” smiled Howard. + +“I have found it of a very jealous disposition,” replied the German with +a careless shrug of the shoulders and a lifting of the eyebrows. “But at +least this friend has the grace to stay after it has driven the others +away.” + +“To stay until the last piece of silver is gone.” + +“But what more does one expect of a friend? Besides, we are overlooking +one friend--the one who helped our clerical fellow-lodger of the attic +out of his troubles to-day.” + +“His luck has turned?” + +“Permanently. He shot himself this afternoon.” + +“And only this morning I made up my mind to try to help him,” said +Howard regretfully. + +“You could not have hoped to succeed so well. His case needed something +more than temporary expedient. But, to come to the point, I had a slight +acquaintance with him. He left a note for me--mailed it just before he +shot himself. In it he asked that I insert a personal in the Herald. +Unfortunately I have not the money. I thought that you as a journalist +might be able to suggest something.” + +The German held out a slip of cheap writing paper on which was written: +“Helen--when you see this it will be over--L.” + +“A good story,” was Howard’s first thought, his news-instinct alert. And +then he remembered that it was not for him to tell. “I will attend to +this for you to-morrow.” + +“Thank you,” said the German, helping himself to the whiskey. “Have you +seen the new lodgers?” + +“Those in the room behind me? Yes. I saw them at the front door as I +came in.” + +“They’re a queer pair--the youngest I’ve seen in this house. I’ve been +wondering what tempest wrecked them on this forlorn coast so early in +the voyage.” + +“Why wrecked?” + +“My dear sir, we are all--except you--wrecks here, all unseaworthy at +least.” + +“One of them was quite pretty, I thought,” said Howard, “the slender one +with the black hair.” + +“They are not mates. The other girl is of a different sort. She’s more +used to this kind of life, at least to poverty. I fancy Miss Black-Hair +looks on it as a lark. But she’ll find out the truth by the time she has +mounted another story.” + +“Here, to go up means to go down,” Howard said, weary of the +conversation and wishing that the German would leave. + +“They say that they’re sisters,” the German went on, again helping +himself to the whiskey; “They say they have run away from home because +of a stepmother and that they are going to earn their own living. But +they won’t. They spend the nights racing about with a gang of the young +wretches of this neighbourhood. They won’t be able to stand getting up +early for work. And then----” + +The German blew out a huge cloud of cigarette smoke, shrugged his +shoulders and added: “Miss Black-Hair may get on up town presently. But +I doubt it. The Tenderloin rarely recruits from down here.” + +The bottle was empty and the German bowed himself out. As the night was +hot, Howard opened the door a few moments afterward. At the other end of +the short hall light was streaming through the open door of the room the +two girls had taken. Before he could turn, there was a shadow and “Miss +Black-Hair” was standing in her doorway: + +“Oh,” she began, “I thought----” + +Howard paused, looking at her. She was above the medium height--tall +for a woman--and slender. Her loose wrapper, a little open at her round +throat, clung to her, attracting attention to all the lines of her form. +Her hair was indeed black, jet black, waving back from her forehead in a +line of curving and beautiful irregularity. Her skin was clear and dark. +There were deep circles under her eyes, making them look unnaturally +large, pathetically weary. In repose her face was childish and sadly +serious. When she smiled she looked older and pert, but no happier. + +“I thought,” she continued with the pert, self-confident smile, “that +you were my sister Nellie. I’m waiting for her.” + +“You’re in early tonight,” said Howard, the circles under her eyes +reminding him of what the German had told him. + +“I haven’t slept much for a week,” the girl replied, “I’m nearly dead. +But I won’t go to bed till Nellie comes.” + +Howard was about to turn when she went on: “We agreed always to stay +together. She broke it tonight. My fellow got too fresh, so I came home. +She said she’d come too. That was an hour ago and she isn’t here yet.” + +“Isn’t she rather young to be out alone at this time?” + +Howard could hardly have told why he continued the conversation. He +certainly would not, had she been less beautiful or less lonely and +childish. At his remark about her sister’s youth she laughed with an +expression of cunning at once amusing and pitiful. + +“She’s a year older than me,” she said, “and I guess I can take care of +myself. Still she hasn’t much sense. She’ll get into trouble yet. She +doesn’t understand how to manage the boys when they’re too fresh.” + +“But you do, I suppose?” suggested Howard. + +“Indeed I do,” with a quick nod of her small graceful head, “I know what +I’m about. _My_ mother taught _me_ a few things.” + +“Didn’t she teach your sister also?” + +“Miss Black-Hair” dropped her eyes and flushed a little, looking like a +child caught in a lie. “Of course,” she said after a pause. + +“How long have you been without your mother?” + +“I’ve been away from home four months. But I saw her in the street +yesterday. She didn’t see me though.” + +“Then you’ve got a step-father?” + +“No, I haven’t. Nellie told that to Mrs. Sands. But it’s not so. You +know Nellie’s not my sister?” + +“I fancied not from what you said a moment ago.” + +“No, she used to be nurse girl in our family. We just say we’re sisters. +I wish she’d come. I’m tired of standing. Won’t you come in?” + +She went into her room, her manner a frank and simple invitation. Howard +hesitated, then went just inside the door and half sat, half leaned upon +the high roll of the lounge. The room was cheaply furnished, the lounge +and a closed folding bed almost filling it. Upon the mantel, the bureau +and the little table were a few odds and ends that stamped it a woman’s +room. A street gown of thin pale-blue cloth was thrown over a rocking +chair. As the girl leaned back in this chair with her face framed in the +pale-blue of the gown, she looked tired and sad and beautiful and very +young. + +“If Nellie doesn’t look out, I’ll go away and live alone,” she said, and +the accompanying unconscious look of loneliness touched Howard. + +“You might go back home.” + +“You don’t know my home or you wouldn’t say that. You don’t know my +father.” She had got upon the subject of herself, and, once in that road +she kept it with no thought of turning out. “He can’t treat me as he +treats mother. Why, he goes away and stays for days. Then he comes home +and quarrels with her all the time. They never both sit through a meal. +One or the other flares up and leaves. He generally whipped me when he +got very mad--just for spite.” + +“But there’s your mother.” + +“Yes. She doesn’t like my going away. But I can’t stand it. Papa +wouldn’t let me go anywhere or let anybody come to see me. He says +everybody’s bad. I guess he’s about right. Only he doesn’t include +himself.” + +“You seem to have a poor opinion of people.” + +“Well, you can’t blame me.” She put on her wise look of experience and +craft. “I’ve been away, living with Nellie for four months and I’ve seen +no good to speak of. A girl doesn’t get a fair chance.” + +“But you’ve got work?” + +“Oh, yes. We both stayed down in a restaurant, Nellie’s got a place as +waiter. That’s the best she could do. The man said I was good-looking +and would catch trade. So he made me cashier. I get six dollars a week +to Nellie’s three. But it’s a bad place. The men are always slipping +notes in my hand when they give me their checks. Then the boss, he’s +always bothering around.” + +“But you don’t have to work hard?” + +“From nine till four. We get our lunch free. I pay three dollars on the +room and Nellie pays one.” + +If Howard had not seen many such problems in economics before, he would +have been astonished at any one even hoping to be able to get two meals +a day, clothing and carfare out of two or three dollars a week. As it +was, he only wondered how long a girl who had been used at least to +comfort would endure this. “It’s easy for the other girl,” he thought, +“because she’s used to it. But this one--” and he decided that the +“trouble” would begin as soon as her clothing was worn out. + +He noticed that she was pulling at the third finger of her right hand +where she would have worn rings if she had had any. “You’ve had to pawn +your rings?” he ventured. + +She looked at him startled. “Did Nellie tell you?” she asked. + +“No,” he replied, “I saw that you were missing your rings and suspected +the rest.” + +“Yes; that’s so. I’ve pawned all my jewelry except a bracelet. Nellie +can’t get along on her three dollars. She eats too much.” + +“I should think you’d rather be at home.” + +“As I told you before,” she said impatiently, “anything’s better than +home. Besides, I’m pretty well off. I go where I please, stay out as +late as I please and have all the company I want. At home I’d have to be +in bed at ten o’clock.” + +There was a sound at the front door down in the darkness. The girl +started from the chair, listened, then exclaimed: “There she comes now. +And it’s two o’clock!” + +Howard took the hint, smiled and said: “Well, good-night. I’ll see you +again.” + +“Good-night,” the girl answered absently. + +From his room Howard heard Nellie coming up the stairs. “You’re a nice +one!” came in “Miss Black-Hair’s” indignant voice, “Where have you been? +Where did you and Jack go?” + +The answer came in a sob--“Oh, Alice, you’ll never forgive me!” + +Their door closed upon the two girls but Howard could still hear +Nellie’s voice tearful, pleading. There was the sound of some one +falling heavily upon the lounge, then sobs and cries of “Oh! Oh!” + As Howard went into his bedroom, he could hear the voices still more +plainly through the thin wall. He caught the words only once. “Miss +Black-Hair,” her voice shaking with anger, exclaimed: “Nellie Baker, you +are a wicked girl, I shall go away.” + + + + +V. + +ALICE. + +Several nights later Howard came upon Alice at the front door, where a +young man was detaining her in a lingering good-bye. Another night as +he was passing her room he saw her stretched upon the floor, her head +supported by her elbows and an open book in front of her. She looked so +childlike that Howard paused and said: “What is it--a fairy story?” + +“No, it’s a love story,” she replied, just glancing at him with a faint +smile and showing that she did not wish to be interrupted. The same +night as he was going to bed he heard the angry voices of the two girls. +A week later, toward the end of July, he found Alice sitting on the +front stoop, when he came from dinner. She was obviously in the depths +of the “blues.” Her eyes, the droop of the corners of her mouth, even +the colour of her skin indicated anxiety and depression. She looked so +forlorn that he said gently: “Wouldn’t you like to walk in the Square?” + +She rose at once. “Yes, I guess so.” They crossed to the green. She was +wearing the pale-blue gown and it fitted her well. Neither in the gown +nor in the big hat with its coquettish flowers nodding over the brim was +there much of fashion. But there was a certain distinction in her +walk and her manner of wearing her clothes; and to a pretty face and a +graceful form was added the charm of youth, magnetic youth. + +“Do you want to walk?” she asked, lassitude in her voice. + +“No, let us sit,” he said, and they went to a bench near the arch. It +was twilight. The children were still romping and shouting. Many fat +elderly women--mothers and grandmothers--were solemnly marching about, +talking in fat, elderly voices. + +“You have the blues?” asked Howard, thinking it might make her feel +better to talk of her troubles. “If I were your doctor, I should +prescribe a series of good cries.” + +“I don’t cry,” said the girl. “Sometimes I wish I could. Nellie cries +and gets over things. I feel awful inside and sick and my eyes burn. But +I can’t cry.” + +“You’re too young for that.” + +“Oh, in some ways I’m young; again, I’m not. I hate everybody this +evening.” + +“What’s the matter? Has Nellie deserted you?” + +“She? Not much. I had to tell her to go”--this with a joyless little +laugh--“she quit work and wouldn’t behave herself. So now I’m going on +alone.” + +“And you won’t go home?” + +“Never in the world,” she said with almost fierce energy; then some +thought made her laugh in the same way as before. Howard decided that +she had not told him everything about her home life, even though she had +rattled on as if there were nothing to conceal. He sat watching her, she +looking straight before her, her small bare hands clasped in her lap. +He was pitying her keenly--this child, at once stunted and abnormally +developed, this stray from one of the classes that keeps their women +sheltered; and here she was adrift, without any of those resources of +experience which assist the girls of the tenements. + +Her features were small, sensitive, regular. Her eyes were brown with +lines of reddish gold raying from the pupils. Her chin and mouth were +firm enough, yet suggested weakness through the passions. Her clear +skin had the glow of youth and health upon its smooth surface. She was +certainly beautiful and she certainly had magnetism. + +“What do you think is going to become of you?” he asked. + +“I don’t know,” she said, after a deep sigh. “A girl doesn’t have a fair +chance. I don’t seem to be able to have any fun without getting into +trouble. I don’t know what to think. It’s all so black. I wish I was +dead.” + +Her dreary tone put the deepest pathos into her words. Howard had seen +despondency in youth before--had felt it himself. But there had always +been a certain lightness in it. Here was a mere child who evidently +thought, and thought with reason, that there was no hope for her; and +her despair was not a passing cloud or storm, but a settled conviction. + +“There doesn’t seem to be any chance for a young girl,” she repeated +as if that phrase summed up all that was weighing upon her. And Howard +feared that she, was right. Even the readiest of all commodities, +advice, failed him. “What can she do?” he thought. “If she has no home, +worth speaking of”--then he went on aloud: + +“Haven’t you friends?” + +She laughed again with that slight moving of the lips and with eyes +mirthless. “Who wants me for a friend? Nobody’d think I was respectable. +And I guess I’m not so very. There’s Nellie and her--friends. Oh, the +girls join in with the men to drag other girls down. But I won’t do +that. I don’t care what becomes of me--except that.” + +“Why?” he asked, curious for her explanation of this aversion. + +“I don’t know why,” she replied. “There doesn’t seem to be any good +reason. I’ve thought I would several times. And then--well, I just +couldn’t.” + +Howard turned the subject and tried to draw her out of this mood. They +sat there for several hours and became well acquainted. He found that +she had an intelligent way of looking at things, that she observed +closely, and that she appreciated and understood far more than he had +expected. + +It was the beginning of a series of evenings spent together. He took her +with him on many of his assignments and they often dined together at +“Le Chat Noir” or the “Restaurant de Paris,” or “The Manhattan” over +in Second Avenue. Late in June she bought a new gown--a pale-grey with +ribbons and hat to match. Howard was amused at the anxious expression +in her gold-brown eyes as she waited for his opinion. And when he said: +“Well, well, I never saw you look so pretty,” she looked much prettier +with a slight colour rising to tint the usual pallor of her cheeks. + +One Sunday he came home in the afternoon and found her helping the maid +at straightening his rooms. As he lay on the lounge smoking he watched +her lazily. She handled his books with a great deal of awe. She opened +one of them and sat on the floor in the childlike way she often had. She +read several sentences aloud. It was a tangle of technical words on the +subject of political economy. + +“What do you have such stupid things around for?” she said, smiling and +rising. She began to arrange the books and papers on the table. He was +looking at her but thinking of something else when he became conscious +that she had got suddenly white to the lips. He jumped to his feet. + +“What’s the matter?” he asked, “are you going to faint?” + +Her eyes were shining as with fever out of a ghostly face. Her lips +trembled as she answered: “Oh it’s nothing. I do this often.” She went +slowly into the back room where the maid was. In a few minutes she +returned, apparently as usual. She flitted about uneasily, taking up now +one thing, now another in a purposeless, nervous way. + +“I never was in here before,” she said. “You’ve got lots of pretty +things. Whose picture is this?” + +“That? Oh, my sister-in-law out in Chicago.” + +Howard did not then understand why she became so gay, why her eyes +danced with happiness, why as soon as she went into the hall she began +to sing and kept it up in her own room, quieting down only to burst +forth again. He did not even especially note the swift change, the, for +her, extraordinary mood of high spirits. It was about this time that +their relations began to change. + +Howard had thought of her, or had thought that he thought of her, only +as a lonely and desolate child, to be taught so far as he was capable of +teaching and she of learning. He was conscious of her extreme youth and +of the impassable gulf of thought and taste between them. He did not +take her feelings into account at all. It never occurred to him that +this part of friend and patron which he was playing was not safe for +him, not just and right toward her. + +One night he took her to a ball at the Terrace Garden--a +respectable, amusing affair “under the auspices of the +Young-German-American-Shooting-Society.” The next day a reporter for the +_Sun_ whom he knew slightly said to him with a grin he did not like: +“Mighty pretty little girl you’re taking about with you, Howard. Where’d +you pick her up?” + +Howard reddened, angry with himself for reddening, angry with the _Sun_ +man for his impudence, ashamed that he had put himself and Alice in such +a position. But the incident brought the matter of his relation with her +sharply and clearly before his mind and conscience. + +“This must stop,” he said to himself; “it must stop at once. It is +unjust to her. And it is dragging me into an entanglement.” + +But the mischief had been done. She loved him. And with the confidence +of youth and inexperience, she was disregarding all the obstacles, +was giving herself up to the dream that he would presently love her in +return, with the end as in the story books. Indeed love stories became +her constant companions. Where she once read them for amusement, she now +read them as a Christian reads his Bible--for instruction, inspiration, +faith, hope and courage. + +One evening in July--it was in the week of Independence Day--Howard’s +windows and door were thrown wide to get the full benefit of whatever +stir there might be in the air. He was sprawled upon the lounge, the +table drawn close and upon it a lamp shedding a dim light through the +room but enough near by to let him read. He had dropped his book and was +thinking whether a stroll in the Square in the moonlight would repay the +trouble of moving. There were steps in the hall and then, peeping round +the door-frame was the face of his young neighbour. + +“Hello,” he said, “I thought you were out somewhere. Come in.” + +“No, I’m going to bed,” she answered, nevertheless gradually edging into +the room. She was wearing a loose wrapper of flowered silk, somewhat +worn and never very fine. Her black hair hung in a long thick braid to +her waist and she looked even younger than usual. + +“Where have you been all evening?” asked Howard. + + +“Oh, I’ve been up to see a friend. She lives in Harlem, and she wants me +to come and live with her.” + +“Are you going?” Howard inquired, noting that he was interested and not +pleased. “The house wouldn’t seem natural without you.” + +She gave him a quick, gratified glance and, advancing further into the +room, sat upon the arm of the big rocking-chair. “She gave me a good +talking to,” she went on with a smile. “She told me I ought not to live +alone at my age. She said I ought to live with her and meet some friends +of hers. She said maybe I’d find a nice fellow to marry.” + +Howard thought over this as he smoked and at last said in an +ostentatiously judicial tone: “Well, I think she’s right. I don’t see +what else there is to do. You can’t live on down here alone always. +What’s become of Nellie?” + +“Nellie’s got to be a bad girl,” said Alice with a blush and a dropping +of the eyes. “She’s in Fourteenth Street every night. She says she +doesn’t care what happens to her. I saw her last night and she wanted +me to come with her. She says it’s of no use for me to put on airs. She +says I’ve got no friends and I might as well join her sooner as later.” + +“Well?” Howard was keeping his eyes carefully away from hers. + +“Oh, I sha’n’t go with her. As long as a girl has got anything at all +to live for, she doesn’t want that. Besides I’d rather go to the East +River.” + +“Drowning’s a serious matter,” said Howard with a smile and with banter +in his tone. + +“Yes, it is,” said the girl seriously, “I’ve thought of it. And I don’t +believe I could.” + +“Then you’d better go with your friend and get married.” + +“I don’t want to get married,” she replied, shaking her head slowly from +side to side. + +“That’s what all the girls say,” laughed Howard. “But of course you +will. It’s the only thing to do.” + +“Then why don’t you get married?” asked Alice, tracing one of the +flowers in her wrapper with her slim, brown forefinger. + +“I couldn’t if I would and I wouldn’t if I could.” + +“Oh, you could get a nice girl to marry you, I’m sure,” she said, the +colour rising faintly toward her long, downcast lashes. + +“But who would get the money? It takes money to keep a nice girl.” + +“Oh, not much,” said Alice earnestly, yet with a queer hesitation in her +voice. “You oughtn’t to marry those extravagant girls. I’ve read about +them and I think they don’t make very good wives, real wives to save +money and--and care.” + +“You seem to know a good deal about these things for your age,” said +Howard, much amused and showing it. + +“I don’t care,” she persisted, “you ought to get married.” + +Howard felt that this was the time to clear the girl’s mind of any +“notions” she might have got. He would be very clever, very adroit. He +would not let her suspect that he had any idea of her thoughts. Indeed +he was not perfectly certain that he had. But he would gently and +frankly tell her the truth. + +“I shall never get married,” he said, sitting up and talking as one who +is discussing a case which he understands thoroughly yet has no personal +interest in. “I haven’t the money and I haven’t the desire. I am what +they would call a confirmed bachelor. I wouldn’t marry any girl who +had not been brought up as I have been. We should be unhappy together +unsuited each to the other. She would soon hate me. Besides, I wish to +be free. I care more for freedom than I ever shall for any human being. +As I am now, so I shall always be, a wandering fellow without ties. It +is not a pleasant prospect for old age. But I have made up my mind to it +and I shall never marry.” + +The girl’s hands had dropped limp into her lap; her face was down so +that he could barely see the burning blush which overspread it. + +“You don’t mean that,” she said in a voice that was queer and choked. + +“Oh yes, I do, little girl,” he answered, intending to smile when she +should look up. + +When she did lift her eyes, his smile could not come. For her face was +grey and her lips bloodless and from her eyes looked despair. Howard +glanced away instantly. With rude hand he had suddenly toppled into +the dust this child’s dream-castle of love and happiness which he had +himself helped her build. He felt like a criminal. But partly from a +sense of duty, chiefly from the cowardice of self-preservation, he made +no effort to lighten her suffering. + +“I should only prolong it,” he thought, “only make matters worse. +To-morrow--perhaps.” + +If she had been worldly wise, even if she had not been so completely +absorbed in her worship of him that her woman-instincts were dormant, +she would herself have found hope. But she had not a suspicion that +these strong words of apparent finality were spoken to give himself +courage, to keep him from obeying the impulse to respond to the appeal +of her youth to his, her aloneness to his, her passion to his. She +believed him literally. + +There was a long silence. He heard her move, heard a suppressed cry and +glanced toward her again. She was darting from the room. A second later +her door crashed. He started up and after her, hesitated, returned to +his book--but not to his reading. + +Toward noon the next day, he passed her room on his way out. The +door was wide open; none of her belongings was in sight; the maid was +sweeping energetically. She paused when she saw him. + +“Miss Alice left this morning,” she said, “and the room’s been let to +another party.” + + + + + +VI. + +IN A BOHEMIAN QUICKSAND. + + +Howard could have got her new address; and for many weeks habit, at +first steadily, afterward intermittently, teased him to look her up. +He was amazed at her hold upon him. At times the longing for her was so +intense that he almost suspected himself of being in love with her. + +“I escaped from that none too soon,” he congratulated himself. “It +wasn’t nearly so one-sided as I thought.” + +He had never been gregarious. Thus far he had not had a single intimate +friend, man or woman. He knew many people and knew them well. They liked +him and some of them sought his friendship. These were often puzzled +because it was easy to get acquainted with him, impossible to know him +intimately. + +The explanation of this combination of openness and reserve, +friendliness and unapproachableness, was that his boyhood and youth had +been spent wholly among books. That life had trained him not to look to +others for amusement, sympathy or counsel, but to depend upon himself. +As his temperament was open and good-natured and sympathetic, he was as +free from enemies and enmities as he was from friends and friendships. + +Women there had been--several women, a succession of idealizations which +had dispersed in the strong light of his common sense. He had never +disturbed himself about morals in what he regarded as the limited sense. +He always insisted that he was free; and he was careful only of his +personal pride and of taking no advantage of another. What he had said +to Alice about marriage was true--as to his intentions, at least. A poor +woman, he felt, he could not marry; a rich woman, he felt, he would not +marry. And he cared nothing about marriage because he was never lonely, +never leaned or wished to lean upon another, abhorred the idea of +any one leaning upon him; because he regarded freedom as the very +corner-stone of his scheme of life. + +The nearest he had come to companionship was with Alice. With the other +women whom he had known in various degrees from warmth to white-heat, +there had been interruptions, no such constant freedom of access, no +such intermingling of daily life. Her he had seen at all hours and in +all circumstances. She never disturbed him but was ready to talk when +he wished to listen, listened eagerly when he talked, and was silent +and beautiful and restful to look at when he wished to indulge in the +dissipation of mental laziness. + +As she loved him, she showed him only the best that there was in her and +showed it in the most attractive of all lights. + +While he was still wavering or fancying that he was wavering, the +Managing Editor sent him to “do” a great strike-riot in the coal regions +of Pennsylvania. He was there for three weeks, active day and night, +interested in the new phases of life--the mines and the miners, the +display of fierce passions, the excitement, the peril. + +When he returned to New York, Alice had ceased to tempt him. + + * * * * * + +One midnight in the early spring he was in his sitting room, reading +and a little bored. There came a knock at the door. He hoped that it was +some one bringing something interesting or coming to propose a search +for something interesting. “Come in,” he said with welcome in his voice. +The door opened. It was Alice. + +She was dressed much as she had been the first time he talked with +her--a loose, clinging wrapper open at the throat. There was a change +in her face--a change for the better but also for the worse. She looked +more intelligent, more of a woman. There was more sparkle in her eyes +and in her smile. But--Howard saw instantly the price she had paid. As +the German had suggested, she had “got on up town.” + +She was pulling at the long broad blue ribbons of her negligee. Her +hands were whiter and her pink finger nails had had careful attention. +She smiled, enjoying his astonishment. “I have come back,” she said. + +Howard came forward and took her hand. “I’m glad, very glad to see you. +For a minute I thought I was dreaming.” + +“Yes,” she went on, “I’m in my old room. I came this afternoon. I must +have been asleep, for I didn’t hear you come in.” + +“I hope it isn’t bad luck that has flung you back here.” + +“Oh, no. I’ve been doing very well. I’ve been saving up to come. And +when I had enough to last me through the summer, I--I came.” + +“You’ve been at work?” + +She dropped her eyes and flushed. And her fingers played more nervously +with her ribbons. + +“You needn’t treat me as a child any longer,” she said at last in a low +voice; “I’m eighteen now and--well, I’m not a child.” + +Again there was a long pause. Howard, watching her downcast face, saw +her steadying her expression to meet his eyes. When she looked, it was +straight at him--appeal but also defiance. + +“I don’t ask anything of you,” she said, “we are both free. And I +wanted to see you. I was sick of all those others--up there. I’ve +never had--had--this out of my mind. And I’ve come. And I can see you +sometimes. I won’t be in the way.” + +Howard went over to the window and stared out into the lights and +shadows of the leafy Square. When he turned again she had lighted and +was smoking one of his cigarettes. + +“Well,” he said smiling down at her, “Why not? Put on a street gown and +we’ll go out and get supper and talk it over.” + +She sprang up, her face alight. She was almost running toward the door. +Midway she stopped, turned and came slowly back. She put one of her arms +upon his shoulder--a slender, cool, smooth, white arm with the lace of +the wide sleeve slipping away from it. She turned her face up until her +mouth, like a rosebud, was very near his lips. There was appeal in her +eyes. + +“I’m very, very glad to see you,” Howard said as he kissed her. + + * * * * * + +And so Howard’s life was determined for the next four years. + +He worked well at his profession. He read a great deal. He wrote fiction +and essays in desultory fashion and got a few things printed in the +magazines. He led a life that was a model of regularity. But he knew the +truth--that Alice had ended his career. + +He was content. Ambition had always been vague with him and now his +habit of following the line of least resistance had drifted him +into this mill-pond. Sometimes, he would give himself up to +bitter self-reproach, disgusted that he should be so satisfied, so +non-resisting in a lot in every way the reverse of that which he had +marked out for himself. If he had been chained he might, probably would, +have broken away. But Alice never attempted to control him. His will +was her law. She was especially shrewd about money matters, so often the +source of disputes and estrangements. Two months after she reappeared, +she proposed that they take an apartment together. + +“I saw one to-day in West Twelfth Street at seventy dollars a month,” + she said, “and I’m sure I could manage it so that you would be much +better off than you are now.” + +He viewed this plan with suspicion. It definitely committed him to a +mode of life which he had always regarded as degrading both to the man +and the woman and as certain of a calamitous ending. So he made excuses +for delay, fully intending never to yield. But although Alice did not +speak of her plan again, he found himself more and more attracted by it, +caught himself speculating about various apartments he happened to see +as he went about the streets. She must have been conscious of what was +going on in his mind; for when, a month after she had spoken, he said +abruptly: “Where was that apartment you saw?” she went straight on +discussing the details as if there had been no interval. She was ready +to act. + +The apartment was taken in her name--Mrs. Cammack, the “Mrs.” being +necessary to account for him. They selected the furniture together, he +as interested as she and very pleased to find that she had the same good +taste in those matters that she had in dress. She took all the troubles +and annoyances upon herself. When she invited him to assist in the +arrangement, it was in matters that amused him and at times when she was +sure he had nothing else to do. It is not strange that he got a wholly +false idea of the difficulties of setting up an establishment. + +After a month of selecting and discussing, of pleasure in the new +experience, pleasure in Alice’s enthusiasm and excitement and happiness, +he found himself master of five attractive and comfortable rooms, his +clothing, his books, all his belongings properly arranged. The door was +opened for him by a cleanlooking coloured maid, with a tiny white cap on +her head. + +As he looked around and then at the beautiful face with the wistful, +gold-brown eyes so anxiously following his wandering glance, he was very +near to loving her. Indeed, he was like a husband who has left out that +period of passionate love which extends into married life until it gives +place to boredom, or to dislike, or to some such sympathetic affection +as he felt for Alice. “It is just this that holds me,” he thought, in +his infrequent moods of dissatisfaction. “If we quarrelled or if there +were any deep feeling on my side, I should not be in this mess. I should +be”--Well, where would he be? “Probably worse off,” he usually added. + +Certainly he could not have been freer, for she never questioned +him; and, if she was ever uneasy or jealous when he came in late--for +him--without telling her where he had been, she never showed it. She had +no friends, and he often wondered how she passed the time when he was +not with her. Whenever he inquired he got the same answer: She had been +busying herself with their home; she had been planning to save money or +to make him more comfortable; she had been reading to improve her mind +and to enable herself to start him talking on subjects that interested +him. + +No matter how unexpectedly he looked in upon her life or her mind, he +found--himself. + +One day she said to him--it was after two years of this life: “Something +is worrying you. Is it about me? You look at me so queerly at times.” + +“Yes,” he answered. “It is about you. Tell me, Miss Black-Hair, do you +never think of getting old?” + +“No,” she smiled. “I shall wait until I am twenty-five before I begin to +think of that.” + +“But don’t you see that this sort of thing must stop sometime? It is +unjust to you. When I think of it, I reproach myself for permitting us +to get into it.” + +“I am happy,” she said, looking straight at him, terror in her eyes. + +“But you have no friends?” + +“Who has? And what do I want with friends?” + +“But don’t you see, I can’t introduce you to anybody. I can’t talk about +you to the people I know. I am always having to explain you away, always +having to act as if I were ashamed of this, my real life. At times I am +Anglo-Saxon enough to be really ashamed of it. And I ought to be and am +ashamed of myself.” + +“Don’t let’s talk about it. You and I understand. Why should we bother +about the rest of the world?” + +“No, we _must_ talk about it. I have been going over it carefully. We +must--must be married.” + +He laid his hand upon hers. She blushed deeply and lowered her head. +A tear dropped upon the front of her gown and hung glittering in the +meshes of the white lace. She crept into his arms and buried her face +upon his shoulder and sobbed. He had never seen her even look like tears +before. + +“We must be married,” he repeated, patting her on the shoulder. + +She shook her head in negation. + +“Yes,” he said firmly, mentally noting that this was the very first time +he had ever caught her in a pretense. + +“No.” Her tone was as firm as his. She lifted her head and put her +cheek against his. “It makes me very proud that you ask it. But--I--I do +not----” + +“Do not--what?” + +“I do not want--I will not--risk losing you.” + +“But you won’t lose me. You will have me more than ever.” + +“Some men--yes. But not you.” + +“And why not I, O Wisdom?” + +“Because--because--do you think I have watched you all this time, +without learning something about you? The way to keep you is to leave +you free. I do not want your name. I do not want your friends I do not +want to be respectable. I want--just you.” + +“But are we not as good as married now?” + +“Yes--that’s it. And I want it to keep on. I never cared for anybody +until I saw you. I shall never care for anybody else. I never shall try. +I want you as long as I can have you. And then----” + +“And then,” Howard laughed or rather, pretended to laugh, “and then, +‘Oh, dig me a grave both wide and deep, wide and deep.’ How like +twenty-years-old that is.” + +She seemed not to hear his jest and presently went on: “Do you remember +the evening before I left, down there at Mrs. Sands’s?” + +“The night you proposed to me?” Howard said, pulling her ear. + +She smiled faintly and continued: “I thought it all out that night. I +intended to come back just as I did. I went deliberately. I----” + +Howard put his hand over her lips. + +“O, I am not going to tell anything,”, said she, evading his fingers. +“Only this--that I understood you then, understood just why you +would never marry. Not so clearly as I understand it now, but still +I--understood. And you have been teaching me ever since, teaching me +manners, teaching me how to read and think and talk. And more than all, +you’ve taught me your way of looking at life.” + +Howard held her away from him and studied her face, surprise in his +eyes. “Isn’t it strange?” he said. + +“Here I’ve been seeing you day after day all this time, have had a +chance to know you better than I ever knew any one in my life, have had +you very near to me day and night. And just now, as I look at you, I see +the real you for the first time in two years.” + +“I have been wondering when you would look at me again,” said Alice with +a small, sly smile. + +“Why, you are a woman grown. Where is the little girl I knew, the little +girl who used to look up to me?” + +“Oh, she’s gone these two years. She proposed to you and, when you +refused her, she--died.” + +“Yes--we must be married,” Howard went on. “Why not? It is more +convenient, let us say.” + +Alice shook her head and put her cheek against his again and clasped his +fingers in hers. “No, my instinct is against it. Some day--perhaps. +But not now, not now. I want you. I want only you. We are together out +here--out beyond the pale. Inside, others would come in and--and surely +come between us. I want no others--none.” + + + + + +VII. + +A LITTLE CANDLE GOES OUT. + + +Howard was now thirty years old. Park Row had long ceased talking of him +as a “coming man.” While his style of writing was steadily improving, +he wrote with no fixed aim, wrote simply for the day, for the newspaper +which dies with the day of its date. Some of his acquaintances wondered +why a man of such ability should thus stand still. The less observant +spoke of him as an impressive example of the “journalistic blight.” + Those who looked deeper saw the truth--a dangerous facility, a perilous +inertia, a fatal entanglement. Facility enabled him to earn a good +living with ease, working as he chose. Inertia prevented him from +seeking opportunities for advancement. Entanglement shut him off from +the men and women of his own kind who would have thrust opportunities +upon him and compelled him. + +Howard himself saw this clearly in his occasional moods of +self-criticism. But as he saw no remedy, he raged intermittently and +briefly, and straightway relapsed. Vanity supplied him with many +excuses and consolations. Was he not one of the best reporters in the +profession? Where was there another, where indeed in any profession were +there many of his age, making five thousand a year? Was he not always +improving his mind? Was he not more and more careful in his personal +habits? Was he not respected by all who knew him; looked upon as a +successful man; regarded by those with whom he came in daily contact as +a leader in the profession, a model for style, a marvel for facility and +versatility and for the quantity of good “copy” he could turn out in a +brief time? But with all the soothings of vanity he never could quite +hide from himself that his life was a failure up to that moment. + +“Why try to lie to myself?” he thought. “It’s never a question of what +one has done but always of what one could have and should have done. +I am thirty and I have been marking time for at least four years. +Preparing by study and reading? Yes, but not preparing for anything.” + +On the whole he was glad that Alice had refused to marry him. Her reason +was valid. But there was another which he thought she did not see. He +was deceived as to the depth of her insight because he did not watch her +closely. He had no suspicion how many, many times, in their moments +of demonstrativeness, she listened for those words which never came, +listened and turned away to hide from him the disappointment in her +eyes. + +He did not love her--and she knew it. She did not inspire ambition in +him--and she knew it. She simply kept him comfortable and contented. +She simply prevented his amatory instincts from gathering strength +vigorously to renew that search which men and women keep up incessantly +until they find what they seek. She knew this also but never permitted +herself to see it clearly. + +He was pleased with her but not proud of her. He was not exactly ashamed +of his relation with her but--well, he never relaxed his precautions for +keeping it conventionally concealed. He still had a room at his club +and occupied it occasionally. He laughed at himself, despised himself +in a--gentle, soothing way. But he excused himself to himself with +earnestness despite his sarcasms at his own expense. And for the most +of the time he was content--so well, so comfortably content that if his +mind had not been so nervously active he would have taken on the form +and look of settled middle-life. + +There was just the one saving quality--his mental alertness. All his +life he had had insatiable intellectual curiosity. It had kept him +from wasting his time at play when he was a boy. It had kept him from +plunging deeply into dissipation when youth was hot in his veins. It was +now keeping him from the sluggard’s fate. + + * * * * * + +On the last day of January--six weeks after his thirtieth birthday--he +came home earlier than usual, as they were going to the theatre and were +to dine at seven. He found Alice in bed and the doctor sitting beside +her. + +“You’ll have to get some one else to go with you, I’m afraid,” she said +with good-humoured resignation, a trifle over-acted. “My cold is worse +and the doctor says I must stay in bed.” + +“Nothing serious?” Howard asked anxiously, for her cheeks were flaming. + +“Oh, no. Just the cold. And I am taking care of myself.” + +He accompanied the doctor to the door of the apartment. At the threshold +the doctor whispered: “Make some excuse and come to my office. I wish to +see you particularly.” + +He grew pale. “Don’t let her see,” urged the doctor. He went back to +Alice, sick at heart. “I must go out and arrange for some one else to do +the play for me,” he said. “I shall spend the evening with you.” + +She protested, but faintly. He went to the doctor’s office. + +“She must go south at once,” he began, after looking at Howard steadily +and keenly. “Nothing can save her life. That may prolong it.” + +Howard seemed not to understand. + +“She must go to-morrow or she’ll be gone forever in ten days.” + +“Impossible,” Howard said in a dull, dazed tone. + +“At once, I tell you--at once.” + +“Impossible,” Howard repeated. He was saying to himself, “And only this +afternoon I wished I were free and wondered how I could free myself.” He +laughed strangely. + +“Impossible,” he said again. And again he laughed. The room swam around. +He stood up. “Impossible!” he said a fourth time, almost shouting it. +And he struck the doctor full in the face, reeled and fell headlong to +the floor. When he recovered consciousness he was lying on a lounge, the +doctor’s assistant standing beside him. + +“I must go to her,” he exclaimed and sat up. He saw the doctor a few +feet away, holding a cloth odorous of arnica to his cheek. Howard +remembered and began, “I beg your pardon,”--The doctor interrupted with: +“Not at all. I’ve had many queer experiences but never one like that.” + But Howard had ceased to hear. He was staring vacantly at the floor, +repeating to himself, “And I wished to be free. And I am to be free.” + +“You must go back to her. Take her south tomorrow. Asheville is the best +place.” + +Howard was on his way to the door. “We shall go by the first train,” he +said. + +“Pardon me for telling you so abruptly,” said the doctor, following him. +“But I saw that you weren’t--that is I couldn’t help noticing that you +and she were--And usually the man in such cases--well, my sympathy is +for the woman.” + +“Do you think a man voluntarily lives with a woman because he hates +her?” Howard asked, with an angry sneer. He bowed coldly and was gone. + +As he looked at Alice he saw that it was of no use to try to deceive +her. “We must go South in the morning,” he almost whispered, taking her +hand and kissing it again and again, slowly and gently. + +The next day but one they were at Asheville and two weeks later Howard +could not hide from himself that she would soon be gone. + + * * * * * + +Her bed was drawn up to the open window and she Was propped with +pillows. A mild breeze was flooding the room with the odours of the pine +forests and the gardens. She looked out, dilated her nostrils and her +eyes. + +“Beautiful!” she murmured. “It is so easy to die here.” + +She put out her hand and laid it in his. + +“I want you, my Alice.” He was looking into her eyes and she into his. +“I need you. I can’t do without you.” + +She smiled with an expression of happiness. “Is it wrong,” she asked, +“to take pleasure in another’s pain? I see that you are in pain, that +you suffer. And, oh, it makes me happy, so happy.” + +“Don’t,” he begged. “Please don’t.” + +“But listen,” she went on. “Don’t you see why? Because I--because I love +you. There,” she was smiling again. “I promised myself I never, never +would say it first. And I’ve broken my word.” + +“What do you mean?” + +“For nearly four years--all the years I’ve really lived--I have had only +one thought--my love for you. But I never would say it, never would say +‘I love you,’ because I knew that you did not love me.” + +He was beginning to speak but she lifted her hand to his lips. Then she +put it back in his and pushed her fingers up his coat-sleeve until they +were hidden, resting upon his bare arm. + +“No, you did not.” Her voice was low and the words came slowly. “But +since we came here, you have loved me. If I were to get well, were to go +back, you would not. Ah, if you knew, if you only knew how I have wanted +your love, how I have lain awake night after night, hour after hour, +whispering under my breath ‘I love you. I love you. Why do you not love +me?’” + +Howard put his head down so that his face was hid from her in her lap. + +“After the doctor had talked to me a few minutes, had asked me a few +questions,” she went on, “I knew. And I was not sorry. It was nearly +over, anyhow, dear. Did you know it? I often wondered if you did. Yes, I +saw many little signs. I wouldn’t admit it to myself until this illness +came. Then I confessed it to myself. And I was not sorry we were to +part this way. But I did not expect”--and she drew a long +breath--“happiness!” + +“No, no,” he protested, lifting his face and looking at her. She drank +in the expression of his eyes--the love, the longing, the misery--as if +it had been a draught of life. + +“Ah, you make me so happy, so happy. How much I owe to you. Four long, +long, beautiful years. How much! How much! And at last--love!” + +There was silence for several minutes. Then he spoke: “I loved you +from the first, I believe. Only I never appreciated you. I was +so self-absorbed. And you--you fed my vanity, never insisted upon +yourself.” + +“But we have had happiness. And no one, no one, no one will ever be to +you what I have been.” + +“I love you.” Howard’s voice had a passionate earnestness in it that +carried conviction. “The light goes out with you.” + +“With this little candle? No, no, dear--_my_ dear. You will be a great +man. You will not forget; but you will go on and do the things that I’m +afraid I didn’t help, maybe hindered, you in trying to do. And you will +keep a little room in your heart, a very little room. And I shall be in +there. And you’ll open the door every once in a while and come in and +take me in your arms and kiss me. And I think--yes, I feel that--that I +shall know and thrill.” + +Her voice sank lower and lower and then her eyes closed, and presently +he called the nurse. + +The next day he rose from his bed, just at the connecting door between +his room and hers, and looked in at her. The shades were drawn and only +a faint light crept into the room. He thought he saw her stir and went +nearer. + +“Why, they’ve made you very gay this morning,” he laughed, “with the red +ribbons at your neck.” + +There was no answer. He came still nearer. The red ribbons were long +streamers of blood. She was dead. + + + + + + +VIII. + +A STRUGGLE FOR SELF-CONTROL. + + +He left her at Asheville as she wished--“where I have been happiest and +where I wish you to think of me.” On the train coming north he reviewed +his past and made his plans for the future. + +As to the past he had only one regret--that he had not learned to +appreciate Alice until too late. He felt that his failure to advance had +been due entirely to himself--to his inertia, his willingness to seize +any pretext for refraining from action. As to the future--work, work +with a purpose. His mind must be fully and actively occupied. There must +be no leisure, for leisure meant paralysis. + +At the Twenty-third Street ferry-house he got into a hansom and gave +the address of “the flat.” He did not note where he was until the hansom +drew up at the curb. He leaned forward and looked at the house--at their +windows with the curtains which she had draped so gracefully, which she +and he had selected at Vantine’s one morning. How often he had seen her +standing between those curtains, looking out for him, her blue-black +hair waving back from her forehead so beautifully and her face ready to +smile so soon as ever she should catch sight of him. + +He leaned back and closed his eyes. The blood was pounding through his +temples and his eyeballs seemed to be scalding under the lids. + +“Never again,” he moaned. “How lonely it is.” + +The cabman lifted the trap. “Here we are, sir.” + +“Yes--in a moment.” Where should he go? But what did it matter? “To a +hotel,” he said. “The nearest.” + +“The Imperial?” + +“That will do--yes--go there.” + +He resolved never to return to “the flat.” On the following day he sent +for the maid and arranged the breaking up. He gave her everything except +his personal belongings and a few of Alice’s few possessions--those he +could keep, and those which he must destroy because he could not endure +the thought of any one having them. + +At the office all understood his mourning; but no one, not even +Kittredge, knew him well enough to intrude beyond gentler looks and +tones. Kittredge had written a successful novel and was going abroad for +two years of travel and writing. Howard took his rooms in the Royalton. +They dined together a few nights before he sailed. + +“And now,” said Kittredge, “I’m my own master. Why, I can’t begin to +fill the request for ‘stuff.’ I can go where I please, do as I +please. At last I shall work. For I don’t call the drudgery done under +compulsion work.” + +“Work!” Howard repeated the word several times absently. Then he leaned +forward and said with what was for him an approach to the confidential: +“What a mess I have been making of my life! What waste! What folly! I’ve +behaved like a child, an impulsive, irresponsible child. And now I must +get to work, really to work.” + +“With your talents a year or so of work would free you.” + +“Oh, I’m free.” Howard hesitated and flushed. “Yes, I’m free,” he +repeated bitterly. “We are all free except for the shackles we fasten +upon ourselves and can unlock for ourselves. I don’t agree with you that +earning one’s daily bread is drudgery.” + +“Well, let’s see you work--work for something definite. Why don’t you +try for some higher place on the paper--correspondent at Washington or +London--no, not London, for that is a lounging job which would ruin even +an energetic man. Why not try for the editorial staff? They ought +to have somebody upstairs who takes an interest in something besides +politics.” + +“But doesn’t a man have to write what he doesn’t believe? You know +how Segur is always laughing at the protection editorials he writes, +although he is a free-trader.” + +“Oh, there must be many directions in which the paper is free to express +honest opinions.” + +Howard began that very night. As soon as he reached his club where he +was living for a few days he sat down to the file of the _News-Record_ +and began to study its editorial style and method. He had learned a +great deal before three o’clock in the morning and had written a short +editorial on a subject he took from the news. In the morning he read his +article again and decided that with a few changes--adjectives cut out, +long sentences cut up, short sentences made shorter and the introduction +and the conclusion omitted--it would be worth handing in. With the +corrected article in his hand he knocked at the door of the editor’s +room. + +It was a small, plainly furnished office--no carpet, three severe +chairs, a revolving book case with a battered and dusty bust of Lincoln +on it, a table strewn with newspaper cuttings. Newspapers from all +parts of the world were scattered about the floor. At the table sat the +editor, Mr. Malcolm, whom Howard had never before seen. + +He was short and slender, with thin white hair and a smooth, satirical +face, deeply wrinkled and unhealthily pale. He was dressed in black +but wore a string tie of a peculiarly lively shade of red. His most +conspicuous feature was his nose--long, narrow, pointed, sarcastic. + +“My name is Howard,” began the candidate, all but stammering before Mr. +Malcolm’s politely uninterested glance, “and I come from downstairs.” + +“Oh--so you are Mr. Howard. I’ve heard of you often. Will you be +seated?” + +“Thank you--no. I’ve only brought in a little article I thought I’d +submit for your page. I’d like to write for it and, if you don’t mind, +I’ll bring in an article occasionally.” + +“Glad to have it. We like new ideas; and a new pen, a new mind, ought to +produce them. If you don’t see your articles in the paper, you’ll know +what has happened to them. If you do, paste them on space slips and +send them up by the boy on Thursdays.” Mr. Malcolm nodded and smiled and +dipped his pen in the ink-well. + +The editorial appeared just as Howard wrote it. He read and reread it, +admiring the large, handsome editorial type in which it was printed, and +deciding that it was worthy of the excellent place in the column which +Mr. Malcolm had given it. He wrote another that very day and sent it +up by the boy. He found it in his desk the next noon with “Too +abstract--never forget that you are writing for a newspaper” scrawled +across the last page in blue pencil. + +In the two following months Howard submitted thirty-five articles. +Three were published in the main as he wrote them, six were “cut” to +paragraphs, one appeared as a letter to the editor with “H” signed to +it. The others disappeared. It was not encouraging, but Howard kept on. +He knew that if he stopped marching steadily, even though hopelessly, +toward a definite goal, a heavy hand would be laid upon his shoulder to +drag him away and fling him down upon a grave. + +As it was, desperately though he fought to refrain from backward +glances, he was now and again taken off his guard. A few of her pencil +marks on the margin of a leaf in one of his books; a gesture, a little +mannerism of some woman passing him in the street--and he would be ready +to sink down with weariness and loneliness, like a tired traveller in a +vast desert. + +He completely lost self-control only once. It was a cold, wet May night +and everything had gone against him that day. He looked drearily round +his rooms as he came in. How stiff, how forbidding, how desert they +seemed! He threw himself into a big chair. + +“No friends,” he thought, “no one that cares a rap whether I live or +die, suffer or am happy. Nothing to care for. Why do I go on? What’s the +use if one has not an object--a human object?” + +And their life together came flooding back--her eyes, her kisses, +her attentions, her passionate love for him, so pervasive yet so +unobtrusive; the feeling of her smooth, round arm about his neck; her +way of pressing close up to him and locking her fingers in his; the +music of her voice, singing her heartsong to him yet never putting it +into words---- + +He stumbled over to the divan and stretched himself out and buried his +face in the cushions. “Come back!” he sobbed. “Come back to me, dear.” + And then he cried, as a man cries--without tears, with sobs choking up +into his throat and issuing in moans. + +“Curious,” he said aloud when the storm was over and he was sitting up, +ashamed before himself for his weakness, “who would have suspected me of +this?” + + + + + +IX. + +AMBITION AWAKENS. + + +Howard was now thirty-two. He was still trying for the editorial staff; +but in the last month only five of his articles had been printed to +twenty-three thrown away. A national campaign was coming on and the +_News-Record_ was taking a political stand that seemed to him sound and +right. For the first time he tried political editorials. + +The cause aroused his passion for justice, for democratic equality and +the abolition of privilege. He had something to say and he succeeded +in saying it vigorously, effectively, with clearness and moderation of +statement. How to avoid hysteria; how to set others on fire instead of +only making of himself a fiery spectacle; how to be earnest, yet +calm; how to be satirical yet sincere; how to be interesting, yet +direct--these were his objects, pursued with incessant toiling, +rewriting again and again, recasting of sentences, careful balancing of +words for exact shades of meaning. + +“I shall never learn to write,” had been his complaint of himself +to himself for years. And in these days it seemed to him that he was +farther from a good style than ever. His standards had risen, were +rising; he feared that his power of accomplishment was failing. +Therefore his heart sank and his face paled when an office boy told him +that Mr. Malcolm wished to see him. + +“I suppose it’s to tell me not to annoy him with any more of my +attempts,” he thought. “Well, anyway, I’ve had the benefit of the work. +I’ll try a novel next.” + +“Take a seat,” said Mr. Malcolm with an absent nod. “Just a moment, if +you please.” + +On a chair beside him was the remnant of what had been a huge +up-piling of newspapers--the exchanges that had come in during the past +twenty-four hours. The Exchange Editor had been through them and Mr. +Malcolm was reading “to feel the pulse of the country” and also to make +sure that nothing of importance had been overlooked. + +On the floor were newspapers by the score, thrown about tumultuously. +Mr. Malcolm would seize a paper from the unread heap, whirl it open and +send his glance and his long pointed nose tearing down one column and up +another, and so from page to page. It took less than a minute for him +to finish and filing away great sixteen page dailies. A few seconds +sufficed for the smaller papers. Occasionally he took his long shears +and with a skilful twist cut out a piece from the middle of a page and +laid it and the shears upon the table with a single motion. + +“Now, Mr. Howard.” Malcolm sent the last paper to increase the chaos on +the floor and faced about in his revolving chair. “How would you like to +come up here?” + +Howard looked at him in amazement. “You mean----” + +“We want you to join the editorial staff. Mr. Walker has married him a +rich wife and is going abroad to do literary work, which means that he +is going to do nothing. Will you come?” + +“It is what I have been working for.” + +“And very hard you have worked.” Mr. Malcolm’s cold face relaxed into +a half-friendly, half-satirical smile. “After you’d been sending up +articles for a fortnight, I knew you’d make it. You went about it +systematically. An intelligent plan, persisted in, is hard to beat in +this world of laggards and hap-hazard strugglers.” + +“And I was on the point of giving up--that is, giving up this particular +ambition,” Howard confessed. + +“Yes, I saw it in your articles--a certain pessimism and despondency. +You show your feelings plainly, young man. It is an excellent +quality--but dangerous. A man ought to make his mind a machine working +evenly without regard to his feelings or physical condition. The night +my oldest child died--I was editor of a country newspaper--I wrote my +leaders as usual. I never had written better. You can be absolute master +inside, if you will. You can learn to use your feelings when they’re +helpful and to shut them off when they hinder.” + +“But don’t you think that temperament----” + +“Temperament--that’s one of the subtlest forms of self-excuse. However, +the place is yours. The salary is a hundred and twenty-five a week--an +advance of about twelve hundred a year, I believe, on your average +downstairs. Can you begin soon?” + +“Immediately,” said Howard, “if the City Editor is satisfied.” + +An office boy showed him to his room--a mere hole-in-the-wall with just +space for a table-desk, a small table, a case of shelves for books of +reference, and two chairs. The one window overlooked the lower end +of Manhattan Island--the forest of business buildings peaked with the +Titan-tenements of financial New York. Their big, white plumes of +smoke and steam were waving in the wind and reflecting in pale pink the +crimson of the setting sun. + +Howard had his first taste of the intoxication of triumph, his first +deep inspiration of ambition. He recalled his arrival in New York, his +timidity, his dread lest he should be unable to make a living--“Poor +boy,” they used to say at home, “he will have to be supported. He is too +much of a dreamer.” He remembered his explorations of those now familiar +streets--how acutely conscious he had been that they were paved with +stone, walled with stone, roofed with a stony sky, peopled with faces +and hearts of stone. How miserably insignificant he had felt! + +And all these years he had been almost content to be one of the crowd, +like them exerting himself barely enough to provide himself with the +essentials of existence. Like them, he had given no real thought to the +morrow. And now, with comparatively little labour, he had put himself +in the way to become a master, a director of the enormous concentrated +energies summed up in the magic word New York. + +The key to the situation was--work, incessant, self-improving, +self-developing. “And it is the key to happiness also,” he thought. +“Work and sleep--the two periods of unconsciousness of self--are the two +periods of happiness.” + +His aloofness freed him from the temptations of distraction. He knew no +women. He did not put himself in the way of meeting them. He kept away +from theatres. He sunk himself in a routine of labour which, viewed from +the outside, seemed dull and monotonous. Viewed from his stand-point of +acquisition, of achievement, it was just the reverse. + +The mind soon adapts itself to and enjoys any mental routine which +exercises it. The only difficulty is in forming the habit of the +routine. + +Howard was greatly helped by his natural bent toward editorial writing. +The idea of discussing important questions each day with a vast +multitude as an audience stirred his imagination and aroused his +instincts for helping on the great world-task of elevating the race. +This enthusiasm pleased and also amused his cynical chief. + +“You believe in things?” Malcolm said to him after they had become well +acquainted. “Well, it is an admirable quality--but dangerous. You will +need careful editing. Your best plan is to give yourself up to your +belief while you are writing--then to edit yourself in cold blood. +That is the secret of success, of great success in any line, business, +politics, a profession--enthusiasm, carefully revised and edited.” + +“It is difficult to be cold blooded when one is in earnest.” + +“True,” Malcolm answered, “and there is the danger. My own enthusiasms +are confined to the important things--food, clothing and shelter. It +seems to me that the rest is largely a matter of taste, training and +time of life. But don’t let me discourage you. I only suggest that you +may have to guard against believing so intensely that you produce the +impression of being an impracticable, a fanatic. Be cautious always; be +especially cautious when you are cocksure you’re right. Unadulterated +truth always arouses suspicion in the unaccustomed public. It has the +alarming tastelessness of distilled water.” + +Howard was acute enough to separate the wisdom from the cynicism of his +chief. He saw the lesson of moderation. “You have failed, my very able +chief,” he said to himself, “because you have never believed intensely +enough to move you to act. You have attached too much importance to the +adulteration--the folly and the humbug. And here you are, still only a +critic, destructive but never constructive.” + +At first his associates were much amused by his intensity. But as he +learned to temper and train his enthusiasm they grew to respect both his +ability and his character. Before a year had passed they were feeling +the influence of his force--his trained, informed mind, made vigorous by +principles and ideals. + +Malcolm had the keen appreciation of a broad mind for this honest, +intelligent energy. He used the editorial “blue-pencil” for alteration +and condensation with the hand of a master. He cut away Howard’s +crudities, toned down and so increased his intensity, and pointed it +with the irony and satire necessary to make it carry far and penetrate +easily. + +Malcolm was at once giving Howard a reputation greater than he deserved +and training him to deserve it. + + * * * * * + +In the office next to Howard’s sat Segur, a bachelor of forty-five who +took life as a good-humoured jest and amused his leisure with the New +Yorkers who devote a life of idleness to a nervous flight from boredom. +Howard interested Segur who resolved to try to draw him out of his +seclusion. + +“I’m having some people to dinner at the Waldorf on Thursday,” he said, +looking in at the door. “Won’t you join us?” + +“I’d be glad to,” replied Howard, casting about for an excuse for +declining. “But I’m afraid I’d ruin your dinner. I haven’t been out for +years. I’ve been too busy to make friends or, rather, acquaintances.” + +“A great mistake. You ought to see more of people.” + +“Why? Can they tell me anything that I can’t learn from newspapers or +books more accurately and without wasting so much time? I’d like to know +the interesting people and to see them in their interesting moments. But +I can’t afford to hunt for them through the wilderness of nonentities +and wait for them to become interesting.” + +“But you get amusement, relaxation. Then too, it’s first-hand study of +life.” + +“I’m not sure of that. Yawning is not a very attractive kind of +relaxation, is it? And as for study of life, eight years of reporting +gave me more of that than I could assimilate. And it was study of +realities, not of pretenses. As I remember them, ‘respectable’ people +are all about the same, whether in their vices or in their virtues. They +are cut from a few familiar, ‘old reliable’ patterns. No, I don’t think +there is much to be learned from respectability on dress parade.” + +“You’ll be amused on Thursday. You must come. I’m counting on you.” + +Howard accepted--cordially as he could not refuse decently. Yet he had +a presentiment or a shyness or an impatience at the interruption of +his routine which reproached him for accepting with insistence and +persistence. + + + + + +X. + +THE ETERNAL MASCULINE. + + +It was the first week in November, and in those days “everybody” did not +stay in the country so late as now. There were many New Yorkers in +the crowd of out-of-town people at the Waldorf. Howard was attracted, +fascinated by the scene--carefully-groomed men and women, the air of +gaiety and ease, the flowers, the music, the lights, the perfumes. At a +glance it seemed a dream of life with evil and sorrow and pain banished. + +“No place for a working man,” thought he, “at least not for my kind of +a working man. It appeals too sharply to the instincts for laziness and +luxury.” + +He was late and stood in the entrance to the palm-garden, looking about +for Segur. Soon he saw him waving from a table near the wall under the +music-alcove. + +“The oysters are just coming,” said Segur. “Sit over there between Mrs. +Carnarvon and Miss Trevor. They are cousins, Howard, so be cautious what +you say to one about the other. Oh, here is Mr. Berersford.” + +The others knew each other well; Howard knew them only as he had seen +their names in the “fashionable intelligence” columns of the newspapers. +Mrs. Carnarvon was a small thin woman in a black velvet gown which made +her thinness obtrusive and attractive or the reverse according as one’s +taste is toward or away from attenuation. Her eyes were a dull, greenish +grey, her skin brown and smooth and tough from much exposure in the +hunting field. Her cheeks were beginning to hang slightly, so that one +said: “She is pretty, but she will soon not be.” Her mouth proclaimed +strong appetites--not unpleasantly since she was good-looking. + +Miss Trevor was perhaps ten years younger than her cousin, not far from +twenty-four. She had a critical, almost amused yet not unpleasant way +of looking out of unusually clear blue-green eyes. Her hair was of an +ordinary shade of dark brown, but fine and thick and admirably arranged +to set off her long, sensitive, high bred features. Her chin and mouth +expressed decision and strong emotions. + +There was a vacant chair between Segur and Berersford and it was +presently filled by a fat, middle-aged woman, neither blonde nor +brunette, with a large, serene face. Upon it was written a frank +confession that she had never in her life had an original thought +capable of creating a ripple of interest. She was Mrs. Sidney, rich, +of an “old” family--in the New York meaning of the word “old”--both by +marriage and by birth, much courted because of her position and because +she entertained a great deal both in town and at a large and hospitable +country house. + +The conversation was lively and amused, or seemed to amuse, all. It was +purely personal--about Kittie and Nellie and Jim and Peggie and Amy and +Bob; about the sayings and doings of a few dozen people who constituted +the intimates of these five persons. + +Mrs. Carnarvon turned to the silent Howard at last and began about the +weather. + +“Horrible in the city, isn’t it?” + +“Well, perhaps it is,” replied Howard. “But I fancied it delightful. You +see I have not lived anywhere but New York for so long that I am hardly +capable to judge.” + +“Why everybody says we have the worst climate in the world.” + +“Far be it from me to contradict everybody. But for me New York has the +ideal climate. Isn’t it the best of any great city in the world? You +see, we have the air of the sea in our streets. And when the sun shines, +which it does more days in the year than in any other great city, the +effect is like champagne--or rather, like the effect champagne looks as +if it ought to have.” + +“I hate champagne,” said Mrs. Carnarvon. “Marian, you must not drink it; +you know you mustn’t.” This to Miss Trevor who was lifting the glass to +her lips. She drank a little of the champagne, then set the glass down +slowly. + +“What you said made me want to drink it,” she said to Howard. “I was +glad to hear your lecture on the weather. I had never thought of it +before, but New York really has a fine climate. And only this afternoon +I let that stupid Englishman--Plymouth--you’ve met him? No?--Well, at +any rate, he was denouncing our climate and for the moment I forgot +about London.” + +“Frightful there, isn’t it, after October and until May?” + +“Yes, and the air is usually stale even in the late spring. When it’s +warm, it’s sticky. And when it’s cold, it’s raw.” + +“You are a New Yorker?” + +“Yes,” said Miss Trevor faintly, and for an instant showing surprise at +his ignorance. “That is, I spend part of the winter here--like all New +Yorkers.” + +“All?” + +“Oh, all except those who don’t count, or rather, who merely count.” + +“How do you mean?” Howard was taking advantage of her looking into her +plate to smile with a suggestion of irony. She happened to glance up and +so caught him. + +“Oh,” she said, smiling with frank irony at him, “I mean all those +people--the masses, I think they’re called--the people who have to be +fussed over and reformed and who keep shops and--and all that.” + +“The people who work, you mean?” + +“No, I mean the people you never meet about anywhere, the people who +read the newspapers and come to the basement door.” + +“Oh, yes, I understand.” Howard was laughing. “Well, that’s one way of +looking at life. Of course it’s not my way.” + +“What is your way?” + +“Why, being one of those who count only in the census, I naturally take +a view rather different from yours. Now I should say that _your_ people +don’t count. You see, I am most deeply interested in people who read +newspapers.” + +“Oh, you write for the papers, like Jim Segur? What do you write?” + +“What they call editorials.” + +“You are an editor?” + +“Yes and no. I am one of the editors who does not edit but is edited.” + +“It must be interesting,” said Miss Trevor, vaguely. + +“More interesting than you imagine. But then all work is that. In +fact work is the only permanently interesting thing in life. The rest +produces dissatisfaction and regret.” + +“Oh, I’m not so very dissatisfied. Yet I don’t work.” + +“Are you quite sure? Think how hard you work at being fitted for gowns, +at going about to dinners and balls and the like, at chasing foxes and +anise seed bags and golf balls.” + +“But that is not work. It is amusing myself.” + +“Yes, you think so. But you forget that you are doing it in order that +all these people who don’t count may read about it in the papers and so +get a little harmless relaxation.” + +“But we don’t do it to get into the papers.” + +“Probably not. Neither did this--what is it here in my plate, a lamb +chop?--this lamb gambol about and keep itself in condition to form a +course at Segur’s dinner. But after all, wasn’t that what it was really +for? Then think how many people you support by your work.” + +“You make me feel like a day-labourer.” + +“Oh, you’re a much harder worker than any day labourer. And the saddest +part of it to me is that you work altogether for others. You give, give +and get in return nothing but a few flattering glances, a few careless +pats on the back of your vanity. I should hate to work so hard for so +little.” + +“But what would you do?” Miss Trevor was looking at him, interested and +amused. + +“Well, I’d work for myself. I’d insist on a return, on getting back +something equivalent or near it. I’d insist on having my mind improved, +or having my power or my reputation advanced.” + +“I was only jesting when I said that about people not counting.” + +“Altogether?” + +“No, not altogether. I don’t care much about the masses. They seem to +me to be underbred, of a different sort. I hate doing things that are +useful and I hate people that do useful things--in a general way, I +mean.” + +“That is doubtless due to defective education,” said Howard, with a +smile that carried off the thrust as a jest. + +“Is that the way you’d describe a horror of contact with--well, with +unpleasant things?” Miss Trevor was serious. + +“But is it that? Isn’t it just an unconscious affectation, taken up +simply because all the people about you think that way--if one can call +the process thinking? You don’t think, do you, that it is a sign of +superiority to be narrow, to be ignorant, to be out of touch with the +great masses of one’s fellow-beings, to play the part of a harlequin or +a ballet-girl on the stage of life? I understand how a stupid ass can +fritter away his one chance to live in saying and hearing and doing +silly things. But ought not an intelligent person try to enjoy life, try +to get something substantial out of it, try to possess himself of its +ideas and emotions? Why should one play the fool simply because those +about one are incapable of playing any other part?” + +“I’m surprised that you are here to-night. Still, I suppose you’ll give +yourself absolution on the plea that one must dine somewhere.” + +“But I’m not wasting my time. I’m learning. I’m observing a phase of +life. And I’m seeing the latest styles in women’s gowns and--” + +“Is that important--styles, I mean?” + +“Do you suppose that my kind of people, the working classes, would spend +so much time and thought in making anything that was not important? +There is nothing more important.” + +“Then you don’t think we women are wasting time when we talk about dress +so much?” + +“On the contrary, it is an evidence of your superior sagacity. Women +talk trade, ‘shop,’ as soon as they get away from the men. They talk men +and dress--fish and nets.” + +Berersford heard the word fish and interrupted. + +“Do you go South next month, Marian?” + +“Yes--about the fifteenth.” Miss Trevor explained to Howard: “Bobby--Mr. +Berersford here--always fishes in Florida in January.” + +The conversation again became general and personal. Howard knew none of +the people of whom they were talking and all that they said was of +the nature of gossip. But they talked in a sparkling way, using good +English, speaking in agreeable voices with a correct accent, and +indulging in a great deal of malicious humour. + +As they separated Mrs. Sidney, to whom Howard had not spoken during the +evening, said to Segur: “You must bring Mr. Howard on Sunday afternoon.” + +“Will you drop Marian at the house for me?” Mrs. Carnarvon asked her. “I +want to go on to Edith’s.” + +Segur went with Mrs. Sidney and Marian to their carriage. “Who is Mr. +Howard?” Mrs. Sidney said, and Miss Trevor drew nearer to hear the +answer. + +“One of the editorial writers down on the paper and a very clever +one--none better. He works hard and is desperately serious and a regular +hermit.” + +“I think he’s very handsome--don’t you, Marian?” + +“I found him interesting,” said Miss Trevor. + +Howard thought a great deal about Miss Trevor that night, and she was +still in his head the next day. “This comes of never seeing women,” he +said to himself. “The first girl I meet seems the most beautiful I ever +saw, and the most intellectual. And, when I think it over, what did she +say that was startling?” + +Nevertheless he went with Segur the next Sunday to Mrs. Sidney’s great +house in the upper Avenue overlooking the Park. + +“Why do I come here?” he asked himself. “It is a sheer waste of time. +Mrs. Sidney can do me no good, or I her. It must be the hope of seeing +Miss Trevor.” + +When the gaudy and be-powdered flunkey held back the heavy curtains of +the salon to announce him and Segur, he saw Miss Trevor on a low chair +absently staring into the fire. Yet when he had spoken to Mrs. Sidney +and turned toward her she at once stretched out her hand with a slight +smile. Some others came in and Howard was free to talk to her. He sat +looking at her steadily, admiring her almost perfect profile, delicate +yet strong. + +“And what have you been doing since I saw you?” Miss Trevor asked. + +“Writing little pieces about politics for the paper,” replied Howard. + +“Politics? I detest it. It is all stealing and calling names, isn’t it? +And something dreadful is always going to happen if somebody or other +isn’t elected, or is elected, to something or other. And then, whether +he is or not, nothing happens. I should think the men who have been so +excited and angry and alarmed would feel very cheap. But they don’t. And +the next time they carry on in just the same ridiculous way.” + +“Politics is like everything else--interesting if you understand what it +is all about. But like everything else, you can’t understand it without +a little study at first. It’s a pity women don’t take an interest. If +they did the men might become more reasonable and sane about it than +they are now. But you--what have you been doing?” + +“I--oh, industriously superintending the making of my new nets.” Marian +laughed and Howard was flattered. “And also, well, riding in the Park +every morning. But I never do anything interesting. I simply drift.” + +“That’s so much simpler and more satisfactory than threshing and +splashing about as I do. It seems so fussy and foolish and futile. I +wish--that is, sometimes I wish--that I had learned to amuse myself in +some less violent and exhausting way.” + +“Marian--I say, Marian,” called Mrs. Sidney. “Has Teddy come down?” + +Miss Trevor coloured slightly as she answered: “No, he comes a week +Wednesday. He’s still hunting.” + +“Hunting,” Howard repeated when Mrs. Sidney was again busy with the +others. “Now there is a kind of work that never bothers a man’s brains +or sets him to worrying. I wish I knew how to amuse myself in some such +way.” + +“You should go about more.” + +“Go--where?” + +“To see people.” + +“But I do see a great many people. I’m always seeing them--all day +long.” + +“Yes--but that is in a serious way. I mean go where you will be +amused--to dinners for instance.” + +“I don’t dare. I can’t work at work and also work at play. I must work +at one or the other all the time. I can do nothing without a definite +object. I can’t be just a little interested in anything or anybody. +With me it is no interest at all or else absorption until interest is +exhausted.” + +“Then if you were interested in a woman, let us say, you’d be absorbed +until you found out all there was, and then you’d--take to your heels.” + +“But she might always be new. She might interest me more and more. +Anyhow I fancy that she would weary of me long before I wearied of her. +I think women usually weary first. Men are very monotonous. We are as +vain as women, if not vainer, without their capacity for concealing it. +And vanity makes one think he does not need to exert himself to please.” + +“But why do people usually say that it is the men that are difficult to +hold?” + +“Because the men hold the women, not through the kind of interest we are +talking about, but through another kind--quite different. Women are +so lazy and so dependent--dependent upon men for homes, for money, for +escort even.” + +Miss Trevor was flushing, as if the fire were too hot--at least she +moved a little farther away from it. “Your ideal woman would be a +shop-girl, I should say from what you’ve told me.” + +“Perhaps--in the abstract. I really do think that if I were going to +marry, I should look about for a working-girl, a girl that supported +herself. How can a man be certain of the love of a woman who is +dependent upon him? I should be afraid she was only tolerating me as a +labour-saving device.” + +Miss Trevor laughed. “There certainly is no vanity in that remark,” she +said. “Now I can’t imagine most of the men I know thinking that.” + +“It’s only theory with me. In practice doubtless I should be as +self-complacent as any other man.” + +They left Mrs. Sidney’s together and Howard walked down the Avenue with +her. It seemed a wonderful afternoon--the air dazzling, intoxicating. +He was filled with the joy of living and was glad this particular tall, +slender, distinguished-looking girl was there to make his enjoyment +perfect. They were gay with the delight of being young and in health and +attractive physically and mentally each to the other. They looked each +at the other a great deal, and more and more frankly. + +“Am I never to see you again?” he asked as he rang the bell for her. + +“I believe Mrs. Carnarvon is going to invite you to dine here Thursday +night.” + +“Thank you,” said Howard. + +Miss Trevor coloured. But she met his glance boldly and laughed. Howard +wondered why her laugh was defiant, almost reckless. + + * * * * * + +He saw Segur at the club after dinner that same night. “And how do you +like Miss Trevor?” Segur began as the whiskey and carbonic were set +before them. + +“A very attractive girl,” said Howard. + +“Yes--so a good many men have thought in the last five years. She’s +marrying Teddy Danvers in the spring, I believe. At any rate it’s +generally looked on as settled. Teddy’s a good deal of a ‘chump.’ +But he’s a decent fellow--good-looking, good-natured, domestic in his +tastes, and nothing but money.” + +Howard was smiling to himself. He understood Miss Trevor’s sudden +consciousness of the nearness of the fire, her flush when Mrs. Sidney +asked about “Teddy,” and the recklessness in her parting laugh. + +“Well, Teddy’s in luck,” he said aloud. + +“Not so sure of that. She’s quite capable of leading him a dance if he +bores her. And bore her he will. But that is nothing new. This town is +full of it.” + +“Full of what?” + +“Of weary women--weary wives. The men are hobby-riders. They have just +one interest and that usually small and dull--stocks or iron or real +estate or hunting or automobiles. Our women are not like the English +women--stupid, sodden. They are alive, acute. They wish to be +interested. Their husbands bore them. So--well, what is the natural +temptation to a lazy woman in search of an interest?” + +“It’s like Paris--like France?” + +“Yes, something. Except that perhaps our women are more sentimental, not +fond of intrigue for its own sake--at least, not as a rule.” + +“Doesn’t interest them deeply enough, I suppose. It’s the American blood +coming out--the passion for achievement. They want a man of whom they +can be proud, a man who is doing something interesting and doing it +well.” + +“I doubt that,” replied Segur shrugging his shoulders. “When a woman +loves a man, she wants to absorb him.” + +Howard soon went away to his rooms for a long evening of undisturbed +thought about Teddy Danvers’s fiancée--the first temptation that had +entered his loneliness since Alice died. + +In the few weeks of her illness and the few months immediately following +her death, he had been at his very best. He was able to see her as she +was and to appreciate her. He was living in the clear pure air of +the Valley of the Great Shadow where all things appear in their true +relations and true proportions. But only there was it possible for +the gap between him and Alice to close--that gap of which she was more +acutely conscious than he, and which she made wider far than it really +was by being too humble with him, too obviously on her knees before him. +Such superiority as she thought he possessed is not in human nature; but +neither is it in human nature to refuse worship, to refuse to pose upon +a pedestal if the opportunity presses. + +In the three years between her death and his meeting Marian, the eternal +masculine had been secretly gaining strength to resume its pursuit +of the eternal feminine. And the eternal feminine was certainly most +alluringly personified in this beautiful, graceful girl, at once +appreciative and worthy of appreciation. + +Perhaps she appealed most strongly to Howard in her vivid suggestion of +the open air--of health and strength and nature. He had been leading a +cloistered existence and his blood had grown sluggish. She gave him the +sensation that a prisoner gets when he catches a glimpse from his barred +window of the fields and the streams radiating the joy of life and +freedom. And Marian was of his own kind--like the women among whom he +had been brought up. She satisfied his idea of what a “lady” should be, +but at the same time she was none the less a woman to him--a woman to +love and to be loved; to give him sympathy, companionship; to inspire +him to overcome his weaknesses by striving to be worthy of her; to bring +into his life that feminine charm without which a man’s life must be +cold and cheerless. + +He knew that he could not marry her, that he had no right to make love +to her, that it was unwise to go near her again. But he had no power to +resist the temptation. And even in those days he had small regard for +the means when the end was one upon which he had fixed his mind. “Why +not take what I can get?” he thought, as he dreamed of her. “She’s +engaged--her future practically settled. Yes, I’ll be as happy as she’ll +let me.” And he resumed his idealising. + +At his time of life idealisation is still not a difficult or a long +process. And in this case there was an ample physical basis for it--and +far more of a mental basis than young imagination demands. He took the +draught she so frankly offered him; he added a love potion of his own +concocting, and drank it off. + +He was in love. + + + + +XI. + +TRESPASSING. + + +For the first time since he had been in newspaper work, Howard came to +the office the next day in a long coat and a top hat. He left early and +went for a walk in the Avenue. But Miss Trevor was neither driving +nor walking. He repeated this excursion the next afternoon with better +success. At Fortieth Street he saw her and her cousin half a block ahead +of him. He walked slowly and examined her. She was satisfactory from +the aigrette in her hat to her heels--a long, narrow, graceful figure, +dressed with the expensive simplicity characteristic of the most +intelligent class of the women of New York and Paris. She walked as +if she were accustomed to walking. Mrs. Carnarvon had that slight +hesitation, almost stumble, which indicates the woman who usually drives +and never walks if she can avoid it. As they paused at the crowded +crossing of Forty-second Street he joined them. When Mrs. Carnarvon +found that he was “just out for the air” she left them, to go home--in +Forty-seventh Street, a few doors east of the Avenue. + +“Come back to tea with her,” she said as she nodded to Howard. + +“We have at least an hour.” Howard was looking at Miss Trevor with his +happiness dancing in his eyes. “Why shouldn’t we go to the Park?” + +“I believe it’s not customary,” objected Miss Trevor in a tone that made +the walk in the Park a certainty. + +“I’m glad to hear that. I don’t care to do customary things as a rule.” + +“I see that you don’t.” + +“Do you say so because I show what I am thinking so plainly that you +can’t help seeing it--and don’t in the least mind?” + +“Why shouldn’t you be glad to be alive and to be seeing me this fine +winter day?” + +“Why indeed!” Howard looked at her from head to foot and then into her +eyes. + +“We are not in the Park yet.” Miss Trevor accompanied her hint with a +laugh and added: “I feel reckless to-day.” + +“You mean you forget that there is any to-morrow. _I_ have shut out +to-morrow ever since I saw you.” + +“And yesterday?” She noted that he coloured slightly, but continued to +look at her, his eyes sad. “But there is a to-morrow,” she went on. + +“Yes--my work, my career is my to-morrow and yours is----” + +“Well?” + +“Your engagement, of course.” + +Miss Trevor flushed, but Howard was smiling and she did not long resist +the contagion. + +“My to-morrow,” he continued, “is far more menacing than yours. Yours +is just an ordinary, every-day, cut-and-dried affair. Mine is full +of doubts and uncertainties with the chances for failure and +disappointment. If I can turn my back on my to-morrow, surely you can +waive yours for the moment?” + +“But why are you so certain that I wish to?” + +“Instinct. I could not be so happy as I am with you if you were not +content to have me here.” + +They spoke little until they were well within the Park. There they +turned down a by-path and took the walk skirting the lower lake. Miss +Trevor looked at Howard with a puzzled expression. + +“I never met any one like you,” she said. “I have always felt so sure of +myself. You take me off my feet. I feel as if I did not know where I was +going and--didn’t much care. And that’s the worst of it.” + +“No, the best of it. You are a star going comfortably through your +universe in a fixed orbit. You maintain your exact relations with your +brother and sister stars. You keep all your engagements, you never +wobble in your path--everything exact, mathematical. And up darts a +wild-haired, impetuous comet, a hurrying, bustling, irregular wanderer +coming from you don’t know where, going you don’t know whither. We pass +very near each to the other. The social astronomers may or may not note +a little variation in your movement--a very little, and soon over. They +probably will not note the insignificant meteor that darted close up to +you--close enough to get his poor face sadly scorched and his long hair +cruelly singed--and then hurried sadly away. And----” + +“And--what? Isn’t there any more to the story?” Marian’s eyes were +shining with a light which she was conscious had never been there +before. + +“And--and----” Howard stopped and faced her. His hands were thrust deep +in the pockets of his overcoat. He looked at her in a way that made the +colour fly from her face and then leap back again. “And--I love you.” + +“Oh”--Marian said, hiding her face in her white muff. “Oh.” + +“I don’t wish to touch you,” he went on, “I just wish to look at you--so +tall, so straight, so--so alive, and to love you and be happy.” Then he +laughed and turned. “But you’ll catch cold. Let us walk on.” + +“So you are trying to make a career?” she asked after a few minutes’ +silence. + +“Yes--trying--or, rather, I was. And shall again when you have gone your +way and I mine.” + +Marian was amazed at herself. Every tradition, every instinct of her +life was being trampled by this unknown whom she had just met. And she +was assisting in the trampling. In fact it was difficult for her to +restrain herself from leading in the iconoclasm. She looked at him in +wonder and delighted terror. + +“Why do you look at me in that way?” he said, turning his head suddenly. + +“Because you are stronger than I--and I am afraid--yet I--well--I like +it.” + +“It is not I that is stronger than you, nor you that are stronger than +I. It is a third that is stronger than both of us. I need not mention +the gentleman’s name?” + +“It is not necessary. But I’d like to hear you pronounce it. At least I +did a moment ago.” + +“I’ll not risk repetition. I’ve been thinking of what might have been.” + +“What?” Marian laughed a little, rather satirically. “A commonplace +engagement and a commonplace wedding and a commonplace honeymoon leading +into a land of commonplace disillusion and yawning--or worse?” + +“Not unlikely. But since we’re only dreaming why not dream more to our +taste? Now as I look at your strong, clear, ambitious profile, I can +dream of a career made by two working as one, working cheerfully day +in and day out, fair and foul weather, working with the certainty of +success as the crown.” + +“But failure might come.” + +“It couldn’t. We wouldn’t work for fame or for riches or for any outside +thing. We would work to make ourselves wiser and better and more worthy +each of the other and both of our great love.” + +Again they were walking in silence. + +“I am so sad,” Marian said at last. “But I am so happy too. What has +come over me? But--you will work on, won’t you? And you will accomplish +everything. Yes, I am sure you will.” + +“Oh, I’ll work--in my own way. And I’ll get a good deal of what I want. +But not everything. You say you can’t understand yourself. No more can I +understand myself. I thought my purpose fixed. I knew that I had nothing +to do with marrying and giving in marriage, so I kept away from danger. +And here, as miraculously as if a thunderbolt had dropped from this open +winter sky, here is--you.” + +They were in the Avenue again--“the awakening,” Howard said as the flood +of carriages rolled about them. + +“You will win,” she repeated, when they were almost at Forty-seventh +Street. “You will be famous.” + +“Probably not. The price for fame may be too big.” + +“The price? But you are willing to work?” + +“Work--yes. But not to lie, not to cheat, not to exchange self-respect +for self-contempt--at least, I think, I hope not.” + +“But why should that be necessary?” + +“It may not be if I am free--free to meet every situation as it arises, +with no responsibility for others resting upon me in the decision. If I +had a wife, how could I be free? I might be forced to sell myself--not +for fame but for a bare living. Suppose choice between freedom with +poverty and comfort with self-contempt were put squarely at me, and I a +married man. She would decide, wouldn’t she?” + +“Yes, and if she were the right sort of a woman, decide instantly for +self-respect.” + +“Of course--if I asked her. But do you imagine that when a man loves a +woman he lets her know?” + +“It would be a crime not to let her know.” + +“It would be a greater crime to put her to the test--if she were a woman +brought up, say, as you have been.” + +“How can you say that? How can you so overestimate the value of mere +incidentals?” + +“How can I? Because I have known poverty--have known what it was to +look want in the face. Because I have seen women, brought up as you have +been, crawling miserably about in the sloughs of poverty. Because I have +seen the weaknesses of human nature and know that they exist in me--yes, +and in you, for all your standing there so strong and arrogant and +self-reliant. It is easy to talk of misery when one does not understand +it. It is easy to be the martyr of an hour or a day. But to drag into a +sordid and squalid martyrdom the woman one loves--well, the man does not +live who would do it, if he knew what I know, had seen what I have seen. +No, love is a luxury of the rich and the poor and the steady-going. It +is not for my kind, not for me.” + +They were pausing at Mrs. Carnarvon’s door. + +“I shall not come in this afternoon,” he said. “But to-morrow--if I +don’t come in to-day, don’t you think it will be all right for me to +come then?” + +“I shall expect you,” she said. + +The talk of those who had come in for tea seemed artificial and flat. +She soon went up-stairs, eager to be alone. Mechanically she went to her +desk to write her customary daily letter to Danvers. She looked vacantly +at the pen and paper, and then she remembered why she was sitting there. + +“You are a traitor,” she said to her reflection in the mirror over the +desk. “But you will pay for your treason. Has not one a right to that +for which she is willing to pay?” + + + + +XII. + +MAKING THE MOST OF A MONTH. + + +To be sure of a woman a man must be confident either of his own powers +or of her absolute frankness and honesty. It was self-assurance that +made Edward Danvers blindly confident of Marian. + +His father, a man with none but selfish uses for his fellow men, had +given him a pains-taking training as a vigilant guard for a great +fortune. His favourite maxim was, “Always look for motives.” And he once +summed up his own character and idea of life by saying: “I often wake at +night and laugh as I think how many men are lying awake in their beds, +scheming to get something out of me for nothing.” + +There could be but one result of such an education by such an educator. +Danvers was acutely suspicious, saved from cynicism and misanthropy +by his vanity only. He was the familiar combination of credulity and +incredulity, now trusting not at all and again trusting with an utter +incapacity to judge. Had he been far more attractive personally, he +might still have failed to find genuine affection. To be liked for one’s +self alone or even chiefly is rarely the lot of any human being who has +a possession that is all but universally coveted--wealth or position or +power or beauty. + +Danvers and Marian had known each the other from childhood. And she +perhaps came nearer to liking him for himself than did any one else +of his acquaintance. She was used to his conceit, his selfishness, +his meanness and smallness in suspicion, his arrogance, his +narrow-mindedness. She knew his good qualities--his kindness of heart, +his shamed-face generosity, his honesty, the strong if limited sense +of justice which made him a good employer and a good landlord. They had +much in common--the same companions, the same idea of the agreeable and +the proper, the same passion for out-door life, especially for hunting. +He fell in love with her when she came back from two years in England +and France, and she thought that she was in love with him. She +undoubtedly was fond of him, proud of his handsome, athletic look and +bearing, proud of his skill and daring in the hunting field. + +One day--it was in the autumn a year before Howard met her--they were +“in at the death” together after a run across a stiff country that +included several dangerous jumps. “You’re the only one that can keep +up with me,” he said, admiring her glowing face and star-like eyes, +her graceful, assured seat on a hunter that no one else either cared or +dared to ride. + +“You mean you are the only one who can keep up with _me,_” she laughed, +preparing for what his face warned her was coming. + +“No I don’t, Marian dear. I mean that we ought to go right on keeping up +with each other. You won’t say no, will you?” + +Marian was liking him that day--he was looking his best. She +particularly liked his expression as he proposed to her. She had +intended to pretend to refuse him; instead her colour rose and she said: +“No--which means yes. Everybody expects it of us, Teddy. So I suppose we +mustn’t disappoint them.” + +The fact that “everybody” did expect it, the fact that he was the great +“catch” in their set, with his two hundred and fifty thousand a year, +his good looks and his good character--these were her real reasons, +with the first dominant. But she did not admit it to herself then. At +twenty-four even the mercenary instinct tricks itself out in a most +deceptive romantic disguise if there is the ghost of an opportunity. +Besides, there was no reason, and no sign of an approaching reason, for +the shadow of a suspicion that life with Teddy Danvers would not be full +of all that she and her friends regarded as happiness. + +But she would not marry immediately. She was tenacious of her freedom. +She was restless, dissatisfied with herself and not elated by her +prospects. She had an excellent mind, reasonable, appreciative, +ambitious. Until she “came out” she had spent much time among books; but +as she had had no capable director of her reading, she got from it +only a vague sense, that there was somewhere something in the way of +achievement which she might possibly like to attain if she knew what it +was or where to look for it. As she became settled in her place in the +routine of social life, as her horizon narrowed to the conventional +ideas of her set, this sense of possible and attractive achievement +became vaguer. But her restlessness did not diminish. + +“I never saw such an ungrateful girl,” was Mrs. Carnarvon’s comment +upon one of Marian’s outbursts of almost peevish fretting. “What do you +want?” + +“That’s just it,” exclaimed Marian, half-laughing. “What _do_ I want? +I look all about me and I can’t see it. Yet I know that there must be +something. I think I ought to have been a man. Sometimes I feel +like running away--away off somewhere. I feel as if I were getting +second-bests, paste substitutes for the real jewels. I feel as I did +when I was a child and demanded the moon. They gave me a little gilt +crescent and said: ‘Here is a nice little moon for baby;’ and it made me +furious.” + +Mrs. Carnarvon looked irritated. “I don’t understand it. You are getting +the best of everything. Of course you can’t expect to be happy. I don’t +suppose that any one is happy. But all the solid things of life are +yours, and you can and should be comfortable and contented.” + +“That’s just it,” answered Marian indignantly. “I have always been +swaddled in cotton wool. I have never been allowed really to feel. I +think it is the spirit of revolt in me. Yes, I ought to have been a man. +I’m sure that then I could have made life a little less tiresome.” + +It was this dissatisfaction that postponed the announcement of the +engagement from month to month until a year had slipped away. + +Instead of coming to New York, Danvers went off to Montana for a +mountain-lion hunt with two Englishmen who had been staying with him in +“The Valley.” He would join Marian for the trip South, the engagement +would be announced, and the wedding would be in May--such was the +arrangement which Marian succeeded in making. It settled everything and +at the same time it gave her a month of freedom in New York. She hinted +enough of this programme to Howard to enable him to grasp its essential +points. + +“A month’s holiday,” was his comment. They were alone on the second seat +of George Browning’s coach, driving through the Park. “If we were like +those people”--he was looking at a young man and young woman, side by +side upon a Park bench, blue with cold but absorbed in themselves and +obviously ecstatic. Marian glanced at them with slightly supercilious +amusement and became so interested that she turned her head to follow +them with her eyes after the coach had passed. + +“Is he kissing her?” asked Howard. + +“No--not yet. But I’m sure he will as soon as we have turned the +corner.” She said nothing for a moment or two, her glance straight ahead +and upon vacancy, he admiring the curve of her cheek at the edge of its +effective framing of fur. + +“But we are not----” She spoke in a low tone, regretful, pensive, almost +sad. “We are not like them.” + +“Oh, yes we are. But--we fancy we are not. We’ve sold our birthright, +our freedom, our independence for--for----” + +“Well--what?” + +“Baubles--childish toys--vanities--shadows. Doesn’t it show what +ridiculous little creatures we human beings are that we regard the most +valueless things as of the highest value, and think least of the true +valuables. For, tell me, Lady-Whom-I-Love, what is most valuable in +the few minutes of this little journey among the stars on the good ship +Mother Earth?” + +“But you would not care always as you care now? It would not, could not, +last. If we--if we were like those people on the bench back there, we’d +go on and--and spoil it all.” + +“Perhaps--who can say? But in some circumstances couldn’t I make you +just as happy as--as some one else could?” + +“Not if you had made me infinitely happier at one time than even you +could hope to make me all the time. At least I think not. It would +always be--be racing against a record; we both would be, wouldn’t we?” + +Howard looked at her with an expression which transfigured his face and +sent the colour flaming to her cheeks. “That being the case,” he said, +“let us--let us make the record one that will not be forgotten--soon.” + +During the month he saw her almost every day. She was most ingenious in +arranging these meetings. They were together afternoons and evenings. +They were often alone. Yet she was careful not to violate any +convention, always to keep, or seem to be keeping, one foot “on the +line.” Howard threw himself into his infatuation with all his power of +concentration He practically took a month’s holiday from the office. +He thought about her incessantly. He used all his skill with words in +making love to her. And she abandoned herself to an equal infatuation +with equal absorption. Neither of them spoke of the past or the future. +They lived in the present, talked of the present. + +One day she spoke of herself as an orphan. + +“I did not know that,” he said. “But then what do I know about you in +relation to the rest of the world? To me you are an isolated act of +creation.” + +“You must tell me about yourself.” She was looking at him, surprised. +“Why, I know nothing at all about you.” + +“Oh, yes, you do. You know all that there is to know--all that is +important.” + +“What?” She was asking for the pleasure of hearing him say it. + +“That I love you--you--all of you--all of you, with all of me.” + +Her eyes answered for her lips, which only said smilingly: “No, we +haven’t time to get acquainted--at least not to-day.” + + * * * * * + +She was to start for Florida at ten the next morning. Mrs. Carnarvon was +going away to the opera, giving them the last evening alone. Marian had +asked this of her point-blank. + +“You are an extraordinarily sensible as well as strong-willed girl, +Marian,” Mrs. Carnarvon replied. + +“I can’t find it in my heart to blame you for what you’re doing. The +fact that I haven’t even hinted a protest, but have lent myself to your +little plots, shows that that young man has hypnotized me also.” + +“You needn’t disturb yourself, as you know,” Marian said gaily. “I’m not +hypnotized. I shall not see Mr. Howard again until--after it’s all over. +Perhaps not then.” + +He came to dinner and they were not alone until almost nine. She sat +near the open fire among the cushions heaped high upon the little sofa. +She had never been more beautiful, and apparently never in a happier +mood. They both laughed and talked as if it were the first instead of +the last day of their month. Neither spoke of the parting; each avoided +all subjects that pointed in direction of the one subject of which both +thought whenever their minds left the immediate present. As the little +clock on the mantle began to intimate in a faint, polite voice the +quarter before eleven, he said abruptly, almost brusquely: + +“I feel like a coward, giving you up in this way. Yes--giving you up; +for you have a traitor in your fortress who has offered me the keys, who +offers them to me now. But I do not trust you; and I can’t trust myself. +The curse of luxury is on you, the curse of ambition on me. If we had +found each the other younger; if I had lived less alone, more in the +ordinary habit of dependence upon others; if you had been brought up +to live instead of to have all the machinery of living provided and +conducted for you--well, it might have been different.” + +“You are wrong as to me, right as to yourself. But yours is not the +curse of ambition. It is the passion for freedom. It would be madness +for you, thinking as you do, even if you could--and you can’t.” + +He stood up and held out his hand. She did not rise or look at him. + +“Good night,” she said at last, putting her hand in his. “Of course I +am thinking I shall see you tomorrow. One does not come out of such a +dream,”--she looked up at him smiling--“all in a moment.” + +“Good night,” he smiled back at her. “I shall not open ‘the fiddler’s +bill’ until--until I have to.” At the door he turned. She had risen and +was kneeling on the sofa, her elbow on its low arm, her chin upon her +hand, her eyes staring into the fire. He came toward her. + +“May I kiss you?” he said. + +“Yes.” Her voice was expressionless. + +He bent over and just touched his lips to the back of her neck at the +edge of her hair. He thought that she trembled slightly, but her face +was set and she did not look toward him. He turned and left her. Half an +hour later she heard the bell ring--it was Mrs. Carnarvon. She wished to +see no one, so she fled through the rear door of the reception room and +up the great stairway to lock herself in her boudoir. She sank slowly +upon the lounge in front of the fire and closed her eyes. The fire died +out and the room grew cold. A warning chilliness made her rise to get +ready for bed. + +“No,” she said aloud. “It isn’t ambition and it isn’t lack of love. +It’s a queer sort of cowardice; but it’s cowardice for all that. He’s +a coward or he wouldn’t have given up. But--I wonder--how am I going to +live without him? I need him--more than he needs me, I’m afraid.” + +She was standing before her dressing table. On it was a picture of +Danvers--handsome, self-satisfied, healthy, unintellectual. She looked +at it, gave a little shiver, and with the end of her comb toppled it +over upon its face. + + + + + +XIII. + +RECKONING WITH DANVERS. + + +On that journey south Marian for the first time studied Danvers as a +husband in prospect. + +The morning after they left New York, their private car arrived at +Savannah. At dark the night before they were rushing through a snow +storm raging in a wintry landscape. Now they were looking out upon +spring from the open windows. As soon as the train stopped, all except +Marian and Danvers left the car to walk up and down the platform. +Danvers, standing behind Marian, looked around to make sure that none of +the servants was about, then rubbed his hand caressingly and familiarly +upon her cheek. + +“Did you miss me?” he asked. + +Marian could not prevent her head from shrinking from his touch. + +“There’s nobody about,” Danvers said, reassuringly. But he acted upon +the hint and, taking his hand away, came around and sat beside her. + +“Did you miss me?” he repeated, looking at her with an expression in his +frank, manly blue eyes that made her flush at the thought of “treason” + past and to come. + +“Did _you_ miss _me_?” she evaded. + +“I would have returned long ago if I had not been ashamed,” he answered, +smiling. “I never thought that I should come not to care for as good +shooting as that. You almost cost me my life.” + +“Yes?” Marian spoke absently. She was absorbed in her mental comparison +of the two men. + +“I got away from the others and was looking at your picture. They +started up a lion and he came straight at me from behind. If he hadn’t +made a misstep in his hurry and loosened a stone, I guess he would have +got me. As it was, I got him.” + +“You mean your gun got him.” + +“Of course. You don’t suppose I tackled him bare-handed.” + +“It might have been fairer. I don’t see how you can boast of having +killed a creature that never bothered you, that you had to go thousands +of miles out of your way to find, and that you attacked with a gun, +giving him no chance to escape.” + +“What nonsense!” laughed Danvers. “I never expected to hear you say +anything like that. Who’s been putting such stuff into your head?” + +Marian coloured. She did not like his tone. She resented the suggestion +of the truth that her speech was borrowed. It made her uncomfortable to +find herself thus unexpectedly on the dangerous ground. + +“I suppose it must have been that newspaper fellow Mrs. Carnarvon has +taken up. She talked about him for an hour after you left us to go to +bed last night.” + +“Yes, it was--was Mr. Howard.” Marian had recovered herself. “I want you +to meet him some time. You’ll like him, I’m sure.” + +“I doubt it. Mrs. Carnarvon seemed not to know much about him. I suppose +he’s more or less of an adventurer.” + +Marian wondered if this obvious dislike was the result of one of those +strange instincts that sometimes enable men to scent danger before any +sign of it appears. + +“Perhaps he is an adventurer,” she replied. “I’m sure I don’t know. Why +should one bother to find out about a passing acquaintance? It is enough +to know that he is amusing.” + +“I’m not so sure of that. He might make off with the jewels when you had +your back turned.” + +As soon as she had made her jesting denial of her real lover Marian was +ashamed of herself. And Danvers’ remark, though a jest, cut her. “What +I said about a passing acquaintance was not just or true,” she said +impulsively and too warmly. “Mr. Howard is not an adventurer. I admire +and like him very much indeed. I’m proud of his friendship.” + +Danvers shrugged his shoulders and looked at her suspiciously. + +“You saw a good deal of this--this friend of yours?” he demanded, his +mouth straightening into a dictatorial line. + +At this Marian grew haughty and her eyes flashed: “Why do you ask?” she +inquired, her tone dangerously calm. + +“Because I have the right to know.” He pointed to the diamond on her +third finger. + +“Oh--that is soon settled.” Marian drew off the ring and held it out to +him. “Really, Teddy, I think you ought to have waited a little longer +before insisting so fiercely on your rights.” + +“Don’t be absurd, Marian.” Danvers did not take the ring but fixed his +eyes upon her face and changed his tone to friendly remonstrance. “You +know the ring doesn’t mean anything. It’s your promise that counts. And +honestly don’t you think your promise does give me the right to ask you +about your new friends when you speak of them, of one of them, in--in +such a way?” + +“I don’t intend to deceive you,” she said, turning the ring around +slowly on her finger. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I suppose the only +way to speak is just to speak.” + +“Do you think you are in love with this man, Marian?” + +She nodded, then after a long pause, said, “Yes, Teddy, I love him.” + +“But I thought----” + +“And so did I, Teddy. But he came, and I--well I couldn’t help it.” + +As he did not speak, she looked at him. His face was haggard and white +and in his eyes which met hers frankly there was suffering. + +“It wasn’t my fault, Teddy,” Marian laid her hand on his arm, “at least, +not altogether. I might have kept away and I didn’t.” + +“Oh, I don’t blame you. I blame him.” + +“But it wasn’t his fault. I--I--encouraged him.” + +“Did he know that we were engaged?” + +“Yes,” reluctantly. + +“The scoundrel! I suspected that he was rotten somewhere.” + +“You are unjust to him. I have not told you properly.” + +“Did he tell you that he cared for you?” + +“Yes--but he didn’t try to get me to break my engagement.” + +“So much the more a scoundrel, he. Tell me, Marian--come to your senses +and tell me--what in the devil did he hang about you for and make love +to you, if he didn’t want to marry you? Would an honest man, a decent +man, do that?” + +Marian’s face confessed assent. + +“I should think you would have seen what sort of a fellow he is. I +should think you would despise him.” + +“Sometimes it seems to me that I ought to. But I always end by despising +myself--and--and--it makes no difference in the way I feel toward him.” + +“I think I would do well to look him up and give him a horse-whipping. +But you’ll get over him, Marian. I am astonished at your cousin. How +could she let this go on? But then, she’s crazy about him too.” + +Marian smiled miserably. “I’ve owned up and you ought to congratulate +yourself on so luckily getting rid of such an untrustworthy person as +I.” + +“Getting rid of you?” Danvers looked at her defiantly. “Do you think I’m +going to let you go on and ruin yourself on an impulse? Not much! I hold +you to your promise. You’ll come round all right after you’ve been away +from this fellow for a few days. You’ll be amazed at yourself a week +from now.” + +“You don’t understand, Teddy.” Marian wished him to see once for all +that, whatever might be the future for her and Howard, there was no +future for her and him. “Don’t make it so hard for me to tell you.” + +“I don’t want to hear any more about it now, Marian. I can’t stand it--I +hardly know what I’m saying--wait a few days--let’s go on as we have +been--here they come.” + +The others of the party came bustling into the car and the train +started. For the rest of the journey Danvers avoided her, keeping to the +smoking room and the game of poker there. Marian could neither read nor +watch the landscape. She did not know whether to be glad or sorry that +she had told him. She hated to think that she had inflicted pain and she +could not believe, in spite of what she had seen in his eyes, that his +feeling in the matter was more than jealousy and wounded vanity. + +“He doesn’t really care for me,” she thought. “It’s his pride that is +hurt. He will flare out at me and break it off. I do hope he’ll get +angry. It will make it so much easier for me.” + +Late in the afternoon she took Mrs. Carnarvon into her confidence. “I’ve +told Teddy,” she said. + +“I might have known!” exclaimed her cousin. “What on earth made you do +that?” + +“I don’t know--perhaps shame.” + +“Shame--trash! Your life is going to be a fine turmoil if you run to +Teddy with an account of every little mild flirtation you happen +to have. Of all the imbeciles, the most imbecile is the woman who +confesses.” + + +“But how could I marry him when----” + +“When you don’t love him?” + +“No--I might have done that. I like him. But, when I love another man.” + +“It does make a difference. But you ought to be able to foresee that +you’ll get over Howard in a few weeks----” + +“Precisely what Teddy said.” + +“Did he? I’m surprised at his having so much sense. For, if you’ll +forgive me, I don’t think Teddy will ever set New York on fire--at +least, he’s--well, he has the makings of an ideal husband. And has he +broken it off?” + +“No. He wouldn’t have it.” + +“Really? Well he _is_ in love. Most men in his position--able to get any +girl he wants--would have thrown up the whole business. Yes, he must be +awfully in love.” + +“Do you think that?” Marian’s voice spoke distress but she felt only +satisfaction. “Oh, I hope not--that is, I’d like to think he cared a +great deal and at the same time I don’t want to hurt him.” + +“Don’t fret yourself about these two men. Just go on thinking as you +please. You’ll be surprised how soon Howard will fade.” Mrs. Carnarvon +smiled satirically at some thought--perhaps a memory. “You’re a good +deal of a goose, my dear, but you are a great deal more of a woman. +That’s why I feel sure that Teddy will win.” + +With such an opportunity--with the field clear and the woman +half-remorseful over her treachery, half-indignant at the man who had +shown himself so weak and spiritless--a cleverer or a less vain man than +Danvers would have triumphed easily. And for the first week he did make +progress. He acted upon the theory that Marian had been hypnotized and +that the proper treatment was to ignore her delusion and to treat her +with assiduous but not annoying consideration. He did not pose as an +injured or jealous lover. He was the friend, always at her service, +always thinking out plans for her amusement. He made no reference to +their engagement or to Howard. + +Several people of their set were at the hotel and Marian was soon +drifting back into her accustomed modes of thought. The wider horizon +which she fancied Howard had shown her was growing dim and hazy. The +horizon which he had made her think narrow was beginning again to +seem the only one. This meant Danvers; but he was not acute enough to +understand her and to follow up his advantage. + +One morning as he was walking up and down under the palms, waiting for +Mrs. Carnarvon and Marian, Mrs. Fortescue called him. She was a cold, +rather handsome woman. In her eyes was the expression that always +betrays the wife or the mistress who loathes the man she lives with, +enduring him only because he gives her that which she most wants--money. +She had one fixed idea--to marry her daughter “well,” that is, to money. + +“Can you join us to-day, Teddy?” she asked. “We need one more man.” + +“I’m waiting for Mrs. Carnarvon and Marian,” he explained. + +“Oh, of course.” Mrs. Fortescue smiled. “What a nice girl she is--so +clever, so--so independent. I admired her immensely for deciding to +marry that poor, obscure young fellow. I like to see the young people +romantic.” + +Danvers flushed angrily and pulled at his mustache. He tried to smile. +“We’ve teased her about it a good deal,” he said, “but she denies it.” + +“I suppose they aren’t ready to announce the engagement yet,” Mrs. +Fortescue suggested. “I suppose they are waiting until he betters +his position a little. It’s never a good idea to have too long a time +between the announcement and the marriage.” + +“Perhaps that is it.” Danvers tried to look indifferent but his eyes +were sullen with jealousy. + +“I always rather thought that you and Marian were going to make a match +of it,” continued Mrs. Fortescue. Just then her daughter came down the +walk. She was fashionably dressed in white and blue that brought out all +the loveliness of her golden hair and violet eyes and faintly-coloured, +smooth fair skin. Danvers had not seen her since she “came out,” and was +dazzled by her radiance. + +They say that every man must be a little in love with every pretty +woman he sees. And Danvers at once gave Ellen Fortescue her due. She +sat silent beside her mother, looking the personification of innocence, +purity and poetry. Her mother continued subtly to poison Danvers against +Marian, to make him feel that she had not appreciated him, that she +had trifled with him, that she had not treated him as his dignity and +importance merited. When she and Mrs. Carnarvon appeared, he joined them +tardily, after having made an arrangement with the Fortescues for the +next day. + +That evening he danced several times with Ellen Fortescue and adopted +the familiar lover’s tactics--he set about making Marian jealous. He +scored the customary success. When she went to bed she lay for several +hours looking out into the moonlight, raging against the Fortescues and +against Danvers. The mere fact that a man whom she regarded as hers was +permitting himself to show marked attention to another woman would have +been sufficient. But in addition, Marian was perfectly aware of the +material advantages of this particular man. She did not want to marry +him; at least she was of that mind at the moment. But she might change +her mind. Certainly, if there was to be any breaking off, she wished +it to be of her doing. She did not fancy the idea of him departing +joyfully. + +She was far too wise to show that she saw what was going on. She praised +Miss Fortescue to Danvers with apparent frankness and insisted on him +devoting more time to her. Danvers persisted in his scheme boldly for a +week and then, just as Marian was despairing and was casting about for +another plan of campaign, he gave in. They were sitting apart in the +shadow near one of the windows of the ball-room. He had been sullen all +the evening, almost rude. + +“How much longer are you going to keep me in suspense?” he burst out +angrily. + +“In suspense?” + +“You know what I mean. I think I’ve been very patient.” + +“You mean our engagement?” Marian was looking at him, repelled by his +expression, his manner, the tone of his voice, his whole mood. + +“Yes--I want your decision.” + +“I have not changed.” + +“You still love that--that newspaper fellow?” + +“No, I don’t mean that.” Marian felt her irritation against Danvers +suddenly vanish and in its place a Sense of relief and of calmness. “I +mean toward you. It won’t do, Teddy. We shall get on well as friends. +But I can’t think of you in--in that way.” + +Mrs. Fortescue had so swollen his vanity that he was astounded at +Marian’s decision. He rapidly went over in his mind all the advantages +he offered as a husband, and then looked at her as if he thought her +beside herself. + +“Look here, Marian,” he protested. “You can’t mean it. Why, it’s all +settled that we are to marry. It would be madness for you to break +it off. I can give you everything--everything. And he can’t give you +anything.” Then with fatal tactlessness: “He won’t even give you the +little that he can, according to your own story.” + +“Yes, it’s madness, isn’t it, Teddy, to refuse you--fascinating you, +who can give everything. But that’s just it. You have too much. You +overwhelm me. I should feel like a cheat, taking so much and giving so +little.” + +“Don’t,” he begged, his self-complacence and superiority all gone. +“Don’t mind my blundering, please, dear. I want you. I can’t say it. I +haven’t any gift of words. But you’ve known me all my life and you know +that I love you. I’ve set my heart on it, Mary Ann,”--it was the name +he used to tease her with when they were children playing together--“You +won’t go back on me now, will you?” + +“I wish I could do as you wish, Teddy.” Marian was forgetful of +everything but the unhappiness she was causing this friend of so many, +many years and of so many, many memories. “But I can’t--I can’t.” + +“Marry me, dear, anyhow. You will care afterward.” Marian was silent and +Danvers hoped. “You know all about me. I’ll not give you any surprises. +I shan’t bother you. And I’ll make you happy.” + +“No,” she said firmly. “You mustn’t ask it. I’ll tell you why. I have +thought of marrying you regardless of this. Only last night I thought of +it--finally, went over the whole thing. Listen, Teddy--if I were married +to you--and if he should come--and he would come sooner or later--if +he should come and say ‘Come with me,’--I’d go--yes, I’m sure I’d go. +I can’t explain why. But I know that nothing would stand in the +way--nothing.” + +“You ought to be ashamed of yourself.” Marian shrank from him. She was +horrified by the malignant fury that sparkled in his eyes and raged in +his voice. “That damned scoundrel is worthy of you and you of him. But +I’ll get you yet. I never was crossed in anything in my life and I’ll +not be beaten here.” + +“And I thought you were my friend!” Marian was looking at him, pale, her +eyes wide with amazement. “Is it really you?” + +He laughed insolently. “Yes--you’ll see. And he’ll see. I’ll crush him +as if he were an egg shell. And as for you--you perjurer--you liar!” + +He looked at her with coarse contempt, rose and stalked away. Marian sat +rigid. She was conscious of the insult. But even that humiliation was +not so strong in her mind as the astounding revelation of Danvers. She +remembered that even as his eyes blazed hatred at her, he looked at her, +at her neck, her bare arms, with the baffled desire of brute passion. +She did not fully understand the look, but she felt that it was a +degradation far greater than his insulting words. + +She slipped, almost skulked to her room, her eyes down, her face in +a burning flush, her scarf drawn tightly about her neck. As her door +closed behind her, she fell upon her bed and began to sob hysterically. +She started up with a scream to find her cousin standing beside her. + +“I’m so sorry. Forgive me.” Mrs. Carnarvon’s voice had lost its wonted +levity. “I saw that you were in trouble and followed. I knocked and +I thought I heard you answer. What is it, Marie? May I ask? Can I do +anything?” + +Marian drew her down to the bed and buried her face in her lap. “Oh, +I feel so unclean,” she said. “It was--Teddy. Would you believe it, +Jessie, Teddy! I looked on him as a brother. And he showed me that he +was not my friend--that he didn’t even love me--that he--oh, I shall +never forget the look in his eyes. He made me feel like a--like a +_thing_.” + +Mrs. Carnarvon smothered a smile. “Of course Teddy’s a brute,” she said. +“I thought you knew. He’s a domesticated brute, like most of the men and +some of the women. You’ll have to get used to that.” + +By refusing to fall in with her mood, Mrs. Carnarvon had gone far toward +curing it. Marian stopped sobbing and presently said: + +“Oh, I know all that. But I didn’t expect it from Teddy--and toward me. +And--” she shuddered--“I was thinking, actually thinking of marrying +him. I wish never to see him again. And he pretended to be my friend!” + +“And he was, no doubt, until he got you on the brain in another way, in +the way he calls love. There isn’t any love that has friendship in it.” + +“We must go away at once.” + +“Unless Teddy saves us the trouble by going first, as I suspect he +will.” + +“Jessie, he hates me and--and--Mr. Howard.” + +“So you talked to him about Howard again, did you?” Mrs. Carnarvon +was indignant. “You are old enough to know better, Marian. You carry +frankness entirely too far. There is such a thing as truth running +amuck.” + +“He said he would crush Howard. And I believe he really meant it.” + +“Teddy is a man who believes in revenges--or thinks he does. His father +taught him to keep accounts in grievances, and no doubt he has opened an +account with Howard. But don’t be disturbed about it. His father would +have insisted on balancing the account. Teddy will just keep on hating, +but won’t do anything. He’s not underhanded.” + +“He’s everything that is vile and low.” + +“You’re quite mistaken, my dear. He’s what they call a manly fellow--a +little too masculine perhaps, but----” + +A knock interrupted and Mrs. Carnarvon, answering it, took from the +bell-boy a note for Marian who read it, then handed it to her. Mrs. +Carnarvon read: “I apologise for the way I said what I did this evening, +not for what I said. Because you had forgotten yourself, had played the +traitor and the cheat was, perhaps, no excuse for my rudeness. You have +fallen under an evil influence. I hope no harm will come to you, for I +can’t get over my feeling for you. But I have done my best and have not +been able to save you. I am going away early in the morning. + +“E. D.” + +“Melodramatic, isn’t it?” laughed Mrs. Carnarvon. “So he’s off. How +furious Martha Fortescue and Ellen will be. But they’ll go in pursuit, +and they’ll get him. A man is never so susceptible as when he’s +broken-hearted. Well, I must go. Good-night, dear. Don’t mope and whine. +Take your punishment sensibly. You’ve learned something--if it’s only +not to tell one man how much you love another.” + +“I think I’ll go abroad with Aunt Retta next month.” + +“A good idea--you’ll forget both these men. Good-night.” + +“Good-night,” answered Marian dolefully, expecting to resume her +thoughts of Danvers. But, instead, he straightway disappeared from +her mind and she could think only of Howard. She was free now. The one +barrier between him and her of which she had been really conscious was +gone. And her heart began to ache with longing for him. Why had he not +written? What was he doing? Did he really love her or was his passion +for her only a flash of a strong and swift imagination? + +No, he loved her--she could not doubt that. But she could not understand +his conduct. She felt that she ought to be very unhappy, yet she was +not. The longer she thought of him and the more she weighed his words +and looks, the stronger became her trust in him. “He loves me,” she +said. “He will come when he can. It may be even harder for him than for +me.” + +And so, explanation failing--for she rejected every explanation that +reflected upon him--she hid and excused him behind that familiar refuge +of the doubting, mystery. + + + + +XIV. + +THE NEWS-RECORD GETS A NEW EDITOR. + + +A few minutes after leaving Marian that last night at Mrs. Carnarvon’s, +Howard was deep in a mood of self-contempt. He felt that he had faced +the crisis like a coward. He despised the weakness which enfeebled him +for effort to win her and at the same time made it impossible for him to +thrust her from his mind. + +In the working hours his will conquered with the aid of fixed habit and +he was able to concentrate upon his editorials. But in his rooms, and +especially after the lights were out, his imagination became master, +deprived him of sleep and occasionally lifted him to a height of hope +in order that it might dash him down the more cruelly upon the rocks of +fact. + +At last he was forced to face the situation--in his own evasive fashion. +It was impossible to go back. That loneliness which often threatened him +after Alice’s death had become the permanent condition of his life. “I +will work for her,” he said. “Until I have made a place for her I dare +not claim her. So much I will concede to my weakness. But when I have +won a position which reasonably assures the future, I shall claim +her--no matter what has happened in the meanwhile.” + +He would have smiled at this wild resolution had he been in a less +distracted state of mind or had he been dealing with any other than a +matter of love. But in the circumstances it gave him heart and set him +to work with an energy and effectiveness which still further increased +Mr. Malcolm’s esteem for him. + +“Will you dine with me at the Union Club on Wednesday?” Mr. Malcolm +asked one morning in mid-February. “Mr. Coulter and Mr. Stokely are +coming. I want you to know them better.” + +Howard accepted and wondered that he took so little interest. +For Stokely and Coulter were the principal stockholders of the +_News-Record_, and with Malcolm formed the triumvirate which directed it +in all its departments. Mr. Malcolm held only a few shares of stock, +but received what was in the newspaper-world an immense salary--thirty +thousand a year. He was at once an able editor and an able diplomatist. +He knew how to make the plans of his two associates conform to +conditions of news and policy--when to let them use the paper, or, +rather, when to use the paper himself for their personal interests; when +and how to induce them to let the paper alone. Through a quarter of a +century of changing ownerships Malcolm had persisted, chiefly because +he had but one conviction--that the post of editor of the _News-Record_ +exactly suited him and must remain his at any sacrifice of personal +character. + +Howard had met Stokely and Coulter. He liked Stokely who was owner of a +few shares more than one-third; he disliked Coulter who owned just under +one-half. + +Stokely was a frank, coarse, dollar-hunter, cheerfully unscrupulous in a +large way, acute, caring not at all for principles of any kind, letting +the paper alone most of the time because he was astute enough to know +that in his ignorance of journalism he would surely injure it as a +property. + +Coulter was a hypocrite and a snob. Also he fancied he knew how to +conduct a newspaper. He was as unscrupulous as Stokely but tried to mask +it. + +When Stokely wished the _News-Record_ to advocate a “job,” or steal, or +the election of some disreputable who would work in his interest, +he told Malcolm precisely what he wanted and left the details of the +stultification to his experienced adroitness. When Coulter wished +to “poison the fountain of publicity,” as Malcolm called the paper’s +departures from honesty and right, he approached the subject by stealth, +trying to convince Malcolm that the wrong was not really wrong, but was +right unfortunately disguised. + +He would take Malcolm into his confidence by slow and roundabout +steps, thus multiplying his difficulties in discharging his “duty.” If +Coulter’s son had not been married to Malcolm’s daughter, it is probable +that not even his complete subserviency would have enabled him to keep +his place. + +“If you had told me frankly what you wanted in the first place, Mr. +Coulter,” he said after an exasperating episode in which Coulter’s +Pharisaic sensitiveness had resulted in Malcolm’s having to “flop” the +paper both editorially and in its news columns twice in three days, “we +would not have made ourselves ridiculous and contemptible. The public +is an ass, but it is an ass with a memory at least three days long. Your +stealthiness has made the ass bray at us instead of with and for us. +And that is dangerous when you consider that running a newspaper is like +running a restaurant--you must please your customers every day afresh.” + +Coulter was further difficult because of his anxieties about social +position for himself and his family. He was disturbed whenever the +_News-Record_ published an item that might offend any of the people +whose acquaintance he had gained with so much difficulty, and for +whose good will he was willing to sacrifice even considerable +money. Personally, but very privately, he edited the _News-Record’s_ +“fashionable intelligence” columns on Sunday and made them an exhibit of +his own sycophancy and snobbishness which excited the amused disgust of +all who were in the secret. + +Malcolm liked Howard, admired him, in a way envied his fearlessness, his +earnestness for principles. For years he had had it in mind to retire +and write a history of the Civil War period which had been his own +period of greatest activity and most intimate acquaintance with the +behind-the-scenes of statecraft. Howard’s energy, steady application, +enthusiasm for journalism and intelligence both as to editorials and as +to news made Malcolm look upon him as his natural successor. + +“I think Howard is the man we want,” he said to his two associates when +he was arranging the dinner. “He has new ideas--just what the paper +needs. He is in touch with these recent developments. And above all he +has judgment. He knows what not to print, where and how to print what +ought to be printed. He is still young and is over-enthusiastic. He has +limitations, but he knows them and he is eager and capable to learn.” + +It was a “shop” dinner, Howard doing most of the talking, led on by +Malcolm. The main point was the “new journalism,” as it was called, and +how to adapt it to the _News-Record_ and the _News-Record_ to it. + +Malcolm kept the conversation closely to news and news-ideas, fearing +that, if editorial policies were brought in, Howard would make “breaks.” + He soon saw that his associates were much impressed with Howard, with +his judgment, with his knowledge of the details of every important +newspaper in the city, with his analysis of the good and bad points in +each. + +“I’ll drop you at your corner,” said he to Howard at the end of the +dinner. As they drove up the Avenue he began: “How would you like to be +the editor of the _News-Record_? My place, I mean.” + +“I don’t understand,” Howard answered, bewildered. + +“I am going to retire at once,” Malcolm went on. “I’ve been at it nearly +fifty years--ever since I was a boy of eighteen and I’ve been in charge +there almost a quarter of a century. I think I’ve earned a few years of +leisure to work for my own amusement. I’m pretty sure they’ll want you +to take my place. Would you like it?” + +“I’m not fit for it,” Howard said, and he meant it. “I’m only an +apprentice. I’m always making blunders--but I needn’t tell you about +that.” + +“You can’t say that you are not fit until you have tried. Besides, the +question is not, are _you_ fit? but, is there any one more fit than you? +I confess I don’t see any one so well equipped, so certain to give the +paper all of the best that there is in him.” + +“Of course I’d like to try. I can only fail.” + +“Oh, you won’t fail. But you may quarrel with Stokely and +Coulter--especially Coulter. In fact, I’m sure you’ll quarrel with +them. But if you make yourself valuable enough, you’ll probably win out. +Only----” + +Malcolm hesitated, then went on: + +“I stopped giving advice years ago. But I’ll venture a suggestion. +Whenever your principles run counter to the policy of the paper, it +would be wise to think the matter over carefully before making an issue. +Usually there is truth on both sides, much that can be said fairly +and honestly for either side. Often devotion to principle is a mere +prejudice. Often the crowd, the mob, can be better controlled to right +ends by conceding or seeming to concede a principle for the time. Don’t +strike a mortal blow at your own usefulness to good causes by making +yourself a hasty martyr to some fancied vital principle that will seem +of no consequence the next morning but one after the election.” + +“I know, Mr. Malcolm, judgment is all but impossible. And I have been +trying to learn what you have been teaching me with your blue pencil, +what you now put into words. But there is something in me--an instinct, +perhaps--that forces me on in spite of myself. I’ve learned to curb and +guide it to a certain extent, but as long as I am I, I shall never learn +to control it. Every man must work out his own salvation along his own +lines. And with my limitations of judgment, it would be fatal to me, I +feel, to study the art of compromise. Where another, broader, stronger, +more master of himself and of others, would succeed by compromising, I +should fail miserably. I should be lost, compassless, rudderless. I have +often envied you your calmness, your ability to see not only to-morrow +but the day after. But, if I ever try to imitate you, I shall make a sad +mess of my career.” + +As he ended Howard looked uneasily at the old editor, expecting to see +that caustic smile with which he preceded and accompanied his sarcasms +at “sentimental bosh.” But instead, Malcolm’s face was melancholy; and +his voice was sad and weary as he answered the young man who was just +starting where he had started so many years ago: + +“No doubt you are right. I’m not intending to try to dissuade you +from--from the best there is in you. All I mean is that caution, +self-examination, self-doubt, calm consideration of the other +side--these are as necessary to success as energy and resolute action. +All I suggest is that its splendour does not redeem a splendid folly. +Its folly remains its essential characteristic.” + +Three weeks later Howard became editor-in-chief of the _News-Record_. +His salary was fifteen thousand a year; and Stokely and Coulter, acting +upon Malcolm’s advice, gave him a “free hand” for one year. They agreed +not to interfere during that time unless the circulation or the profits +showed a decrease at the end of a quarter. + +The next morning Howard, in the Madison Avenue car on his way to the +office, read among the “Incidents in Society:” + +Mrs. George Alexander Provost and her niece, Miss Marion Trevor, sailed +in the _Campania_ yesterday. They will return in July for the Newport +season. + + + + + +XV. + +YELLOW JOURNALISM. + + +While several of the New York dailies were circulating from two to three +hundred thousand copies, the _News-Record_--the best-written, the most +complete, and, where the interests of the owners did not interfere, the +most accurate--circulated less than one hundred thousand. The Sunday +edition had a circulation of one hundred and fifty thousand where two +other newspapers had almost half a million. + +The theory of the _News-Record_ staff was that their journal was too +“respectable,” too intelligent, to be widely read; that the “yellow +journals” grovelled, “appealed to the mob,” drew their vast crowds by +the methods of the fakir and the freak. They professed pride in the +_News-Record’s_ smaller circulation as proof of its freedom from +vulgarity and debasement. They looked down upon the journalists of the +popular newspapers and posed as the aristocracy of the profession. + +Howard did not assent to these self-complacent excuses. He was +democratic and modern, and the aristocratic pose appealed only to his +sense of humour and his suspicions. He believed that the success of +the “yellow journals” with the most intelligent, alert and progressive +public in the world must be based upon solid reasons of desert, must be +in spite of, not because of, their follies and exhibitions of bad taste. +He resolved upon a radical departure, a revolution from the policy of +satisfying petty vanity and tradition within the office to a policy of +satisfying the demands of the public. + +He gave Segur temporary charge of the editorial page, and, taking a desk +in the news-room, centred his attention upon news and the news-staff. +But he was careful not to agitate and antagonise those whose coöperation +was necessary to success. He made only one change in the management; he +retired old Bowring on a pension and appointed to the city editorship +one of the young reporters--Frank Cumnock. + +He chose Cumnock for this position, in many respects the most important +on the staff of a New York daily, because he wrote well, was a judge of +good writing, had a minute knowledge of New York and its neighbourhood +and, finally and chiefly, because he had a “news-sense,” keener than +that of any other man on the paper. + +For instance, there was the murder of old Thayer, the rich miser in East +Sixteenth Street. It was the sensation in all the newspapers for two +weeks. Then they dropped it as an unsolvable mystery. Cumnock persuaded +Mr. Bowring to let him keep on. After five days’ work he heard of a +deaf and dumb woman who sat every afternoon at a back window of her flat +overlooking the back windows of Thayer’s house. He had a trying struggle +with her infirmity and stupidity, but finally was rewarded. On the +afternoon of the murder, in its very hour (which the police had been +able to discover), she had seen a man and woman in the bathroom of the +Thayer house. Both were agitated and the man washed his hands again +and again, carefully rinsing the bowl afterward. From her description +Cumnock got upon the track of Thayer’s niece and her husband, found the +proof of their guilt, had them watched until the _News-Record_ came out +with the “beat,” then turned them over to the police. + +Also, Cumnock was keen at taking hints of good news-items concealed in +obscure paragraphs. The Morris Prison scandal was an example of this. He +found in the New England edition of _The World_ a six-line item giving +an astonishing death rate for the Morris Prison. He asked the City +Editor to assign him to go there; and within a week the press of the +entire country was discussing the _News-Record’s_ exposure of the +barbarities of torture and starvation practised by Warden Johnson and +his keepers. + +“We are going to print the news, all the news and nothing but the news,” + Howard said to Cumnock. “They’ve put you here because, so they tell me, +you know news no matter how thoroughly it is concealed or disguised. +And I assure you that no one shall interfere with you. No favours to +anybody; no use of the news-columns for revenge or exploitation. The +only questions a news-item need raise in your mind are: Is it true? +Is it interesting? Is it printable in a newspaper that will publish +anything which a healthy-minded grown-person wishes to read?” + +“Is that ‘straight’?” asked Cumnock. “No favourites? No suppressions? No +exploitations?” + +“‘Straight’--‘dead straight’! And if I were you I’d make this +particularly clear to the Wall Street and political men. If +anybody”--with stress upon the anybody--“comes to you about this, send +him to me.” + +Howard was uneasy about the managing editor, Mr. King. But he soon found +that his fears were groundless. Mr. King was without petty vanity, and +cordially and sincerely welcomed his control. + +“We look too dull,” King began when Howard asked him if he had any +changes to suggest. “We need more and bigger headlines, and we need +pictures.” + +“That is it!” Howard was delighted to find that King and he were in +perfect accord. “But we must not have pictures unless we can have the +best. Just at present we can’t increase expenses by any great amount. +What do you say to trying what we can do with all the news, larger +headlines and plenty of leads?” + +“I’m sure we can do better with our class of readers by livening up the +appearance of our headlines than we could with second-rate pictures.” + +“I hope,” Howard said earnestly, “that we won’t have to use that +phrase--‘our class of readers’--much longer. Our paper should interest +every man and woman able to read. It seems to me that a newspaper’s +audience should be like that of a good play--the orchestra chairs full +and the last seat in the gallery taken. I suppose you know we’re not an +‘organ’ any longer?” + +“No, I didn’t.” Mr. King looked surprised. “Do you mean to say that +we’re free to print the news?” + +“Free as freedom. In our news columns we’re neither Democrat nor +Republican nor Mugwump nor Reform. We have no Wall Street or social +connections. We are going to print a newspaper--all the news and nothing +but the news.” + +Mr. King drummed on his desk softly with the tips of his outstretched +fingers. “Hum--hum,” he said. “This _is_ news. Well--the circulation’ll +go up. And that’s all I’m interested in.” + +Howard went about his plans quietly. He avoided every appearance of +exerting authority, disturbed not a wheel in the great machine. He made +his changes so subtly that those who received the suggestions often came +to him a few days afterward, proposing as their own the very plans he +had hinted. He was thus cautious partly because of his experience of +the vanity of men, their sensitiveness to criticism, their instinctive +opposition to improvement from without; partly from his knowledge of the +hysteria which raged in the offices of the “yellow journals.” He wished +to avoid an epidemic of that hysteria--the mad rush for sensation +and novelty; the strife of opposing ambitions; the plotting and +counter-plotting of rival heads of departments; the chaos out of which +the craziest ideas often emerged triumphant, making the pages of the +paper look like a series of disordered dreams. + +He was indifferent to the semblance of authority, to the shadows for +which small men are forever struggling. What he wanted, all he wanted, +was--results. + +The first opposition came from the night editor, who for twenty-six +years, his weekly “night off” and his two weeks’ vacation in summer +excepted, had “made up” the paper--that is to say, had defined, with the +advice and consent of the managing editor, the position and order of +the various news items. This night editor, Mr. Vroom, was a strenuous +conservative. He believed that an editor’s duty was done when he had +intelligently arranged his paper so that the news was placed before the +reader in the order of its importance. Big headlines, attempts at effect +with varying sizes of large type and varying column-widths he held to +be crowd-catching devices, vulgar and debasing. He had no sympathy with +Howard’s theory that the first object of a newspaper published in a +democratic republic is to catch the crowd, to interest it, to compel it +to read, and so to lead it to think. + +“We’re on the way to scuffling in the gutter with the ‘yellow journals’ +for the pennies of the mob,” he was saying sarcastically to Mr. King, +one afternoon just as Howard joined them. + +Howard laughed. “Not on the way to the gutter, Mr. Vroom. Actually in +the gutter, actually scuffling.” + +“Well, I’m frank to say that I don’t like it. A newspaper ought to +appeal to the intelligent.” + +“To intelligence, yes; to the intelligent, no. At least in my opinion, +that is the right theory. We want people to read us because we’re +intelligent enough to know how to please them, not because they’re +intelligent enough to overcome the difficulties we put in their way. But +let’s go out to dinner this evening and talk it over.” + +They dined together at Mouquin’s every night for a week. At the end of +that time Vroom, still sarcastic and grumbling, was a convert. And a +great accession Howard found him. He had sound judgment as to the value +of news-items--what demanded first page, the “show-window,” because +it would interest everybody; what was worth a line on an inside page +because it would interest only a few thousands. He was the most skillful +of the _News-Record’s_ many good writers of headlines, a master of that, +for the newspaper, art of arts--condensed and interesting statement, +alluring the glancing reader to read on. Also he had an eye for effects +with type. “You make every page a picture,” Howard said to him. “It is +wonderful how you balance your headlines, emphasising the important +news yet saving the minor items from obscurity. I should like to see the +paper you would make if you had the right sort of illustrations to put +in.” + +Vroom was amazed at himself. He who had opposed any “head” which broke +the column rule was now so far degenerated into a “yellow journalist” + that, when Howard spoke of illustrations, he actually longed to test his +skill at distributing them effectively. + + * * * * * + +Two months of hard work, tedious, because necessarily so indirect, +produced a newspaper which was “on the right lines,” as Howard +understood right lines. And he felt that the time had come to make the +necessary radical changes in the editorial page. + +The _News-Record_ had long posed as independent because it supported now +one political party and now the other, or divided its support. But this +superficial independence was in reality subservience to the financial +interests of the two principal owners. They made their newspaper assail +Republican or Democratic corruption and misgovernment in city, state +or nation, according as their personal interests lay. They used the +editorial page and, to even better advantage, the news-columns, in +revenging themselves for too heavy levies of blackmail upon their +corrupt interests or in securing unjust legislation and privileges. + +Obedient and cynical Mr. Malcolm had made the editorial page corrupt and +brilliant--never so effective as when assailing a good cause. The +great misfortune of good causes is that they attract so many fatal +friends--the superciliously conscientious; the well-meaning but +feeble-minded and blundering; the most offensive because least deceptive +kinds of hypocrites. Mr. Malcolm, as acute as he was intellectually +unscrupulous, well understood how to weaken or to ruin a just cause +through these supporters. Sometimes he stood afar off, showering the +poisoned arrows of raillery and satire. Again he was the plain-spoken +friend of the cause and warned its honest supporters against these “fool +friends” whom he pretended to regard as its leaders. Again he played the +part of a blind enthusiast and praised folly as wisdom and urged it on +to more damaging activities. + +“We abhor humbug here,” he used to say; and perhaps he did in a measure +excuse himself to his conscience with the phrase. But in fact his +editorial page was usually a succession of humbugs, of brilliant +hypocrisies and cheats perpetrated under the guise of exposing humbug. + +Just as Howard was ready to reverse Malcolm’s editorial programme, New +York was seized with one of its “periodic spasms of virtue.” The city +government was, as usual, in the hands of the two bosses who owned the +two political machines. One was taking the responsibility and the larger +share of the spoils; the other was maintaining him in power and getting +the smaller but a satisfactory share. The alliance between the police +and criminal vice had become so open and aggressive under this bi-boss +patronage that the people were aroused and indignant. But as they had +no capable leaders and no way of selecting leaders, there arose a +self-constituted leadership of uptown Phariseeism and sentimentality, +planning the “purification” of the city. + +Every man of sense knowing human nature and the conditions of city life +knew that this plan was foredoomed to ridiculous failure, and that the +event would be a popular revulsion against “reform.” + +“Why not speak the truth about these vice-hunters?” Howard was +discussing the situation with three of his editorial writers--Segur, +Huntington and Montgomery. + +“It’s mighty dangerous,” Montgomery objected. “You will be sticking +knives into a sacred Anglo-Saxon hypocrisy.” + +“Yes, we’ll have all the good people about our ears,” said Segur. +“We’ll be denounced as a defender of depravity, a foe of purity. They’ll +thunder away at us from every pulpit. The other newspapers will take it +up, especially those that expect to sell millions of papers containing +accounts of the ‘exposure’ of the dives and dens.” + +“That’s good. I hope we shall,” said Howard cheerfully. “It will +advertise us tremendously.” + +The three were better pleased than they would have admitted to +themselves by the seeming certainty of Howard’s impending undoing. + +“No, gentlemen,” Howard said, as they were about to go to their rooms +for the day’s work. “There’s no danger in attacking any hypocrisy. Don’t +attack beliefs that are universal or nearly universal--at least not +openly. But don’t be afraid of a hypocrisy because it is universal. +People know that they are hypocrites in respect of it. They may not have +the courage publicly to applaud you. But they’ll be privately delighted +and will admire your courage. We’ll try to be discreet and we’ll be +careful to be truthful. And we’ll begin by making these gentlemen show +themselves up.” + +The next morning the _News-Record_ published a double-leaded editorial. +It described the importance of improving political and social conditions +in New York; it went on to note the distinguished names on the committee +for the destruction of vice; it closed with the announcement that on the +following day the _News-Record_ would publish the views of these eminent +reformers upon conditions and remedies. + +The next day he printed the interviews--a collection of curiosities in +utopianism, cant, ignorant fanaticism, provincialism, hypocrisy. These +appeared strictly as news; for the cardinal principle of Howard’s theory +of a newspaper was that it had no right to intrude its own views into +its news-columns. On the editorial page he riddled the interviews. By +adroit quotations, by contrasting one with another, he showed, or rather +made the so-called reformers themselves show, that where they were +sincere they were in the main silly, and where they were plausible +they were in the main insincere; that every man of them had his own pet +scheme for the salvation of wicked New York; and that they could not +possibly accomplish anything more valuable than leading the people on +the familiar, aimless, demoralizing excursion through the slums. + +On the following day he frankly laughed at them as a lot of +impracticables who either did not know the patent facts of city life or +refused to admit those facts. And he turned his attention to the real +problem, a respectable administration for the city--a practical end +which could easily be accomplished by practical action. From day to day +he kept this up, publishing a splendid series of articles, humorous, +witty, satirical, eloquent, bold, with a dominant strain of sincerity +and plain common sense. As his associates had predicted, a storm +gathered and burst in fury about the _News-Record_. It was denounced +by “leading citizens,” including many of the clergy. Its “esteemed” + contemporaries published and endorsed and amplified the abuse. And its +circulation went up at the rate of five thousand a day. + +When the storm was at its height, when the whole town seemed to be +agreeing with the angry reformers but was quietly laughing at their +folly and hypocrisy, Howard threw his bomb. On a Saturday morning he +gave half of his first page with big but severely impartial headlines to +an analysis of the members of the vice committee--a broadside of facts +often hinted but never before verified and published. First came those +who owned property and sub-let it for vicious purposes, the property +and purpose specified in detail; then those who were directors in +corporations which had got corrupt privileges from the local boss, the +privileges being carefully specified, and also the amounts of which they +had robbed the city. Last came those who were directors in corporations +which had bought from the State-boss injustices and licenses to rob, the +specifications given in damning detail. + +His leading editorial was entitled “Why We Don’t Have Decent +Government.” It was powerful in its simplicity, its merciless raillery +and irony; and only at the very end did it contain passion. There, in a +few eloquent sentences he arraigned these professed reformers who were +growing rich through the boss-system, who were trafficking with the +bosses and were now engaged in wrecking the hopes of honesty and +decency. On that day the _News-Record’s_ circulation went up thirty +thousand. The town rang with its “exposure” and the attention of the +whole country was arrested. It was one of the historic “beats” of New +York journalism. The reputation of the _News-Record_ for fearlessness +and truth-telling and news-enterprise was established. At abound it had +become the most conspicuous and one of the most powerful journals in New +York. + + + + + +XVI. + +MR. STOKELY IS TACTLESS. + + +Howard, riding in the Park one morning late in the spring, came upon +Mrs. Carnarvon. She gave him no chance to evade her, but joined him and +accommodated her horse’s pace to his. + +“And are you still on the _News-Record?_” she said. “I hope not.” + +“Why?” Howard was smiling, glad to get an outside view of what he had +been doing. + +“Because it’s become so sensational. It used to be such a nice paper. +And now--gracious, what headlines! What attacks on the very best people +in the town!” + +“Dreadful, isn’t it?” laughed Howard. “We’ve become so depraved that we +are actually telling the truth about somebodies instead of only about +nobodies.” + +“I might have known that you would sympathise with that sort of thing.” + Mrs. Carnarvon was teasing, yet reproachful. “You always were an +anarchist.” + +“Is it anarchistic to be no respecter of persons and to put big +headlines over big items and little headlines over little items?” + +“Oh, you know what I mean. You are encouraging the unruly classes.” + +“Dear me! And we thought we were fighting the unruly class. We thought +that it was our friends--or rather, your friends--the franchise grabbers +and legislature-buyers who won’t obey the laws unless the laws happen +to suit their convenience. They’re the only unruly class I know anything +about. I’ve heard of another kind but I’ve never been able to find it. +And I never hear much about it except when a lot of big rascals are +making off weighted down with plunder. They always shout back over +their shoulders: ‘Don’t raise a disturbance or you’ll arouse the unruly +classes.’” + +Mrs. Carnarvon was laughing. “You put it well,” she said, “and I’m not +clever enough to answer you. But they all tell me the _News-Record_ +has become a dangerous paper, that it’s attacking everybody who has +anything.” + +“Anything he has stolen, yes. But that’s all.” + +“You can’t get me to sympathise with you. I like well-dressed, +well-mannered people who speak good English.” + +“So do I. That’s why I’m doing all in my power to improve the conditions +for making more and more people of the sort one likes to talk to and +dine with.” + +“Why, I thought you sympathised with the lower classes.” + +“Not a bit of it. Who has been maligning me to you? I abhor the lower +classes--so much so that I wish to see them abolished.” + +“Well, you’ll have to blame Marian for misleading me.” + +“Miss Trevor? How is she?” Mrs. Carnarvon was looking closely at him, +and he was not sure that he succeeded in showing nothing more than +friendly interest. + +“Haven’t you heard from her? She’s in England, visiting in Lancashire. +You know her cousin married Lord Cranmore.” + +“I saw in the papers several months ago that she was going abroad. I +haven’t heard a word since.” + +Mrs. Carnarvon started to say something, but changed her mind. + +“When is she coming home?” + +“Not until July. You must come to see us at Newport.” + +“Nothing could please me better--if I can get away.” + +“I’ll send you an invitation, although you have treated me very badly of +late. But I suppose you are busy.” + +“Busy? Isn’t a galley slave always busy?” + +“Are you still writing editorials?” + +“Yes--and on the fallen _News-Record_. In fact----” + +“Well--what?” + +Howard laughed. “Don’t faint,” he said. “I’ll leave you at once if you +wish me to, and I’ll never give it away that you once knew me. I’m the +editor--the responsible devil for the depravity.” + +“How interesting!” Mrs. Carnarvon was evidently not disturbed. Then the +American adoration of success came out. “I’m so glad you’re getting on. +I always knew you would. Really, you must come to dinner. I’ll invite +some of the people you’ve been attacking. They’ll like to look at you, +and you will be amused by them. And I don’t in the least mind your +giving it to them if they bait you, as I did this morning. Will you +come?” + +“If I may leave by ten o’clock. I go down town every night.” + +“Why, when do you sleep?” + +“Not much, these days. Life’s too interesting to permit of much sleep. +I’ll make up when it slackens a bit.” + +As he was turning his horse, she said: “Marian’s address is Claridge’s, +Brooke Street, Mayfair. If she isn’t there, they forward her mail.” + +Howard was puzzled. “What made her give me that address?” he thought. +“I know she didn’t like my seeing so much of Marian. And here she is +practically inviting me to write to her.” He could not understand it. +“If I were not a ‘yellow’ editor and if Marian were not engaged to one +of the richest men in New York, I’d say that this lady was encouraging +me.” He smiled. “Not yet--not just yet.” And he cheerfully urged his +horse into a canter. + +Mrs. Carnarvon’s opinion of the _News-Record_ and its recent +performances fairly represented that of the fashionable and the very +rich. They read it, as they never did before, because it interested +them. They could not deny that what it said was true; that is, they +could not deny it to their own minds, although they did vigorously deny +it publicly. Those who were attacked directly or indirectly, or expected +to be attacked, denounced the paper as an “outrage,” a “disgrace to the +city,” a “specimen of the journalism of the gutter.” Many who were not +in sympathy with the men or the methods assailed thought that its +course was “inexpedient,” “tended to increase discontent among the lower +classes,” “weakened the influence of the better classes.” Only a few +of the “triumphant classes” saw the real value and benefit of the +_News-Record’s_ frank attacks upon greed and hypocrisy, saw that these +attacks were not dangerous or demagogical because they were just and +were combined with a careful avoidance of encouragement to the lazy, the +envious, the incompetent and the ignorant. + +Fortunately for Howard’s peace, that eminent New York “multi,” Samuel +Jocelyn, for whom Coulter had the highest respect, was of this last +class. When Howard began, Coulter was at Aiken where Jocelyn had a +cottage. He had never been able to make headway with Jocelyn, and Mrs. +Jocelyn deigned to give him and Mrs. Coulter only the coldest of cold +nods. Just as Coulter had become so agitated by Howard’s radical course +that he was preparing to go to New York to remonstrate with him, Jocelyn +called. + +“I came to thank you for what you are doing with your paper,” he said +cordially. “It seems to me that all intelligent men who are not blind to +their own ultimate interests ought to stand by you. I can’t tell you +how much I admire your frankness and honesty. And you draw the line just +right. You attack plunder, you defend property. Will your wife and you +dine with us this evening?” + +Coulter postponed his trip to New York. + +On the last day of the first three months the circulation of the +_News-Record_ was 147,253--an increase of 42,150 over what it was on the +day Howard took charge; its advertising had increased twelve per cent; +its net profits for the quarter were seventy-five thousand dollars as +against fifty-seven thousand for the preceding quarter. + +“Very good indeed,” was Stokely’s comment. + +“Another quarter like this,” said Howard, “and I’m going to ask you to +let me increase expenses a thousand dollars a week to illustrate the +paper.” + +“We’ll talk that over with Coulter. Personally I like this +‘yellow-journalism’--when it’s done intelligently. I always told Coulter +we’d have to come to it. It’s only common sense to make a paper easy +reading. Then, too, we can have a great deal more influence--in fact, +we have already. I’m getting what I want up at Albany this winter much +cheaper.” + +Howard winced. “He made me feel like a blackmailer,” he said to himself +when Stokely had gone. “And I suppose these fellows do look on me as a +new Malcolm with up-to-date tricks. Well, they will see, they will see.” + +He tried to go on with his work, but Stokely’s cynical words +persistently interrupted him. Why had he not squarely challenged Stokely +then and there? Why had he only winced where a year ago he would have +demanded an explanation? + +He hated to confess it to himself, he made every effort to smother it, +but the thought still stared him in the face--“I am not so strong in my +ideals of personal character as I was a year ago.” + +The fact that his present course was profitable gave him, he felt, more +pleasure than the fact that it was right. If the alternative of wealth +and power with self-abasement or poverty, obscurity with self-respect +were put to him now, what would he decide? Would he give up his +prospects, his hopes of Marian and of an easy career? He was afraid to +answer. He contented himself with one of his habitual evasions--“I will +settle that when the time comes. No, Stokely’s remark did not make a +crisis. If the crisis ever does come, surely I will act like a man. I’ll +be securer then, more necessary to this pair of plunderers, able to make +better terms for myself. In practical life, it is necessary to sacrifice +something in order to succeed.” + +But Stokely’s words and his own silence and the real reasons for his +changing ideals and for his cowardice continued to annoy him. + +Every day he came down town planning for a better newspaper the next +morning than they had ever made before. And his vigour, his enthusiasm +permeated the entire office. He went from one news department to +another, suggesting, asking for suggestions, praising, criticising +judiciously and with the greatest consideration for vanity. He talked +with the reporters, urging them on by showing keen interest in them +and their work, and intimate knowledge of what they were doing. And he +dictated every day telegrams to correspondents, thanking them for any +conspicuously good stories they had telegraphed in, adding something to +the compensation of those who were paid by space and made little. + +If his work had not been his amusement the long hours, the constant +application, would have broken him down. But he had no interests outside +the office and he got his mental recreation by shifting his mind from +one department to another. + +In June his salary was increased to twenty-five thousand a year and +his last lingering feeling of financial insecurity disappeared. For +the first time in his life he felt strong enough to undertake a serious +responsibility, to give hostages to fortune without fear of being unable +to keep faith. He learned from Mrs. Carnarvon that Marian was +returning on the _Oceanic_ on the ninth of July, and he accepted a +Saturday-to-Monday invitation to Newport for the twelfth of July. It was +from Segur that he got the news that Danvers was in Japan and was not +returning until the autumn. + +On the ninth of July, from the window of his office, he saw the +_Oceanic_ steam up the bay and up the river to her pier. He sent down a +request that the ship-news reporter be sent up as soon as he returned. +“Is it a good story?” he asked when the reporter, Blackwell, entered. +“Was there anybody on board?” + +“A lot of swell people,” the young man answered; “all the women got up +in the latest Paris gowns.” + +“Did you notice whether Mrs. Provost came?” + +“Came? Well, rather, with two French maids chattering and chasing after +her. And there was a tall girl with her, a stunner, a girl she called +‘Marian, my dear.’” + +Howard stopped him with “Thank you. Don’t write anything about them.” + +“It was the best thing I saw--the funniest.” + +“Well--don’t use the names.” + +Young Blackwell turned to go. “Oh, I see--friends of yours,” he smiled. +“Very well. I’ll keep ‘em out.” + +Howard flushed and called him back. “Go ahead,” he said. “Write just +what you were going to. Of course you wouldn’t write anything that was +not fair and truthful. We don’t ‘play favourites’ here. Forget what I +said.” + +And so it came to pass that Mrs. Provost, half pleased, half indignant, +said to Miss Trevor as they sat in the drawing room of the Pullman on +the way to Newport the next day: “Just look at this, Marian dear, in +the horrid _News-Record_. And it used to be such a nice paper with that +slimy Coulter bowing and scraping to everybody.” + +“This” was Mrs. Provost and her dogs and her maids and her asides +to “Marian dear,” described with accuracy and a keen sense of the +ludicrous. + +“It’s too dreadful,” she continued. “There is no such thing as privacy +in this country. The newspapers are making us,” with a slight accent on +the pronoun, “as common and public as tenement-house people.” + +“Yes,” Miss Trevor answered absently. “But why read the newspapers? I +never could get interested in them, though I’ve tried.” + + + + + +XVII. + +A WOMAN AND A WARNING. + + +On the evening of Howard’s arrival at Newport, Mrs. Carnarvon was having +a few people in to dine. He had just time to dress and so saw no one +until he descended to the reception room. + +“You are to take in Marian,” said his hostess, going with him to +where Miss Trevor was sitting, her back to the door and her attention +apparently absorbed by the man facing her. + +“Here’s Mr. Howard, Marian,” Mrs. Carnarvon interrupted. “Come with me, +Willie. Your lady is over here and we’re going in directly.” + +Marian saw that Howard was looking at her in the straight, frank fashion +she remembered and liked so well. “I’ve come for you,” he said. + +“Yes, you are to take me in,” she evaded, her look even lamer than her +words. + +“You know what I mean.” He was smiling, his heart in his eyes, as if the +dozen people were not about them. + +“I see you have not changed,” she laughed, answering his look in kind. + +“Changed? I’m revolutionized. I was blind and now I see. I was paralyzed +and behold, I walk. I was weak and lo, I am strong--strong enough for +two, if necessary.” + +“Now, hasn’t it occurred to you that I might possibly have something to +say about my own fate?” + +“You? Why, you had everything to say. I reasoned it all out with you. +You simply can’t add anything to the case I made you make out for +yourself when I talked it over with you. I made you protest very +vigorously.” + +“Well, what did I say--that is, what did you make me say?” + +“You said you were engaged--pledged to another--that you could not draw +back without dishonour. And I answered that no engagement could bind you +to become the wife of a man you did not love; that no moral code could +hold you to such a sin; that no code of honour could command you to +permit a man to degrade himself and you. Then you pleaded that you were +not sure you liked my kind of a life, that you feared you wanted wealth +and a great establishment and social leadership and--and all that.” + +“Did I?” Marian said with exaggerated astonishment. + +“You did indeed. You were perfectly open with me. You let me see +all that part of you which we try to keep concealed and fancy we +are concealing--all that one really feels and wishes and thinks as +distinguished from what one fancies he ought to feel and wish and +think.” + +“I wonder that you cared, after a glance behind that curtain.” + +“Oh, but I like what is behind that curtain best of all. The very human +things are there. They make me feel so at home.” + +Dinner was announced and it was not until the second course that he had +a chance to resume. Then he began as if there had been no interval: + +“You said--” + +Marian laughed and looked at him--a flash of her luminous blue-green +eyes--and was looking away again with her usual expression. “You needn’t +tell me the rest. It doesn’t matter what I said. I’ve had you with me +wherever I went. You never doubted my--my caring, did you?” + +“No. I couldn’t doubt you. If you were the sort of woman a man could +doubt, you wouldn’t be the sort of woman I could love. And you know it +isn’t vanity that makes me sure. I often wonder how you happened to care +for such a--but I must not attack any one whom you like so well. No, I +knew you cared by the same instinct that makes you know that I care for +you.” + +“But why did you come?” + +“Because I have won a position for myself, have enough to enable us to +live without eternally fretting over money-matters. I feel that I +have the right to come. And then I could not be interested to live on, +without you; and I’m willing to face, willing to have you face, whatever +may come to us through me. I know that you and I together----” + +“Not now--don’t--please.” Marian was pale and she was obviously under a +great strain. “You see, you knew all about this. But I didn’t until you +looked at me when Jessie brought you. It makes me--happy--I am so happy. +But I must--I can’t control myself here.” She leaned over as if her +napkin had slipped to the floor. “I love you,” she murmured. + +It was Howard’s turn to struggle for self-control. “I understand,” he +said, “why you wished me not to go on. You never said those words to me +before--and----” + +“Oh, yes I have--many and many a time.” + +“With your eyes, but not with your voice--at least not so that I could +hear. And--well, it is not easy to look calm and only friendly when +every nerve in one’s body is vibrating like a violin string under +the bow. Yes, let us talk of something else. I’ve never been acutely +conscious of the presence of others when I’ve been with you. To-night +I’m in great danger of forgetting them altogether.” + +“That would be so like you.” Marian laughed, then raised her voice a +little and went on. “Yes, your little restaurant in the Rue Louis le +Grand was gone. There was a dressmaker in its place--Raudinitz. She made +this. How do you like it?” + +“It has the air of--of belonging to you.” + +Marian looked amused. Howard shrugged his shoulders. “All roads lead to +Rome,” he said. + + * * * * * + +Carnarvon hung about until the women went to bed, so Howard and Marian +had no opportunity to be alone. As soon as he saw his last chance +vanish, he went to his own room, to the solitude of its balcony in the +shadow of the projecting facade with the moonlight flooding the rocks +and the sea. + +As he sat smoking, the recession came, the reaction from weeks of +nervous tension. And with the ebb of the tide entered that Visitor who +alone has the privilege of the innermost chamber where lives the man +himself, unmasked of all vanity and show and pretense. The visit was not +unexpected; for at every such crisis every one is certain of a call from +this Visitor, this merciless critic, plain and rude of speech, rare and +reluctant in praise, so mocking in our moments of elation, so cruelly +frank about our follies and self-excuses when he comes in our moments of +depression. + +“So you are going to marry?” the Visitor said abruptly. “I thought you +had made up your mind on that subject long ago.” + +“Love changes a man’s point of view,” Howard replied, timid and +apologetic before this quiet, relentless other-self. + +“But it doesn’t change the facts of life, does it? It doesn’t change +character, does it?” + +“I think so. For instance, it has changed me. It has made a man of me. +It has been the inspiration of the past year, strengthening me, making +me ambitious, energetic. Have I not thought of her all the time, worked +for her?” + +“You have been uncommonly persistent--as you always are when you +are thwarted.” The Visitor wore a satirical smile. “But a spurt of +inspiration is one thing. A wife--responsibility--fetters----” + +“Not when one loves.” + +“That depends upon the kind of love--and the kind of woman--and the kind +of man.” + +“Could there be any higher kind of love than ours?” + +“Most romantic, most high-minded--quite idyllic.” The Visitor’s tone +was gently mocking. “And I don’t deny that you may go on loving each the +other. But--how does she fit in with your scheme of life? What does +she really know of or care about your ambitions? Why, you had so little +confidence in her that you didn’t dare to think of marrying her until +you had an income which you once would have thought wealth--an income +which, by the way, already begins to seem small to you.” + +“No, it wasn’t lack of confidence in her,” protested Howard. “It was +lack of confidence in myself.” + +“True, that did have something to do with it, I grant you. And that +reminds me--what has become of all your cowardice about responsibility?” + +“Oh, I’m changed there.” + +“Are you sure? Are you not deceived by this sudden and maybe momentary +streak of good luck in your affairs? You have fixed your ambition +high--very high. You wish to make an honest and a useful and a +distinguished career. You know you have weaknesses. I needn’t remind +you--need I--that you have had to fight those weaknesses? How could +you have won thus far if you had been responsible for others instead of +being alone, and certain that the consequences would fall upon yourself +only? I want to see you continue to win. I don’t want to see you dragged +down by extravagance, by love for this woman, by ambition of the kind +her friends approve. I don’t want to see you--You were silent when +Stokely insulted you!” + +“Love--such love as mine--and for such a woman--and with such love in +return--drag down? Impossible!” + +“Not so--not exactly so, though I must say you are plausible. But don’t +forget that you and she are not starting out to make a career. Don’t +forget that she is already fixed--her tastes, habits, friendships, +associations, ideals already formed. Don’t forget that your love is the +only bond between you--and that it may drag you toward her mode of +life instead of drawing her towards yours. Don’t forget that your own +associations and temptations are becoming more and more difficult. I +repeat, you cringed--yes, cringed--when Stokely insulted you. Why?” + +Howard was silent. + +“And,” the Visitor went on relentlessly, “let me remind you that not +only did you give her up without a struggle a few months ago but also +she gave you up without a word.” + +“But what could she have said?” + +“I don’t know, I’m sure. I’m not familiar with ways feminine. But I +know--we know--that, if there had not been some reservation in her love, +some hesitation about you--unconscious, perhaps, but powerful enough to +make her yield--she would not have let you go as she did.” + +“But she did not realise, as I did not, how much our love meant to us.” + +“Perhaps--that sounds well. All I ask is, will she help you? Are you +really so much stronger than you were only four months ago? Or are you +stimulated by success? Suppose that days of disaster, of peril, come? +What then?” + +“But they will not. I have won a position. I can always command a large +salary--perhaps not quite so much but still a large salary.” + +“Perhaps--if you don’t trouble yourself about principles. But how would +it be if you would do nothing, write nothing, except what you think is +honest? Would you ask her to face it? Tell me, tell yourself honestly, +have you the right to assume a responsibility you may not be able to +bear, to invite temptations you may not be able to resist?” + +There was a long silence. At last Howard stood up and flung his cigar +into the sea. His face was drawn and his eyes burned. + +“God in heaven!” he cried, “am I not human? May I not have companionship +and sympathy and love? Must I be alone and friendless and loveless +always? That is not life; that is not just. I will not; I will not. I +love her--love her--love her. With the best that there is in me, I love +her. Am I such a coward that I cannot face even my own weaknesses?” + + + + + +XVIII. + +HOWARD EXPLAINS HIS MACHINE. + + +In August Marian and Mrs. Carnarvon came to the Waldorf for two days. +Howard had offered to show them how a newspaper is made; and Mrs. +Carnarvon, finding herself bored by too many days of the same few people +every day, herself proposed the trip. The three dined in the open air on +Sherry’s piazza and at eleven o’clock drove down the Avenue, to the east +at Washington Square, and through the Bowery. + +“I never saw it before,” said Marian, “and I must say I shall not care +if I never see it again. Why do people make so much fuss about slums, I +wonder?” + +“Oh, they’re so queer, so like another world,” suggested Mrs. Carnarvon. +“It gives you such a delightful sensation of sadness. It’s just like a +not-too-melancholy play, only better because it’s real. Then, too, it +makes one feel so much more comfortable and clean and contented in one’s +own surroundings.” + +“You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Jessie.” Marian spoke in mock +indignation. “The next thing we know you’ll sink to being a patron of +the poor and go about enjoying yourself at making them self-conscious +and envious.” + +“They’re not at all sad down this way,” said Howard, “except in the +usual inescapable human ways. When they’re not hit too hard, they bear +up wonderfully. You see, living on the verge of ruin and tumbling over +every few weeks get one used to it. It ceases to give the sensation of +event.” + +Their automobile had turned into Park Row and so reached the +_News-Record_ building in Printing House Square. Howard took the +two women to the elevator and they shot upward in a car crowded with +telegraph messengers, each carrying one or more envelopes, some of them +bearing in bold black type the words: “News!--Rush!” + +“I suppose that is the news for the paper?” Mrs. Carnarvon asked. + +“A little of it. Our special cable and special news from towns to which +we have no direct wire and also the _Associated Press_ reports come this +way. But we don’t use much _Associated Press_ matter, as it is the same +for all the papers.” + +“What do you do with it?” + +“Throw it away. A New York newspaper throws away every night enough to +fill two papers and often enough to fill five or six.” + +“Isn’t that very wasteful?” + +“Yes, but it’s necessary. Every editor has his own idea of what to print +and what not to print and how much space each news event calls for. It +is there that editors show their judgment or lack of it. To print the +things the people wish to read in the quantities the people like and in +the form the most people can most easily understand--that is success as +an editor.” + +“No doubt,” said Marian, thinking of the low view all her friends +took of Howard’s newspaper, “if you were making a newspaper to please +yourself, you would make a very different one.” + +“Oh, no,” laughed Howard, “I print what I myself like; that is, what I +like to find in a newspaper. We print human news made by human beings +and interesting to human beings. And we don’t pretend to be anything +more than human. We try never to think of our own idea of what the +people ought to read, but always to get at what the people themselves +think they ought to read. We are journalists, not news-censors.” + +“I must say newspapers do not interest me.” Marian confessed it a little +diffidently. + +“You are probably not interested,” Howard answered, “because you don’t +care for news. It is a queer passion--the passion for news. The public +has it in a way. But to see it in its delirium you must come here.” + +“This seems quiet enough.” Marian looked about Howard’s upstairs office. +It was silent, and from the windows one could see New York and its +rivers and harbour, vast, vague, mysterious, animated yet quiet. + +“Oh, I rarely come here--a few hours a week,” Howard replied. “On this +floor the editorial writers work.” He opened a door leading to a private +hall. There were five small rooms. In each sat a coatless man, smoking +and writing. One was Segur, and Howard called to him. + +“Are you too busy to look after Mrs. Carnarvon and Miss Trevor for a few +minutes? I must go downstairs.” + +Segur gave some “copy” to a boy who handed him a bundle of proofs and +rushed away down a narrow staircase. Howard descended in the elevator, +and Segur, who had put on his coat, sat talking to the two women as he +looked through the proofs, glancing at each narrow strip, then letting +it drop to the floor. + +“You don’t mind my working?” he asked. “I have to look at these things +to see if there is any news that calls for editional attention. If I +find anything and can think an editorial thought about it, I write it; +and if Howard is in the humour, perhaps the public is permitted to read +it.” + +“Is he severe?” asked Mrs. Carnarvon. + +“The ‘worst ever,’” laughed Segur. “He is very positive and likes only +a certain style and won’t have anything that doesn’t exactly fit his +ideas. He’s easy to get along with but difficult to work for.” + +“I imagine his positiveness is the secret of his success.” Marian knew +that Segur was half in jest and was fond of Howard. But she couldn’t +endure hearing him criticised. + +“No. I think he succeeds because he works, pushes straight on, never +stops to repair blunders but never makes the same kind of a blunder the +second time.” + +Segur’s eye caught an item that suggested an editorial paragraph. He +sat at Howard’s desk, thought a moment, scrawled half a dozen lines in +a large ragged hand on a sheet of ruled yellow paper, and pressed +an electric button. The boy came, handed him another thick bundle of +proofs, took the “copy” and withdrew. Just then Howard returned. + +“We’ll go down to the news-room,” he said. + +The windows of the great news-room were thrown wide. Scores of electric +lights made it bright. At the various desks or in the aisles were +perhaps fifty men, most of them young, none of them beyond middle age. +They were in every kind of clothing from the most fashionable summer +attire to an old pair of cheap and stained duck trousers, collarless +negligee shirt open all the way down the front and suspenders hanging +about the hips. + +Some were writing long-hand; others were pounding away at the +typewriter; others were talking in undertones to “typists” taking +dictation to the machine; others were reading “copy” and altering it +with huge blue pencils which made apparently unreadable smears wherever +they touched the paper. In and out skurried a dozen office-boys, +responding to calls from various desks, bringing bundles of proofs, +thrusting copy into boxes which instantly and noisily shot up through +the ceiling. + +It was a scene of confusion and furious activity. The face of each +individual was calm and his motions by themselves were not excited. But +taking all together and adding the tense, strained expression underneath +the calm--the expression of the professional gambler--there was a total +of active energy that was oppressive. + +“We had a fire below us one night,” said Howard. “We are two hundred +feet from the street and there were no fire escapes. We all thought it +was good-bye. It was nearly half an hour before we found out that the +smoke booming up the stairways and into this room had no danger behind +it.” + +“Gracious!” Mrs. Carnarvon shuddered and looked uneasily about. + +“It’s perfectly safe,” Howard reassured her. “We’ve arranged things +better since then. Besides, that fire demonstrated that the building was +fireproof.” + +“And what happened?” asked Miss Trevor. + +“Why, just what you see now. The Managing Editor, Mr. King over +there--I’ll introduce him to you presently--went up to a group of men +standing at one of the windows. They were pretending indifference as +they looked down at the crowd which was shouting and tossing its arms +in a way that more than suggested pity for us poor devils up here. Well, +King said: ‘Boys, boys, this isn’t getting out a paper.’ Every one went +back to his work and--and that was all.” + +They went on to the room behind the newsroom. As Howard opened its heavy +door a sound, almost a roar, of clicking instruments and typewriters +burst out. Here again were scores of desks with men seated at them, +every man with a typewriter and a telegraph instrument before him. + +“These are our direct wires,” Howard explained. “Our correspondents in +all the big cities, east, west, north and south and in London, are at +the other end of these wires. Let me show you.” + +Howard spoke to the operator nearest them. “Whom have you got?” + +“I’m taking three thousand words from Kansas City,” he replied. +“Washington is on the next wire.” + +“Ask Mr. Simpson how the President is to-night,” Howard said to the +Washington operator. + +His instrument clicked a few times and was silent. Almost immediately +the receiver began to click and, as the operator dashed the message off +on his typewriter the two women read over his shoulder: “Just came from +White House. He is no better, probably a little worse because weaker. +Simpson.” + +“And can you hear just as quickly from London?” Marian asked. + +“Almost. I’ll try. There is always a little delay in transmission from +the land systems to the cable system; and messages have to be telephoned +between our office in Trafalgar Square and the cable office down in the +city. Let’s see, it’s five o’clock in the morning in London now. They’ve +been having it hot there. I’ll ask about the weather.” + +Howard dictated to the man at the London wire: “Roberts, London. How is +the weather? Howard.” + +In less than ten minutes the cable-man handed Howard a typewritten slip +reading: “_News-Record_, New York, Howard: Thermometer 97 our office +now. Promises hottest day yet. Roberts.” + +“I never before realised how we have destroyed distance,” said Mrs. +Carnarvon. + +“I don’t think any one but a newspaper editor completely realises it,” + Howard answered. “As one sits here night after night, sending messages +far and wide and receiving immediate answers, he loses all sense of +space. The whole world seems to be in his anteroom.” + +“I begin to see fascination in this life of yours.” Marian’s face showed +interest to enthusiasm. “This atmosphere tightens one’s nerves. It seems +to me that in the next moment I shall hear of some thrilling happening.” + +“It’s listening for the first rumour of the ‘about to happen’ that makes +newspaper-men so old and yet so young, so worn and yet so eager. Every +night, every moment of every night, we are expecting it, hoping for +some astounding news which it will test our resources to the utmost to +present adequately.” + +From the news-room they went up to the composing room--a vast hall of +confusion, filled with strange-looking machines and half-dressed men and +boys. Some were hurrying about with galleys of type, with large metal +frames; some were wheeling tables here and there; scores of men and a +few women were seated at the machines. These responded to touches upon +their key-boards by going through uncanny internal agitations. Then out +from a mysterious somewhere would come a small thin strip of almost hot +metal, the width of a newspaper column and marked along one edge with +letters printed backwards. + +Up through the floor of this room burst boxes filled with “copy.” Boys +snatched the scrawled, ragged-looking sheets and tossed them upon a +desk. A man seated there cut them into little strips, hanging each strip +upon a hook. A line of men filed rapidly past these hooks, snatching +each man a single strip and darting away to a machine. + +“It is getting late,” said Howard. “The final rush for the first edition +is on. They are setting the last ‘copy.’” + +“But,” Mrs. Carnarvon asked, “how do they ever get the different parts +of the different news-items together straight?” + +“The man who is cutting copy there--don’t you see him make little marks +on each piece? Those marks tell them just where their ‘take,’ as they +call it, belongs.” + +They went over to the part of the great room where there were many +tables, on each a metal frame about the size of a page of the newspaper. +Some of the frames were filled with type, others were partly empty. And +men were lifting into them the galleys of type under the direction of +the Night Editor and his staff. As soon as a frame was filled two men +began to even the ends of the columns and then to screw up an inside +framework which held the type firmly in place. Then a man laid a great +sheet of what looked like blotting-paper upon the page of type and +pounded it down with a mallet and scraped it with a stiff brush. + +“That is the matrix,” said Howard. “See him putting it on the elevator.” + They looked down the shaft. “It has dropped to the sub-basement,” said +Howard, “two hundred and fifty feet below us. They are already bending +it into a casting-box of the shape of the cylinders on the presses; +metal will be poured in and when it is cool, you will have the metal +form, the metal impression of the page. It will be fastened upon the +press to print from.” + +They walked back through the room which was now in almost lunatic +confusion--forms being locked; galleys being lifted in; editors, +compositors, boys, rushing to and fro in a fury of activity. Again the +phenomenon of the news-room, the individual faces calm but their tense +expressions and their swift motions making an impression of almost +irrational excitement. + +“Why such haste?” asked Marian. + +“Because the paper must be put to press. It must contain the very latest +news and it must also catch the mails; and the mail-trains do not wait.” + +They descended in the main elevator to the ground floor and then went +down a dark and winding staircase until they faced an iron door. Howard +pushed it open and they entered the press-room. Its temperature was +blood-heat, its air heavy and nauseating with the odours of ink, moist +paper and oil, its lights dim. They were in a gallery and below them on +all sides were the huge presses, silent, motionless, waiting. + +Suddenly a small army of men leaped upon the mighty machines, scrambled +over them, then sprang back. With a tremendous roar that shook the +entire building the presses began to revolve, to hurl out great heaps of +newspapers. + +“Those presses eat six hundred thousand pounds of paper and four tons +of ink a week,” Howard shouted. “They can throw out two hundred thousand +complete papers an hour--papers that are cut, folded, pasted, and ready +to send away. Let us go before you are stifled. This air is horrible.” + +They returned in the elevator to his lofty office. Even there a slight +vibration from the press-room could be felt. But it was calm and still, +a fit place from which to view the panorama of sleeping city and drowsy +harbour tranquil in the moonlight. + +“Look.” Howard was leaning over the railing just outside his window. + +They looked straight down three hundred feet to the street made bright +by electric lights. Scores of wagons loaded with newspapers were rushing +away from the several newspaper buildings. The shouts, the clash of +hoofs and heavy tires on the granite blocks, the whirr of automobiles, +were borne faintly upward. + +“It is the race to the railway stations to catch the mail-trains,” + Howard explained. “The first editions go to the country. These wagons +are hurrying in order that tens of thousands of people hundreds of miles +away, at Boston, Philadelphia, Washington and scores on scores of +towns between and beyond, may find the New York newspapers on their +breakfast-tables.” + +The office-boy came with a bundle of papers, warm, moist, the ink +brilliant. + +“And now for the inquest,” said Howard. + +“The inquest?” Marian looked at him inquiringly. + +“Yes--viewing the corpse. It was to give birth to this that there +was all that intensity and fury--that and a thousand times more. For, +remember, this paper is the work of perhaps twenty thousand brains, in +every part of the world, throughout civilisation and far into the depths +of barbarism. Look at these date lines--cities and towns everywhere in +our own country, Canada, Mexico, Central America, South America. You’ll +find most of the capitals of Europe represented; and Africa, north, +south and central, east and west coast. Here’s India and here the heart +of Siberia. + +“There is China and there Japan and there Australia. Think of these +scores of newspaper correspondents telegraphing news of the doings of +their fellow beings--not what they did last month or last year, but what +they did a few hours ago--some of it what they were doing while we were +dining up at Sherry’s. Then think of the thousands on thousands of these +newspaper-men, eager, watchful agents of publicity, who were on duty but +had nothing to report to-day. And----” + +Howard shrugged his shoulders and tossed the paper from him. + +“There it lies,” he said, “a corpse. Already a corpse, its life ended +before it was fairly born. There it is, dead and done for--writ in +water, and by anonymous hands. Who knows who did it? Who cares?” + +He caught Marian’s eyes, looking wonder and reproach. + +“I don’t like to hear you say that,” she said, forgetting Mrs. +Carnarvon. “Other men--yes, the little men who work for the cheap +rewards. But not you, who work for the sake of work. This night’s +experience has thrilled me. I understand your profession now. I see what +it means to us all, to civilisation, what a splendid force for good, +for enlightenment, for uplifting it is. I can see a great flood of light +radiating from this building, pouring into the dark places, driving +away ignorance. And the thunder of those presses seems to me to fill +the world with some mighty command--what is it?--oh, yes--I can hear it +distinctly. It is, ‘Let there be light!’” + +Mrs. Carnarvon’s back was toward them and she was looking out at the +harbour. Howard put his hands upon Marian’s shoulders and they looked +each the other straight in the eyes. + +“Lovers and comrades,” he said, “always. And how strong we +are--together!” + + + + + +XIX. + +“I MUST BE RICH.” + + +“While I don’t feel dependent upon the owners of the _News-Record_, +still I am not exactly independent of them either. And if I left them it +would only be to become dependent in the same way upon somebody else. A +man who makes his living by the advocacy of principles should be wholly +free. If he isn’t, the principles are sure sooner or later to become +incidental to the living, instead of the living being incidental to the +principles.” + +“But you see--perhaps I ought to have told you before--that is, there +may be”--Marian was stammering and blushing. + +“What’s the matter? Don’t frighten me by looking so--so criminal,” + Howard laughed. + +It was late in August. Marian was visiting Mrs. Brandon at +Irvington-on-the-Hudson and she and Howard were driving. + +“I never told you. But the fact is”--she hesitated again. + +“Is it about your other engagement? You never told me about that--how +you broke it off. I don’t want you to tell me unless you wish to. You +know I never meddle in past matters. I’m simply trying to help you out.” + +“Instead, you’re making it worse. I’d rather not tell you that if----” + +“We’ll never speak of it again. And now, what is it that is troubling +you?” + +“I have been trying to tell you--I wish you wouldn’t look at me--I’ve +got a small income--it’s really very small.” + +“I’m glad to hear it.” + +“I was afraid you wouldn’t like it. It isn’t very big--only about +eight thousand a year--some years not so much. But then, if anything +happened--we could be--we could live.” + +Howard smiled as he looked at her--but not with his eyes. + +“I’m glad,” he said. “It makes me feel safer in several ways. And I’m +especially glad that it is not larger than mine. I know it’s stupid, as +so many of our instincts are; but I should not like to marry a woman who +had a larger income than I could earn. I think it is the only remnant +I have of the ‘lord and master’ idea that makes so many men ridiculous. +But we need not let that bother us. Fate has made us about equal in this +respect, so unimportant yet so important; and we are each independent of +the other. Each will always know that love is the only bond that holds +us together.” + +They decided that they would live at the rate of about fifteen thousand +a year and would put by the rest of their income. She was to undertake +the entire management of their home, he transferring his share by check +each month. + +“And so,” she said, “we shall never have to discuss money matters.” + +“We couldn’t,” laughed Howard. “I don’t know anything about them and +could not take part in a discussion.” + +As they were to be married in November, they planned to take an +apartment when Marian came back to town--in late September. She was to +attend to the furnishing and all was to be in readiness by the time they +were married. Howard was to get a six weeks’ vacation and, as soon as +they returned, they were to go to housekeeping. + +Her visit to the _News-Record_ office had made a change in her. +Until she met Howard, she had known only the world-that-idles and +the world-that-drudges. Howard brought her the first real news of the +world-that-works. Of course she knew that there was such a world, but +she had confused it with the world-that-drudges. She liked to hear +Howard talk about his world, but she thought that his enthusiasm blinded +him to the truth of its drudgery; and she often caught herself half +regretting that he had to work. + +But that vast machine for the swift collecting and distributing of the +news of the world had opened her eyes, had made her see her lover and, +through him, his life, in a different aspect. She had accepted the +supercilious, thoughtless opinion of those about her that the newspaper +is a mere purveyor of inaccurate gossip. And while Howard had tried to +show her his profession as it was, he had only succeeded in convincing +her that he himself had an exalted view of it; a view which she thought +creditable to him but wide of the disagreeable truth. + +On that trip down-town she had seen “the press” with the flaws reduced +and the merits looming. She had looked into those all-seeing eyes +that watch the councils of statesmen and the movements of nations and +peoples, yet also note the swing of a murderous knife in an alley of the +slums. She had heard that stentorian voice of Publicity, arousing the +people of the earth to apprehend, to reflect, to progress. + +She had been proud of Howard for his appearance, for what he said and +the way he said it. Now she was proud of him for the part he was taking +in this wonderful world-that-works. And she would not have confessed to +him how insignificant she felt, how weak and worthless. + +She thought she was impatient for the time to come when she could learn +how to help him in his work, could begin to feel that she too had a +real share in it. With what seemed to her most creditable energy and +self-sacrifice she tried again to interest herself in newspapers. But +the trivial parts bored her; the chronicles of crime repelled her; and +the politics and most of the other serious articles were beyond the +range of her knowledge or of her interest. “I shall wait until we are +married,” she said, “then he will teach me.” And she did not suspect how +significant, how ominous her postponement was. + +She asked him if he would not teach her and he replied: “Why, certainly, +if you are interested. But I don’t intend to trouble you with the +details of my profession. I want you to lead your own life--to do what +interests you.” + +She did not stop to analyse her feeling of relief at this release, and +went on to protest: “But I want your life to be my life. I want there to +be only one life--our life.” + +“And there shall be--each contributing his share, at least I’ll try to +contribute mine. But you have your own individuality, dear; and a very +strong one it is. And I don’t want you to change.” + +At the time he was deep in his plans for illustrating the _News-Record_. +Early in that fall’s campaign they had secured the best cartoonist +in America. Cartoons are rarely the work of one man but are got up by +consultations. Howard spent never less than an hour each day with +the cartoonist, Wickham, wrestling with the problem of the next day’s +picture. For he insisted upon having a striking cartoon each day, and +gave it the most conspicuous place in the paper--the top-centre of the +first page. + +“If a cartoon is worth printing at all,” he said, “it is worth printing +large and conspicuous. And to be worth printing it must be like an ideal +editorial--one point sharply and swiftly made and so clear that the most +careless glance-of-the-eye is enough.” + +Wickham had made a series of cartoons on the campaign, humorous and +satirical, which had the distinction of being reproduced on lantern +slides for use in all parts of the town. It was an admirable beginning +of the new policy of illustration. Howard had been making a careful +study of all the illustrators in the country, not overlooking those +toiling in obscurity on the big western dailies. He had selected a staff +of twenty; as soon as Coulter and Stokely assented, he engaged them by +telegraph. Five were developed artists, the rest beginners with talent. +He gave all of his attention for two weeks to organising this staff. +He infected it with his enthusiasm. He impressed upon it his ideas of +newspaper illustration--the dash and energy of the French illustrators +adapted to American public taste. He insisted upon the artists studying +the French illustrated papers and applying what they learned. It was +not until the first Sunday in December that he felt ready to submit the +results of these labours to the public. + +Again he scored over the “contemporaries” of the _News-Record_. +They printed many more illustrations than it did. It had only one +illustration on a page, but there was one on every page and a good one. +All the subjects were well chosen--either action or character--and as +many good looking women as possible. + +“Never publish a commonplace face,” he said. “There is no such thing in +life as an uninteresting face. Always find the element of interest and +bring it out.” + +The result of this policy, interpreted by a carefully trained and +enthusiastic staff, was what the out-of-town press was soon praising as +“a revelation in newspaper-illustration.” Howard himself was surprised. +He had mentally insured against a long period of disappointment. + +“This shows,” he remarked to King and Vroom, “how much more competent +men are than we usually think--if they get a chance, if they are pointed +in the right direction and are left free.” + +“He certainly knows his business.” Vroom was looking after Howard +admiringly. “I never saw anybody who so well understood when to lead and +when to let alone. What results he does get!” + +“A pity to waste such talents on this thankless business,” said King. +“If he’d gone into real business, he would have a salary of a hundred +thousand a year, would be rich and secure for life. Why, a business +man could and would make a whole career on the ideas he has in a single +week. As it is----” + +King shrugged his shoulders and Vroom finished the sentence for him: +“Coulter and Stokely could kick him out to-morrow and the _News-Record_ +would go straight on living upon his ideas for ten years at least.” + +Howard needed no one to make this truth clear to him to the full. Often, +as he thought of his expanding tastes, his expanding expenditures and +his expanding plans both for his private life and for his career, he +felt an awful sinking at the heart and a sense of fundamental weakness. + +“I am building upon sand,” he said to himself. “In business, in the law, +in almost any other career to-day’s work would be to-morrow’s capital. +As it is, I am ever more and more a slave. To be free I ought to be poor +or rich. And I cannot endure the thought of poverty again. I must be +rich.” + +The idea allured him to a degree that made him ashamed of himself. +Sometimes, when he was talking to Marian or writing editorials, all in +the strain of high principle and contempt for sordidness, he would flush +at the thought that he was in reality a good deal of a hypocrite. “I’m +expressing the ideals I ought to have, the ideals I used to have, not +the ideals I have.” + +But the clearer this discrepancy became to him and the wider the gap +between what he ought to think and what he really did think, the more +strenuously he protested to himself against himself, and the more +fiercely he denounced in public the very poison he was himself taking. + +“I am living in a tainted atmosphere,” he said to Marian. “We all are. I +fight against the taint but how can I hope to avoid the consequences if +I persist in breathing it, in absorbing it at every pore of my body?” + +“I don’t understand you.” Marian was used to his moods of self-criticism +and did not attach much importance to them. + +He thought a moment. “Oh, nothing,” he said. “What’s the use of +discussing what can’t be helped?” How could he tell her that the +greatest factor in his enervating environment was herself; that the +strongest chains which held him in it were the chains which bound him +to her? Indeed, was he not indulging in cowardly self-excuse in thinking +that this was true? Had not his success, rather than his love, made +ambition unfettered by principle the mainspring of his life? + + + + + +XX. + +ILLUSION. + + +“How shall we be married?” Howard asked her in the late Autumn. + +“I know it will not be in a church with ushers and bridesmaids and a +crowd gaping at us. I suppose there is a public side to marriage since +the state makes one enter into a formal contract. But that can be done +privately. I should as soon think of driving down the Avenue with my +arms about your neck as of a public wedding.” + +“Thank you,” he laughed. “I was afraid--well, women are usually so +fond of--but you’re not usual. Let us see. The minister is absolutely +necessary, I suppose. Would one feel married if there were not a +minister?” + +“I don’t know--I feel--” + +She hesitated and blushed but looked straight at him with that +expression in her eyes which always made him think of their love as +their religion. + +“Feel--go on. I want to hear that very, very much.” + +“I feel as if I were just as much married to you now as I ever could +be.” + +“And that is how I have felt ever since the day, when I hardly knew you, +when you suddenly came into my life--my real, inner life where no one +had been before--and sat down and at once made it look as if it were +your home. And the place that had been lonely was lonely no more, and +has not been since.” + +She put her hand in his and he saw that there were tears in her eyes. + +“What is it?” he asked. + +“Only that--that I am so happy. It--it frightens me. It seems so like a +dream.” + +“It’s going to be a long, long dream, isn’t it?” He lifted her hand and +kissed it, then put it down in her lap again gently as if he feared a +sudden movement might awaken them. “Perhaps it had better be at Mrs. +Carnarvon’s house--some morning just before luncheon and we could go +quietly away afterward.” + +“Yes--and--tell me,” she said, “wouldn’t it be better for us not to +go far away--and not to stay long? It seems to me that I most want to +begin--begin our life together just as it will be.” + +“Are you afraid you wouldn’t know what to do with me if I were idling +about all day long?” + +“Not exactly that. But I’d rather not take a vacation until we had +earned it together.” + +“What a beautiful idea! I’ll see what I can do.” + +They postponed the wedding until Howard had the “art-department” of the +_News-Record_ well established. It was on a bright winter day in the +second week of January that they stood up together and were married by +the Mayor whom Howard had helped to elect. Only Mr. and Mrs. Carnarvon +and Marian’s brother were there. Then the six sat down to luncheon, and +at three o’clock Howard and his wife started for Lakewood. + +When they arrived a victoria was waiting. As soon as they were seated, +Howard said “Home.” The coachman touched his hat and the horses set +out at a swift trot. The sun was setting and the dry, still air was +saturated with the perfume of the snow-draped pines. Within five minutes +the carriage was at a pretty little cottage with wide, glass-enclosed +porches. They entered the hall. In the rooms on either side open fires +were blazing an ecstatic welcome. + +“How do you like ‘home’?” asked Howard. + +“I don’t quite understand.” + +“You remember your plan of beginning at once. Well--this is the +compromise. Stokely has let me have his house here for a month--we may +keep it two if we like it. There is a telephone. The office isn’t two +hours away by rail. The newspapers are here early. We can combine work +and play.” + +The manservant had left the room, a sort of library-reception room. +Marian was seated in a big chair drawn near the fire. She had thrown +back her wraps and was slowly drawing off her gloves. Howard stood at +the side of the fire, leaning against the mantel and looking down at +her. + +“Before you definitely decide to stay--” he paused. + +“Yes,” she said, her colour heightening as she slowly lifted her eyes to +his, “yes--why this solemn tone?” + +“If ever--in the days that come--one never knows what may happen--if +ever you should find that you had changed toward me----” + +“Yes?” + +“I ask you--don’t promise--I never want you to promise me anything--I +want you always--at every moment--to be perfectly free. So I just ask +that you will let me see it. Then we can talk about it frankly, and we +can decide what is best to do.” + +“But--suppose--you see I might still not wish to wound you--” she +suggested, half teasing, half in earnest. + +“It seems to me now that it is impossible that we can ever change. It +seems to me--” he sat on the wide arm of her chair, and leaned over +until his head touched hers, “that if you were to change it would break +my heart. But if you were to change and were to hide it from me, I +should find it out some day and----” + +“And what----” + +“It would be worse--a broken heart, a horror of myself, a--a contempt +for you.” + +“Whatever comes, I’ll be myself or try to be. Is that what you mean?” + +“Exactly.” + +“And if you change?” + +“But I shall not!” + +“Why do you say that so positively?” + +“Because--well, there are some things that we wish to believe and half +believe, and some things that we believe that we believe, and somethings +that we _know_. I _know_ about you--about my love for you.” + +“It is strange in a way, isn’t it?” Marian was gently drawing her +fingers through his. “This is all so different from what I used to think +love would be. I used to picture to myself a man, something like you in +appearance, only taller and fair, who would be my master, who would make +me do what he wished. I think a woman always dreams of a lover who will +be strong enough to be her ruler. And here----” + +“So I am not the strong man that you look up to and tremble before? We +shall see.” + +“Don’t laugh at me. I mean that instead I have a man who makes me rule +myself. You make me feel strong, not weak, and proud, not humble. You +make me respect myself so.” + +“The democracy of love--freedom, equality, fraternity. Don’t you like +it?” + +“Madame is served.” It was the servant holding back one of the +portières, his face expressionless, his eyes down. + + * * * * * + +Happiness evades description or analysis. We can only say that +it reaches its highest point when a man and a woman, intelligent, +appreciative, sympathetic, endowed with youth, health and freedom, are +devoting their energies solely and determinedly to verifying each a +preconceived idea of the other. + +“And what do you think of it by this time?” + +Marian asked the question in the pause after a twenty minutes’ canter +over a straightaway stretch through the pines. + +“Of what?” Howard inquired. “I mean of what phase of it. Of you?” + +“Well,--yes, of me--after a week.” + +“As I expected, only more so--more than I could have imagined. And you, +what do you think?” + +“It’s very different from what I expected. It seemed to me beforehand +that you, even you, would ‘get on my nerves’ just a little at times. I +didn’t expect you to appreciate--to feel my moods and to avoid doing--or +is it that you simply cannot do--anything jarring. You have amazing +instincts or else--” Marian looked at him and smiled mischievously, “or +else you have been well educated. Oh, I don’t mind--not in the least. +No matter what the cause, I’m glad--glad--glad that you have been taught +how to treat a woman.” + +“I see you are determined to destroy me,” Howard was in jest, yet in +earnest. “I am not used to being flattered. I have never had but one +critic, and I have trained him to be severe and uncharitable. Now if you +set me up on a high altar and wave the censers and cry ‘glory, glory, +glory,’ I’ll lose my head. You have a terrible responsibility. I trust +you and I believe everything you say.” + +“I’ll begin my duties as critic as soon as we go back to--to earth. But +at present I’m going to be selfish. You see it makes me happier to blind +myself to your faults.” + +They rode in silence for a few moments and then she said: + +“I wish I had your feeling about--about democracy. I see your point of +view but I can’t take it. I know that you are right but I’m afraid my +education is too strong for me. I don’t believe in the people as you do. +It’s beautiful when you say it. I like to hear you. And I would not +wish you to feel as I do. I’d hate it if you did. It would be stooping, +grovelling for you to make distinctions among people. But----” + +“Oh, but I do make distinctions among people--so much so that I have +never had a friend in my life until you came. I have been on intimate +terms with many, but no one except you has been on intimate terms with +me. Oh, yes, I’m one of the most exclusive persons in the world.” + +“That sounds like autocracy, doesn’t it?” laughed Marian. “But you know +I don’t mean that. You think all the others are just as good as you are, +only in different ways, whereas I feel that they’re not. You don’t mind +vulgarity and underbreeding because you are perfectly indifferent to +people so long as they don’t try to jump the fence about your own little +private enclosure.” + +“Oh, I believe in letting other people alone, and I insist upon being +let alone myself. You see you make the whole world revolve about social +distinctions. The fact is, isn’t it, that social distinctions are mere +trifles--” + +“You oughtn’t to waste time arguing with a prejudice. I admit that what +I believe and feel is unreasonable. But I can’t change an instinct. +To me some people are better than others and are entitled to more, and +ought to be looked up to and respected.” + +Howard had an answer on the tip of his tongue. His passion for high +principle seemed to have been rekindled for the time by his love and in +this tranquillising environment. He felt strongly tempted to reason with +her unreasonableness, thus practically boasted as a virtue. It seemed so +unworthy, this streak of snobbery, so senseless in an American at most +three generations away from manual labour. But he had made up his mind +long ago to trust to new surroundings, new interests to create in her a +spirit more in sympathy with his career. + +“She is too intelligent, too high-minded,” he often reassured himself, +“to cling to this stupidity of class-feeling. She has heard nothing but +class-distinction all her life. Now that she is away from those people, +with their petty routine of petty ideas, she will begin to see things as +they are.” + +So he suppressed the argument and, instead, said in a tone of mock-pity: +“Poor fallen queen--to marry beneath her. How she must have fought +against the idea of such a plebeian partner.” + +“Plebeian--you?” Marian looked at him proudly. “Why, one has only to see +you to know.” + +“Yes, plebeian. I shall conceal it no longer. My ancestors were plain, +ordinary, common, untitled Americans.” + +“Why, so were mine,” she laughed. + +“Don’t! You distress me. I should never have married you had I known +that.” + +“I _am_ absurd, am I not?” Marian said gaily. “But let me have my craze +for well-mannered people and I’ll leave you your craze for the--the +masses.” + +They began to canter. Howard was smiling in spite of his irritation; +for it always irritated him to have her refuse to see his point in this +matter--his distinction between a person as a friend and a person as a +sociological unit. + +He worked for an hour or two every morning and sometimes in the evening, +Marian not far from his desk, so seated that when she turned the page +of her book she could lift her eyes and look at him. She read the papers +diligently every day for the first week. At the outset she thought she +was interested. But she knew so little about newspaper details that she +soon had to confess to herself that she was in fact interested in Howard +as her husband and lover, and that his career interested her only in a +broad, general way. What he talked about, that she understood and +liked and was able to discuss. But the newspapers and the news direct +suggested nothing to her, bored her. + +“Just read that,” he would say, pointing to an item. She would read it +and wonder what he meant. + +“It seems to me,” she would think, “that it wouldn’t in the least matter +if that had not been printed.” Then she would ask evasively but with an +assumption of interest, “What are you going to do about it?” + +And he would explain the meaning between the lines; the hinted facts +that ought to be brought out; the possibilities of getting a piece of +news that would attract wide attention. And she would see it, sometimes +clearly, usually vaguely; and she would admire him, but resume her +unconquerable indifference to news. + +She was soon looking at the paper only to read what he wrote; and she +often thought how much more interesting he was as a talker than as +a writer. “I’ll start right when we get to town,” she was constantly +promising herself. “It must, must, must be _our_ work.” + +Howard was, as she had told him, acutely sensitive to her moods. He did +not formulate it to himself but simply obeyed an instinct which defined +for him the limits of her interest. Before they had been at Lakewood +a month, he was working alone without any expectation of sympathy or +interest from her and without the slightest sense of loss in not getting +it. Why should he miss that which he had never had, had never counted +upon getting? He had always been mentally alone, most alone in the +plans and actions bearing directly upon his own career. He was perfectly +content to have her as the companion of his leisure. + +Possibly, if he had been insistent, or if they had been in real sympathy +instead of in only surface sympathy in most respects, she might +have become interested in his work, might have impelled him to right +development. But her distaste and inertia and his habit of debating and +deciding questions as to the paper in his own mind, the fear of boring +her, the dread of intruding upon her rights to her own individual tastes +and feelings, restrained him without his having a sense of restraint. + +When, after two months, they went up to town to stay, their course +of life was settled, though Marian was protesting that it was not and +Howard was unconscious of there having been any settlement, or anything +to settle. + + + + +XXI. + +WAVERING. + +Their home was an apartment at Twenty-ninth Street and Madison +Avenue--just large enough for two with its eleven rooms, all bearing the +stamp of Marian’s individuality. She had a keen sense of the beautiful +and she had given her thought and most of her time between the early +autumn and the wedding to making an attractive home. He had not seen her +work until they came together in the late afternoon of a day in the last +week of February. + +“You--everywhere you,” he said, as they inspected room after room. “I +don’t see how I could add anything to that. It is beautiful--the things +you have brought together, I mean, the furniture, curtains, carpets, +pictures, all beautiful in themselves, but--” + +He was looking at her in that way which made her feel his great love for +her even more deeply than when he put his arms about her and kissed +her. “It reminds me of what I so often think about you. Nature gave you +beauty but you make it wonderful because _you_ shine through it, give it +the force, the expression of your individuality. Other women have noses, +eyes, chins, mouths as beautiful as yours. But only you produce such +effects with the materials. I don’t express it very well but--you +understand?” + +“Yes, I understand.” She was leaning against him, her head resting upon +his shoulder. “And you like your home?” + +“We shall be happy here. I feel it in the air. This is a temple of the +three great gods--Freedom, Love and Happiness. And--we’ll keep the fires +on the altars blazing, won’t we?” + +His hours were most irregular. Sometimes he was off to work early in the +morning. Again he would not rise until noon. Sometimes he did not go +to the office after dinner, and again he came hurriedly to dinner, not +having the time to dress, and left immediately afterward to be gone +until two, three or even four in the morning. At first Marian tried to +follow his irregularities; but she was soon compelled to give up. As +he most often breakfasted about ten o’clock, she arranged to breakfast +regularly at that hour. If he was not yet up, she waited about the house +until she had seen him, listened while he talked of those “everlasting +newspapers,” praised his work a great deal, criticised it little and +that gently. She made few and feeble struggles to interest herself in +newspapers as newspapers. But he did not encourage her; other interests, +domestic and social, clamoured for her time; and the idea of being +directly useful to him in his work faded from her mind. + +If she had loved him more sympathetically, if she had not been so +super-sensitive to his passion for complete freedom, she would have +resented what in another kind of man would have seemed frank neglect +of her. But she thought she understood him and was deceived by his +self-deceiving conviction that his work was her service and that the +highest proof of his devotion to her was devotion to “our” career. Thus +there was no bitterness or reproach of him, rarely much intensity, in +her regret that they were together so little. + +“Good morning, stranger!” she said, as he came into the dining room one +day in early June. + +He kissed her hand and then the “topknot” as he called the point into +which her hair was gathered at the crown of her head. “It has been four +days since I saw you,” he said. And he sat opposite her looking at her +with an expression of sadness which she had not seen since the first +days of their acquaintance. + +“I have missed you--you know,” she was trying to look cheerful, “but I +understand--” + +“Yes,” he interrupted. “You understand what I intend, understand that I +mean my life to be for _us_. But sometimes--this morning--I think I am +mistaken. It seems to me that I am letting this--” he threw his hand +contemptuously toward the heap of morning newspapers beside him, “this +trash comes between us. You are my real career, not these, and under the +pretense of working for us I am spending my whole life, my one life, +my one chance to help to make us happy, upon these.” And he pushed the +bundle of papers off the table. + +“Something has depressed you.” She was leaning her elbow upon the table +and her chin upon her hand and was looking at him wistfully. “I wouldn’t +have you any different. You must follow the law of your nature. You must +work at your ideal of being useful and influential in the world. You +would not be satisfied to take my hand and trudge off with me through +Arcadia to pick flowers and weave them into crowns for me. Nor should +I,” she laughed, “or I try to think I shouldn’t.” + +“Let us go abroad for two months,” he said. “I am tired, so tired. I am +so weary of all these others, men and things.” + +“Can you spare the time?” + +“I”--he corrected himself--“we have earned a vacation. It will be for +me the first real vacation since I left Yale--thirteen years ago. I am +growing narrow and stale. Let us get away and forget. Shall we?” + +“The sooner the better--if this is not a passing mood. What has +depressed you?” she persisted. + +“What seems to be a piece of very good luck.” He laughed almost +sneeringly. “They have given me a share in the paper, twenty thousand in +stock--which means a fixed income of five thousand a year so long as +the paper pays what it does now--twenty-five per cent. And they offer me +twenty thousand more at par to be paid for within two years. We are in a +fair way to be rich.” + +“They don’t want to lose you, evidently,” she said. “But why does this +make you sad? We are independent now--absolutely independent, both of +us.” + +“Yes--we are rich. Together we have more than thirty-five thousand a +year. But it is not what I wanted. I wanted to be free. Can a man be +free who is rich, and rich in the way we are? Will my mind be open? +Shall I dare to act and speak the truth? Or will our property, our +environment, speak for me?” + +“I can’t imagine you a slave to mere dollars.” + +“Can’t you? Well, I am afraid--I’m really afraid. I have always said +that if I wished to--enslave a people I would make them prosperous, +would give them property, make them dependent upon their dollars. Then +the fear of losing their dollars, their investments, would make them +endure any oppression. Freedom’s battles were never fought by men with +full stomachs and full purses.” + +“But rich men have given up everything for freedom--Washington was a +rich man.” + +“Ah, but how many Washingtons has the world produced? I see the time +coming when I shall have to choose. I see it and--I dread it.” + +She rose and stood behind him leaning over with her arms about his neck +and her check against his. + +“You are brave. You are strong,” she whispered. “You will meet that +crisis if it comes and I have no fear, Mr. Valiant-for-Truth, as to how +the battle will go.” + +He was glad that he did not have to face her eyes just then. “We will +go abroad next Wednesday week,” he whispered, “and we’ll be happy in +France--in Switzerland--in Holland--I want to see the park at the Hague +again; and the tall trees with their straight big trunks green with +moss; and the boughs meeting over the canals and making the clear water +so black; and the snow-white swans sailing statelily about.” + + * * * * * + +With the Atlantic between him and his work, he was able to suspend the +habit of so many years. You would have fancied them just married, at +whatever stage of their wanderings you might have met them. They were +always laughing and talking--an endless flow of high spirits, absorption +each in the other. They rose when they pleased, went to bed when it +suited them. They had a manservant and a maid with them to relieve them +of all the details. They travelled only in the afternoons, and then not +far. If they missed one train, they cheerfully waited for another. + +“I think we are achieving my ideal of vacation,” he said. + +“What is that--perfect idleness? We certainly are idle. I shouldn’t have +believed you could be so idle.” + +“Perfect idleness--yes. But more than that. I aimed far higher. My ideal +was perfect irresponsibility. We have become like the wind that bloweth +where it listeth.” + +And again, she said: “Let me see, what day is this?” + +“I think it is Thursday or Friday,” he replied. “But it may be Sunday. +I can assure you that it is afternoon, late afternoon, and I think we +ought to dress for dinner soon. After dinner, if you still care to know, +and will remind me, I’ll try to find out the day. But I’m sure we shall +have forgotten before to-morrow.” + +Howard got an extension of his leave of absence and they roamed about +England in August, reaching New York on the first day of September. +Marian went on to Mrs. Carnarvon at Newport and Howard took rooms at the +Waldorf. She stayed away a full week, then came to town, opened their +apartment, and surprised him with a formal invitation to dinner. + +He came like a guest and they went through all the formalities of +meeting for the first time, of increasing intimacy--condensing a +complete courtship into one evening. + +“I thought you had had enough of me for the time,” he said, as they sat +in the wide window-seat, he tracing with his forefinger the line of the +straps over her bare shoulders. + +“And I thought that I would give you a chance to forget how nice I am +and so give you the pleasure of learning all over again. But it was so +lonely and miserable up there. ‘Who can come after the king?’” + +“Sometimes I think I ought to stir about more--meet the men who lead +in the city. But it seems such a waste of time when I can come and call +upon you.” + +“But might it not be better in the long run if you did meet these men? +Mightn’t it make your getting on quicker and easier?” + +“Perhaps--if I were a gregarious animal, but I’m not. I’m shy and +solitary and hard to get acquainted with. And it takes time to make +friends. Besides, in making friends you also make enemies, and one enemy +can do you more harm than all your friends can do you good. Then too, +friends take up too much time. We have so little time and--we can spend +it to so much better advantage--can’t we?” + +Marian pushed herself closer against him and presently said dreamily: +“So much happiness, such utter happiness which no one, nothing can take +away. I wonder when and how the first storm will come?” + +“It needn’t come at all--not for a long, long time. And when it does--we +can weather it, don’t you think?” + + * * * * * + +During the next two months they were together more than they had been in +the spring. He imposed day office hours upon himself and did no work in +the evenings except the correcting of editorial proofs which he had sent +to him at the house, at the theatre, or at whatever restaurant they were +dining. And at midnight he called up the office on the telephone +and talked with Mr. King or Mr. Vroom about the news in hand and the +programme for presenting it in the next morning’s paper. + +But as “people”--meaning Marian’s friends--returned to town, they fell +into the former routine. It was in part his doing, in part hers. He was +now thirty-seven years old and his mind, always of a serious cast, was +intolerant of trifles and triflers. + +Marian’s range of interests was shallower but much wider than his. Her +beauty, her cleverness, her tact caused her to be sought. She invited +many to their house and accepted more and more invitations. At first she +never went without him. But he was sometimes compelled by his work to +send her alone. He rarely went except for her sake--because he thought +going about amused her. And he was glad and relieved when she began to +go without him, instead of spending the evenings in solitude. + +“There is no reason why you should punish yourself and punish me because +you had the ill luck to marry a working-man,” he said. “It cannot be +agreeable to sit here all by yourself evening after evening. And it +depresses me when I am at the office at night to think of you as lonely. +It makes me happier in my work--my pleasure, you know--to think of you +enjoying yourself.” + +“But aren’t you afraid that some one will steal me?” she asked, +laughingly. + +“Not I.” He was smiling proudly at her. “If you could be stolen, if you +could be happier anywhere than with me, you have only to let me into the +plot.” + +“There are some women who would not like that.” + +“And there are men who wouldn’t feel as I do. But you and I, we belong +to a class all by ourselves, don’t we?” + +Apparently they were as devoted each to the other as ever. But each now +sought a separate happiness--he perforce in his work, she perforce in +the only way left open to her. When they were together, which meant +several hours every day and usually one whole day in the week, they +were at once seemingly absorbed each in the other with all the rest as +background. But none the less, they were leading separate lives, with +separate interests, separate tastes, separate modes of thinking. The +“bourgeois” life which they had planned--both standing behind the +counter and both adding up the results of the day’s business after they +had put up the shutters, two as one in all the interests of life--became +a dead and forgotten dream. + + + + + +XXII. + +THE SHENSTONE EPISODE. + + +On the way to or from the opera or a party, she would peep in on him, +watching the back of his head as he bent over his desk or read away at +some dull-looking book, wishing that he would feel her presence and turn +with that smile which was always hers from him, yet fearing to make a +sound and compel his attention. + +“At times I think,” she said one day when he caught her in his arms on a +sudden impulse and kissed her, “that the reason you don’t try to rule me +is because you don’t care enough.” + +“That’s precisely it.” He was smoothing her eyebrows with his +forefinger. “I don’t care enough about ruling. I don’t care enough for +the sort of love that responds to ‘must.’” + +“But a woman likes to have ‘must’ said to her sometimes.” + +“Does she? Do you? Well--I’ll say ‘must’ to you. You must love me freely +and voluntarily, or not at all. You must do as you please.” + +“But don’t you see that that drives me from you often, keeps us apart in +many ways. Now if you compelled me to think as you do, to like what you +like--” + +“But I couldn’t. Then you would no longer be _you_. And I like you so +well just as you are that I would not change an idea in your head.” + +Marian sighed and went away to her dinner party. She felt that she was +in danger. “Not of falling in love with some other man,” she thought, +“for that’s impossible. But if a man were to come along who invited me +to be interested in his work, to keep him at whatever he was doing, I’d +accept and that would lead on and on--where?” + +She soon had an opportunity to answer that question. Howard went away +to Washington to assist the party leaders in putting through a difficult +tariff-reform bill which all the protected interests were fighting. He +expected to be gone a week; but week after week passed and he was still +at the capital, directing the paper by telegraph and sending Marian +hurried notes postponing his return. She was going about daily, early +and late, her life vacant, her mind restlessly seeking occupation, +interest. + +After he had been gone three weeks she found herself at dinner at Mrs. +Provost’s next to a tall, fair-haired athletic young man of about her +own age. Something in his expression--perhaps the amused way in which he +studied the faces of the others--attracted her to him. She glanced over +at his card. It read “Mr. Shenstone.” + +“It doesn’t add much to your information, does it?” he smiled, as he +caught her glance rising from the card. + +“Nothing,” she confessed candidly. “I never heard of you before.” + +“And yet I’ve been splashing about, trying to attract attention to +myself, for twelve years.” + +“Perhaps not in this particular pond.” + +“No, that is true.” + +“I was wondering what you do--lawyer, doctor, journalist, business man +or what. + +“And what did you conclude?” + +“I concluded that you did nothing.” + +“You are right. But I try--I paint.” + +“Portraits?” + +“Yes.” + +“That explains your way of looking at people. Only, you’ll get no +customers if you paint them as you see them.” + +“I only see what they see when they look in the mirror.” + +“Yes, but you see it impartial--or rather, I should say, cynically.” + +“Thank you.” + +“For what?” + +“For calling me cynical. The two keenest pleasures a man can attain are +for a woman to call him a cynic and for a woman to call him a devil with +the women.” + +“Are you a ‘devil with the women’?” + +“Not I--not any more than I am a cynic. But let us talk about you--I +am about exhausted as a topic of conversation. Why do you look so +discontented?” + +“Because I have nothing to occupy my mind.” + +“No children?” + +“None--and no dogs.” + +“No husband?” + +“Husbands are busy.” + +“So you are the typical American woman--the American instinct for doing, +the universal woman’s instinct for sunshine and laziness; the husband +absorbed in his business or profession with his domestic life as an +incident; the wife--like you.” + +“That is right, and wrong--nearer right than wrong, a little unjust to +the husband.” + +“Oh, it’s probably your fault that you are not absorbed in his business +or profession. It ought to be as much yours as his. What does he do?” + +“He edits a newspaper.” + +“Oh, he’s _the_ Mr. Howard. A very interesting, a very remarkable man.” + +Marian was delighted by this appreciation. She talked with Shenstone +again after dinner and was pleased that he was to be in the same box +with her at the opera the next night. He had spent much of his time on +the other side of the Atlantic. He was unusually well educated for an +artist’s, and his mind was not developed in one direction only. Like +Marian, his point of view was artistic and emotional. Like her he had a +reverence for tradition, a deference to caste--the latter not offensive +for the same reason that hers was not, because good birth and good +breeding made him of the “high caste” and not a cringer with his eyes +craned upward. It seemed in him, as in her, a sort of self-respect. + +Marian showed a candid liking for his society and he was quick to take +advantage of it. For a month they saw more and more each of the other, +she discreet without deliberation and he discreet with deliberation. +He talked to her of his work, of his ambition. He showed her himself +without egotism. He made an impression upon her so distinct and so +favourable that she admitted to herself that he was the most fascinating +man--except one--whom she had ever met. + +When Howard at last returned, defeated by corruption within his +own party and for the time disgusted with politics, she at once had +Shenstone at the house to dine. “What do you think of Mr. Shenstone?” + she asked when they were alone. + +“No wonder you’re enthusiastic about him. As he talked to me, I could +hardly keep from laughing. It was your own views, almost your own words. +He has the look of a great man. I think he will ‘arrive,’ as they say in +the Bowery.” + +Howard went out of his way to be agreeable to Shenstone, often inviting +him to the house and giving him a commission to paint Marian. For the +rest of the winter Shenstone was constantly in Marian’s company; so +constantly that they were gossiped about, and all the women who were +unpleasantly discussed “for cause” conspired to throw them together as +much as possible. + +One evening in the very end of the winter, Howard called to Marian from +his dressing room: “Why, lady, Shenstone’s gone, hasn’t he? I’ve just +read a note from him.” + +There was a pause before Marian answered in a constrained voice: “Yes, +he sailed to-day.” + +Howard was tying his bow. He paused at the curious tone, then smiled +mysteriously to himself. He put on his waistcoat and coat and knocked on +the half-open door. “May I come in?” he asked. + +“Yes--I’m waiting for dinner to be announced.” + +She was sitting before the fire, very beautiful in her evening gown. She +seemed not to observe that he had entered but stared on into the flames. +He stood beside her, looking down at her with the half mocking, half +tender smile. Presently he sat upon the arm of her chair and took one of +her hands. “Poor, friendless, beautiful lady,” he said softly. + +She glanced up quickly, her cheeks flaming but her eyes clear and frank. +“Why do you say that?” she asked in the tone of one who knows why. + +“Other women will not be her friends because they are jealous of her, +and as for the men--how can a man be really a friend to a woman, a +fascinating, sympathetic woman?” + +Marian hid her face against the lapel of his coat. “He told me,” she +whispered, “and then he went away.” + +“He always does tell her. But----” + +“But--what?” + +“She doesn’t always send him away. Poor fellow! Still, he went into it +with his eyes open.” + +“He was very nice. He told it in a roundabout way. And I wasn’t a bit +afraid that he’d--he’d--you know. But I got to thinking about how I’d +feel if he did--did touch me. And it made me--nervous.” + +There was a long pause, then she went on: “I wonder how you’d feel about +touching another woman?” + +“I? Dear me, I wonder! I never thought. You see I’m such a domestic, +unattractive creature----” + +“Don’t laugh at me, please,” she pleaded. + +“I’m not laughing. Underneath, I’m thinking--thinking what I would do if +I met you and lost you. It’s very black on the Atlantic for one pair of +eyes to-night.” + +“And the worst of it is,” she said, “that my vanity is flattered and I’m +not really sorry for him.” + +“Rather proud of her conquest, is she?” + +“Yes, it pleased me to have him care.” + +“She likes to think that he’ll carry his broken heart to the grave, does +she?” + +“Yes. Isn’t it shameful?” + +“Shameful? Shameless. I have always held that even the best woman dearly +loves to ruin a man. It’s such a triumph. And the more she loves him, +the more she’d like to ruin him--that is, if ruin came solely through +love for her and didn’t involve her.” + +“But I would not want to ruin you.” + +“If that seemed to be the supreme test of my love for you--are you sure? +I’m not. There’s Thomas, knocking to announce dinner.” + +The Shenstone incident was apparently closed. Marian, a most attractive +woman of thirty, absorbed in a social life that demanded all her +physical and mental energy as well as all of her time, did not long +vividly remember him. But he had given her a standard by which she +unconsciously measured her husband. She contrasted the life he had +promised her, the life Shenstone reminded her of, with the life that +was--so material, so suspiciously physical when it professed to be +loving, so suspiciously chill when it professed to be friendly. She +thrust aside these thoughts as disloyal and false. But they persisted in +returning. + +If she had been less appreciative of Howard’s intellect, less fascinated +by the charm of his personality, she would soon have become one of the +“misunderstood” women in search of “consolation.” Instead, she turned +her mind in the direction natural to her character--social ambition. + + + + + +XXIII. + +EXPANDING AND CONTRACTING. + + +In such a city as New York, to be deliberately careful about money is +the only way to keep within one’s income, whether it be vast or small. +There are temptations to buy at the end of every glance of the eye. +The merchants are crafty in producing new and insidious allurements, in +creating new and expensive tastes. But these might be resisted were it +not that the habits of all one’s associates are constantly and all but +irresistibly stimulating the faculty of imitation. + +Neither Howard nor Marian had been brought up to be watchful about +money. Both had been accustomed to having their wants supplied. And +now that they had a household and a growing income, it was a matter +of course that their expenditures should steadily expand. Before three +years had passed they were spending more than double the sum which +at the outset they had fixed upon as their limit. A merely decent and +self-respecting return of the hospitalities they accepted, a carriage +and pair and two saddle horses and the servants to look after +them--these items accounted for the increase. They looked upon this as +really necessary expenditure and soon would have found that curtailment +involved genuine deprivation. From the very beginning each step in +expansion made the next logical and inevitable, made the plea of +necessity seem valid. + +An aunt of Marian’s died, leaving her a “small” house--worth perhaps a +quarter of a million--near the Avenue in Sixty-fifth Street, and eighty +thousand in cash. About the same time Stokely told Howard of a fine +speculative opportunity in certain copper properties. Howard hesitated. +He knew that the way of speculation was the way of bondage for his +newspaper and for him. But this particular adventure seemed harmless and +he yielded. The money was invested and within a few months was producing +an income of fifteen thousand a year which promised to be steady. +Howard’s ownership of stock in the paper increased; and as the profits +advanced swiftly with its swift growth in its illustrated form, his own +income was nearly fifty thousand a year. They were growing very rich. +There was no longer the slightest anxiety as to money in his mind. + +“You know the great dread I had in marrying,” he said to her one day, +“was lest I should make myself and you dependents, should some day +sacrifice my freedom to my fear of losing--happiness.” + +“Yes, and very foolish you were, not to have more confidence in yourself +and in me.” + +“Perhaps. But what I am thinking is that you have brought me luck. I am +free, beyond anybody’s reach. I could quit the paper to-morrow and we +should hardly have to change our style of living even if I did not get +something else to do.” + +“Style of living--” in that phrase lay the key to the change that was +swiftly going on in Howard’s mind and mental attitude. It is not easy +for a man with environment wholly in his favour to keep his point +of view correct, to keep his horizon wide and clear, his sense of +proportion just. It is next to impossible for him to do so when his +environment opposes. + +The man who looks out from misery and squalor upon misery and squalor +is, if he thinks at all, naturally an anarchist. To him the established +order shows only injustice and persistence of injustice. The man who +looks out from luxury and ease and well-being upon luxury and ease and +well-being is forced by the very limitations of the human mind to an +over-reverence for the established order. He is unreasonably suspicious +of anything that threatens change. “When I’m comfortable all’s well in +the world; change might bring discomfort to me.” And he flatters himself +that he is a “conservative.” + +Howard had had a long training at the correct standpoint and in right +thinking. But the influences were there, were at work, were destroying +his devotion to a social and political ideal wholly alien to the life +he was now living under the leading of his wife. He did not blame her, +indeed he could not justly have blamed her, for his falling away from +what he knew were correct principles for him. While she had brought him +into this environment, while at first it was in large part for her that +he gave so much time and thought to the accumulation of wealth, soon +love of luxury, dependence upon a train of servants, fondness for the +great extravagances to which New York tempts the rich and those living +near the rich, became stronger in him than it was in her. And through +the inevitable reaction of environment upon the man, the central point +in his valuation of men and women tended to shift from the fundamentals, +mind and character, to the surface qualities--dress and style and +manners and refinement, and even dress. + +This process of demoralisation was well advanced when they moved from +the apartment. After four years of “expansion” there, they had begun +to feel cramped; and a year after Marian inherited the house Howard had +progressed to the mental, the moral, the financial state where it seemed +natural, logical, practically necessary that they should set up a real +New York “establishment.” + +“Isn’t this just the house for us?” she said. “I hate huge, big houses. +Like you, I think the taste of the occupants should be everywhere. Now +this house is just big enough. You don’t know how wonderful it would +be.” + +“Oh, yes, I do,” he laughed, “and you must try it.” He was as +enthusiastic as she. + +In the late autumn the house was ready; and there was not a more +artistic interior in New York. It was not so much the result of great +expense as of intelligence and taste. It was an expression of an +individuality--a revelation of a woman’s beautiful mind, inspired by +love. + +“At last I have something to interest, to occupy me,” she said. “This is +our very own, through and through our own. It will be such a pleasure to +me to keep it always like this.” + +“You--degenerated into a household drudge,” he mocked. “Why, you used to +laugh at me when I held up a wife who was a good housekeeper as one of +my ideals.” + +“Did I?” she answered. “Well, as you would say, see what I’ve come to +through living with--a member of the working-classes.” + +Howard’s own particular part of this house included a library with a +small study next to it. In the study was a most attractive table with +plenty of room to spread about books and papers, a huge divan in the +corner and a fire-place near by. He found himself doing more and more of +his work at home. There were not so many interruptions as at the office, +the beauty of the surroundings, the consciousness that “she” was not far +away--all combined to keep him at home and to enable him to do more and +better work there. + +He was justly and greatly proud of her achievement; and where he used to +be more regretful than he admitted even to himself when they had guests, +he was now glad to see others about, admiring her taste, appreciating +her skill as a hostess and giving him opportunities to look at her from +an ever new point of view. + +Of course these guests were almost all “_their_ kind of +people”--amiable, well mannered persons who thought and acted in that +most conventional of moulds, the mould of “good society.” They +fitted into the surroundings, they did their part toward making those +surroundings luxurious--a “wallow of self-complacent content.” And this +environment soon suited and fitted him exactly. + +But to her he was still The Democrat. She loved him in the way and to +the degree which her character, as the years had developed it, permitted +her to love. And this love, or rather admiring respect, was wholly based +upon her ideal of him, her belief in the honesty and intensity of his +convictions. While she did not share them, she had breadth enough to +admire them and to regard them as high removed above her own ideas to +which for herself she held tenaciously, instinct and association and +“tradition” triumphing over reason. + +Howard retained his ideal of her, never examining her closely, never +seeing or suspecting what a pale love she gave him and how shrivelled +had become the part of her nature which she and he both assumed was most +strongly developed. He knew how she idealised him and did not dare to +undeceive her. Therefore he practised toward her a hypocrisy that grew +steadily more disgraceful, yet grew so gradually that there was no +single moment at which he could conveniently halt and “straighten the +record.” At first he was often and heartily ashamed of himself; but by +degrees this feeling deadened into cynical insensibility and he was +only ashamed to let her see him as he really was. She had kept her +self-respect. She esteemed self-respect at the exalted valuation he had +formerly put upon it. What if she should find him out? + + * * * * * + +When the famous “coal conspiracy” was formed, three of the men +conspicuous in it were among their intimates--that is, their families +were often at his house and he and Marian were often at theirs. Yet he +had never made a more relentless attack. Nor did he, either in the news +columns or on the editorial page, conceal the connection of his three +friends with the conspiracy. + +“Mrs. Mercer was here this morning,” Marian said as they were waiting +for the butler to announce dinner. She was flushed and embarrassed. + +Howard laughed. “And did she tell you what a dreadful husband you had?” + +“Oh, she didn’t blame you at all. She said they all knew how perfectly +upright you were. Only, she said you did not understand and were doing +Mr. Mercer a great injustice.” + +“Well, what do you think?” + +“Why--I can’t believe--is it possible, dear--I was just reading one of +your editorials. Can Mr. Mercer be in such a scheme? The way she told +it to me, he and the others were really doing a lot of people a +valuable service, putting their property on a paying basis, enabling the +railroads to meet their expenses and to keep thousands and thousands of +men employed.” + +“Poor Mercer!” Howard said ironically. “Poor misunderstood +philanthropist! What a pity that that sort of benevolence has to be +carried on by bribing judges and prosecutors and legislatures, by making +the poor shiver and freeze, by subtracting from the pleasures and +adding to the anxieties of millions. One would almost say that such +a philanthropy had better not be undertaken. It is so likely to be +misunderstood by the ‘unruly classes.’” + +“Oh, I knew you were right. I told her you must be right, that you never +wrote until you knew.” + +“And what was the result?” + +“Well, we are making some very bitter enemies.” + +“I doubt it. I suspect that before long they’ll come wheedling about in +the hope that I’ll let up on them or be a little easier next time.” + +“I’m sure I do not care what they do,” said Marian, drawing herself up. +“All I care for is--you, and to see you do your duty at whatever cost +or regardless of cost--” she was leaning over the back of his chair with +her arms about his neck and her lips very near to his ear--“you are my +love without fear and without reproach.” + +“Listen, dear.” He took her hand and drew her arms more closely about +his neck. “Suppose that the lines were drawn--as they may be any day. +Suppose that we had to choose, with all these friends of yours, with our +position, yes, even the place I have won in my profession, my place as +editor--all that we now have on the one side; and on the other side a +thankless, unprofitable, apparently useless standing up for the right. +Wouldn’t you miss your friends?” + +“_All_ our friends? And who will be on the other side?” + +“Almost no one that we know--that you would care to call upon or go +about with or have here at the house. Nobody with any great amount of +wealth or social position. Those other people who are in town when it is +said ‘Nobody is in town now!’” + +She did not answer. + +“Where would you be?” he repeated. + +“Oh, I wasn’t thinking of that.” She came around and sat on his +knee. “Where? Why, there’s only one ‘where’ in all this world for +me--‘wheresoever thou goest.’” + +And so the half-formed impulse to begin to straighten himself out with +her was smothered by her. + +Both were silent through dinner. She was thinking how honest, how +fearless he was, how he loved her, how eagerly she would follow him, +how blessed she was in the love of such a man. And he--he was regretting +that his “pose” had carried him so far; he was wishing that he had not +been so bitter in his attacks upon his and his wife’s friends, the coal +conspirators. When he had definitely cast in his lot with “the shearers” + why persist in making his hypocrisy more abominable by protesting more +loudly than ever in behalf of “the sheep?” Above all, why had he let +his habit of voluble denunciation lead him into this hypocrisy with the +woman he loved? + +He admitted to himself that “causes” had ceased to interest him except +as they might contribute to the advancement of his power. Power!--that +was his ambition now. First he had wished to have an independent income +in order to be free. When he had achieved that, it was at the sacrifice +of his mental freedom. And now, with the clearness of self-knowledge +which only men of great ability have, he knew that the one cause for +which he would make sacrifices was--himself. + +“Of what are you thinking so gloomily?” she interrupted. + +“Oh--I--let me see--well, I was thinking what a fraud I am; and that I +wished I could dupe myself as completely as I can dupe--” + +“Me?” she laughed. “Oh, we’re all frauds--shocking frauds. I wouldn’t +have you see me as I really am for anything.” + +Although her remark was a commonplace, of small meaning, as he knew, +he got comfort out of it, so desperately was he casting about for some +consolation. + +“That’s true, my dear,” he said. “And I wish that you liked the kind of +a fraud I am as well as I like the kind of a fraud you are.” + + + + + +XXIV. + +“MR. VALIANT-FOR-TRUTH.” + + +Stokely came rushing into his office the next morning. “Good God, old +man,” he exclaimed, “What’s the meaning of this attack on the coal +roads?” + +Howard flushed with resentment, not at what Stokely said, but at his +tone. + +“Now, don’t get on your high horse. I don’t think you understand.” + Stokely’s tone had moderated. “Don’t you know that the Delaware Valley +road is in this?” + +Howard started. He had just invested two hundred thousand dollars in +that stock on Stokely’s advice “No, I didn’t know it.” He recovered +himself. “And furthermore I don’t give a damn.” He struck his desk +angrily. His simulation of incorruptible indignation for the moment half +deceived himself. + +“Why, man, if this infernal roast is kept up, you’ll lose a hundred +thousand. Then there are my interests. I’m up to my neck in this deal.” + +“My advice to you is to get out of it. I’m sorry, but you know as well +as I do that the thing is infamous.” + +“Infamous--nonsense! It will double our dividends and the consumers +won’t feel it.” + +“Let us not discuss it, Stokely. There--don’t say anything you’ll +regret.” + +“But--” + +“Now, Stokely--don’t argue it with me.” + +Stokely put on his hat, stood up and looked at Howard with sullen +admiration. “You will drive away the last friend you’ve got on earth, if +you keep this up. Good morning.” + +Howard sent a smile of cynical amusement after him, then stared +thoughtfully into the mass of papers on his desk for five, ten, fifteen +minutes. When his plan was formed he touched the electric button. + +“Please tell Mr. King I’d like to see him,” he said to the answering +boy. + +Mr. King entered with a bundle of legal documents. “I suppose it’s the +injunction you want to discuss,” he said. “We’ve got the papers all +ready. It’s simply great. Those fellows will be in a corner and will +have to give up. They can’t get away from us. The price of coal will +drop half a dollar within a week, I’ll bet.” + +“I’m afraid you are over sanguine,” Howard said. “I’ve just been going +over the matter with my lawyer. But leave the papers with me. And--about +the news--be careful what you say. We’ve been going a little strong. I +think a little less personal matter would be advisable.” + +Mr. King was amazed and looked it. He slowly pulled himself together to +say, “All right, Mr. Howard. I think I understand.” He laid the papers +down and departed. Outside the door he laughed softly to himself. +“Somebody’s been cutting his comb, I guess,” he murmured. “Well, I +didn’t think he’d last. New York always gets ‘em when they’re worth +while.” + +As the door closed behind King, Howard drew out the lowest and deepest +drawer of his desk. It was half-filled with long-undisturbed pamphlets +and newspaper cuttings. He tossed in the injunction papers. A cloud of +dust flew up and settled thickly upon them. He shut the drawer. + +He went to the window and looked out over the city--that seductive, +that overwhelming expression of wealth and power. “What was it my father +wrote me when I told him I was going to New York?” and he recalled +almost the exact words--“New York that lures young men from the towns +and the farms, and prostitutes them, teaches them to sell themselves +with unblushing cheeks for a fee, for an office, for riches, for power.” + He shrugged his shoulders, smiled, drew himself up, returned to his desk +and was soon absorbed in his work. + +The next morning the _News-Record’s_ double-leaded “leader” on the +Coal Trust was a discharge of heavy artillery. But it was artillery +in retreat. And in the succeeding days, the retreat continued--not +precipitate but orderly, masterly. + + * * * * * + +Ten days after their talk on the “coal conspiracy” Marian greeted him +late in the afternoon with “Oh, such a row with Mrs. Mercer!” + +“Mrs. Mercer! Why, what was she angry about?” + +“She wasn’t--at least, not at first. It was I. I went to see her and she +asked me to thank you for stopping that fight on the coal conspiracy.” + +“That was tactful of her,” Howard said, turning away to hide his +nervousness. + +“And I told her that you had not stopped, that you wouldn’t stop until +you had broken it up. And she smiled in a superior way and said I was +quite mistaken, that I didn’t read the paper, I haven’t read it for +several days, but I knew _you_, dear, and I remembered what you had +said. And so we just had it. We were polite but furious when I went. I +shall never go near her again.” + +“But, unfortunately, we have stopped. We had to do it. We could +accomplish nothing.” + +“Oh, it doesn’t matter. What angered me was her insinuation.” + +“That was irritating. But, tell me, what if it had been true?” Howard’s +voice was strained and he was looking at her eagerly, with fever in his +eyes. + +“But it couldn’t be. It isn’t worth while imagining. You could not be +a coward and a traitor.” So complete was her confidence in him that +suspicion of him was impossible. + +“Would you sit in judgment on me?” + +“Not if I could help it.” + +“But you can--you could help it.” His manner was agitated, and he spoke +almost fiercely. “I am free,” he went on, and as she watched his +eyes she understood why men feared him. “I do what I will. I am not +accountable to you, not even to you. I have never asked you to approve +of me, to approve what I do, to love me. You are free also, free to +love, free to withdraw your love. I follow the law of my own being. You +must take me as you find me or not at all.” + +She tried to stop him but could not. His words poured on. He leaned +forward and took her hand and his eyes were brilliant and piercing. “I +love you,” he said. “Ah, how I love you--not because you love me, not +because you are an angel, not because you are a superior being. No, not +for any reason in all this wide world but because you are you. Do what +you will and I shall love you. Whether I had to look up among the stars +or down in the mire to find you, I would look just as steadily, just as +proudly.” + +He drew along breath and his hand trembled. “If I were a traitor, then, +if you loved me, you would say, ‘What! Is he to be found among traitors? +How I love treason!’ If I were a coward, liar, thief, a sum of all the +vices, then, if you ever had loved me you would love me still. I want +no love with mental reservations, no love with ifs and buts and +provided-thats. I want love, free and fearless, that adapts itself to +changing human nature as the colour of the sea adapts itself to the +colour of the sky; love that does not have to be cajoled and persuaded +lest it be not there when I most need it. I want the love that loves.” + +“You know you have it.” She had been compelled by his mood and was +herself in a fever. She looked at him with the expression which used to +make his nerves vibrate. “You know that no human being ever was more to +another than I to you. But you can’t expect me to be just the same +as you are. I love _you_--not the false, base creature you picture. I +admire the way you love, but I could not love in that way. Thank God, my +love, my dear--I shall never be put to that test. For my love for you is +my--my all.” + +“We are very serious about a mere supposition.” + +Howard was laughing, but not naturally. “We take each the other far too +seriously. I’m sorry you idealise me so. Who knows--you might find me +out some day--and then--well, don’t blame me.” + +Marian said no more, but late that evening she put her hands on his +shoulders and said: “You’re not hiding something from me--something we +ought to bear together?” + +“Not I.” Howard smiled down into her eyes and kissed her. + +His mood of reaction, of hysteria had passed. He was thinking how +little in reality she had had to do with his outburst. He had not been +addressing her at all, except as she seemed to him for the moment the +embodiment of his self-respect--or rather, of an “absurd,” “extremely +youthful” ideal of self-respect which he had “outgrown.” + + + + +XXV. + +THE PROMISED LAND. + + +A woman with a powerful personality may absorb in herself a man of +strong and resolute ambition, may compel him to make her his career, to +feel that to get and to keep her is all that he asks from destiny. But +Marian was not such a woman. + +She had come into Howard’s life at just the time and in just the way to +arouse his latent passion for power and to give it a sufficient initial +impetus. It was love for her that set him to lifting himself from among +those who work through themselves alone to the potent few who work +chiefly by directing the labour of others. + +Once in this class, once having tasted the joy of power, Howard was +lost to her. She was unable to restrain or direct, or even clearly to +understand. She became an incident in his life. As riches came with +power, they pushed him to one side in her life. Living in separate parts +of a large house, leading separate lives, rarely meeting except when +others were present--following the typical life of New Yorkers of +fortune and fashion--they gradually grew to know little and see little +and think little each of the other. + +There was no abruptness in the transition. Every day had contributed its +little toward widening the gap. There was no coolness, no consciousness +of separation; simply the slow formation of the habit of complete +independence each of the other. + +His ambitions absorbed his thought and his time. To them he found her +very useful. The social side--forming and keeping up friendly relations +with the families whose heads were men of influence--was a vital part of +his plan. But he used her just as he used every and any one else whom +he found capable of contributing to his advancement; and, as she never +insisted upon herself, never sought to influence or even to inquire into +his course of action, she did not find him out. + +She was in a vague way an unhappy woman. A discontent, a feeling that +her life was incomplete, perpetually teased her. He was distinctly +unhappy, often gloomy, at times morose. In her rare analytic moods she +attributed their failure to prolong the happiness of their courtship to +the hard work which kept him from her, kept them from enjoying the great +love which she assumed they felt each for the other. She would not and +could not see that that love had long disappeared, leaving a mask of +forms, of phrases and of impulses of passion to conceal its departure. +And to this view he outwardly assented, when she suggested it; but he +knew that she was deceiving herself as to him, and wondered if she were +not deceiving herself as to her own feelings. + +Up to the time of the “Coal Conspiracy” and his attempt to put himself +straight with her, the idea of his love for her and of her oneness with +him had at least a hold upon his imagination. He then saw how far apart +they had drifted; and he dismissed from his mind even the pretense +that love played any part in his life. After that definite break with +principle and self-respect for the sake of his coal holdings, his +Wall Street friends and his newspaper career, the development of his +character continued along strictly logical lines with accelerating +speed. And it was accompanied by an ever franker, more cynical +acceptance of the change. + +He could not deceive himself, nor can any man with the clearness of +judgment necessary to great achievement--although many “successful” men, +for obvious reasons of self-interest, diligently encourage the popular +theory of warped conscience. He was well aware that he had shifted from +the ideal of use _to_ his fellow-beings to the ideal of use _of_ his +fellow-beings, from the ideal of character to the ideal of reputation. +And he knew that the two ideals can not be combined and that he not +only was not attempting to combine them but had no desire so to do. He +despised his former ideals; but also he despised himself for despising +them. + +His quarrel with himself was that he seemed to himself a rather vulgar +sort of hypocrite. This was highly disagreeable to him, as his whole +nature tended to make him wish to be himself, to make him shrink from +the part of the truckler and the sycophant which he was playing so +haughtily and so artistically. At times it exasperated him that he could +not regard his change of front as a deliberate sale for value received, +and not as the weak and cowardly surrender which he saw that it really +was. + + * * * * * + +On the day after Howard’s forty-fourth birthday Coulter fell dead at the +entrance to the Union Club. When Stokely heard of it he went direct to +the _News-Record_ office. + +“I happen to know something about Coulter’s will,” he said to Howard. +“The _News-Record_ stock is to be sold and you and I are to have the +first chance to take it at three hundred and fifty--which is certainly +cheap enough.” + +“Why did he arrange to dispose of the most valuable part of his estate?” + +“Well, we had an agreement about it. Then, too, Coulter had no faith in +newspapers as a permanent investment. You know there are only the widow, +the girl and that worthless boy. Heavens, what an ass that boy is! +Coulter has tied up his estate until the youngest grandchild comes of +age. He hopes that there will be a son among the grandchildren who will +realise his dream.” + +“Dream?” Howard smiled. “I didn’t know that Coulter ever indulged in +dreams.” + +“Yes, he had the rich man’s mania--the craze for founding a family. So +everything is to be put into real estate and long-term bonds. And for +years New York is to be reminded of Samuel Coulter by some incapable +who’ll use his name and his money to advertise nature’s contempt for +family pride in her distributions of brains. I think even a fine tomb is +a wiser memorial.” + +“Well, how much of the stock shall you take?” Howard asked. + +“Not a share,” Stokely replied dejectedly. “Coulter couldn’t have died +at a worse time for me. I’m tied in every direction and shall be for a +year at least. So you’ve got a chance to become controlling owner.” + +“I?” Howard laughed. “Where could I get a million and a half?” + +“How much could you take in cash?” + +“Well--let me see--perhaps--five hundred thousand.” + +“You can borrow the million with the stock as collateral.” + +“But how could I pay?” + +“Why, your dividends at our present rate would be more than two hundred +thousand a year. Your interest charge would be under seventy-five +thousand. Perhaps I can arrange it so that it won’t be more than fifty +thousand. You can let the balance go on reducing the loan. Then I may +be able to put you onto a few good things. At any rate you can’t lose +anything. Your stock would bring five hundred even at forced sale. It’s +your chance, old man. I want to see you take it.” + +“I’ll think it over. I have no head for figures.” + +“Let me manage it for you.” Stokely rose to go. Howard began thanking +him, but he cut him off with: + +“You owe me no thanks. You’ve made money for me--big money. I owe you +my help. Besides, I don’t want any outsider in here. Let me know when +you’re ready.” He nodded and was gone. + +“What a chance!” Howard repeated again and again. + +He was looking out over New York. + +Twenty years before he had faced it, asking of it nothing but a living +and his freedom. For twenty years he had fought. Year by year, even +when he seemed to be standing still or going backward, he had steadily +gained, making each step won a vantage-ground for forward attack. And +now--victory. Power, wealth, fame, all his! + +Yet a deep melancholy came over him. And he fell to despising himself +for the kind of exultation that filled him, its selfishness, its +sordidness, the absence of all high enthusiasm. Why was he denied the +happiness of self-deception? Why could he not forget the means, blot it +out, now that the end was attained? + +His mind went out, not to Marian, but to that other--the one sleeping +under the many, many layers of autumn leaves at Asheville. And he heard +a voice saying so faintly, so timidly: “I lay awake night after night +listening to your breathing, and whispering under my breath, ‘I love +you, I love you. Why can’t you love me?’” And then--he flung down the +cover of his desk and rushed away home. + +“Why did I think of Alice?” he asked himself. And the answer +came--because in those days, in the days of his youth, he had had +beliefs, high principles; he had been incapable of this slavery to +appearances, to vain show, incapable of this passion for reputation +regardless of character. His weaknesses were then weaknesses only, and +not, as now, the laws of his being controlling his every act. + +He smiled cynically at the self of such a few years ago--yet he could +not meet those honest, fearless eyes that looked out at him from the +mirror of memory. + +He was triumphant, but self-respect had gone and not all the thick +swathings of vanity covered him from the stabs of self-contempt. + +“When I am really free, when the paper is paid for and I can do as +I please, why not try to be a man again? Why not? It would cost me +nothing.” + +But a man is the sum of _all_ his past. + + + + + +XXVI. + +IN POSSESSION. + + +Stokely arranged the loan, and within six months Howard was controlling +owner of the _News-Record._ There was a debt of a million and a quarter +attached to his ownership, but he saw how that would be wiped out. Once +more he threw himself into his work with the energy of a boy. He had +to give much of his time to the business department--to the details of +circulation and advertising. He felt that the profits of the paper +could be greatly increased by improving its facilities for reaching +the advertiser and the public. He had never been satisfied with the +circulation methods; but theretofore his ignorance of business and +his position as mere salaried editor had acted in restraint upon his +interference with the “ground floor.” + +As he had suspected, the business office was afflicted with the twin +diseases--routine and imitativeness. It followed an old system, devised +in days of small circulation and grudgingly improved, not by thought +on the part of those who circulated the paper, but by compulsion on +the part of the public. No attempts were made to originate schemes for +advertising the paper. The only methods were wooden variations upon +placards in the street cars and the elevated stations, and cards hung +up at the news-stands. As forgetting advertising business, they thought +they showed enterprise by a little canvassing among the conspicuous +merchants in Greater New York. + +Howard had charts made showing the circulation by districts. With these +as a basis he ordered an elaborate campaign to “push” the paper in the +districts where it was circulated least and to increase its hold where +it was strong. “We do not reach one-third of the people who would like +to take our paper,” he told Jowett, the business manager. “Let us have +an army of agents and let us take up our territory by districts.” + +The Sunday edition was the largest source of revenue, both because it +carried a great deal more advertising at much higher rates than did the +week-day editions, and because it sold at a price which yielded a profit +on the paper itself, while the price of the weekday editions did not. +News constituted less than one-fourth of its contents. The rest was +“feature articles,” as interesting a week late to a man in Seattle as on +the day of publication within a mile of the office. + +“We get out the very best magazine in the market,” said Howard to +Jowett. “Are we pushing it in the east, in the west, in the south? Look +at the charts. + +“We have a Sunday circulation of five hundred in Oregon, of one thousand +in Texas, of six hundred in Georgia, of two thousand in Maine. Why not +ten times as much in each of those states? Why not ten times as much as +we now have near New York?” + +There was no reason except failure to “push” the paper. That reason +Howard proceeded to remove. But these enterprises involved large +expenditures, perhaps might mean postponement of the payment of the +debt. Receipts must be increased and the most promising way was an +increase in the advertising business. + +Howard noted on the chart nineteen cities and large towns near New York +in each of which the daily circulation of the _News-Record_ was equal +to that of any paper published there and far exceeded the combined +circulations of all the home dailies on Sunday. This suggested a system +of local advertising pages, and for its working out he engaged one of +the most capable newspaper advertising men in the city. Within three +months the idea had “caught on” and, instead of sending useless columns +of New York “want-ads” and the like to places where they could not be +useful, the _News-Record_ was presenting to its readers in twelve cities +and towns the advertisements of their local merchants. + +A year of this work, with Howard giving many hours of each day +personally to tiresome details, brought the natural results. The profits +of the _News-Record_ had risen to five hundred and forty thousand, of +which Howard’s share was nearly three hundred thousand. The next year +the profits were seven hundred and fifty thousand, and Howard had +reduced his debt to eight hundred thousand. + +“We shall be free and clear in less than three years,” he said to +Marian. + +“If we have luck,” she added. + +“No--if we work--and we shall. Luck is a stone which envy flings at +success.” + +“Then you don’t think you have been lucky?” + +“Indeed I do not.” + +“Not even,” she smiled, drawing herself up. + +“Not even--” he said with a faint, sad answering smile. “If you only +knew how hard I worked preparing myself to be able to get you when you +came; if you only, only knew how life made me pay, pay, pay; if you only +knew--” + +“Go on,” she said, coming closer to him. + +He sighed--not for the reason of sentiment which she fancied, though he +put his arms around her. “How willingly I paid,” he evaded. + +He went to his desk and she stood looking at him. There was still +the charm of youth, even freshness, in her beauty--and she was not +unconscious of the fact. + +And he--he was handsome, distinguished looking and certainly did not +suggest age or the approach of age; but in his hair, so grey at the +temples, in the stern, rather haughty lines of his features, in the +weariness of his eyes, there was not a vestige of youth. “How he has +worked for me and for his ideals,” she thought, sadly yet proudly. “Ah, +he is indeed a great man, and _my_ husband!” And she bent over him +and kissed him on an impulse to a kind of tenderness which was now so +strange to her that it made her feel shy. + +“And what a radical you’ll be,” she laughed, after a moment’s silence. +“What a radical, what a democrat!” + +“When?” He was flushing a little and avoided her eyes. + +“When you’re free--really the proprietor--able to express your own +views, all your own views. We shall become outcasts.” + +“I wonder,” he replied slowly, “does a rich man own his property or does +it own him?” + +For an instant he had an impulse of his old longing for sympathy, for +companionship. She was now thirty-six and, save for an expression of +experience, of self-control, seemed hardly so much as thirty. But with +the years, with the habit of self-restraint, with instinctive rather +than conscious realisation of his indifference toward her, had come a +chill perceptible at the surface and permeating her entire character. In +her own way she had become as self-absorbed, as ambitious as he. + +He looked at her, felt this chill, sighed, smiled at himself. Yes, he +was alone--and he preferred to be alone. + + + + + +XXVII. + +THE HARVEST. + + +Through all his scheming and shifting Howard had kept the _News-Record_ +in the main an “organ of the people.” Coulter and Stokely had on many +occasions tried to persuade him to change, but he had stood out. He did +not confess to them that his real reason was not his alleged principles +but his cold judgment that the increases in circulation which produced +increases in advertising patronage were dependent upon the paper’s +reputation of fearless democracy. + +In the fourth year of his ownership he felt that the time had come for +the change, that he could safely slip over to the other side--the +side of wealth and power, the winning side, the side with offices +and privileges to distribute. His debt was so far reduced that he had +nothing to fear from it. A presidential campaign was coming on and was +causing unusual confusion, a general shift of party lines. And he had +put the _News-Record_ in such a position that it could move in any +direction without shock to its readers. + +The “great battle” was on--the battle he had in his younger days looked +forward to and longed for--the battle against Privilege and for +a “restoration of government by the people.” The candidates were +nominated, the platforms put forward and the issue squarely joined. + +The same issue had been involved in previous campaigns; but the +statement of the case by the party opposed to “government of, by and for +plutocracy” had been fantastic, extreme, entangled with social, economic +and political lunacies. And Howard had strengthened the _News-Record_ by +refusing to permit it to “go crazy.” Now, however, there was in honesty +no reason for refusing support to the advocates of his professed +principles. + +But the _News-Record_ was silent. Howard and Marian went away to their +cottage at Newport, and he left rigid instructions that no political +editorials were to be published except those which he might send. There +he got typhoid fever and was at the point of death for two weeks. + +Marian gave herself to nursing him, stayed close beside him, read books +and the newspapers to him throughout his convalescence. They were +more intimate than they had been for years. A feeling bearing a remote +resemblance to the love he had once had for her arose out of his +weakness and dependence and his seclusion from the instruments and +objects of his ambition. And she swept aside the barriers she had +erected between herself and him and returned, as nearly as one may, to +the love and interest of their early days together. + +In the first week of September came Stokely with Senator Hereford, the +chairman of the “Plutocracy” campaign committee. + +“I shall not annoy you with evasions,” said Hereford, “as Mr. Stokely +assures me that I may speak freely to you, that you personally are with +us. The fact is, our campaign is in a bad way, especially in New York +State, and there especially in New York City.” + +“You surprise me,” said Howard. “All my information has come from the +newspapers which my wife reads me. I had gathered that the victory was +all but won.” + +“We encourage that impression. You know how many weak-kneed fellows +there are who like to be on the winning side. We’ve been pouring out the +money and stand ready to pour it out like water. But these damned reform +ballot-laws make it hard for us to control the vote. We buy, but we fear +that the goods will not be delivered. Feeling is high against us. Even +our farmers and shopkeepers are acting queerly. And the other fellows +have at last put up a safe man on a conservative platform.” + +Howard turned his face away. There was still the memory, the now +quickened memory, of his former self to make him wince at being included +in such an “us.” + +“You can’t afford to keep silent any longer,” Hereford continued. +“You’ve done the cause a world of good by your silence thus far. You +have the reputation of being the leading popular organ, and your keeping +quiet has meant thousands of votes for us. But the time has come to +attack. And you must attack if we are to carry New York. You can turn +the tide in the state, and--well, we have a very high regard for your +genius for making your points clearly and interestingly. We need your +ideas for our editors and speakers as much as we need your influence.” + +“I cannot discuss it to-day,” Howard answered after a moment’s silence. +“It would be a grave step for the _News-Record_ to take. I am not well, +as you see. To-morrow or next day I’ll decide. You’ll see my answer in +the paper, I think.” He closed his eyes with significant weariness. + +Hereford looked at him uneasily. Just outside the door Stokely +whispered, “Don’t be alarmed. You’ve got him. He’s with us, I tell you.” + +“I must make sure,” whispered Hereford. “I wish to speak to him alone +for a moment.” + +“I beg your pardon, Mr. Howard,” he said as he re-entered the room. “I +forgot an important part of my mission. Our candidate authorized me to +say to you on his behalf that he felt sure you would see your duty; that +he esteemed your character and judgment too highly to have any doubts; +and that he intends to show his appreciation of the conscientious, +independent vote which is rallying to his support; in the event of his +election, he feels that he could not do so in a more satisfactory manner +than by offering you either a place in his cabinet or an ambassadorship +as you may prefer.” + +As soon as Howard saw Hereford returning, he knew the reason. He had +never before been offered a bribe; but he could not mistake the meaning +of Hereford’s bold yet frightened expression. He kept his eyes averted +during the delivery of the long, rambling sentence. At the end, he +looked at Hereford frankly and said in his most gracious manner: + +“Thank him for me, will you? And express my appreciation of so high a +compliment from such a man.” + +Hereford looked relieved, delighted. “I’m glad to have met you, Mr. +Howard, and to have had so satisfactory an interview.” + +Again outside the door, he muttered gleefully: “Yes, we’ve him. +Otherwise he would have had his servants kick me down stairs. Gad, no +wonder ---- is on his way to the Presidency, I had a sneaking fear that +this fellow might be sincere. But _he_ saw through him without ever +having seen him. I suppose two men of that stripe instinctively +understand each other.” + + * * * * * + +That was on a Sunday afternoon. On the following Wednesday, as Marian +came into Howard’s sitting-room with the newspapers, she laughed: “I’ve +been reading such a speech from your candidate, you radical! I must +say I liked to read it. It was so like you, your very phrases in many +places, the things you used to talk to me before you gave me up as +hopeless. Just listen.” + +And she read him the oration--a reproduction of the Howard she first +saw, the Howard she admired and loved and had never lost. “Isn’t it +superb?” she asked at the end. “You must have written it for him. Don’t +you like it?” + +“Very able,” was Howard’s only comment. + +Marian continued to read the paper, glancing from column to column, +giving him the substance of the news. Soon she reached the editorial +page. He was stealthily watching her face. He saw her glance through a +few lines of the leader, start, read on, look in a terrified way at him, +and then skip abruptly to the next page. + +“Read me the leader, won’t you?” he asked. + +“My voice is tired,” she pleaded. “I’ll read it after awhile.” + +“Please,” he insisted. “I’m especially anxious to hear it.” + +“I think,” she almost stammered, “that somebody has taken advantage +of your illness. I didn’t want to tell you until I’d had a chance to +think.” + +“Please read it.” His tone was abrupt. She had never heard that tone +before. + +She read. It was an assertion of that which her Howard most disbelieved, +most protested against; a defense of the public corruption she had heard +him denounce so often; an attack upon the ideas, the principles, the +elements she had so often heard him eulogize. It was as adroit as it was +detestable, as plausible as it was unprincipled. + +When she had done, there was a long silence which he broke. “What do you +think of it?” + +“Only a wretch, an enemy of yours could have written it. Who can it have +been?” Her eyes were ablaze and her voice trembled with anger. + +“I wrote it,” he said. + +He did not dare to look at her for a few seconds. Then, with a flimsy +mask of pretended calmness only the more clearly revealing self-contempt +and cowardice, he faced her amazed eyes, her pale cheeks, her parted +lips--and dropped his gaze to the floor. + +“You?” she whispered. “You?” + +“Yes, I.” + +She sat so still that he reached over and touched her hand. It was cold. +She shivered and drew it away. They were silent for a long time--several +minutes. She was looking at his face. It was old and sad and +feeble--pitiful, contemptible. She had never seen those lines of +weakness about his mouth before. She had never before noted that his +features had lost the expression of exalted character, the light of free +and independent manhood which made her look again the first time she saw +him. When had the man she loved departed? When had the new man come? How +long had she been giving herself to a stranger--and _such_ a stranger? + +“Yes--I,” he repeated. “I have come over to your side.” He laughed and +she shivered again. “Well--what do you think?” + +“Think?--I?--Oh, I think----” + +She burst into tears, flung herself down at his feet and buried her head +in his lap. + +“I think nothing,” she sobbed, “except that I--I love you.” + +He fell to smoothing her hair, slowly, gently, patronisingly. His face +was composed and he was looking down at her trembling head and agitated +shoulders with an absent-minded smile. How easily this once +dreaded crisis had passed! How he had overestimated her! How he had +underestimated himself! + +His glance and his thoughts soon fastened upon the copy of his newspaper +which she had thrown aside--_his_ newspaper indeed, his creation and his +creature, the epitome of his intellect and character, of his strength +and his weakness. Half a million circulation daily, three quarters of a +million on Sunday--how mighty as a direct influence upon the people! Its +clearness and vigour, its intelligence, its truth-like sophistry--how +mighty as an indirect influence upon the minds of other editors and of +public men! “Power--Success,” he repeated to himself in an exaltation of +vanity and arrogance. + +Marian lifted her head and, turning, put it against his knee. She +reached out for his hand. He began to speak at once in a low persuasive +voice: + +“Trust me, dear, can’t you? You do not--have not been reading the paper +until recently. You are not interested in politics. There have been many +changes in the few last years. And I too have changed. I am no longer +without responsibilities. They have sobered me, have given me +an appreciation of property, stability, conservatism. Youth is +enthusiastic, theoretical. I have--” + +“Ah, but I do trust you,” she interrupted eagerly, fearful lest his +explanations would make it the more difficult for her to convince +herself of what she felt she must believe if life were to go on. “And +you--I don’t want you to excite yourself. You must be quiet--must get +well.” + +Each avoided meeting the other’s eyes as she arranged the pillows for +him before leaving him alone to rest. + +The longer she juggled with her discovery the less appalling it seemed. +His line of action fitted too closely to her own ambitions of social +distinction, social leadership. If he had been her lover, the shock +would have killed love and set up contempt in its stead. But he was +not her lover, had not been for years; and to find that her husband was +doing a husband’s duty, was winning position and power for himself and +therefore for his wife--that was a disclosure with mitigating aspects at +least. Besides, might she not be in part mistaken? Surely any course so +satisfactory in its results could not be wholly wrong, might perhaps be +the right in an unexpected, unaccustomed form. + + + + + +XXVIII. + +SUCCESS. + + +French had made a portrait of the new American ambassador to the Court +of St. James and it was shown at the spring exhibition of the Royal +Academy. The ambassador and his wife wished to see how it had been +hung, but they did not wish to be seen. So they chose an early hour of +a chill, rainy May morning to drive in a hansom from their place in Park +Lane to Burlington House. + +They found the portrait in Room VI, on the line, in a corner, but where +it had the benefit of such light as there was. When they entered no one +was there; but, as they were standing close to the picture, admiring +the energy and simplicity of the strokes of the master’s brush, a crowd +swept in and enclosed them. + +“Let us go,” Howard said in a low tone. + +Just then a man, almost at his shoulder because of the pressure of those +behind, said: “Wonderful, isn’t it? I’ve never seen a better example of +his work. He had a subject that suited him perfectly.” + +“No, let us stay,” Marian whispered in reply to her husband. “They can’t +see our faces and I’d like to hear.” + +“Yes, it is superb,” came the answer to the man behind them in a voice +unmistakably American. “Now, tell me, Saverhill, what sort of a person +would you say the ambassador is from that picture? You don’t know him?” + +“Never heard of him until I read of his appointment,” replied the first +voice. + +“I’ve heard of him often enough,” came in the American voice. “But I’ve +never seen him.” + +“You know him now,” resumed the Englishman, “inside as well as out. +French always paints what he sees and always sees what he’s painting.” + +“Well, what is it?” + +“Let us go,” whispered Marian. But Howard did not heed her. + +“I see--a fallen man. He was evidently a real man once; but he sold +himself.” + +“Yes? Where does it show?” + +“He’s got a good mind, this fellow-countryman of yours. There are the +eyes of a thinker and a doer. Nothing could have kept him down. His face +is almost as relentless as Kitchener’s and fully as aggressive, except +that it shows intellect, and Kitchener’s doesn’t. Now note the corners +of his eyes, Marshall, and his mouth and nostrils and chin, and you’ll +see why he sold himself, and the--the consequences.” + +Howard and Marian, fascinated, compelled, looked where the unknown +requested. + +“I think I see what you mean,” came in Marshall’s voice, laughingly. +“But go on.” + +“Ah, there it all is--hypocrisy, vanity, lack of principle, and, +plainest of all, weakness. It’s a common enough type among your +successful men. The man himself is the fixed market price for a certain +kind of success. But, according to French, this ambassador of yours +seems to know what he has paid; and the knowledge doesn’t make him more +content with his bargain. He has more brains than vanity; therefore he’s +an unhappy hypocrite instead of a happy self-deceiver.” + +Howard and Marian shrunk together with their heads close in the effort +to make sure of concealing their faces. She was suffering for herself, +but more acutely for him. She knew, as if she were looking into his +mind, his frightful humiliation. “Hereafter,” she thought, “whenever any +one looks at him he will feel the thought behind the look.” + +“How nearly did I come to him?” asked Saverhill. + +Howard started and Marian caught the rail for support. + +“A centre-shot,” replied Marshall, “if the people who know him and have +talked to me about him tell the truth.” + +“Oh, they’re ‘on to’ him, as you say, over there, are they?” + +“No, not everybody. Only his friends and the few who are on the inside. +There’s an ugly story going about privately as to how he got the +ambassadorship. They say he was bought with it. But--he’s admired and +envied even by a good many who know or suspect that he’s only an article +of commerce. He’s got the cash and he’s got position; and his paper +gives him tremendous power. Then too, as you say, all about him there +are men like himself. The only punishment he’s likely to get is the +penalty of having to live with himself.” + +“A good, round price if French is not mistaken,” replied Saverhill. + +The two men passed on. Howard and Marian looked guiltily about, then +slipped away in the opposite direction. He helped her into the waiting +hansom. As they were driven homeward she cast a stealthy side-glance at +him. + +“Yes,” she thought, “the portrait is a portrait of his face; and his +face is a portrait of himself.” + +He caught her glance in the little mirror in the side of the +hansom--caught it and read it. And he began to hate her, this instrument +to his punishment, this constant remembrancer of his downfall. + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Great God Success, by +John Graham (David Graham Phillips) + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREAT GOD SUCCESS *** + +***** This file should be named 7989-0.txt or 7989-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/9/8/7989/ + +Produced by Eric Eldred, William Craig, Charles Franks and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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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: The Great God Success + +Author: John Graham (David Graham Phillips) + + +Release Date: April, 2005 [EBook #7989] +This file was first posted on June 10, 2003 +Last Updated: May 21, 2013 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREAT GOD SUCCESS *** + + + + +Produced by Eric Eldred, William Craig, Charles Franks and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + + + + +THE GREAT GOD SUCCESS + +A NOVEL + +By John Graham (David Graham Phillips) + + + +The Gregg Press / Ridgewood, N.J. + + + +CONTENTS. + +CHAPTER + +I. THE CANDIDATE FROM YALE + +II. THE CITY EDITOR RECONSIDERS + +III. A PARK ROW CELEBRITY + +IV. IN THE EDGE OF BOHEMIA + +V. ALICE + +VI. IN A BOHEMIAN QUICKSAND + +VII. A LITTLE CANDLE GOES OUT + +VIII. A STRUGGLE FOR SELF-CONTROL + +IX. AMBITION AWAKENS + +X. THE ETERNAL MASCULINE + +XI. TRESPASSING + +XII. MAKING THE MOST OF A MONTH + +XIII. RECKONING WITH DANVERS + +XIV. THE NEWS-RECORD GETS A NEW EDITOR + +XV. YELLOW JOURNALISM + +XVI. MR. STOKELY IS TACTLESS + +XVII. A WOMAN AND A WARNING + +XVIII. HOWARD EXPLAINS HIS MACHINE + +XIX. "I MUST BE RICH." + +XX. ILLUSION + +XXI. WAVERING + +XXII. THE SHENSTONE EPISODE + +XXIII. EXPANDING AND CONTRACTING + +XXIV. "MR. VALIANT-FOR-TRUTH." + +XXV. THE PROMISED LAND + +XXVI. IN POSSESSION + +XXVII. THE HARVEST + +XXVIII. SUCCESS + + + + +THE GREAT GOD SUCCESS + + + + +I. + +THE CANDIDATE FROM YALE. + + +"O your college paper, I suppose?" + +"No, I never wrote even a letter to the editor." + +"Took prizes for essays?" + +"No, I never wrote if I could help it." + +"But you like to write?" + +"I'd like to learn to write." + +"You say you are two months out of college--what college?" + +"Yale." + +"Hum--I thought Yale men went into something commercial; law or banking +or railroads. 'Leave hope of fortune behind, ye who enter here' is over +the door of this profession." + +"I haven't the money-making instinct." + +"We pay fifteen dollars a week at the start." + +"Couldn't you make it twenty?" + +The Managing Editor of the _News-Record_ turned slowly in his chair +until his broad chest was full-front toward the young candidate for the +staff. He lowered his florid face slowly until his double chin swelled +out over his low "stick-up" collar. Then he gradually raised his eyelids +until his amused blue eyes were looking over the tops of his glasses, +straight into Howard's eyes. + +"Why?" he asked. "Why should we?" + +Howard's grey eyes showed embarrassment and he flushed to the line of +his black hair which was so smoothly parted in the middle. "Well--you +see--the fact is--I need twenty a week. My expenses are arranged on that +scale. I'm not clever at money matters. I'm afraid I'd get in a mess +with only fifteen." + +"My dear young man," said Mr. King, "I started here at fifteen dollars a +week. And I had a wife; and the first baby was coming." + +"Yes, but your wife was an energetic woman. She stood right beside you +and worked too. Now I have only myself." + +Mr. King raised his eyebrows and became a rosier red. He was evidently +preparing to rebuke this audacious intrusion into his private affairs by +a stranger whose card had been handed to him not ten minutes before. But +Howard's tone and manner were simple and sincere. And they happened to +bring into Mr. King's mind a rush of memories of his youth and his wife. +She had married him on faith. They had come to New York fifteen years +before, he to get a place as reporter on the _News-Record_, she to +start a boarding-house; he doubting and trembling, she with courage and +confidence for two. He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and +opened the book of memory at the place where the leaves most easily fell +apart: + +He is coming home at one in the morning, worn out, sick at heart from +the day's buffetings. As he puts his key into the latch, the door opens. +There stands a handsome girl; her face is flushed; her eyes are bright; +her lips are held up for him to kiss; she shows no trace of a day that +began hours before his and has been a succession of exasperations and +humiliations against which her sensitive nature, trained in the home of +her father, a distinguished up-the-state Judge, gives her no protection, +"Victory," she whispers, her arms about his neck and her head upon his +coat collar. "Victory! We are seventy-two cents ahead on the week, and +everything paid up!" + +Mr. King opened his eyes--they had been closed less than five seconds. +"Well, let it be twenty--though just why I'm sure I don't know. And +we'll give you a four weeks' trial. When will you begin?" + +"Now," answered the young man, glancing about the room. "And I shall try +to show that I appreciate your consideration, whether I deserve it or +not." + +It was a large bare room, low of ceiling. Across one end were five +windows overlooking from a great height the tempest that rages about +the City Hall day and night with few lulls and no pauses. Mr. King's +roll-top desk was at the first window. Under each of the other windows +was a broad flat table desk--for copy-readers. At the farthest of these +sat the City Editor--thin, precise-looking, with yellow skin, hollow +cheeks, ragged grey-brown moustache, ragged scant grey-brown hair and +dark brown eyes. He looked nervously tired and, because brown was his +prevailing shade, dusty. He rose as Mr. King came with young Howard. + +"Here, Mr. Bowring, is a young man from Yale. He wishes you to teach him +how to write. Mr. Howard, Mr. Bowring. I hope you gentlemen will get on +comfortably together." + +Mr. King went back to his desk. Mr. Bowring and Howard looked each at +the other. Mr. Bowring smiled, with good-humour, without cordiality. +"Let me see, where shall we put you?" And his glance wandered along +the rows of sloping table-desks--those nearer the windows lighted by +daylight; those farther away, by electric lamps. Even on that cool, +breezy August afternoon the sunlight and fresh air did not penetrate far +into the room. + +"Do you see the young man with the beautiful fair moustache," said Mr. +Bowring, "toiling away in his shirt-sleeves--there?" + +"Near the railing at the entrance?" + +"Precisely. I think I will put you next him." Mr. Bowring touched a +button on his desk and presently an office boy--a mop of auburn curls, +a pert face and gangling legs in knickerbockers--hurried up with a "Yes, +Sir?" + +"Please tell Mr. Kittredge that I would like to speak to him and--please +scrape your feet along the floor as little as possible." + +The boy smiled, walking away less as if he were trying to terrorize park +pedestrians by a rush on roller skates. Kittredge and Howard were made +acquainted and went toward their desks together. "A few moments--if you +will excuse me--and I'm done," said Kittredge motioning Howard into the +adjoining chair as he sat and at once bent over his work. + +Howard watched him with interest, admiration and envy. The reporter was +perhaps twenty-five years old--fair of hair, fair of skin, goodlooking +in a pretty way. His expression was keen and experienced yet too +self-complacent to be highly intelligent. He was rapidly covering sheet +after sheet of soft white paper with bold, loose hand-writing. Howard +noticed that at the end of each sentence he made a little cross with a +circle about it, and that he began each paragraph with a paragraph sign. +Presently he scrawled a big double cross in the centre of the sheet +under the last line of writing and gathered up his sheets in the +numbered order. "Done, thank God," he said. "And I hope they won't +butcher it." + +"Do you send it to be put in type?" asked Howard. + +"No," Kittredge answered with a faint smile. "I hand it in to Mr. +Bowring--the City Editor, you know. And when the copyreaders come at +six, it will be turned over to one of them. He reads it, cuts it down +if necessary, and writes headlines for it. Then it goes upstairs to the +composing room--see the box, the little dumb-waiter, over there in the +wall?--well, it goes up by that to the floor above where they set the +type and make up the forms." + +"I'm a complete ignoramus," said Howard, "I hope you'll not mind my +trying to find out things. I hope I shall not bore you." + +"Glad to help you, I'm sure. I had to go through this two years ago when +I came here from Princeton." + +Kittredge "turned in" his copy and returned to his seat beside Howard. + +"What were you writing about, if I may ask?" inquired Howard. + +"About some snakes that came this morning in a 'tramp' from South +America. One of them, a boa constrictor, got loose and coiled around a +windlass. The cook was passing and it caught him. He fainted with fright +and the beast squeezed him to death. It's a fine story--lots of amusing +and dramatic details. I wrote it for a column and I think they won't cut +it. I hope not, anyhow. I need the money." + +"You are paid by the column?" + +"Yes. I'm on space--what they call a space writer. If a man is of any +account here they gradually raise him to twenty-five dollars a week and +then put him on space. That means that he will make anywhere from forty +to a hundred a week, or perhaps more at times. The average for the best +is about eighty." + +"Eighty dollars a week," thought Howard. "Fifty-two times eighty is +forty-one hundred and sixty. Four thousand a year, counting out +two weeks for vacation." To Howard it seemed wealth at the limit of +imagination. If he could make so much as that!--he who had grave doubts +whether, no matter how hard he worked, he would ever wrench a living +from the world. + +Just then a seedy young man with red hair and a red beard came through +the gate in the railing, nodded to Kittredge and went to a desk well up +toward the daylight end of the room. + +"That's the best of 'em all," said Kittredge in a low tone. "His name is +Sewell. He's a Harvard man--Harvard and Heidelberg. But drink! Ye gods, +how he does drink! His wife died last Christmas--practically starvation. +Sewell disappeared--frightful bust. A month afterward they found him +under an assumed name over on Blackwell's Island, doing three months for +disorderly conduct. He wrote a Christmas carol while his wife was dying. +It began "Merrily over the Snow" and went on about light hearts and +youth and joy and all that--you know, the usual thing. When he got the +money, she didn't need it or anything else in her nice quiet grave over +in Long Island City. So he 'blew in' the money on a wake." + +Sewell was coming toward them. Kittredge called out: "Was it a good +story, Sam?" + +"Simply great! You ought to have seen the room. Only the bed and the +cook-stove and a few dishes on a shelf--everything else gone to the +pawnshop. The man must have killed the children first. They lay side by +side on the bed, each with its hands folded on its chest--suppose the +mother did that; and each little throat was cut from ear to ear--suppose +the father did that. Then he dipped his paint brush in the blood and +daubed on the wall in big scrawling letters: 'There is no God!' Then +he took his wife in his arms, stabbed her to the heart and cut his own +throat. And there they lay, his arms about her, his cheek against hers, +dead. It was murder as a fine art. Gad, I wish I could write." + +Kittredge introduced Howard--"a Yale man--just came on the paper." + +"Entering the profession? Well, they say of the other professions that +there is always room at the top. Journalism is just the reverse. The +room is all at the bottom--easy to enter, hard to achieve, impossible to +leave. It is all bottom, no top." Sewell nodded, smiled attractively in +spite of his swollen face and his unsightly teeth, and went back to his +work. + +"He's sober," said Kittredge when he was out of hearing, "so his story +is pretty sure to be the talk of Park Row tomorrow." + +Howard was astonished at the cheerful, businesslike point of view +of these two educated and apparently civilised young men as to the +tragedies of life. He had shuddered at Kittredge's story of the man +squeezed to death by the snake. Sewell's story, so graphically outlined, +filled him with horror, made it a struggle for him to conceal his +feelings. + +"I suppose you must see a lot of frightful things," he suggested. + +"That's our business. You soon get used to it, just as a doctor does. +You learn to look at life from the purely professional standpoint. Of +course you must feel in order to write. But you must not feel so keenly +that you can't write. You have to remember always that you're not there +to cheer or sympathise or have emotions, but only to report, to record. +You tell what your eyes see. You'll soon get so that you can and will +make good stories out of your own calamaties." + +"Is that a portrait of the editor?" asked Howard, pointing to a grimed +oil-painting, the only relief to the stretch of cracked and streaked +white wall except a few ragged maps. + +"That--oh, that is old man Stone--the 'great condenser.' He's there for +a double purpose, as an example of what a journalist should be and as a +warning of what a journalist comes to. After twenty years of fine work +at crowding more news in good English into one column than any other +editor could get in bad English into four columns, he was discharged for +drunkenness. Soon afterwards he walked off the end of a dock one night +in a fog. At least it was said that there was a fog and that he was +drunk. I have my doubts." + +"Cheerful! I have not been in the profession an hour but I have already +learned something very valuable." + +"What's that?" asked Kittredge, "that it's a good profession to get out +of?" + +"No. But that bad habits will not help a man to a career in journalism +any more than in any other profession." + +"Career?" smiled Kittredge, resenting Howard's good-humoured irony +and putting on a supercilious look that brought out more strongly the +insignificance of his face. "Journalism is not a career. It is either a +school or a cemetery. A man may use it as a stepping-stone to something +else. But if he sticks to it, he finds himself an old man, dead and done +for to all intents and purposes years before he's buried." + +"I wonder if it doesn't attract a great many men who have a little +talent and fancy that they have much. I wonder if it does not disappoint +their vanity rather than their merit." + +"That sounds well," replied Kittredge, "and there's some truth in +it. But, believe me, journalism is the dragon that demands the annual +sacrifice of youth. It will have only youth. Why am I here? Why are you +here? Because we are young, have a fresh, a new point of view. As soon +as we get a little older, we shall be stale and, though still young in +years, we must step aside for young fellows with new ideas and a new +point of view." + +"But why should not one have always new ideas, always a new point of +view? Why should one expect to escape the penalties of stagnation in +journalism when one can't escape them in any other profession?" + +"But who has new ideas all the time? The average successful man has at +most one idea and makes a whole career out of it. Then there are the +temptations." + +"How do you mean?" + +Kittredge flushed slightly and answered in a more serious tone: + +"We must work while others amuse themselves or sleep. We must sleep +while others are at work. That throws us out of touch with the whole +world of respectability and regularity. When we get done at night, +wrought up by the afternoon and evening of this gambling with our brains +and nerves as the stake, what is open to us?" + +"That is true," said Howard. "There are the all-night saloons and--the +like." + +"And if we wish society, what society is open to us? What sort of young +women are waiting to entertain us at one, two, three o'clock in the +morning? Why, I have not made a call in a year. And I have not seen a +respectable girl of my acquaintance in at least that time, except once +or twice when I happened to have assignments that took me near Fifth +Avenue in the afternoon." + +"Mr. Kittredge, Mr. Bowring wishes to speak to you," an office boy said +and Kittredge rose. As he went, he put his hand on Howard's shoulder +and said: "No, I am getting out of it as fast as ever I can. I'm writing +books." + +"Kittredge," thought Howard, "I wonder, is this Henry Jennings +Kittredge, whose stories are on all the news stands?" He saw an envelope +on the floor at his feet. The address was "Henry Jennings Kittredge, +Esq." + +When Kittredge came back for his coat, Howard said in a tone of frank +admiration: "Why, I didn't know you were the Kittredge that everybody is +talking about. You certainly have no cause for complaint." + +Kittredge shrugged his shoulders. "At fifteen cents a copy, I have to +sell ten thousand copies before I get enough to live on for four months. +And you'd be surprised how much reputation and how little money a man +can make out of a book. Don't be distressed because they keep you here +with nothing to do but wonder how you'll have the courage to face the +cashier on pay day. It's the system. Your chance will come." + +It was three days before Howard had a chance. On a Sunday afternoon the +Assistant City Editor who was in charge of the City Desk for the day +sent him up to the Park to write a descriptive story of the crowds. "Try +to get a new point of view," he said, "and let yourself loose. There's +usually plenty of room in Monday's paper." + +Howard wandered through the Central Park for two hours, struggling for +the "new point of view" of the crowds he saw there--these monotonous +millions, he thought, lazily drinking at a vast trough of country air in +the heart of the city. He planned an article carefully as he dined +alone at the Casino. He went down to the office early and wrote +diligently--about two thousand words. When he had finished, the Night +City Editor told him that he might go as there would be nothing more +that night. + +He was in the street at seven the next morning. As he walked along with +a News-Record, bought at the first news-stand, he searched every page: +first, the larger "heads"--such a long story would call for a "big +head;" then the smaller "heads"--they may have been crowded and have +had to cut it down; then the single-line "heads"--surely they found a +"stickful" or so worth printing. + +At last he found it. A dozen items in the smallest type, agate, were +grouped under the general heading "City Jottings" at the end of an +inside column of an inside page. The first of these City Jottings was +two lines in length: + +"The millions were in the Central Park yesterday, lazily drinking at +that vast trough of country air in the heart of the city." + +As he entered the office Howard looked appealingly and apologetically +at the boy on guard at the railing and braced himself to receive the +sneering frown of the City Editor and to bear the covert smiles of his +fellow reporters. But he soon saw that no one had observed his mighty +spring for a foothold and his ludicrous miss and fall. + +"Had anything in yet?" Kittredge inquired casually, late in the +afternoon. + +"I wrote a column and a half yesterday and I found two lines among the +City Jottings," replied Howard, reddening but laughing. + +"The first story I wrote was cut to three lines but they got a libel +suit on it." + + + + + +II. + +THE CITY EDITOR RECONSIDERS. + + +At the end of six weeks, the City Editor called Howard up to the desk +and asked him to seat himself. He talked in a low tone so that the +Assistant City Editor, reading the newspapers at a nearby desk, could +not hear. + +"We like you, Mr. Howard." Mr. Bowring spoke slowly and with a +carefulness in selecting words that indicated embarrassment. "And we +have been impressed by your earnestness. But we greatly fear that you +are not fitted for this profession. You write well enough, but you +do not seem to get the newspaper--the news--idea. So we feel that in +justice to you and to ourselves we ought to let you know where you +stand. If you wish, we shall be glad to have you remain with us two +weeks longer. Meanwhile you can be looking about you. I am certain that +you will succeed somewhere, in some line, sooner or later. But I think +that the newspaper profession is a waste of your time." + +Howard had expected this. Failure after failure, his articles thrown +away or rewritten by the copyreaders, had prepared him for the blow. Yet +it crushed him for the moment. His voice was not steady as he replied: + +"No doubt you are right. Thank you for taking the trouble to study my +case and tell me so soon." + +"Don't hesitate to stay on for the two weeks," Mr. Bowring continued. +"We can make you useful to us. And you can look about to much better +advantage than if you were out of a place." + +"I'll stay the two weeks," Howard said, "unless I find something +sooner." + +"Don't be more discouraged than you can help," said Mr. Bowring. "You +may be very grateful before long for finding out so early what many of +us--I myself, I fear--find out after years and--when it is too late." + +Always that note of despair; always that pointing to the motto over the +door of the profession: "Abandon hope, ye who enter here." What was +the explanation? Were these men right? Was he wrong in thinking that +journalism offered the most splendid of careers--the development of the +mind and the character; the sharpening of all the faculties; the service +of truth and right and human betterment, in daily combat with injustice +and error and falsehood; the arousing and stimulating of the drowsy +minds of the masses of mankind? + +Howard looked about at the men who held on where he was slipping. "Can +it be," he thought, "that I cannot survive in a profession where the +poorest are so poor in intellect and equipment? Why am I so dull that I +cannot catch the trick?" + +He set himself to study newspapers, reading them line by line, noting +the modes of presenting facts, the arrangement of headlines, the order +in which the editors put the several hundred items before the eyes +of the reader--what they displayed on each page and why; how they +apportioned the space. With the energy of unconquerable resolution he +applied himself to solving for himself the puzzle of the press--the +science and art of catching the eye and holding the attention of the +hurrying, impatient public. + +He learned much. He began to develop the news-instinct, that subtle +instant realisation of what is interesting and what is not interesting +to the public mind. But the time was short; a sense of impending +calamity and the lack of self-confidence natural to inexperience made it +impossible for him effectively to use his new knowledge in the few small +opportunities which Mr. Bowring gave him. With only six days of his two +weeks left, he had succeeded in getting into the paper not a single item +of a length greater than two sticks. He slept little; he despaired not +at all; but he was heart-sick and, as he lay in his bed in the little +hall-room of the furnished-room house, he often envied women the relief +of tears. What he endured will be appreciated only by those who have +been bred in sheltered homes; who have abruptly and alone struck out +for themselves in the ocean of a great city without a single lesson +in swimming; who have felt themselves seized from below and dragged +downward toward the deep-lying feeding-grounds of Poverty and Failure. + +"Buck up, old man," said Kittredge to whom he told his bad news after +several days of hesitation and after Kittredge had shown him that he +strongly suspected it. "Don't mind old Bowring. You're sure to get on, +and, if you insist upon the folly, in this profession. I'll give you a +note to Montgomery--he's City Editor over at the _World_-shop--and he'll +take you on. In some ways you will do better there. You'll rise faster, +get a wider experience, make more money. In fact, this shop has only one +advantage. It does give a man peace of mind. It's more like a club +than an office. But in a sense that is a drawback. I'll give you a note +to-night. You will be at work over there to-morrow." + +"I think I'll wait a few days," said Howard, his tone corresponding to +the look in his eyes and the compression of his resolute mouth. + +The next day but one Mr. Bowring called him up to the City Desk and gave +him a newspaper-clipping which read: + + "Bald Peak, September 29--Willie Dent, the three-year-old baby + of John Dent, a farmer living two miles from here, strayed away + into the mountains yesterday and has not been seen since. His + dog, a cur, went with him. Several hundred men are out searching. + It has been storming, and the mountains are full of bears + and wild cats." + +"Yes, I saw this in the _Herald_," said Howard. + +"Will you take the train that leaves at eleven tonight and get us the +story--if it is not a 'fake,' as I strongly suspect. Telegraph your +story if there is not time for you to get back here by nine to-morrow +night." + +"Of course it's a fake, or at least a wild exaggeration," thought Howard +as he turned away. "If Bowring had not been all but sure there was +nothing in it, he would never have given it to me." + +He was not well, his sleepless nights having begun to tell even upon +his powerful constitution. The rest of that afternoon and all of a night +without sleep in the Pullman he was in a depth of despond. He had been +in the habit of getting much comfort out of an observation his father +had made to him just before he died: "Remember that ninety per cent +of these fourteen hundred million human beings are uncertain where +to-morrow's food is to come from. Be prudent but never be afraid." But +just then he could get no consolation out of this maxim of grim cheer. +He seemed to himself incompetent and useless, a predestined failure. +"What is to become of me?" he kept repeating, his heart like lead and +his mind fumbling about in a confused darkness. + +At Bald Peak he was somewhat revived by the cold mountain air of the +early morning. As he alighted upon the station platform he spoke to the +baggage-master standing in front of the steps. + +"Was the little boy of a man named Dent lost in the mountains near +here?" + +"Yes--three days ago," replied the baggage-man. + +"Have they found him yet?" + +"No--nor never will alive--that's my opinion." + +Howard asked for the nearest livery-stable and within twenty minutes was +on his way to Dent's farm. His driver knew all about the lost child. Two +hundred men were still searching. "And Mrs. Dent, she's been sittin' +by the window, list'nin' day and night. She won't speak nor eat and +she ain't shed a tear. It was her only child. The men come in sayin' it +ain't no use to hunt any more, an' they look at her an' out they goes +ag'in." + +Soon the driver pointed to a cottage near the road. The gate was open; +the grass and the flower-beds were trampled into a morass. The door was +thrown wide and several women were standing about the threshold. At the +window within view of the road and the mountains sat the mother--a +young woman with large brown eyes, and clear-cut features, refined, +beautified, exalted by suffering. Her look was that of one listening for +a faint, far away sound upon which hangs the turn of the balances to joy +or to despair. + + * * * * * + +That morning two of the searchers went to the northeast into the dense +and tangled swamp woods between Bald Peak and Cloudy Peak--the wildest +wilderness in the mountains. The light barely penetrates the foliage on +the brightest days. The ground is rough, sometimes precipitous, closely +covered with bushes and tangled creepers. + +The two explorers, almost lost themselves, came at last to the edge of a +swamp surrounded by cedars. They half-crawled, half-climbed through the +low trees and festooning creepers to the edge of a clear bit of open, +firm ground. + +In the middle was a cedar tree. Under it, seated upon the ground, was +the lost boy. His bare, brown legs, torn and bleeding, were stretched +straight in front of him. His bare feet were bruised and cut. His +gingham dress was torn and wet and stained. His small hands were smears +of dirt and blood. He was playing with a tin can. He had put a stone +into it and was making a great rattling. The dog was running to and fro, +apparently enjoying the noise. The little boy's face was tear-stained +and his eyes were swollen. But he was not crying just then and laughter +lurked in his thin, fever-flushed face. + +As the men came into view, the dog began to bark angrily, but the boy +looked a solemn welcome. + +"Want mamma," he said. "I'se hungry." + +One of the men picked him up--the gingham dress was saturated. + +"You're hungry?" asked the man, his voice choking. + +"Yes. An' I'se so wet. It wained and wained." Then the child began to +sob. "It was dark," he whispered, "an' cold. I want my mamma." + +It was an hour's tedious journey back to Dent's by the shortest route. +At the top of the hill those near the cottage saw the boy in the arms of +the man who had found him. They shouted and the mother sprang out of the +house and came running, stumbling down the path to the gate. She caught +at the gate-post and stood there, laughing, screaming, sobbing. + +"Baby! Baby!" she called. + +The little boy turned his head and stretched out his thin, blood-stained +arms. She ran toward him and snatched him from the young farmer. + +"Hungry, mamma," he sobbed, hiding his face on her shoulder. + + * * * * * + +Howard wrote his story on the train, going down to New York. It was a +straightforward chronicle of just what he had seen and heard. He began +at the beginning--the little mountain home, the family of three, the +disappearance of the child. He described the perils of the mountains, +the storm, the search, the wait, the listening mother, scene by scene, +ending with mother and child together again and the dog racing around +them, with wagging tail and hanging tongue. He wrote swiftly, making no +changes, without a trace of his usual self-consciousness in composition. +When he had done he went into the restaurant car and dined almost gaily. +He felt that he had failed again. How could he hope to tell such a +story? But he was not despondent. He was still under the spell of that +intense human drama with its climax of joy. His own concerns seemed +secondary, of no consequence. + +He reached the office at half-past nine, handed in his "copy" and went +away. He was in bed at half-past ten and was at once asleep. At eleven +the next morning a knocking awakened him from a sound sleep that had +restored and refreshed him. "A messenger from the office," was called +through the door in answer to his inquiry. He took the note from the boy +and tore it open: + +"My dear Mr. Howard: Thank you for the splendid story you gave us last +night. It is one of the best, if not the best, we have had the pleasure +of publishing in years. Your salary has been raised to twenty-five +dollars a week. + +"Congratulations. You have 'caught on' at last. I'm glad to take back +what I said the other day. + +"HENRY C. BOWRING." + + + + + +III. + +A PARK ROW CELEBRITY. + + +Kittredge was the first to congratulate him when he reached the office. +"Everybody is talking about your story," he said. "I must say I was +surprised when I read it. I had begun to fear that you would never catch +the trick--for, with most of us writing is only a trick. But now I see +that you are a born writer. Your future is in your own hands." + +"You think I can learn to write?" + +"That is the sane way to put it. Yes, I know that you can. If you'll +only not be satisfied with the results that come easy, you will make a +reputation. Not a mere Park Row reputation, but the real thing." + +Howard got flattery enough in the next few days to turn a stronger +head than was his at twenty-two. But a few partial failures within a +fortnight sobered him and steadied him. His natural good sense made him +take himself in hand. He saw that his success had been to a great extent +a happy accident; that to repeat it, to improve upon it he must study +life, study the art of expression. He must keep his senses open to +impression. He must work at style, enlarge his vocabulary, learn the use +of words, the effect of varying combinations of words both as to sound +and as to meaning. "I must learn to write for the people," he thought, +"and that means to write the most difficult of all styles." + +He was, then and always, one of those who like others and are liked by +them, yet never seek company and so are left to themselves. As he had +no money to spare and a deep aversion to debt, he was not tempted into +joining in the time-wasting dissipations that were now open to him. He +worked hard at his profession and, when he left the office, usually went +direct to his rooms to read until far into the morning. He was often +busy sixteen hours out of the twenty-four. His day at reporting was +long--from noon until midnight, and frequently until three in the +morning. But the work was far different from the grind which is the lot +of the young men striving in other professions or in business. It +was the most fascinating work imaginable for an intelligent, thirsty +mind--the study of human nature under stress of the great emotions. + +His mode of thought and his style made Mr. Bowring and Mr. King give him +much of this particular kind of reporting. So he was always observing +love, hate, jealousy, revenge, greed. He saw these passions in action in +the lives of people of all kinds and conditions. And he saw little else. +The reporter is a historian. And history is, as Gibbon says, for the +most part "a record of the crimes, follies and misfortunes of mankind." + +For many a man this has been a ruinous, one-sided development. Howard +was saved by his extremely intelligent, sympathetic point of view. +He saw the whole of each character, each conflict that he was sent to +study. If the point of the story was the good side of human nature--some +act of generosity or self-sacrifice--he did not exaggerate it into +godlike heroism but adjusted it in its proper prospective by bringing +out its human quality and its human surroundings. If the main point was +violence or sordidness or baseness, he saw the characteristics which +relieved and partially redeemed it. His news-reports were accounts of +the doings not of angels or devils but of human beings, accounts written +from a thoroughly human standpoint. + +Here lay the cause of his success. In all his better stories--for +he often wrote poor ones--there was the atmosphere of sincerity, of +realism, the marks of an acute observer, without prejudice and with +a justifiable leaning toward a belief in the fundamental worth of +humanity. Where others were cynical he was just. Where others were +sentimental, he had sincere, healthful sentiment. Where others were +hysterical, he calmly and accurately described, permitting the tragedy +to reveal itself instead of burying it beneath high-heaped adjectives. +Simplicity of style was his aim and he was never more delighted by any +compliment than by one from the chief political reporter. + +"That story of yours this morning," said this reporter whose lack as +a writer was more than compensated by his ability to get intimately +acquainted with public men, "reads as if a child might have written it. +I don't see how you get such effects without any style at all. You just +let your story tell itself." + +"Well, you see," replied Howard, "I am writing for the masses, and fine +writing would be wasted upon them." + +"You're right," said Jackman, "we don't need literature on this +paper--long words, high-sounding phrases and all that sort of thing. +What we want is just plain, simple English that goes straight to the +point." + +"Like Shakespeare's and Bunyan's," suggested Kittredge with a grin. + +"Shakespeare? Fudge!" scoffed Jackman. "Why he couldn't have made a +living as a space-writer on a New York newspaper." + +"No, I don't think he would have staid long in Park Row," replied +Kittredge with a subtlety of meaning that escaped Jackman. + +A few days before New Year's the Managing Editor looked up and smiled as +Howard was passing his desk. + +"How goes it?" he asked. + +"Oh, not so badly," Howard answered, "but I am a good deal depressed at +times." + +"Depressed? Nonsense! You've got everything--youth, health and freedom. +And by the way, you are going on space the first of the year. Our rule +is a year on salary before space. But we felt that it was about time to +strengthen the rule by making an exception." + +Howard stammered thanks and went away. This piece of news, dropped +apparently so carelessly by Mr. King, meant a revolution in fortune for +him. It was the transition from close calculation on twenty-five dollars +a week to wealth beyond his most fanciful dreams of six months ago. Not +having the money-getting instinct and being one of those who compare +their work with the best instead of with the inferior, Howard never felt +that he was "entitled to a living." He had a lively sense of gratitude +for the money return for his services which prudence presently taught +him to conceal. + +"Space" meant to him eighty dollars a week at least--circumstances of +ease. So vast a sum did it seem that he began to consider the problem of +investment. "I have been not badly off on twenty-five dollars a week," +he thought. "With, well, say forty dollars a week I shall be able to +satisfy all my wants. I can save at least forty a week and that will +mean an independence with a small income by the time I am thirty-four." + +But--a year after he was put "on space" he was still just about even +with his debts. He seemed to himself to be living no better and it +was only by careful counting-up that he could see how that dream of +independence had eluded him. A more extensive wardrobe, a little better +food, a more comfortable suite of rooms, an occasional dinner to some +friends, loans to broken-down reporters, and the mysteriously vanished +two thousand dollars was accounted for. + +Howard tried to retrench, devised small ingenious schemes for saving +money, lectured himself severely and frequently for thus trifling away +his chance to be a free man. But all in vain. He remained poor; and, +whenever he gave the matter thought, which was not often, gloomy +forebodings as to the future oppressed him. "I shall find myself old," +he thought, "with nothing accomplished, with nothing laid by. I shall +be an old drudge." He understood the pessimistic tone of his profession. +All about him were men like himself--leading this gambler's life of +feverish excitement and evanescent achievement, earning comfortable +incomes and saving nothing, looking forward to the inevitable time of +failing freshness and shattered nerves and declining income. + +He spasmodically tried to write stories for the magazines, contrived +plots for novels and plays, wrote first chapters, first scenes of +first acts. But the exactions of newspaper life, the impossibility of +continuous effort at any one piece of work and his natural inertia--he +was inert but neither idle nor lazy--combined to make futile his efforts +to emancipate himself from hand-to-mouth journalism. + +He had been four years a reporter and was almost twenty-six years old. +He was known throughout his profession in New York, although he had +never signed an article. One remarkable "human interest" story after +another had forced the knowledge of his abilities upon the reporters and +editors of other newspapers. And he was spoken of as one of the best and +in some respects the best "all round reporter" in the city. This meant +that he was capable to any emergency--that, whatever the subject, he +could write an accurate, graphic, consecutive and sustained story and +could get it into the editor's hands quickly. + +Indeed he possessed facility to the perilous degree. What others +achieved only after long toil, he achieved without effort. This was +due chiefly to the fact that he never relaxed but was at all times +the journalist, reading voraciously newspapers, magazines and the best +books, and using what he read; observing constantly and ever trying to +see something that would make "good copy"; turning over phrases in his +mind to test the value of words both as to sound and as to meaning. +He was an incessantly active man. His great weakness was the common +weakness--failure to concentrate. In Park Row they regarded him as a +brilliant success. Brilliant he was. But a success he was not. He knew +that he was a brilliant failure--and not very brilliant. + +"Why is it?" he asked himself again and again in periods of reaction +from the nervous strain of some exciting experience. "Shall I never +seize any of these chances that are always thrusting themselves at +me? Shall I always act like a Neapolitan beggar? Will the stimulus to +ambition never come?" + + + + + +IV. + +IN THE EDGE OF BOHEMIA. + + +Howard lived in Washington Square, South. He had gone to a +"furnished-room house" there because it was cheap. He staid because he +was comfortable and was without a motive for moving. + +It was the centre of the most varied life in New York. To the north lay +fashion and wealth, to the east and west, respectability and moderate +means; to the south, poverty and squalor, vice and crime. All could be +seen and heard from the windows of his sitting room. In the evenings +toward spring he looked out upon a panorama of the human race such as +is presented by no other city in the world and by no other part of +that city. Within view were Americans of all kinds, French and Germans, +Italians and Austrians, Spaniards and Moors, Scandinavians and +negroes, born New Yorkers and born citizens of most of the capitals of +civilisation and semi-barbarism. There were actresses, dancers, shop +girls, cocottes; touts, thieves, confidence-men, mission workers; +artists and students from the musty University building, tramps and +drunkards from the "barrel-houses" and "stale-beer shops;" and, across +the square to the north, representatives of New York's oldest and most +noted families. To the west were apartment houses whence stiff, prim +bookkeepers, floor-walkers, clerks and small shop-keepers issued with +their families on Sundays, bound for church. There were other apartment +houses--the most of them to the south--whence in the midnight hours +came slattern servants and reckless looking girls in loose wrappers and +high-heeled slippers, pitcher in hand, bound for the nearest saloon. + +After dusk from early spring until late fall a multitude of interesting +sounds mingled with the roar of the elevated trains to the west and +south and the rumble of carriages in "the Avenue" to the north. Howard, +reading or writing at his window on his leisure days, heard the young +men and young women laughing and shouting and making love under the +trees where the Washington Arch glistened in the twilight. Later came +the songs--"I want you, my honey, yes I do," or "Lu, Lu, how I love my +Lu!", or some other of the current concert-hall jingles. Many figures +could be seen flitting about in the shadows. Usually these figures were +in pairs; usually one was in white; usually at her waist-line there was +a black belt that continued on until it was lost in the other and darker +figure. + +Scraps of a score of languages--curses, jests, terms of +endearment--would float up to him. Then came the hours of comparative +silence, with the city breathing softly and regularly, with the moon +hanging low and the pale arch rising above the dark trees like a giant +ghost. There would be an occasional drunken shout or shriek; a riotous +roar of song from some staggering reveller making company for himself on +the journey home; the heavy step of the policeman. Or perhaps the only +sound to disturb the city's sleep would be that soft tread, timid as +a mouse's, stealthy as a jackal's--the tread of a lonely woman with +draggled silk skirt and painted cheeks and eyes burning into the +darkness, and a heart as bitter and as sad as no money, no home, no +friends, no hope can make it. + +Once he threw a silver dollar from his window to the sidewalk well in +front of her. She did not see it flash downward but she heard it ring +upon the walk. She rushed forward and twice kicked it away from her in +her frenzy to get it. When her bare hand--or was it a claw?--at last +closed upon it, she gave a low scream, looked slyly and fearfully about, +then ran as if death were at her heels. + +Soon after Howard was put "on space" he took the best suite of rooms in +the house. It was a strange company which Mrs. Sands had gathered under +her roof. Except Howard there was no one, not even Mrs. Sands herself, +who did not have so much past that there was little left for future. +Indeed, perhaps none of these storm-tossed or wrecked human craft +had had more of a past than Mrs. Sands. There was no mistaking the +significance of those deep furrows filled with powder and plastered with +paint, those few hairs tinted and frizzed. But like all persons with +real pasts Mrs. Sands and her lodgers kept the veil tightly drawn. They +confessed to no yesterdays and they did not dare think of to-morrow. +They were incuriously awaiting the impulse which was sure to come, sure +to thrust them on downward. + +A new lodger at Mrs. Sand's usually took the best rooms that were to be +had. Then, sometimes slowly, sometimes swiftly, came the retreat upward +until a cubby-hole under the eaves was reached. Finally came precipitate +and baggageless departure, often with a week or two of lodging unpaid. +The next pause, if pause there was, would be still nearer the river-bed +or the Morgue. + +One morning when he had been living in Washington Square, South, +about--three years, Howard was dressing hurriedly, the door of his +sitting-room accidentally ajar. Through the crack he saw some one +stooping over the serving tray which he had himself put outside his +door when he had finished breakfast. He looked more closely. It was +"the clergyman" from up under the eaves--an unfrocked priest, thin to +emaciation, misery written upon his face even more deeply than weakness. +He hastily bundled the bones of two chops and a bit of bread into a +stained and torn handkerchief, and sprang away up the stairs toward his +little hole at the roof. + +Howard was in a hurry and so put off for the time action upon the +natural impulse. When he came back at midnight, there was soon a knock +at his door. He opened it and invited in the man at the threshold--a +tall, strongly built, erect German, with a dissipated handsome face, +heavily scarred from university duels. + +"Pardon me for disturbing you," said the German. His speech, his tone, +his manner, left no doubt as to his breeding though they raised the +gravest doubts as to his being willing to give a true account of why he +had become a tenant in that lodging house. + +"Will you have a cigarette and some whiskey?" inquired Howard. + +The German's glance lit and lingered upon the bottle of Scotch on the +table. "Concentrated, double-distilled friendship," said he as he poured +out his drink. + +"But a friend that drives all others away," smiled Howard. + +"I have found it of a very jealous disposition," replied the German with +a careless shrug of the shoulders and a lifting of the eyebrows. "But at +least this friend has the grace to stay after it has driven the others +away." + +"To stay until the last piece of silver is gone." + +"But what more does one expect of a friend? Besides, we are overlooking +one friend--the one who helped our clerical fellow-lodger of the attic +out of his troubles to-day." + +"His luck has turned?" + +"Permanently. He shot himself this afternoon." + +"And only this morning I made up my mind to try to help him," said +Howard regretfully. + +"You could not have hoped to succeed so well. His case needed something +more than temporary expedient. But, to come to the point, I had a slight +acquaintance with him. He left a note for me--mailed it just before he +shot himself. In it he asked that I insert a personal in the Herald. +Unfortunately I have not the money. I thought that you as a journalist +might be able to suggest something." + +The German held out a slip of cheap writing paper on which was written: +"Helen--when you see this it will be over--L." + +"A good story," was Howard's first thought, his news-instinct alert. And +then he remembered that it was not for him to tell. "I will attend to +this for you to-morrow." + +"Thank you," said the German, helping himself to the whiskey. "Have you +seen the new lodgers?" + +"Those in the room behind me? Yes. I saw them at the front door as I +came in." + +"They're a queer pair--the youngest I've seen in this house. I've been +wondering what tempest wrecked them on this forlorn coast so early in +the voyage." + +"Why wrecked?" + +"My dear sir, we are all--except you--wrecks here, all unseaworthy at +least." + +"One of them was quite pretty, I thought," said Howard, "the slender one +with the black hair." + +"They are not mates. The other girl is of a different sort. She's more +used to this kind of life, at least to poverty. I fancy Miss Black-Hair +looks on it as a lark. But she'll find out the truth by the time she has +mounted another story." + +"Here, to go up means to go down," Howard said, weary of the +conversation and wishing that the German would leave. + +"They say that they're sisters," the German went on, again helping +himself to the whiskey; "They say they have run away from home because +of a stepmother and that they are going to earn their own living. But +they won't. They spend the nights racing about with a gang of the young +wretches of this neighbourhood. They won't be able to stand getting up +early for work. And then----" + +The German blew out a huge cloud of cigarette smoke, shrugged his +shoulders and added: "Miss Black-Hair may get on up town presently. But +I doubt it. The Tenderloin rarely recruits from down here." + +The bottle was empty and the German bowed himself out. As the night was +hot, Howard opened the door a few moments afterward. At the other end of +the short hall light was streaming through the open door of the room the +two girls had taken. Before he could turn, there was a shadow and "Miss +Black-Hair" was standing in her doorway: + +"Oh," she began, "I thought----" + +Howard paused, looking at her. She was above the medium height--tall +for a woman--and slender. Her loose wrapper, a little open at her round +throat, clung to her, attracting attention to all the lines of her form. +Her hair was indeed black, jet black, waving back from her forehead in a +line of curving and beautiful irregularity. Her skin was clear and dark. +There were deep circles under her eyes, making them look unnaturally +large, pathetically weary. In repose her face was childish and sadly +serious. When she smiled she looked older and pert, but no happier. + +"I thought," she continued with the pert, self-confident smile, "that +you were my sister Nellie. I'm waiting for her." + +"You're in early tonight," said Howard, the circles under her eyes +reminding him of what the German had told him. + +"I haven't slept much for a week," the girl replied, "I'm nearly dead. +But I won't go to bed till Nellie comes." + +Howard was about to turn when she went on: "We agreed always to stay +together. She broke it tonight. My fellow got too fresh, so I came home. +She said she'd come too. That was an hour ago and she isn't here yet." + +"Isn't she rather young to be out alone at this time?" + +Howard could hardly have told why he continued the conversation. He +certainly would not, had she been less beautiful or less lonely and +childish. At his remark about her sister's youth she laughed with an +expression of cunning at once amusing and pitiful. + +"She's a year older than me," she said, "and I guess I can take care of +myself. Still she hasn't much sense. She'll get into trouble yet. She +doesn't understand how to manage the boys when they're too fresh." + +"But you do, I suppose?" suggested Howard. + +"Indeed I do," with a quick nod of her small graceful head, "I know what +I'm about. _My_ mother taught _me_ a few things." + +"Didn't she teach your sister also?" + +"Miss Black-Hair" dropped her eyes and flushed a little, looking like a +child caught in a lie. "Of course," she said after a pause. + +"How long have you been without your mother?" + +"I've been away from home four months. But I saw her in the street +yesterday. She didn't see me though." + +"Then you've got a step-father?" + +"No, I haven't. Nellie told that to Mrs. Sands. But it's not so. You +know Nellie's not my sister?" + +"I fancied not from what you said a moment ago." + +"No, she used to be nurse girl in our family. We just say we're sisters. +I wish she'd come. I'm tired of standing. Won't you come in?" + +She went into her room, her manner a frank and simple invitation. Howard +hesitated, then went just inside the door and half sat, half leaned upon +the high roll of the lounge. The room was cheaply furnished, the lounge +and a closed folding bed almost filling it. Upon the mantel, the bureau +and the little table were a few odds and ends that stamped it a woman's +room. A street gown of thin pale-blue cloth was thrown over a rocking +chair. As the girl leaned back in this chair with her face framed in the +pale-blue of the gown, she looked tired and sad and beautiful and very +young. + +"If Nellie doesn't look out, I'll go away and live alone," she said, and +the accompanying unconscious look of loneliness touched Howard. + +"You might go back home." + +"You don't know my home or you wouldn't say that. You don't know my +father." She had got upon the subject of herself, and, once in that road +she kept it with no thought of turning out. "He can't treat me as he +treats mother. Why, he goes away and stays for days. Then he comes home +and quarrels with her all the time. They never both sit through a meal. +One or the other flares up and leaves. He generally whipped me when he +got very mad--just for spite." + +"But there's your mother." + +"Yes. She doesn't like my going away. But I can't stand it. Papa +wouldn't let me go anywhere or let anybody come to see me. He says +everybody's bad. I guess he's about right. Only he doesn't include +himself." + +"You seem to have a poor opinion of people." + +"Well, you can't blame me." She put on her wise look of experience and +craft. "I've been away, living with Nellie for four months and I've seen +no good to speak of. A girl doesn't get a fair chance." + +"But you've got work?" + +"Oh, yes. We both stayed down in a restaurant, Nellie's got a place as +waiter. That's the best she could do. The man said I was good-looking +and would catch trade. So he made me cashier. I get six dollars a week +to Nellie's three. But it's a bad place. The men are always slipping +notes in my hand when they give me their checks. Then the boss, he's +always bothering around." + +"But you don't have to work hard?" + +"From nine till four. We get our lunch free. I pay three dollars on the +room and Nellie pays one." + +If Howard had not seen many such problems in economics before, he would +have been astonished at any one even hoping to be able to get two meals +a day, clothing and carfare out of two or three dollars a week. As it +was, he only wondered how long a girl who had been used at least to +comfort would endure this. "It's easy for the other girl," he thought, +"because she's used to it. But this one--" and he decided that the +"trouble" would begin as soon as her clothing was worn out. + +He noticed that she was pulling at the third finger of her right hand +where she would have worn rings if she had had any. "You've had to pawn +your rings?" he ventured. + +She looked at him startled. "Did Nellie tell you?" she asked. + +"No," he replied, "I saw that you were missing your rings and suspected +the rest." + +"Yes; that's so. I've pawned all my jewelry except a bracelet. Nellie +can't get along on her three dollars. She eats too much." + +"I should think you'd rather be at home." + +"As I told you before," she said impatiently, "anything's better than +home. Besides, I'm pretty well off. I go where I please, stay out as +late as I please and have all the company I want. At home I'd have to be +in bed at ten o'clock." + +There was a sound at the front door down in the darkness. The girl +started from the chair, listened, then exclaimed: "There she comes now. +And it's two o'clock!" + +Howard took the hint, smiled and said: "Well, good-night. I'll see you +again." + +"Good-night," the girl answered absently. + +From his room Howard heard Nellie coming up the stairs. "You're a nice +one!" came in "Miss Black-Hair's" indignant voice, "Where have you been? +Where did you and Jack go?" + +The answer came in a sob--"Oh, Alice, you'll never forgive me!" + +Their door closed upon the two girls but Howard could still hear +Nellie's voice tearful, pleading. There was the sound of some one +falling heavily upon the lounge, then sobs and cries of "Oh! Oh!" +As Howard went into his bedroom, he could hear the voices still more +plainly through the thin wall. He caught the words only once. "Miss +Black-Hair," her voice shaking with anger, exclaimed: "Nellie Baker, you +are a wicked girl, I shall go away." + + + + +V. + +ALICE. + +Several nights later Howard came upon Alice at the front door, where a +young man was detaining her in a lingering good-bye. Another night as +he was passing her room he saw her stretched upon the floor, her head +supported by her elbows and an open book in front of her. She looked so +childlike that Howard paused and said: "What is it--a fairy story?" + +"No, it's a love story," she replied, just glancing at him with a faint +smile and showing that she did not wish to be interrupted. The same +night as he was going to bed he heard the angry voices of the two girls. +A week later, toward the end of July, he found Alice sitting on the +front stoop, when he came from dinner. She was obviously in the depths +of the "blues." Her eyes, the droop of the corners of her mouth, even +the colour of her skin indicated anxiety and depression. She looked so +forlorn that he said gently: "Wouldn't you like to walk in the Square?" + +She rose at once. "Yes, I guess so." They crossed to the green. She was +wearing the pale-blue gown and it fitted her well. Neither in the gown +nor in the big hat with its coquettish flowers nodding over the brim was +there much of fashion. But there was a certain distinction in her +walk and her manner of wearing her clothes; and to a pretty face and a +graceful form was added the charm of youth, magnetic youth. + +"Do you want to walk?" she asked, lassitude in her voice. + +"No, let us sit," he said, and they went to a bench near the arch. It +was twilight. The children were still romping and shouting. Many fat +elderly women--mothers and grandmothers--were solemnly marching about, +talking in fat, elderly voices. + +"You have the blues?" asked Howard, thinking it might make her feel +better to talk of her troubles. "If I were your doctor, I should +prescribe a series of good cries." + +"I don't cry," said the girl. "Sometimes I wish I could. Nellie cries +and gets over things. I feel awful inside and sick and my eyes burn. But +I can't cry." + +"You're too young for that." + +"Oh, in some ways I'm young; again, I'm not. I hate everybody this +evening." + +"What's the matter? Has Nellie deserted you?" + +"She? Not much. I had to tell her to go"--this with a joyless little +laugh--"she quit work and wouldn't behave herself. So now I'm going on +alone." + +"And you won't go home?" + +"Never in the world," she said with almost fierce energy; then some +thought made her laugh in the same way as before. Howard decided that +she had not told him everything about her home life, even though she had +rattled on as if there were nothing to conceal. He sat watching her, she +looking straight before her, her small bare hands clasped in her lap. +He was pitying her keenly--this child, at once stunted and abnormally +developed, this stray from one of the classes that keeps their women +sheltered; and here she was adrift, without any of those resources of +experience which assist the girls of the tenements. + +Her features were small, sensitive, regular. Her eyes were brown with +lines of reddish gold raying from the pupils. Her chin and mouth were +firm enough, yet suggested weakness through the passions. Her clear +skin had the glow of youth and health upon its smooth surface. She was +certainly beautiful and she certainly had magnetism. + +"What do you think is going to become of you?" he asked. + +"I don't know," she said, after a deep sigh. "A girl doesn't have a fair +chance. I don't seem to be able to have any fun without getting into +trouble. I don't know what to think. It's all so black. I wish I was +dead." + +Her dreary tone put the deepest pathos into her words. Howard had seen +despondency in youth before--had felt it himself. But there had always +been a certain lightness in it. Here was a mere child who evidently +thought, and thought with reason, that there was no hope for her; and +her despair was not a passing cloud or storm, but a settled conviction. + +"There doesn't seem to be any chance for a young girl," she repeated +as if that phrase summed up all that was weighing upon her. And Howard +feared that she, was right. Even the readiest of all commodities, +advice, failed him. "What can she do?" he thought. "If she has no home, +worth speaking of"--then he went on aloud: + +"Haven't you friends?" + +She laughed again with that slight moving of the lips and with eyes +mirthless. "Who wants me for a friend? Nobody'd think I was respectable. +And I guess I'm not so very. There's Nellie and her--friends. Oh, the +girls join in with the men to drag other girls down. But I won't do +that. I don't care what becomes of me--except that." + +"Why?" he asked, curious for her explanation of this aversion. + +"I don't know why," she replied. "There doesn't seem to be any good +reason. I've thought I would several times. And then--well, I just +couldn't." + +Howard turned the subject and tried to draw her out of this mood. They +sat there for several hours and became well acquainted. He found that +she had an intelligent way of looking at things, that she observed +closely, and that she appreciated and understood far more than he had +expected. + +It was the beginning of a series of evenings spent together. He took her +with him on many of his assignments and they often dined together at +"Le Chat Noir" or the "Restaurant de Paris," or "The Manhattan" over +in Second Avenue. Late in June she bought a new gown--a pale-grey with +ribbons and hat to match. Howard was amused at the anxious expression +in her gold-brown eyes as she waited for his opinion. And when he said: +"Well, well, I never saw you look so pretty," she looked much prettier +with a slight colour rising to tint the usual pallor of her cheeks. + +One Sunday he came home in the afternoon and found her helping the maid +at straightening his rooms. As he lay on the lounge smoking he watched +her lazily. She handled his books with a great deal of awe. She opened +one of them and sat on the floor in the childlike way she often had. She +read several sentences aloud. It was a tangle of technical words on the +subject of political economy. + +"What do you have such stupid things around for?" she said, smiling and +rising. She began to arrange the books and papers on the table. He was +looking at her but thinking of something else when he became conscious +that she had got suddenly white to the lips. He jumped to his feet. + +"What's the matter?" he asked, "are you going to faint?" + +Her eyes were shining as with fever out of a ghostly face. Her lips +trembled as she answered: "Oh it's nothing. I do this often." She went +slowly into the back room where the maid was. In a few minutes she +returned, apparently as usual. She flitted about uneasily, taking up now +one thing, now another in a purposeless, nervous way. + +"I never was in here before," she said. "You've got lots of pretty +things. Whose picture is this?" + +"That? Oh, my sister-in-law out in Chicago." + +Howard did not then understand why she became so gay, why her eyes +danced with happiness, why as soon as she went into the hall she began +to sing and kept it up in her own room, quieting down only to burst +forth again. He did not even especially note the swift change, the, for +her, extraordinary mood of high spirits. It was about this time that +their relations began to change. + +Howard had thought of her, or had thought that he thought of her, only +as a lonely and desolate child, to be taught so far as he was capable of +teaching and she of learning. He was conscious of her extreme youth and +of the impassable gulf of thought and taste between them. He did not +take her feelings into account at all. It never occurred to him that +this part of friend and patron which he was playing was not safe for +him, not just and right toward her. + +One night he took her to a ball at the Terrace Garden--a +respectable, amusing affair "under the auspices of the +Young-German-American-Shooting-Society." The next day a reporter for the +_Sun_ whom he knew slightly said to him with a grin he did not like: +"Mighty pretty little girl you're taking about with you, Howard. Where'd +you pick her up?" + +Howard reddened, angry with himself for reddening, angry with the _Sun_ +man for his impudence, ashamed that he had put himself and Alice in such +a position. But the incident brought the matter of his relation with her +sharply and clearly before his mind and conscience. + +"This must stop," he said to himself; "it must stop at once. It is +unjust to her. And it is dragging me into an entanglement." + +But the mischief had been done. She loved him. And with the confidence +of youth and inexperience, she was disregarding all the obstacles, +was giving herself up to the dream that he would presently love her in +return, with the end as in the story books. Indeed love stories became +her constant companions. Where she once read them for amusement, she now +read them as a Christian reads his Bible--for instruction, inspiration, +faith, hope and courage. + +One evening in July--it was in the week of Independence Day--Howard's +windows and door were thrown wide to get the full benefit of whatever +stir there might be in the air. He was sprawled upon the lounge, the +table drawn close and upon it a lamp shedding a dim light through the +room but enough near by to let him read. He had dropped his book and was +thinking whether a stroll in the Square in the moonlight would repay the +trouble of moving. There were steps in the hall and then, peeping round +the door-frame was the face of his young neighbour. + +"Hello," he said, "I thought you were out somewhere. Come in." + +"No, I'm going to bed," she answered, nevertheless gradually edging into +the room. She was wearing a loose wrapper of flowered silk, somewhat +worn and never very fine. Her black hair hung in a long thick braid to +her waist and she looked even younger than usual. + +"Where have you been all evening?" asked Howard. + + +"Oh, I've been up to see a friend. She lives in Harlem, and she wants me +to come and live with her." + +"Are you going?" Howard inquired, noting that he was interested and not +pleased. "The house wouldn't seem natural without you." + +She gave him a quick, gratified glance and, advancing further into the +room, sat upon the arm of the big rocking-chair. "She gave me a good +talking to," she went on with a smile. "She told me I ought not to live +alone at my age. She said I ought to live with her and meet some friends +of hers. She said maybe I'd find a nice fellow to marry." + +Howard thought over this as he smoked and at last said in an +ostentatiously judicial tone: "Well, I think she's right. I don't see +what else there is to do. You can't live on down here alone always. +What's become of Nellie?" + +"Nellie's got to be a bad girl," said Alice with a blush and a dropping +of the eyes. "She's in Fourteenth Street every night. She says she +doesn't care what happens to her. I saw her last night and she wanted +me to come with her. She says it's of no use for me to put on airs. She +says I've got no friends and I might as well join her sooner as later." + +"Well?" Howard was keeping his eyes carefully away from hers. + +"Oh, I sha'n't go with her. As long as a girl has got anything at all +to live for, she doesn't want that. Besides I'd rather go to the East +River." + +"Drowning's a serious matter," said Howard with a smile and with banter +in his tone. + +"Yes, it is," said the girl seriously, "I've thought of it. And I don't +believe I could." + +"Then you'd better go with your friend and get married." + +"I don't want to get married," she replied, shaking her head slowly from +side to side. + +"That's what all the girls say," laughed Howard. "But of course you +will. It's the only thing to do." + +"Then why don't you get married?" asked Alice, tracing one of the +flowers in her wrapper with her slim, brown forefinger. + +"I couldn't if I would and I wouldn't if I could." + +"Oh, you could get a nice girl to marry you, I'm sure," she said, the +colour rising faintly toward her long, downcast lashes. + +"But who would get the money? It takes money to keep a nice girl." + +"Oh, not much," said Alice earnestly, yet with a queer hesitation in her +voice. "You oughtn't to marry those extravagant girls. I've read about +them and I think they don't make very good wives, real wives to save +money and--and care." + +"You seem to know a good deal about these things for your age," said +Howard, much amused and showing it. + +"I don't care," she persisted, "you ought to get married." + +Howard felt that this was the time to clear the girl's mind of any +"notions" she might have got. He would be very clever, very adroit. He +would not let her suspect that he had any idea of her thoughts. Indeed +he was not perfectly certain that he had. But he would gently and +frankly tell her the truth. + +"I shall never get married," he said, sitting up and talking as one who +is discussing a case which he understands thoroughly yet has no personal +interest in. "I haven't the money and I haven't the desire. I am what +they would call a confirmed bachelor. I wouldn't marry any girl who +had not been brought up as I have been. We should be unhappy together +unsuited each to the other. She would soon hate me. Besides, I wish to +be free. I care more for freedom than I ever shall for any human being. +As I am now, so I shall always be, a wandering fellow without ties. It +is not a pleasant prospect for old age. But I have made up my mind to it +and I shall never marry." + +The girl's hands had dropped limp into her lap; her face was down so +that he could barely see the burning blush which overspread it. + +"You don't mean that," she said in a voice that was queer and choked. + +"Oh yes, I do, little girl," he answered, intending to smile when she +should look up. + +When she did lift her eyes, his smile could not come. For her face was +grey and her lips bloodless and from her eyes looked despair. Howard +glanced away instantly. With rude hand he had suddenly toppled into +the dust this child's dream-castle of love and happiness which he had +himself helped her build. He felt like a criminal. But partly from a +sense of duty, chiefly from the cowardice of self-preservation, he made +no effort to lighten her suffering. + +"I should only prolong it," he thought, "only make matters worse. +To-morrow--perhaps." + +If she had been worldly wise, even if she had not been so completely +absorbed in her worship of him that her woman-instincts were dormant, +she would herself have found hope. But she had not a suspicion that +these strong words of apparent finality were spoken to give himself +courage, to keep him from obeying the impulse to respond to the appeal +of her youth to his, her aloneness to his, her passion to his. She +believed him literally. + +There was a long silence. He heard her move, heard a suppressed cry and +glanced toward her again. She was darting from the room. A second later +her door crashed. He started up and after her, hesitated, returned to +his book--but not to his reading. + +Toward noon the next day, he passed her room on his way out. The +door was wide open; none of her belongings was in sight; the maid was +sweeping energetically. She paused when she saw him. + +"Miss Alice left this morning," she said, "and the room's been let to +another party." + + + + + +VI. + +IN A BOHEMIAN QUICKSAND. + + +Howard could have got her new address; and for many weeks habit, at +first steadily, afterward intermittently, teased him to look her up. +He was amazed at her hold upon him. At times the longing for her was so +intense that he almost suspected himself of being in love with her. + +"I escaped from that none too soon," he congratulated himself. "It +wasn't nearly so one-sided as I thought." + +He had never been gregarious. Thus far he had not had a single intimate +friend, man or woman. He knew many people and knew them well. They liked +him and some of them sought his friendship. These were often puzzled +because it was easy to get acquainted with him, impossible to know him +intimately. + +The explanation of this combination of openness and reserve, +friendliness and unapproachableness, was that his boyhood and youth had +been spent wholly among books. That life had trained him not to look to +others for amusement, sympathy or counsel, but to depend upon himself. +As his temperament was open and good-natured and sympathetic, he was as +free from enemies and enmities as he was from friends and friendships. + +Women there had been--several women, a succession of idealizations which +had dispersed in the strong light of his common sense. He had never +disturbed himself about morals in what he regarded as the limited sense. +He always insisted that he was free; and he was careful only of his +personal pride and of taking no advantage of another. What he had said +to Alice about marriage was true--as to his intentions, at least. A poor +woman, he felt, he could not marry; a rich woman, he felt, he would not +marry. And he cared nothing about marriage because he was never lonely, +never leaned or wished to lean upon another, abhorred the idea of +any one leaning upon him; because he regarded freedom as the very +corner-stone of his scheme of life. + +The nearest he had come to companionship was with Alice. With the other +women whom he had known in various degrees from warmth to white-heat, +there had been interruptions, no such constant freedom of access, no +such intermingling of daily life. Her he had seen at all hours and in +all circumstances. She never disturbed him but was ready to talk when +he wished to listen, listened eagerly when he talked, and was silent +and beautiful and restful to look at when he wished to indulge in the +dissipation of mental laziness. + +As she loved him, she showed him only the best that there was in her and +showed it in the most attractive of all lights. + +While he was still wavering or fancying that he was wavering, the +Managing Editor sent him to "do" a great strike-riot in the coal regions +of Pennsylvania. He was there for three weeks, active day and night, +interested in the new phases of life--the mines and the miners, the +display of fierce passions, the excitement, the peril. + +When he returned to New York, Alice had ceased to tempt him. + + * * * * * + +One midnight in the early spring he was in his sitting room, reading +and a little bored. There came a knock at the door. He hoped that it was +some one bringing something interesting or coming to propose a search +for something interesting. "Come in," he said with welcome in his voice. +The door opened. It was Alice. + +She was dressed much as she had been the first time he talked with +her--a loose, clinging wrapper open at the throat. There was a change +in her face--a change for the better but also for the worse. She looked +more intelligent, more of a woman. There was more sparkle in her eyes +and in her smile. But--Howard saw instantly the price she had paid. As +the German had suggested, she had "got on up town." + +She was pulling at the long broad blue ribbons of her negligee. Her +hands were whiter and her pink finger nails had had careful attention. +She smiled, enjoying his astonishment. "I have come back," she said. + +Howard came forward and took her hand. "I'm glad, very glad to see you. +For a minute I thought I was dreaming." + +"Yes," she went on, "I'm in my old room. I came this afternoon. I must +have been asleep, for I didn't hear you come in." + +"I hope it isn't bad luck that has flung you back here." + +"Oh, no. I've been doing very well. I've been saving up to come. And +when I had enough to last me through the summer, I--I came." + +"You've been at work?" + +She dropped her eyes and flushed. And her fingers played more nervously +with her ribbons. + +"You needn't treat me as a child any longer," she said at last in a low +voice; "I'm eighteen now and--well, I'm not a child." + +Again there was a long pause. Howard, watching her downcast face, saw +her steadying her expression to meet his eyes. When she looked, it was +straight at him--appeal but also defiance. + +"I don't ask anything of you," she said, "we are both free. And I +wanted to see you. I was sick of all those others--up there. I've +never had--had--this out of my mind. And I've come. And I can see you +sometimes. I won't be in the way." + +Howard went over to the window and stared out into the lights and +shadows of the leafy Square. When he turned again she had lighted and +was smoking one of his cigarettes. + +"Well," he said smiling down at her, "Why not? Put on a street gown and +we'll go out and get supper and talk it over." + +She sprang up, her face alight. She was almost running toward the door. +Midway she stopped, turned and came slowly back. She put one of her arms +upon his shoulder--a slender, cool, smooth, white arm with the lace of +the wide sleeve slipping away from it. She turned her face up until her +mouth, like a rosebud, was very near his lips. There was appeal in her +eyes. + +"I'm very, very glad to see you," Howard said as he kissed her. + + * * * * * + +And so Howard's life was determined for the next four years. + +He worked well at his profession. He read a great deal. He wrote fiction +and essays in desultory fashion and got a few things printed in the +magazines. He led a life that was a model of regularity. But he knew the +truth--that Alice had ended his career. + +He was content. Ambition had always been vague with him and now his +habit of following the line of least resistance had drifted him +into this mill-pond. Sometimes, he would give himself up to +bitter self-reproach, disgusted that he should be so satisfied, so +non-resisting in a lot in every way the reverse of that which he had +marked out for himself. If he had been chained he might, probably would, +have broken away. But Alice never attempted to control him. His will +was her law. She was especially shrewd about money matters, so often the +source of disputes and estrangements. Two months after she reappeared, +she proposed that they take an apartment together. + +"I saw one to-day in West Twelfth Street at seventy dollars a month," +she said, "and I'm sure I could manage it so that you would be much +better off than you are now." + +He viewed this plan with suspicion. It definitely committed him to a +mode of life which he had always regarded as degrading both to the man +and the woman and as certain of a calamitous ending. So he made excuses +for delay, fully intending never to yield. But although Alice did not +speak of her plan again, he found himself more and more attracted by it, +caught himself speculating about various apartments he happened to see +as he went about the streets. She must have been conscious of what was +going on in his mind; for when, a month after she had spoken, he said +abruptly: "Where was that apartment you saw?" she went straight on +discussing the details as if there had been no interval. She was ready +to act. + +The apartment was taken in her name--Mrs. Cammack, the "Mrs." being +necessary to account for him. They selected the furniture together, he +as interested as she and very pleased to find that she had the same good +taste in those matters that she had in dress. She took all the troubles +and annoyances upon herself. When she invited him to assist in the +arrangement, it was in matters that amused him and at times when she was +sure he had nothing else to do. It is not strange that he got a wholly +false idea of the difficulties of setting up an establishment. + +After a month of selecting and discussing, of pleasure in the new +experience, pleasure in Alice's enthusiasm and excitement and happiness, +he found himself master of five attractive and comfortable rooms, his +clothing, his books, all his belongings properly arranged. The door was +opened for him by a cleanlooking coloured maid, with a tiny white cap on +her head. + +As he looked around and then at the beautiful face with the wistful, +gold-brown eyes so anxiously following his wandering glance, he was very +near to loving her. Indeed, he was like a husband who has left out that +period of passionate love which extends into married life until it gives +place to boredom, or to dislike, or to some such sympathetic affection +as he felt for Alice. "It is just this that holds me," he thought, in +his infrequent moods of dissatisfaction. "If we quarrelled or if there +were any deep feeling on my side, I should not be in this mess. I should +be"--Well, where would he be? "Probably worse off," he usually added. + +Certainly he could not have been freer, for she never questioned +him; and, if she was ever uneasy or jealous when he came in late--for +him--without telling her where he had been, she never showed it. She had +no friends, and he often wondered how she passed the time when he was +not with her. Whenever he inquired he got the same answer: She had been +busying herself with their home; she had been planning to save money or +to make him more comfortable; she had been reading to improve her mind +and to enable herself to start him talking on subjects that interested +him. + +No matter how unexpectedly he looked in upon her life or her mind, he +found--himself. + +One day she said to him--it was after two years of this life: "Something +is worrying you. Is it about me? You look at me so queerly at times." + +"Yes," he answered. "It is about you. Tell me, Miss Black-Hair, do you +never think of getting old?" + +"No," she smiled. "I shall wait until I am twenty-five before I begin to +think of that." + +"But don't you see that this sort of thing must stop sometime? It is +unjust to you. When I think of it, I reproach myself for permitting us +to get into it." + +"I am happy," she said, looking straight at him, terror in her eyes. + +"But you have no friends?" + +"Who has? And what do I want with friends?" + +"But don't you see, I can't introduce you to anybody. I can't talk about +you to the people I know. I am always having to explain you away, always +having to act as if I were ashamed of this, my real life. At times I am +Anglo-Saxon enough to be really ashamed of it. And I ought to be and am +ashamed of myself." + +"Don't let's talk about it. You and I understand. Why should we bother +about the rest of the world?" + +"No, we _must_ talk about it. I have been going over it carefully. We +must--must be married." + +He laid his hand upon hers. She blushed deeply and lowered her head. +A tear dropped upon the front of her gown and hung glittering in the +meshes of the white lace. She crept into his arms and buried her face +upon his shoulder and sobbed. He had never seen her even look like tears +before. + +"We must be married," he repeated, patting her on the shoulder. + +She shook her head in negation. + +"Yes," he said firmly, mentally noting that this was the very first time +he had ever caught her in a pretense. + +"No." Her tone was as firm as his. She lifted her head and put her +cheek against his. "It makes me very proud that you ask it. But--I--I do +not----" + +"Do not--what?" + +"I do not want--I will not--risk losing you." + +"But you won't lose me. You will have me more than ever." + +"Some men--yes. But not you." + +"And why not I, O Wisdom?" + +"Because--because--do you think I have watched you all this time, +without learning something about you? The way to keep you is to leave +you free. I do not want your name. I do not want your friends I do not +want to be respectable. I want--just you." + +"But are we not as good as married now?" + +"Yes--that's it. And I want it to keep on. I never cared for anybody +until I saw you. I shall never care for anybody else. I never shall try. +I want you as long as I can have you. And then----" + +"And then," Howard laughed or rather, pretended to laugh, "and then, +'Oh, dig me a grave both wide and deep, wide and deep.' How like +twenty-years-old that is." + +She seemed not to hear his jest and presently went on: "Do you remember +the evening before I left, down there at Mrs. Sands's?" + +"The night you proposed to me?" Howard said, pulling her ear. + +She smiled faintly and continued: "I thought it all out that night. I +intended to come back just as I did. I went deliberately. I----" + +Howard put his hand over her lips. + +"O, I am not going to tell anything,", said she, evading his fingers. +"Only this--that I understood you then, understood just why you +would never marry. Not so clearly as I understand it now, but still +I--understood. And you have been teaching me ever since, teaching me +manners, teaching me how to read and think and talk. And more than all, +you've taught me your way of looking at life." + +Howard held her away from him and studied her face, surprise in his +eyes. "Isn't it strange?" he said. + +"Here I've been seeing you day after day all this time, have had a +chance to know you better than I ever knew any one in my life, have had +you very near to me day and night. And just now, as I look at you, I see +the real you for the first time in two years." + +"I have been wondering when you would look at me again," said Alice with +a small, sly smile. + +"Why, you are a woman grown. Where is the little girl I knew, the little +girl who used to look up to me?" + +"Oh, she's gone these two years. She proposed to you and, when you +refused her, she--died." + +"Yes--we must be married," Howard went on. "Why not? It is more +convenient, let us say." + +Alice shook her head and put her cheek against his again and clasped his +fingers in hers. "No, my instinct is against it. Some day--perhaps. +But not now, not now. I want you. I want only you. We are together out +here--out beyond the pale. Inside, others would come in and--and surely +come between us. I want no others--none." + + + + + +VII. + +A LITTLE CANDLE GOES OUT. + + +Howard was now thirty years old. Park Row had long ceased talking of him +as a "coming man." While his style of writing was steadily improving, +he wrote with no fixed aim, wrote simply for the day, for the newspaper +which dies with the day of its date. Some of his acquaintances wondered +why a man of such ability should thus stand still. The less observant +spoke of him as an impressive example of the "journalistic blight." +Those who looked deeper saw the truth--a dangerous facility, a perilous +inertia, a fatal entanglement. Facility enabled him to earn a good +living with ease, working as he chose. Inertia prevented him from +seeking opportunities for advancement. Entanglement shut him off from +the men and women of his own kind who would have thrust opportunities +upon him and compelled him. + +Howard himself saw this clearly in his occasional moods of +self-criticism. But as he saw no remedy, he raged intermittently and +briefly, and straightway relapsed. Vanity supplied him with many +excuses and consolations. Was he not one of the best reporters in the +profession? Where was there another, where indeed in any profession were +there many of his age, making five thousand a year? Was he not always +improving his mind? Was he not more and more careful in his personal +habits? Was he not respected by all who knew him; looked upon as a +successful man; regarded by those with whom he came in daily contact as +a leader in the profession, a model for style, a marvel for facility and +versatility and for the quantity of good "copy" he could turn out in a +brief time? But with all the soothings of vanity he never could quite +hide from himself that his life was a failure up to that moment. + +"Why try to lie to myself?" he thought. "It's never a question of what +one has done but always of what one could have and should have done. +I am thirty and I have been marking time for at least four years. +Preparing by study and reading? Yes, but not preparing for anything." + +On the whole he was glad that Alice had refused to marry him. Her reason +was valid. But there was another which he thought she did not see. He +was deceived as to the depth of her insight because he did not watch her +closely. He had no suspicion how many, many times, in their moments +of demonstrativeness, she listened for those words which never came, +listened and turned away to hide from him the disappointment in her +eyes. + +He did not love her--and she knew it. She did not inspire ambition in +him--and she knew it. She simply kept him comfortable and contented. +She simply prevented his amatory instincts from gathering strength +vigorously to renew that search which men and women keep up incessantly +until they find what they seek. She knew this also but never permitted +herself to see it clearly. + +He was pleased with her but not proud of her. He was not exactly ashamed +of his relation with her but--well, he never relaxed his precautions for +keeping it conventionally concealed. He still had a room at his club +and occupied it occasionally. He laughed at himself, despised himself +in a--gentle, soothing way. But he excused himself to himself with +earnestness despite his sarcasms at his own expense. And for the most +of the time he was content--so well, so comfortably content that if his +mind had not been so nervously active he would have taken on the form +and look of settled middle-life. + +There was just the one saving quality--his mental alertness. All his +life he had had insatiable intellectual curiosity. It had kept him +from wasting his time at play when he was a boy. It had kept him from +plunging deeply into dissipation when youth was hot in his veins. It was +now keeping him from the sluggard's fate. + + * * * * * + +On the last day of January--six weeks after his thirtieth birthday--he +came home earlier than usual, as they were going to the theatre and were +to dine at seven. He found Alice in bed and the doctor sitting beside +her. + +"You'll have to get some one else to go with you, I'm afraid," she said +with good-humoured resignation, a trifle over-acted. "My cold is worse +and the doctor says I must stay in bed." + +"Nothing serious?" Howard asked anxiously, for her cheeks were flaming. + +"Oh, no. Just the cold. And I am taking care of myself." + +He accompanied the doctor to the door of the apartment. At the threshold +the doctor whispered: "Make some excuse and come to my office. I wish to +see you particularly." + +He grew pale. "Don't let her see," urged the doctor. He went back to +Alice, sick at heart. "I must go out and arrange for some one else to do +the play for me," he said. "I shall spend the evening with you." + +She protested, but faintly. He went to the doctor's office. + +"She must go south at once," he began, after looking at Howard steadily +and keenly. "Nothing can save her life. That may prolong it." + +Howard seemed not to understand. + +"She must go to-morrow or she'll be gone forever in ten days." + +"Impossible," Howard said in a dull, dazed tone. + +"At once, I tell you--at once." + +"Impossible," Howard repeated. He was saying to himself, "And only this +afternoon I wished I were free and wondered how I could free myself." He +laughed strangely. + +"Impossible," he said again. And again he laughed. The room swam around. +He stood up. "Impossible!" he said a fourth time, almost shouting it. +And he struck the doctor full in the face, reeled and fell headlong to +the floor. When he recovered consciousness he was lying on a lounge, the +doctor's assistant standing beside him. + +"I must go to her," he exclaimed and sat up. He saw the doctor a few +feet away, holding a cloth odorous of arnica to his cheek. Howard +remembered and began, "I beg your pardon,"--The doctor interrupted with: +"Not at all. I've had many queer experiences but never one like that." +But Howard had ceased to hear. He was staring vacantly at the floor, +repeating to himself, "And I wished to be free. And I am to be free." + +"You must go back to her. Take her south tomorrow. Asheville is the best +place." + +Howard was on his way to the door. "We shall go by the first train," he +said. + +"Pardon me for telling you so abruptly," said the doctor, following him. +"But I saw that you weren't--that is I couldn't help noticing that you +and she were--And usually the man in such cases--well, my sympathy is +for the woman." + +"Do you think a man voluntarily lives with a woman because he hates +her?" Howard asked, with an angry sneer. He bowed coldly and was gone. + +As he looked at Alice he saw that it was of no use to try to deceive +her. "We must go South in the morning," he almost whispered, taking her +hand and kissing it again and again, slowly and gently. + +The next day but one they were at Asheville and two weeks later Howard +could not hide from himself that she would soon be gone. + + * * * * * + +Her bed was drawn up to the open window and she Was propped with +pillows. A mild breeze was flooding the room with the odours of the pine +forests and the gardens. She looked out, dilated her nostrils and her +eyes. + +"Beautiful!" she murmured. "It is so easy to die here." + +She put out her hand and laid it in his. + +"I want you, my Alice." He was looking into her eyes and she into his. +"I need you. I can't do without you." + +She smiled with an expression of happiness. "Is it wrong," she asked, +"to take pleasure in another's pain? I see that you are in pain, that +you suffer. And, oh, it makes me happy, so happy." + +"Don't," he begged. "Please don't." + +"But listen," she went on. "Don't you see why? Because I--because I love +you. There," she was smiling again. "I promised myself I never, never +would say it first. And I've broken my word." + +"What do you mean?" + +"For nearly four years--all the years I've really lived--I have had only +one thought--my love for you. But I never would say it, never would say +'I love you,' because I knew that you did not love me." + +He was beginning to speak but she lifted her hand to his lips. Then she +put it back in his and pushed her fingers up his coat-sleeve until they +were hidden, resting upon his bare arm. + +"No, you did not." Her voice was low and the words came slowly. "But +since we came here, you have loved me. If I were to get well, were to go +back, you would not. Ah, if you knew, if you only knew how I have wanted +your love, how I have lain awake night after night, hour after hour, +whispering under my breath 'I love you. I love you. Why do you not love +me?'" + +Howard put his head down so that his face was hid from her in her lap. + +"After the doctor had talked to me a few minutes, had asked me a few +questions," she went on, "I knew. And I was not sorry. It was nearly +over, anyhow, dear. Did you know it? I often wondered if you did. Yes, I +saw many little signs. I wouldn't admit it to myself until this illness +came. Then I confessed it to myself. And I was not sorry we were to +part this way. But I did not expect"--and she drew a long +breath--"happiness!" + +"No, no," he protested, lifting his face and looking at her. She drank +in the expression of his eyes--the love, the longing, the misery--as if +it had been a draught of life. + +"Ah, you make me so happy, so happy. How much I owe to you. Four long, +long, beautiful years. How much! How much! And at last--love!" + +There was silence for several minutes. Then he spoke: "I loved you +from the first, I believe. Only I never appreciated you. I was +so self-absorbed. And you--you fed my vanity, never insisted upon +yourself." + +"But we have had happiness. And no one, no one, no one will ever be to +you what I have been." + +"I love you." Howard's voice had a passionate earnestness in it that +carried conviction. "The light goes out with you." + +"With this little candle? No, no, dear--_my_ dear. You will be a great +man. You will not forget; but you will go on and do the things that I'm +afraid I didn't help, maybe hindered, you in trying to do. And you will +keep a little room in your heart, a very little room. And I shall be in +there. And you'll open the door every once in a while and come in and +take me in your arms and kiss me. And I think--yes, I feel that--that I +shall know and thrill." + +Her voice sank lower and lower and then her eyes closed, and presently +he called the nurse. + +The next day he rose from his bed, just at the connecting door between +his room and hers, and looked in at her. The shades were drawn and only +a faint light crept into the room. He thought he saw her stir and went +nearer. + +"Why, they've made you very gay this morning," he laughed, "with the red +ribbons at your neck." + +There was no answer. He came still nearer. The red ribbons were long +streamers of blood. She was dead. + + + + + + +VIII. + +A STRUGGLE FOR SELF-CONTROL. + + +He left her at Asheville as she wished--"where I have been happiest and +where I wish you to think of me." On the train coming north he reviewed +his past and made his plans for the future. + +As to the past he had only one regret--that he had not learned to +appreciate Alice until too late. He felt that his failure to advance had +been due entirely to himself--to his inertia, his willingness to seize +any pretext for refraining from action. As to the future--work, work +with a purpose. His mind must be fully and actively occupied. There must +be no leisure, for leisure meant paralysis. + +At the Twenty-third Street ferry-house he got into a hansom and gave +the address of "the flat." He did not note where he was until the hansom +drew up at the curb. He leaned forward and looked at the house--at their +windows with the curtains which she had draped so gracefully, which she +and he had selected at Vantine's one morning. How often he had seen her +standing between those curtains, looking out for him, her blue-black +hair waving back from her forehead so beautifully and her face ready to +smile so soon as ever she should catch sight of him. + +He leaned back and closed his eyes. The blood was pounding through his +temples and his eyeballs seemed to be scalding under the lids. + +"Never again," he moaned. "How lonely it is." + +The cabman lifted the trap. "Here we are, sir." + +"Yes--in a moment." Where should he go? But what did it matter? "To a +hotel," he said. "The nearest." + +"The Imperial?" + +"That will do--yes--go there." + +He resolved never to return to "the flat." On the following day he sent +for the maid and arranged the breaking up. He gave her everything except +his personal belongings and a few of Alice's few possessions--those he +could keep, and those which he must destroy because he could not endure +the thought of any one having them. + +At the office all understood his mourning; but no one, not even +Kittredge, knew him well enough to intrude beyond gentler looks and +tones. Kittredge had written a successful novel and was going abroad for +two years of travel and writing. Howard took his rooms in the Royalton. +They dined together a few nights before he sailed. + +"And now," said Kittredge, "I'm my own master. Why, I can't begin to +fill the request for 'stuff.' I can go where I please, do as I +please. At last I shall work. For I don't call the drudgery done under +compulsion work." + +"Work!" Howard repeated the word several times absently. Then he leaned +forward and said with what was for him an approach to the confidential: +"What a mess I have been making of my life! What waste! What folly! I've +behaved like a child, an impulsive, irresponsible child. And now I must +get to work, really to work." + +"With your talents a year or so of work would free you." + +"Oh, I'm free." Howard hesitated and flushed. "Yes, I'm free," he +repeated bitterly. "We are all free except for the shackles we fasten +upon ourselves and can unlock for ourselves. I don't agree with you that +earning one's daily bread is drudgery." + +"Well, let's see you work--work for something definite. Why don't you +try for some higher place on the paper--correspondent at Washington or +London--no, not London, for that is a lounging job which would ruin even +an energetic man. Why not try for the editorial staff? They ought +to have somebody upstairs who takes an interest in something besides +politics." + +"But doesn't a man have to write what he doesn't believe? You know +how Segur is always laughing at the protection editorials he writes, +although he is a free-trader." + +"Oh, there must be many directions in which the paper is free to express +honest opinions." + +Howard began that very night. As soon as he reached his club where he +was living for a few days he sat down to the file of the _News-Record_ +and began to study its editorial style and method. He had learned a +great deal before three o'clock in the morning and had written a short +editorial on a subject he took from the news. In the morning he read his +article again and decided that with a few changes--adjectives cut out, +long sentences cut up, short sentences made shorter and the introduction +and the conclusion omitted--it would be worth handing in. With the +corrected article in his hand he knocked at the door of the editor's +room. + +It was a small, plainly furnished office--no carpet, three severe +chairs, a revolving book case with a battered and dusty bust of Lincoln +on it, a table strewn with newspaper cuttings. Newspapers from all +parts of the world were scattered about the floor. At the table sat the +editor, Mr. Malcolm, whom Howard had never before seen. + +He was short and slender, with thin white hair and a smooth, satirical +face, deeply wrinkled and unhealthily pale. He was dressed in black +but wore a string tie of a peculiarly lively shade of red. His most +conspicuous feature was his nose--long, narrow, pointed, sarcastic. + +"My name is Howard," began the candidate, all but stammering before Mr. +Malcolm's politely uninterested glance, "and I come from downstairs." + +"Oh--so you are Mr. Howard. I've heard of you often. Will you be +seated?" + +"Thank you--no. I've only brought in a little article I thought I'd +submit for your page. I'd like to write for it and, if you don't mind, +I'll bring in an article occasionally." + +"Glad to have it. We like new ideas; and a new pen, a new mind, ought to +produce them. If you don't see your articles in the paper, you'll know +what has happened to them. If you do, paste them on space slips and +send them up by the boy on Thursdays." Mr. Malcolm nodded and smiled and +dipped his pen in the ink-well. + +The editorial appeared just as Howard wrote it. He read and reread it, +admiring the large, handsome editorial type in which it was printed, and +deciding that it was worthy of the excellent place in the column which +Mr. Malcolm had given it. He wrote another that very day and sent it +up by the boy. He found it in his desk the next noon with "Too +abstract--never forget that you are writing for a newspaper" scrawled +across the last page in blue pencil. + +In the two following months Howard submitted thirty-five articles. +Three were published in the main as he wrote them, six were "cut" to +paragraphs, one appeared as a letter to the editor with "H" signed to +it. The others disappeared. It was not encouraging, but Howard kept on. +He knew that if he stopped marching steadily, even though hopelessly, +toward a definite goal, a heavy hand would be laid upon his shoulder to +drag him away and fling him down upon a grave. + +As it was, desperately though he fought to refrain from backward +glances, he was now and again taken off his guard. A few of her pencil +marks on the margin of a leaf in one of his books; a gesture, a little +mannerism of some woman passing him in the street--and he would be ready +to sink down with weariness and loneliness, like a tired traveller in a +vast desert. + +He completely lost self-control only once. It was a cold, wet May night +and everything had gone against him that day. He looked drearily round +his rooms as he came in. How stiff, how forbidding, how desert they +seemed! He threw himself into a big chair. + +"No friends," he thought, "no one that cares a rap whether I live or +die, suffer or am happy. Nothing to care for. Why do I go on? What's the +use if one has not an object--a human object?" + +And their life together came flooding back--her eyes, her kisses, +her attentions, her passionate love for him, so pervasive yet so +unobtrusive; the feeling of her smooth, round arm about his neck; her +way of pressing close up to him and locking her fingers in his; the +music of her voice, singing her heartsong to him yet never putting it +into words---- + +He stumbled over to the divan and stretched himself out and buried his +face in the cushions. "Come back!" he sobbed. "Come back to me, dear." +And then he cried, as a man cries--without tears, with sobs choking up +into his throat and issuing in moans. + +"Curious," he said aloud when the storm was over and he was sitting up, +ashamed before himself for his weakness, "who would have suspected me of +this?" + + + + + +IX. + +AMBITION AWAKENS. + + +Howard was now thirty-two. He was still trying for the editorial staff; +but in the last month only five of his articles had been printed to +twenty-three thrown away. A national campaign was coming on and the +_News-Record_ was taking a political stand that seemed to him sound and +right. For the first time he tried political editorials. + +The cause aroused his passion for justice, for democratic equality and +the abolition of privilege. He had something to say and he succeeded +in saying it vigorously, effectively, with clearness and moderation of +statement. How to avoid hysteria; how to set others on fire instead of +only making of himself a fiery spectacle; how to be earnest, yet +calm; how to be satirical yet sincere; how to be interesting, yet +direct--these were his objects, pursued with incessant toiling, +rewriting again and again, recasting of sentences, careful balancing of +words for exact shades of meaning. + +"I shall never learn to write," had been his complaint of himself +to himself for years. And in these days it seemed to him that he was +farther from a good style than ever. His standards had risen, were +rising; he feared that his power of accomplishment was failing. +Therefore his heart sank and his face paled when an office boy told him +that Mr. Malcolm wished to see him. + +"I suppose it's to tell me not to annoy him with any more of my +attempts," he thought. "Well, anyway, I've had the benefit of the work. +I'll try a novel next." + +"Take a seat," said Mr. Malcolm with an absent nod. "Just a moment, if +you please." + +On a chair beside him was the remnant of what had been a huge +up-piling of newspapers--the exchanges that had come in during the past +twenty-four hours. The Exchange Editor had been through them and Mr. +Malcolm was reading "to feel the pulse of the country" and also to make +sure that nothing of importance had been overlooked. + +On the floor were newspapers by the score, thrown about tumultuously. +Mr. Malcolm would seize a paper from the unread heap, whirl it open and +send his glance and his long pointed nose tearing down one column and up +another, and so from page to page. It took less than a minute for him +to finish and filing away great sixteen page dailies. A few seconds +sufficed for the smaller papers. Occasionally he took his long shears +and with a skilful twist cut out a piece from the middle of a page and +laid it and the shears upon the table with a single motion. + +"Now, Mr. Howard." Malcolm sent the last paper to increase the chaos on +the floor and faced about in his revolving chair. "How would you like to +come up here?" + +Howard looked at him in amazement. "You mean----" + +"We want you to join the editorial staff. Mr. Walker has married him a +rich wife and is going abroad to do literary work, which means that he +is going to do nothing. Will you come?" + +"It is what I have been working for." + +"And very hard you have worked." Mr. Malcolm's cold face relaxed into +a half-friendly, half-satirical smile. "After you'd been sending up +articles for a fortnight, I knew you'd make it. You went about it +systematically. An intelligent plan, persisted in, is hard to beat in +this world of laggards and hap-hazard strugglers." + +"And I was on the point of giving up--that is, giving up this particular +ambition," Howard confessed. + +"Yes, I saw it in your articles--a certain pessimism and despondency. +You show your feelings plainly, young man. It is an excellent +quality--but dangerous. A man ought to make his mind a machine working +evenly without regard to his feelings or physical condition. The night +my oldest child died--I was editor of a country newspaper--I wrote my +leaders as usual. I never had written better. You can be absolute master +inside, if you will. You can learn to use your feelings when they're +helpful and to shut them off when they hinder." + +"But don't you think that temperament----" + +"Temperament--that's one of the subtlest forms of self-excuse. However, +the place is yours. The salary is a hundred and twenty-five a week--an +advance of about twelve hundred a year, I believe, on your average +downstairs. Can you begin soon?" + +"Immediately," said Howard, "if the City Editor is satisfied." + +An office boy showed him to his room--a mere hole-in-the-wall with just +space for a table-desk, a small table, a case of shelves for books of +reference, and two chairs. The one window overlooked the lower end +of Manhattan Island--the forest of business buildings peaked with the +Titan-tenements of financial New York. Their big, white plumes of +smoke and steam were waving in the wind and reflecting in pale pink the +crimson of the setting sun. + +Howard had his first taste of the intoxication of triumph, his first +deep inspiration of ambition. He recalled his arrival in New York, his +timidity, his dread lest he should be unable to make a living--"Poor +boy," they used to say at home, "he will have to be supported. He is too +much of a dreamer." He remembered his explorations of those now familiar +streets--how acutely conscious he had been that they were paved with +stone, walled with stone, roofed with a stony sky, peopled with faces +and hearts of stone. How miserably insignificant he had felt! + +And all these years he had been almost content to be one of the crowd, +like them exerting himself barely enough to provide himself with the +essentials of existence. Like them, he had given no real thought to the +morrow. And now, with comparatively little labour, he had put himself +in the way to become a master, a director of the enormous concentrated +energies summed up in the magic word New York. + +The key to the situation was--work, incessant, self-improving, +self-developing. "And it is the key to happiness also," he thought. +"Work and sleep--the two periods of unconsciousness of self--are the two +periods of happiness." + +His aloofness freed him from the temptations of distraction. He knew no +women. He did not put himself in the way of meeting them. He kept away +from theatres. He sunk himself in a routine of labour which, viewed from +the outside, seemed dull and monotonous. Viewed from his stand-point of +acquisition, of achievement, it was just the reverse. + +The mind soon adapts itself to and enjoys any mental routine which +exercises it. The only difficulty is in forming the habit of the +routine. + +Howard was greatly helped by his natural bent toward editorial writing. +The idea of discussing important questions each day with a vast +multitude as an audience stirred his imagination and aroused his +instincts for helping on the great world-task of elevating the race. +This enthusiasm pleased and also amused his cynical chief. + +"You believe in things?" Malcolm said to him after they had become well +acquainted. "Well, it is an admirable quality--but dangerous. You will +need careful editing. Your best plan is to give yourself up to your +belief while you are writing--then to edit yourself in cold blood. +That is the secret of success, of great success in any line, business, +politics, a profession--enthusiasm, carefully revised and edited." + +"It is difficult to be cold blooded when one is in earnest." + +"True," Malcolm answered, "and there is the danger. My own enthusiasms +are confined to the important things--food, clothing and shelter. It +seems to me that the rest is largely a matter of taste, training and +time of life. But don't let me discourage you. I only suggest that you +may have to guard against believing so intensely that you produce the +impression of being an impracticable, a fanatic. Be cautious always; be +especially cautious when you are cocksure you're right. Unadulterated +truth always arouses suspicion in the unaccustomed public. It has the +alarming tastelessness of distilled water." + +Howard was acute enough to separate the wisdom from the cynicism of his +chief. He saw the lesson of moderation. "You have failed, my very able +chief," he said to himself, "because you have never believed intensely +enough to move you to act. You have attached too much importance to the +adulteration--the folly and the humbug. And here you are, still only a +critic, destructive but never constructive." + +At first his associates were much amused by his intensity. But as he +learned to temper and train his enthusiasm they grew to respect both his +ability and his character. Before a year had passed they were feeling +the influence of his force--his trained, informed mind, made vigorous by +principles and ideals. + +Malcolm had the keen appreciation of a broad mind for this honest, +intelligent energy. He used the editorial "blue-pencil" for alteration +and condensation with the hand of a master. He cut away Howard's +crudities, toned down and so increased his intensity, and pointed it +with the irony and satire necessary to make it carry far and penetrate +easily. + +Malcolm was at once giving Howard a reputation greater than he deserved +and training him to deserve it. + + * * * * * + +In the office next to Howard's sat Segur, a bachelor of forty-five who +took life as a good-humoured jest and amused his leisure with the New +Yorkers who devote a life of idleness to a nervous flight from boredom. +Howard interested Segur who resolved to try to draw him out of his +seclusion. + +"I'm having some people to dinner at the Waldorf on Thursday," he said, +looking in at the door. "Won't you join us?" + +"I'd be glad to," replied Howard, casting about for an excuse for +declining. "But I'm afraid I'd ruin your dinner. I haven't been out for +years. I've been too busy to make friends or, rather, acquaintances." + +"A great mistake. You ought to see more of people." + +"Why? Can they tell me anything that I can't learn from newspapers or +books more accurately and without wasting so much time? I'd like to know +the interesting people and to see them in their interesting moments. But +I can't afford to hunt for them through the wilderness of nonentities +and wait for them to become interesting." + +"But you get amusement, relaxation. Then too, it's first-hand study of +life." + +"I'm not sure of that. Yawning is not a very attractive kind of +relaxation, is it? And as for study of life, eight years of reporting +gave me more of that than I could assimilate. And it was study of +realities, not of pretenses. As I remember them, 'respectable' people +are all about the same, whether in their vices or in their virtues. They +are cut from a few familiar, 'old reliable' patterns. No, I don't think +there is much to be learned from respectability on dress parade." + +"You'll be amused on Thursday. You must come. I'm counting on you." + +Howard accepted--cordially as he could not refuse decently. Yet he had +a presentiment or a shyness or an impatience at the interruption of +his routine which reproached him for accepting with insistence and +persistence. + + + + + +X. + +THE ETERNAL MASCULINE. + + +It was the first week in November, and in those days "everybody" did not +stay in the country so late as now. There were many New Yorkers in +the crowd of out-of-town people at the Waldorf. Howard was attracted, +fascinated by the scene--carefully-groomed men and women, the air of +gaiety and ease, the flowers, the music, the lights, the perfumes. At a +glance it seemed a dream of life with evil and sorrow and pain banished. + +"No place for a working man," thought he, "at least not for my kind of +a working man. It appeals too sharply to the instincts for laziness and +luxury." + +He was late and stood in the entrance to the palm-garden, looking about +for Segur. Soon he saw him waving from a table near the wall under the +music-alcove. + +"The oysters are just coming," said Segur. "Sit over there between Mrs. +Carnarvon and Miss Trevor. They are cousins, Howard, so be cautious what +you say to one about the other. Oh, here is Mr. Berersford." + +The others knew each other well; Howard knew them only as he had seen +their names in the "fashionable intelligence" columns of the newspapers. +Mrs. Carnarvon was a small thin woman in a black velvet gown which made +her thinness obtrusive and attractive or the reverse according as one's +taste is toward or away from attenuation. Her eyes were a dull, greenish +grey, her skin brown and smooth and tough from much exposure in the +hunting field. Her cheeks were beginning to hang slightly, so that one +said: "She is pretty, but she will soon not be." Her mouth proclaimed +strong appetites--not unpleasantly since she was good-looking. + +Miss Trevor was perhaps ten years younger than her cousin, not far from +twenty-four. She had a critical, almost amused yet not unpleasant way +of looking out of unusually clear blue-green eyes. Her hair was of an +ordinary shade of dark brown, but fine and thick and admirably arranged +to set off her long, sensitive, high bred features. Her chin and mouth +expressed decision and strong emotions. + +There was a vacant chair between Segur and Berersford and it was +presently filled by a fat, middle-aged woman, neither blonde nor +brunette, with a large, serene face. Upon it was written a frank +confession that she had never in her life had an original thought +capable of creating a ripple of interest. She was Mrs. Sidney, rich, +of an "old" family--in the New York meaning of the word "old"--both by +marriage and by birth, much courted because of her position and because +she entertained a great deal both in town and at a large and hospitable +country house. + +The conversation was lively and amused, or seemed to amuse, all. It was +purely personal--about Kittie and Nellie and Jim and Peggie and Amy and +Bob; about the sayings and doings of a few dozen people who constituted +the intimates of these five persons. + +Mrs. Carnarvon turned to the silent Howard at last and began about the +weather. + +"Horrible in the city, isn't it?" + +"Well, perhaps it is," replied Howard. "But I fancied it delightful. You +see I have not lived anywhere but New York for so long that I am hardly +capable to judge." + +"Why everybody says we have the worst climate in the world." + +"Far be it from me to contradict everybody. But for me New York has the +ideal climate. Isn't it the best of any great city in the world? You +see, we have the air of the sea in our streets. And when the sun shines, +which it does more days in the year than in any other great city, the +effect is like champagne--or rather, like the effect champagne looks as +if it ought to have." + +"I hate champagne," said Mrs. Carnarvon. "Marian, you must not drink it; +you know you mustn't." This to Miss Trevor who was lifting the glass to +her lips. She drank a little of the champagne, then set the glass down +slowly. + +"What you said made me want to drink it," she said to Howard. "I was +glad to hear your lecture on the weather. I had never thought of it +before, but New York really has a fine climate. And only this afternoon +I let that stupid Englishman--Plymouth--you've met him? No?--Well, at +any rate, he was denouncing our climate and for the moment I forgot +about London." + +"Frightful there, isn't it, after October and until May?" + +"Yes, and the air is usually stale even in the late spring. When it's +warm, it's sticky. And when it's cold, it's raw." + +"You are a New Yorker?" + +"Yes," said Miss Trevor faintly, and for an instant showing surprise at +his ignorance. "That is, I spend part of the winter here--like all New +Yorkers." + +"All?" + +"Oh, all except those who don't count, or rather, who merely count." + +"How do you mean?" Howard was taking advantage of her looking into her +plate to smile with a suggestion of irony. She happened to glance up and +so caught him. + +"Oh," she said, smiling with frank irony at him, "I mean all those +people--the masses, I think they're called--the people who have to be +fussed over and reformed and who keep shops and--and all that." + +"The people who work, you mean?" + +"No, I mean the people you never meet about anywhere, the people who +read the newspapers and come to the basement door." + +"Oh, yes, I understand." Howard was laughing. "Well, that's one way of +looking at life. Of course it's not my way." + +"What is your way?" + +"Why, being one of those who count only in the census, I naturally take +a view rather different from yours. Now I should say that _your_ people +don't count. You see, I am most deeply interested in people who read +newspapers." + +"Oh, you write for the papers, like Jim Segur? What do you write?" + +"What they call editorials." + +"You are an editor?" + +"Yes and no. I am one of the editors who does not edit but is edited." + +"It must be interesting," said Miss Trevor, vaguely. + +"More interesting than you imagine. But then all work is that. In +fact work is the only permanently interesting thing in life. The rest +produces dissatisfaction and regret." + +"Oh, I'm not so very dissatisfied. Yet I don't work." + +"Are you quite sure? Think how hard you work at being fitted for gowns, +at going about to dinners and balls and the like, at chasing foxes and +anise seed bags and golf balls." + +"But that is not work. It is amusing myself." + +"Yes, you think so. But you forget that you are doing it in order that +all these people who don't count may read about it in the papers and so +get a little harmless relaxation." + +"But we don't do it to get into the papers." + +"Probably not. Neither did this--what is it here in my plate, a lamb +chop?--this lamb gambol about and keep itself in condition to form a +course at Segur's dinner. But after all, wasn't that what it was really +for? Then think how many people you support by your work." + +"You make me feel like a day-labourer." + +"Oh, you're a much harder worker than any day labourer. And the saddest +part of it to me is that you work altogether for others. You give, give +and get in return nothing but a few flattering glances, a few careless +pats on the back of your vanity. I should hate to work so hard for so +little." + +"But what would you do?" Miss Trevor was looking at him, interested and +amused. + +"Well, I'd work for myself. I'd insist on a return, on getting back +something equivalent or near it. I'd insist on having my mind improved, +or having my power or my reputation advanced." + +"I was only jesting when I said that about people not counting." + +"Altogether?" + +"No, not altogether. I don't care much about the masses. They seem to +me to be underbred, of a different sort. I hate doing things that are +useful and I hate people that do useful things--in a general way, I +mean." + +"That is doubtless due to defective education," said Howard, with a +smile that carried off the thrust as a jest. + +"Is that the way you'd describe a horror of contact with--well, with +unpleasant things?" Miss Trevor was serious. + +"But is it that? Isn't it just an unconscious affectation, taken up +simply because all the people about you think that way--if one can call +the process thinking? You don't think, do you, that it is a sign of +superiority to be narrow, to be ignorant, to be out of touch with the +great masses of one's fellow-beings, to play the part of a harlequin or +a ballet-girl on the stage of life? I understand how a stupid ass can +fritter away his one chance to live in saying and hearing and doing +silly things. But ought not an intelligent person try to enjoy life, try +to get something substantial out of it, try to possess himself of its +ideas and emotions? Why should one play the fool simply because those +about one are incapable of playing any other part?" + +"I'm surprised that you are here to-night. Still, I suppose you'll give +yourself absolution on the plea that one must dine somewhere." + +"But I'm not wasting my time. I'm learning. I'm observing a phase of +life. And I'm seeing the latest styles in women's gowns and--" + +"Is that important--styles, I mean?" + +"Do you suppose that my kind of people, the working classes, would spend +so much time and thought in making anything that was not important? +There is nothing more important." + +"Then you don't think we women are wasting time when we talk about dress +so much?" + +"On the contrary, it is an evidence of your superior sagacity. Women +talk trade, 'shop,' as soon as they get away from the men. They talk men +and dress--fish and nets." + +Berersford heard the word fish and interrupted. + +"Do you go South next month, Marian?" + +"Yes--about the fifteenth." Miss Trevor explained to Howard: "Bobby--Mr. +Berersford here--always fishes in Florida in January." + +The conversation again became general and personal. Howard knew none of +the people of whom they were talking and all that they said was of +the nature of gossip. But they talked in a sparkling way, using good +English, speaking in agreeable voices with a correct accent, and +indulging in a great deal of malicious humour. + +As they separated Mrs. Sidney, to whom Howard had not spoken during the +evening, said to Segur: "You must bring Mr. Howard on Sunday afternoon." + +"Will you drop Marian at the house for me?" Mrs. Carnarvon asked her. "I +want to go on to Edith's." + +Segur went with Mrs. Sidney and Marian to their carriage. "Who is Mr. +Howard?" Mrs. Sidney said, and Miss Trevor drew nearer to hear the +answer. + +"One of the editorial writers down on the paper and a very clever +one--none better. He works hard and is desperately serious and a regular +hermit." + +"I think he's very handsome--don't you, Marian?" + +"I found him interesting," said Miss Trevor. + +Howard thought a great deal about Miss Trevor that night, and she was +still in his head the next day. "This comes of never seeing women," he +said to himself. "The first girl I meet seems the most beautiful I ever +saw, and the most intellectual. And, when I think it over, what did she +say that was startling?" + +Nevertheless he went with Segur the next Sunday to Mrs. Sidney's great +house in the upper Avenue overlooking the Park. + +"Why do I come here?" he asked himself. "It is a sheer waste of time. +Mrs. Sidney can do me no good, or I her. It must be the hope of seeing +Miss Trevor." + +When the gaudy and be-powdered flunkey held back the heavy curtains of +the salon to announce him and Segur, he saw Miss Trevor on a low chair +absently staring into the fire. Yet when he had spoken to Mrs. Sidney +and turned toward her she at once stretched out her hand with a slight +smile. Some others came in and Howard was free to talk to her. He sat +looking at her steadily, admiring her almost perfect profile, delicate +yet strong. + +"And what have you been doing since I saw you?" Miss Trevor asked. + +"Writing little pieces about politics for the paper," replied Howard. + +"Politics? I detest it. It is all stealing and calling names, isn't it? +And something dreadful is always going to happen if somebody or other +isn't elected, or is elected, to something or other. And then, whether +he is or not, nothing happens. I should think the men who have been so +excited and angry and alarmed would feel very cheap. But they don't. And +the next time they carry on in just the same ridiculous way." + +"Politics is like everything else--interesting if you understand what it +is all about. But like everything else, you can't understand it without +a little study at first. It's a pity women don't take an interest. If +they did the men might become more reasonable and sane about it than +they are now. But you--what have you been doing?" + +"I--oh, industriously superintending the making of my new nets." Marian +laughed and Howard was flattered. "And also, well, riding in the Park +every morning. But I never do anything interesting. I simply drift." + +"That's so much simpler and more satisfactory than threshing and +splashing about as I do. It seems so fussy and foolish and futile. I +wish--that is, sometimes I wish--that I had learned to amuse myself in +some less violent and exhausting way." + +"Marian--I say, Marian," called Mrs. Sidney. "Has Teddy come down?" + +Miss Trevor coloured slightly as she answered: "No, he comes a week +Wednesday. He's still hunting." + +"Hunting," Howard repeated when Mrs. Sidney was again busy with the +others. "Now there is a kind of work that never bothers a man's brains +or sets him to worrying. I wish I knew how to amuse myself in some such +way." + +"You should go about more." + +"Go--where?" + +"To see people." + +"But I do see a great many people. I'm always seeing them--all day +long." + +"Yes--but that is in a serious way. I mean go where you will be +amused--to dinners for instance." + +"I don't dare. I can't work at work and also work at play. I must work +at one or the other all the time. I can do nothing without a definite +object. I can't be just a little interested in anything or anybody. +With me it is no interest at all or else absorption until interest is +exhausted." + +"Then if you were interested in a woman, let us say, you'd be absorbed +until you found out all there was, and then you'd--take to your heels." + +"But she might always be new. She might interest me more and more. +Anyhow I fancy that she would weary of me long before I wearied of her. +I think women usually weary first. Men are very monotonous. We are as +vain as women, if not vainer, without their capacity for concealing it. +And vanity makes one think he does not need to exert himself to please." + +"But why do people usually say that it is the men that are difficult to +hold?" + +"Because the men hold the women, not through the kind of interest we are +talking about, but through another kind--quite different. Women are +so lazy and so dependent--dependent upon men for homes, for money, for +escort even." + +Miss Trevor was flushing, as if the fire were too hot--at least she +moved a little farther away from it. "Your ideal woman would be a +shop-girl, I should say from what you've told me." + +"Perhaps--in the abstract. I really do think that if I were going to +marry, I should look about for a working-girl, a girl that supported +herself. How can a man be certain of the love of a woman who is +dependent upon him? I should be afraid she was only tolerating me as a +labour-saving device." + +Miss Trevor laughed. "There certainly is no vanity in that remark," she +said. "Now I can't imagine most of the men I know thinking that." + +"It's only theory with me. In practice doubtless I should be as +self-complacent as any other man." + +They left Mrs. Sidney's together and Howard walked down the Avenue with +her. It seemed a wonderful afternoon--the air dazzling, intoxicating. +He was filled with the joy of living and was glad this particular tall, +slender, distinguished-looking girl was there to make his enjoyment +perfect. They were gay with the delight of being young and in health and +attractive physically and mentally each to the other. They looked each +at the other a great deal, and more and more frankly. + +"Am I never to see you again?" he asked as he rang the bell for her. + +"I believe Mrs. Carnarvon is going to invite you to dine here Thursday +night." + +"Thank you," said Howard. + +Miss Trevor coloured. But she met his glance boldly and laughed. Howard +wondered why her laugh was defiant, almost reckless. + + * * * * * + +He saw Segur at the club after dinner that same night. "And how do you +like Miss Trevor?" Segur began as the whiskey and carbonic were set +before them. + +"A very attractive girl," said Howard. + +"Yes--so a good many men have thought in the last five years. She's +marrying Teddy Danvers in the spring, I believe. At any rate it's +generally looked on as settled. Teddy's a good deal of a 'chump.' +But he's a decent fellow--good-looking, good-natured, domestic in his +tastes, and nothing but money." + +Howard was smiling to himself. He understood Miss Trevor's sudden +consciousness of the nearness of the fire, her flush when Mrs. Sidney +asked about "Teddy," and the recklessness in her parting laugh. + +"Well, Teddy's in luck," he said aloud. + +"Not so sure of that. She's quite capable of leading him a dance if he +bores her. And bore her he will. But that is nothing new. This town is +full of it." + +"Full of what?" + +"Of weary women--weary wives. The men are hobby-riders. They have just +one interest and that usually small and dull--stocks or iron or real +estate or hunting or automobiles. Our women are not like the English +women--stupid, sodden. They are alive, acute. They wish to be +interested. Their husbands bore them. So--well, what is the natural +temptation to a lazy woman in search of an interest?" + +"It's like Paris--like France?" + +"Yes, something. Except that perhaps our women are more sentimental, not +fond of intrigue for its own sake--at least, not as a rule." + +"Doesn't interest them deeply enough, I suppose. It's the American blood +coming out--the passion for achievement. They want a man of whom they +can be proud, a man who is doing something interesting and doing it +well." + +"I doubt that," replied Segur shrugging his shoulders. "When a woman +loves a man, she wants to absorb him." + +Howard soon went away to his rooms for a long evening of undisturbed +thought about Teddy Danvers's fiance--the first temptation that had +entered his loneliness since Alice died. + +In the few weeks of her illness and the few months immediately following +her death, he had been at his very best. He was able to see her as she +was and to appreciate her. He was living in the clear pure air of +the Valley of the Great Shadow where all things appear in their true +relations and true proportions. But only there was it possible for +the gap between him and Alice to close--that gap of which she was more +acutely conscious than he, and which she made wider far than it really +was by being too humble with him, too obviously on her knees before him. +Such superiority as she thought he possessed is not in human nature; but +neither is it in human nature to refuse worship, to refuse to pose upon +a pedestal if the opportunity presses. + +In the three years between her death and his meeting Marian, the eternal +masculine had been secretly gaining strength to resume its pursuit +of the eternal feminine. And the eternal feminine was certainly most +alluringly personified in this beautiful, graceful girl, at once +appreciative and worthy of appreciation. + +Perhaps she appealed most strongly to Howard in her vivid suggestion of +the open air--of health and strength and nature. He had been leading a +cloistered existence and his blood had grown sluggish. She gave him the +sensation that a prisoner gets when he catches a glimpse from his barred +window of the fields and the streams radiating the joy of life and +freedom. And Marian was of his own kind--like the women among whom he +had been brought up. She satisfied his idea of what a "lady" should be, +but at the same time she was none the less a woman to him--a woman to +love and to be loved; to give him sympathy, companionship; to inspire +him to overcome his weaknesses by striving to be worthy of her; to bring +into his life that feminine charm without which a man's life must be +cold and cheerless. + +He knew that he could not marry her, that he had no right to make love +to her, that it was unwise to go near her again. But he had no power to +resist the temptation. And even in those days he had small regard for +the means when the end was one upon which he had fixed his mind. "Why +not take what I can get?" he thought, as he dreamed of her. "She's +engaged--her future practically settled. Yes, I'll be as happy as she'll +let me." And he resumed his idealising. + +At his time of life idealisation is still not a difficult or a long +process. And in this case there was an ample physical basis for it--and +far more of a mental basis than young imagination demands. He took the +draught she so frankly offered him; he added a love potion of his own +concocting, and drank it off. + +He was in love. + + + + +XI. + +TRESPASSING. + + +For the first time since he had been in newspaper work, Howard came to +the office the next day in a long coat and a top hat. He left early and +went for a walk in the Avenue. But Miss Trevor was neither driving +nor walking. He repeated this excursion the next afternoon with better +success. At Fortieth Street he saw her and her cousin half a block ahead +of him. He walked slowly and examined her. She was satisfactory from +the aigrette in her hat to her heels--a long, narrow, graceful figure, +dressed with the expensive simplicity characteristic of the most +intelligent class of the women of New York and Paris. She walked as +if she were accustomed to walking. Mrs. Carnarvon had that slight +hesitation, almost stumble, which indicates the woman who usually drives +and never walks if she can avoid it. As they paused at the crowded +crossing of Forty-second Street he joined them. When Mrs. Carnarvon +found that he was "just out for the air" she left them, to go home--in +Forty-seventh Street, a few doors east of the Avenue. + +"Come back to tea with her," she said as she nodded to Howard. + +"We have at least an hour." Howard was looking at Miss Trevor with his +happiness dancing in his eyes. "Why shouldn't we go to the Park?" + +"I believe it's not customary," objected Miss Trevor in a tone that made +the walk in the Park a certainty. + +"I'm glad to hear that. I don't care to do customary things as a rule." + +"I see that you don't." + +"Do you say so because I show what I am thinking so plainly that you +can't help seeing it--and don't in the least mind?" + +"Why shouldn't you be glad to be alive and to be seeing me this fine +winter day?" + +"Why indeed!" Howard looked at her from head to foot and then into her +eyes. + +"We are not in the Park yet." Miss Trevor accompanied her hint with a +laugh and added: "I feel reckless to-day." + +"You mean you forget that there is any to-morrow. _I_ have shut out +to-morrow ever since I saw you." + +"And yesterday?" She noted that he coloured slightly, but continued to +look at her, his eyes sad. "But there is a to-morrow," she went on. + +"Yes--my work, my career is my to-morrow and yours is----" + +"Well?" + +"Your engagement, of course." + +Miss Trevor flushed, but Howard was smiling and she did not long resist +the contagion. + +"My to-morrow," he continued, "is far more menacing than yours. Yours +is just an ordinary, every-day, cut-and-dried affair. Mine is full +of doubts and uncertainties with the chances for failure and +disappointment. If I can turn my back on my to-morrow, surely you can +waive yours for the moment?" + +"But why are you so certain that I wish to?" + +"Instinct. I could not be so happy as I am with you if you were not +content to have me here." + +They spoke little until they were well within the Park. There they +turned down a by-path and took the walk skirting the lower lake. Miss +Trevor looked at Howard with a puzzled expression. + +"I never met any one like you," she said. "I have always felt so sure of +myself. You take me off my feet. I feel as if I did not know where I was +going and--didn't much care. And that's the worst of it." + +"No, the best of it. You are a star going comfortably through your +universe in a fixed orbit. You maintain your exact relations with your +brother and sister stars. You keep all your engagements, you never +wobble in your path--everything exact, mathematical. And up darts a +wild-haired, impetuous comet, a hurrying, bustling, irregular wanderer +coming from you don't know where, going you don't know whither. We pass +very near each to the other. The social astronomers may or may not note +a little variation in your movement--a very little, and soon over. They +probably will not note the insignificant meteor that darted close up to +you--close enough to get his poor face sadly scorched and his long hair +cruelly singed--and then hurried sadly away. And----" + +"And--what? Isn't there any more to the story?" Marian's eyes were +shining with a light which she was conscious had never been there +before. + +"And--and----" Howard stopped and faced her. His hands were thrust deep +in the pockets of his overcoat. He looked at her in a way that made the +colour fly from her face and then leap back again. "And--I love you." + +"Oh"--Marian said, hiding her face in her white muff. "Oh." + +"I don't wish to touch you," he went on, "I just wish to look at you--so +tall, so straight, so--so alive, and to love you and be happy." Then he +laughed and turned. "But you'll catch cold. Let us walk on." + +"So you are trying to make a career?" she asked after a few minutes' +silence. + +"Yes--trying--or, rather, I was. And shall again when you have gone your +way and I mine." + +Marian was amazed at herself. Every tradition, every instinct of her +life was being trampled by this unknown whom she had just met. And she +was assisting in the trampling. In fact it was difficult for her to +restrain herself from leading in the iconoclasm. She looked at him in +wonder and delighted terror. + +"Why do you look at me in that way?" he said, turning his head suddenly. + +"Because you are stronger than I--and I am afraid--yet I--well--I like +it." + +"It is not I that is stronger than you, nor you that are stronger than +I. It is a third that is stronger than both of us. I need not mention +the gentleman's name?" + +"It is not necessary. But I'd like to hear you pronounce it. At least I +did a moment ago." + +"I'll not risk repetition. I've been thinking of what might have been." + +"What?" Marian laughed a little, rather satirically. "A commonplace +engagement and a commonplace wedding and a commonplace honeymoon leading +into a land of commonplace disillusion and yawning--or worse?" + +"Not unlikely. But since we're only dreaming why not dream more to our +taste? Now as I look at your strong, clear, ambitious profile, I can +dream of a career made by two working as one, working cheerfully day +in and day out, fair and foul weather, working with the certainty of +success as the crown." + +"But failure might come." + +"It couldn't. We wouldn't work for fame or for riches or for any outside +thing. We would work to make ourselves wiser and better and more worthy +each of the other and both of our great love." + +Again they were walking in silence. + +"I am so sad," Marian said at last. "But I am so happy too. What has +come over me? But--you will work on, won't you? And you will accomplish +everything. Yes, I am sure you will." + +"Oh, I'll work--in my own way. And I'll get a good deal of what I want. +But not everything. You say you can't understand yourself. No more can I +understand myself. I thought my purpose fixed. I knew that I had nothing +to do with marrying and giving in marriage, so I kept away from danger. +And here, as miraculously as if a thunderbolt had dropped from this open +winter sky, here is--you." + +They were in the Avenue again--"the awakening," Howard said as the flood +of carriages rolled about them. + +"You will win," she repeated, when they were almost at Forty-seventh +Street. "You will be famous." + +"Probably not. The price for fame may be too big." + +"The price? But you are willing to work?" + +"Work--yes. But not to lie, not to cheat, not to exchange self-respect +for self-contempt--at least, I think, I hope not." + +"But why should that be necessary?" + +"It may not be if I am free--free to meet every situation as it arises, +with no responsibility for others resting upon me in the decision. If I +had a wife, how could I be free? I might be forced to sell myself--not +for fame but for a bare living. Suppose choice between freedom with +poverty and comfort with self-contempt were put squarely at me, and I a +married man. She would decide, wouldn't she?" + +"Yes, and if she were the right sort of a woman, decide instantly for +self-respect." + +"Of course--if I asked her. But do you imagine that when a man loves a +woman he lets her know?" + +"It would be a crime not to let her know." + +"It would be a greater crime to put her to the test--if she were a woman +brought up, say, as you have been." + +"How can you say that? How can you so overestimate the value of mere +incidentals?" + +"How can I? Because I have known poverty--have known what it was to +look want in the face. Because I have seen women, brought up as you have +been, crawling miserably about in the sloughs of poverty. Because I have +seen the weaknesses of human nature and know that they exist in me--yes, +and in you, for all your standing there so strong and arrogant and +self-reliant. It is easy to talk of misery when one does not understand +it. It is easy to be the martyr of an hour or a day. But to drag into a +sordid and squalid martyrdom the woman one loves--well, the man does not +live who would do it, if he knew what I know, had seen what I have seen. +No, love is a luxury of the rich and the poor and the steady-going. It +is not for my kind, not for me." + +They were pausing at Mrs. Carnarvon's door. + +"I shall not come in this afternoon," he said. "But to-morrow--if I +don't come in to-day, don't you think it will be all right for me to +come then?" + +"I shall expect you," she said. + +The talk of those who had come in for tea seemed artificial and flat. +She soon went up-stairs, eager to be alone. Mechanically she went to her +desk to write her customary daily letter to Danvers. She looked vacantly +at the pen and paper, and then she remembered why she was sitting there. + +"You are a traitor," she said to her reflection in the mirror over the +desk. "But you will pay for your treason. Has not one a right to that +for which she is willing to pay?" + + + + +XII. + +MAKING THE MOST OF A MONTH. + + +To be sure of a woman a man must be confident either of his own powers +or of her absolute frankness and honesty. It was self-assurance that +made Edward Danvers blindly confident of Marian. + +His father, a man with none but selfish uses for his fellow men, had +given him a pains-taking training as a vigilant guard for a great +fortune. His favourite maxim was, "Always look for motives." And he once +summed up his own character and idea of life by saying: "I often wake at +night and laugh as I think how many men are lying awake in their beds, +scheming to get something out of me for nothing." + +There could be but one result of such an education by such an educator. +Danvers was acutely suspicious, saved from cynicism and misanthropy +by his vanity only. He was the familiar combination of credulity and +incredulity, now trusting not at all and again trusting with an utter +incapacity to judge. Had he been far more attractive personally, he +might still have failed to find genuine affection. To be liked for one's +self alone or even chiefly is rarely the lot of any human being who has +a possession that is all but universally coveted--wealth or position or +power or beauty. + +Danvers and Marian had known each the other from childhood. And she +perhaps came nearer to liking him for himself than did any one else +of his acquaintance. She was used to his conceit, his selfishness, +his meanness and smallness in suspicion, his arrogance, his +narrow-mindedness. She knew his good qualities--his kindness of heart, +his shamed-face generosity, his honesty, the strong if limited sense +of justice which made him a good employer and a good landlord. They had +much in common--the same companions, the same idea of the agreeable and +the proper, the same passion for out-door life, especially for hunting. +He fell in love with her when she came back from two years in England +and France, and she thought that she was in love with him. She +undoubtedly was fond of him, proud of his handsome, athletic look and +bearing, proud of his skill and daring in the hunting field. + +One day--it was in the autumn a year before Howard met her--they were +"in at the death" together after a run across a stiff country that +included several dangerous jumps. "You're the only one that can keep +up with me," he said, admiring her glowing face and star-like eyes, +her graceful, assured seat on a hunter that no one else either cared or +dared to ride. + +"You mean you are the only one who can keep up with _me,_" she laughed, +preparing for what his face warned her was coming. + +"No I don't, Marian dear. I mean that we ought to go right on keeping up +with each other. You won't say no, will you?" + +Marian was liking him that day--he was looking his best. She +particularly liked his expression as he proposed to her. She had +intended to pretend to refuse him; instead her colour rose and she said: +"No--which means yes. Everybody expects it of us, Teddy. So I suppose we +mustn't disappoint them." + +The fact that "everybody" did expect it, the fact that he was the great +"catch" in their set, with his two hundred and fifty thousand a year, +his good looks and his good character--these were her real reasons, +with the first dominant. But she did not admit it to herself then. At +twenty-four even the mercenary instinct tricks itself out in a most +deceptive romantic disguise if there is the ghost of an opportunity. +Besides, there was no reason, and no sign of an approaching reason, for +the shadow of a suspicion that life with Teddy Danvers would not be full +of all that she and her friends regarded as happiness. + +But she would not marry immediately. She was tenacious of her freedom. +She was restless, dissatisfied with herself and not elated by her +prospects. She had an excellent mind, reasonable, appreciative, +ambitious. Until she "came out" she had spent much time among books; but +as she had had no capable director of her reading, she got from it +only a vague sense, that there was somewhere something in the way of +achievement which she might possibly like to attain if she knew what it +was or where to look for it. As she became settled in her place in the +routine of social life, as her horizon narrowed to the conventional +ideas of her set, this sense of possible and attractive achievement +became vaguer. But her restlessness did not diminish. + +"I never saw such an ungrateful girl," was Mrs. Carnarvon's comment +upon one of Marian's outbursts of almost peevish fretting. "What do you +want?" + +"That's just it," exclaimed Marian, half-laughing. "What _do_ I want? +I look all about me and I can't see it. Yet I know that there must be +something. I think I ought to have been a man. Sometimes I feel +like running away--away off somewhere. I feel as if I were getting +second-bests, paste substitutes for the real jewels. I feel as I did +when I was a child and demanded the moon. They gave me a little gilt +crescent and said: 'Here is a nice little moon for baby;' and it made me +furious." + +Mrs. Carnarvon looked irritated. "I don't understand it. You are getting +the best of everything. Of course you can't expect to be happy. I don't +suppose that any one is happy. But all the solid things of life are +yours, and you can and should be comfortable and contented." + +"That's just it," answered Marian indignantly. "I have always been +swaddled in cotton wool. I have never been allowed really to feel. I +think it is the spirit of revolt in me. Yes, I ought to have been a man. +I'm sure that then I could have made life a little less tiresome." + +It was this dissatisfaction that postponed the announcement of the +engagement from month to month until a year had slipped away. + +Instead of coming to New York, Danvers went off to Montana for a +mountain-lion hunt with two Englishmen who had been staying with him in +"The Valley." He would join Marian for the trip South, the engagement +would be announced, and the wedding would be in May--such was the +arrangement which Marian succeeded in making. It settled everything and +at the same time it gave her a month of freedom in New York. She hinted +enough of this programme to Howard to enable him to grasp its essential +points. + +"A month's holiday," was his comment. They were alone on the second seat +of George Browning's coach, driving through the Park. "If we were like +those people"--he was looking at a young man and young woman, side by +side upon a Park bench, blue with cold but absorbed in themselves and +obviously ecstatic. Marian glanced at them with slightly supercilious +amusement and became so interested that she turned her head to follow +them with her eyes after the coach had passed. + +"Is he kissing her?" asked Howard. + +"No--not yet. But I'm sure he will as soon as we have turned the +corner." She said nothing for a moment or two, her glance straight ahead +and upon vacancy, he admiring the curve of her cheek at the edge of its +effective framing of fur. + +"But we are not----" She spoke in a low tone, regretful, pensive, almost +sad. "We are not like them." + +"Oh, yes we are. But--we fancy we are not. We've sold our birthright, +our freedom, our independence for--for----" + +"Well--what?" + +"Baubles--childish toys--vanities--shadows. Doesn't it show what +ridiculous little creatures we human beings are that we regard the most +valueless things as of the highest value, and think least of the true +valuables. For, tell me, Lady-Whom-I-Love, what is most valuable in +the few minutes of this little journey among the stars on the good ship +Mother Earth?" + +"But you would not care always as you care now? It would not, could not, +last. If we--if we were like those people on the bench back there, we'd +go on and--and spoil it all." + +"Perhaps--who can say? But in some circumstances couldn't I make you +just as happy as--as some one else could?" + +"Not if you had made me infinitely happier at one time than even you +could hope to make me all the time. At least I think not. It would +always be--be racing against a record; we both would be, wouldn't we?" + +Howard looked at her with an expression which transfigured his face and +sent the colour flaming to her cheeks. "That being the case," he said, +"let us--let us make the record one that will not be forgotten--soon." + +During the month he saw her almost every day. She was most ingenious in +arranging these meetings. They were together afternoons and evenings. +They were often alone. Yet she was careful not to violate any +convention, always to keep, or seem to be keeping, one foot "on the +line." Howard threw himself into his infatuation with all his power of +concentration He practically took a month's holiday from the office. +He thought about her incessantly. He used all his skill with words in +making love to her. And she abandoned herself to an equal infatuation +with equal absorption. Neither of them spoke of the past or the future. +They lived in the present, talked of the present. + +One day she spoke of herself as an orphan. + +"I did not know that," he said. "But then what do I know about you in +relation to the rest of the world? To me you are an isolated act of +creation." + +"You must tell me about yourself." She was looking at him, surprised. +"Why, I know nothing at all about you." + +"Oh, yes, you do. You know all that there is to know--all that is +important." + +"What?" She was asking for the pleasure of hearing him say it. + +"That I love you--you--all of you--all of you, with all of me." + +Her eyes answered for her lips, which only said smilingly: "No, we +haven't time to get acquainted--at least not to-day." + + * * * * * + +She was to start for Florida at ten the next morning. Mrs. Carnarvon was +going away to the opera, giving them the last evening alone. Marian had +asked this of her point-blank. + +"You are an extraordinarily sensible as well as strong-willed girl, +Marian," Mrs. Carnarvon replied. + +"I can't find it in my heart to blame you for what you're doing. The +fact that I haven't even hinted a protest, but have lent myself to your +little plots, shows that that young man has hypnotized me also." + +"You needn't disturb yourself, as you know," Marian said gaily. "I'm not +hypnotized. I shall not see Mr. Howard again until--after it's all over. +Perhaps not then." + +He came to dinner and they were not alone until almost nine. She sat +near the open fire among the cushions heaped high upon the little sofa. +She had never been more beautiful, and apparently never in a happier +mood. They both laughed and talked as if it were the first instead of +the last day of their month. Neither spoke of the parting; each avoided +all subjects that pointed in direction of the one subject of which both +thought whenever their minds left the immediate present. As the little +clock on the mantle began to intimate in a faint, polite voice the +quarter before eleven, he said abruptly, almost brusquely: + +"I feel like a coward, giving you up in this way. Yes--giving you up; +for you have a traitor in your fortress who has offered me the keys, who +offers them to me now. But I do not trust you; and I can't trust myself. +The curse of luxury is on you, the curse of ambition on me. If we had +found each the other younger; if I had lived less alone, more in the +ordinary habit of dependence upon others; if you had been brought up +to live instead of to have all the machinery of living provided and +conducted for you--well, it might have been different." + +"You are wrong as to me, right as to yourself. But yours is not the +curse of ambition. It is the passion for freedom. It would be madness +for you, thinking as you do, even if you could--and you can't." + +He stood up and held out his hand. She did not rise or look at him. + +"Good night," she said at last, putting her hand in his. "Of course I +am thinking I shall see you tomorrow. One does not come out of such a +dream,"--she looked up at him smiling--"all in a moment." + +"Good night," he smiled back at her. "I shall not open 'the fiddler's +bill' until--until I have to." At the door he turned. She had risen and +was kneeling on the sofa, her elbow on its low arm, her chin upon her +hand, her eyes staring into the fire. He came toward her. + +"May I kiss you?" he said. + +"Yes." Her voice was expressionless. + +He bent over and just touched his lips to the back of her neck at the +edge of her hair. He thought that she trembled slightly, but her face +was set and she did not look toward him. He turned and left her. Half an +hour later she heard the bell ring--it was Mrs. Carnarvon. She wished to +see no one, so she fled through the rear door of the reception room and +up the great stairway to lock herself in her boudoir. She sank slowly +upon the lounge in front of the fire and closed her eyes. The fire died +out and the room grew cold. A warning chilliness made her rise to get +ready for bed. + +"No," she said aloud. "It isn't ambition and it isn't lack of love. +It's a queer sort of cowardice; but it's cowardice for all that. He's +a coward or he wouldn't have given up. But--I wonder--how am I going to +live without him? I need him--more than he needs me, I'm afraid." + +She was standing before her dressing table. On it was a picture of +Danvers--handsome, self-satisfied, healthy, unintellectual. She looked +at it, gave a little shiver, and with the end of her comb toppled it +over upon its face. + + + + + +XIII. + +RECKONING WITH DANVERS. + + +On that journey south Marian for the first time studied Danvers as a +husband in prospect. + +The morning after they left New York, their private car arrived at +Savannah. At dark the night before they were rushing through a snow +storm raging in a wintry landscape. Now they were looking out upon +spring from the open windows. As soon as the train stopped, all except +Marian and Danvers left the car to walk up and down the platform. +Danvers, standing behind Marian, looked around to make sure that none of +the servants was about, then rubbed his hand caressingly and familiarly +upon her cheek. + +"Did you miss me?" he asked. + +Marian could not prevent her head from shrinking from his touch. + +"There's nobody about," Danvers said, reassuringly. But he acted upon +the hint and, taking his hand away, came around and sat beside her. + +"Did you miss me?" he repeated, looking at her with an expression in his +frank, manly blue eyes that made her flush at the thought of "treason" +past and to come. + +"Did _you_ miss _me_?" she evaded. + +"I would have returned long ago if I had not been ashamed," he answered, +smiling. "I never thought that I should come not to care for as good +shooting as that. You almost cost me my life." + +"Yes?" Marian spoke absently. She was absorbed in her mental comparison +of the two men. + +"I got away from the others and was looking at your picture. They +started up a lion and he came straight at me from behind. If he hadn't +made a misstep in his hurry and loosened a stone, I guess he would have +got me. As it was, I got him." + +"You mean your gun got him." + +"Of course. You don't suppose I tackled him bare-handed." + +"It might have been fairer. I don't see how you can boast of having +killed a creature that never bothered you, that you had to go thousands +of miles out of your way to find, and that you attacked with a gun, +giving him no chance to escape." + +"What nonsense!" laughed Danvers. "I never expected to hear you say +anything like that. Who's been putting such stuff into your head?" + +Marian coloured. She did not like his tone. She resented the suggestion +of the truth that her speech was borrowed. It made her uncomfortable to +find herself thus unexpectedly on the dangerous ground. + +"I suppose it must have been that newspaper fellow Mrs. Carnarvon has +taken up. She talked about him for an hour after you left us to go to +bed last night." + +"Yes, it was--was Mr. Howard." Marian had recovered herself. "I want you +to meet him some time. You'll like him, I'm sure." + +"I doubt it. Mrs. Carnarvon seemed not to know much about him. I suppose +he's more or less of an adventurer." + +Marian wondered if this obvious dislike was the result of one of those +strange instincts that sometimes enable men to scent danger before any +sign of it appears. + +"Perhaps he is an adventurer," she replied. "I'm sure I don't know. Why +should one bother to find out about a passing acquaintance? It is enough +to know that he is amusing." + +"I'm not so sure of that. He might make off with the jewels when you had +your back turned." + +As soon as she had made her jesting denial of her real lover Marian was +ashamed of herself. And Danvers' remark, though a jest, cut her. "What +I said about a passing acquaintance was not just or true," she said +impulsively and too warmly. "Mr. Howard is not an adventurer. I admire +and like him very much indeed. I'm proud of his friendship." + +Danvers shrugged his shoulders and looked at her suspiciously. + +"You saw a good deal of this--this friend of yours?" he demanded, his +mouth straightening into a dictatorial line. + +At this Marian grew haughty and her eyes flashed: "Why do you ask?" she +inquired, her tone dangerously calm. + +"Because I have the right to know." He pointed to the diamond on her +third finger. + +"Oh--that is soon settled." Marian drew off the ring and held it out to +him. "Really, Teddy, I think you ought to have waited a little longer +before insisting so fiercely on your rights." + +"Don't be absurd, Marian." Danvers did not take the ring but fixed his +eyes upon her face and changed his tone to friendly remonstrance. "You +know the ring doesn't mean anything. It's your promise that counts. And +honestly don't you think your promise does give me the right to ask you +about your new friends when you speak of them, of one of them, in--in +such a way?" + +"I don't intend to deceive you," she said, turning the ring around +slowly on her finger. "I didn't know how to tell you. I suppose the only +way to speak is just to speak." + +"Do you think you are in love with this man, Marian?" + +She nodded, then after a long pause, said, "Yes, Teddy, I love him." + +"But I thought----" + +"And so did I, Teddy. But he came, and I--well I couldn't help it." + +As he did not speak, she looked at him. His face was haggard and white +and in his eyes which met hers frankly there was suffering. + +"It wasn't my fault, Teddy," Marian laid her hand on his arm, "at least, +not altogether. I might have kept away and I didn't." + +"Oh, I don't blame you. I blame him." + +"But it wasn't his fault. I--I--encouraged him." + +"Did he know that we were engaged?" + +"Yes," reluctantly. + +"The scoundrel! I suspected that he was rotten somewhere." + +"You are unjust to him. I have not told you properly." + +"Did he tell you that he cared for you?" + +"Yes--but he didn't try to get me to break my engagement." + +"So much the more a scoundrel, he. Tell me, Marian--come to your senses +and tell me--what in the devil did he hang about you for and make love +to you, if he didn't want to marry you? Would an honest man, a decent +man, do that?" + +Marian's face confessed assent. + +"I should think you would have seen what sort of a fellow he is. I +should think you would despise him." + +"Sometimes it seems to me that I ought to. But I always end by despising +myself--and--and--it makes no difference in the way I feel toward him." + +"I think I would do well to look him up and give him a horse-whipping. +But you'll get over him, Marian. I am astonished at your cousin. How +could she let this go on? But then, she's crazy about him too." + +Marian smiled miserably. "I've owned up and you ought to congratulate +yourself on so luckily getting rid of such an untrustworthy person as +I." + +"Getting rid of you?" Danvers looked at her defiantly. "Do you think I'm +going to let you go on and ruin yourself on an impulse? Not much! I hold +you to your promise. You'll come round all right after you've been away +from this fellow for a few days. You'll be amazed at yourself a week +from now." + +"You don't understand, Teddy." Marian wished him to see once for all +that, whatever might be the future for her and Howard, there was no +future for her and him. "Don't make it so hard for me to tell you." + +"I don't want to hear any more about it now, Marian. I can't stand it--I +hardly know what I'm saying--wait a few days--let's go on as we have +been--here they come." + +The others of the party came bustling into the car and the train +started. For the rest of the journey Danvers avoided her, keeping to the +smoking room and the game of poker there. Marian could neither read nor +watch the landscape. She did not know whether to be glad or sorry that +she had told him. She hated to think that she had inflicted pain and she +could not believe, in spite of what she had seen in his eyes, that his +feeling in the matter was more than jealousy and wounded vanity. + +"He doesn't really care for me," she thought. "It's his pride that is +hurt. He will flare out at me and break it off. I do hope he'll get +angry. It will make it so much easier for me." + +Late in the afternoon she took Mrs. Carnarvon into her confidence. "I've +told Teddy," she said. + +"I might have known!" exclaimed her cousin. "What on earth made you do +that?" + +"I don't know--perhaps shame." + +"Shame--trash! Your life is going to be a fine turmoil if you run to +Teddy with an account of every little mild flirtation you happen +to have. Of all the imbeciles, the most imbecile is the woman who +confesses." + + +"But how could I marry him when----" + +"When you don't love him?" + +"No--I might have done that. I like him. But, when I love another man." + +"It does make a difference. But you ought to be able to foresee that +you'll get over Howard in a few weeks----" + +"Precisely what Teddy said." + +"Did he? I'm surprised at his having so much sense. For, if you'll +forgive me, I don't think Teddy will ever set New York on fire--at +least, he's--well, he has the makings of an ideal husband. And has he +broken it off?" + +"No. He wouldn't have it." + +"Really? Well he _is_ in love. Most men in his position--able to get any +girl he wants--would have thrown up the whole business. Yes, he must be +awfully in love." + +"Do you think that?" Marian's voice spoke distress but she felt only +satisfaction. "Oh, I hope not--that is, I'd like to think he cared a +great deal and at the same time I don't want to hurt him." + +"Don't fret yourself about these two men. Just go on thinking as you +please. You'll be surprised how soon Howard will fade." Mrs. Carnarvon +smiled satirically at some thought--perhaps a memory. "You're a good +deal of a goose, my dear, but you are a great deal more of a woman. +That's why I feel sure that Teddy will win." + +With such an opportunity--with the field clear and the woman +half-remorseful over her treachery, half-indignant at the man who had +shown himself so weak and spiritless--a cleverer or a less vain man than +Danvers would have triumphed easily. And for the first week he did make +progress. He acted upon the theory that Marian had been hypnotized and +that the proper treatment was to ignore her delusion and to treat her +with assiduous but not annoying consideration. He did not pose as an +injured or jealous lover. He was the friend, always at her service, +always thinking out plans for her amusement. He made no reference to +their engagement or to Howard. + +Several people of their set were at the hotel and Marian was soon +drifting back into her accustomed modes of thought. The wider horizon +which she fancied Howard had shown her was growing dim and hazy. The +horizon which he had made her think narrow was beginning again to +seem the only one. This meant Danvers; but he was not acute enough to +understand her and to follow up his advantage. + +One morning as he was walking up and down under the palms, waiting for +Mrs. Carnarvon and Marian, Mrs. Fortescue called him. She was a cold, +rather handsome woman. In her eyes was the expression that always +betrays the wife or the mistress who loathes the man she lives with, +enduring him only because he gives her that which she most wants--money. +She had one fixed idea--to marry her daughter "well," that is, to money. + +"Can you join us to-day, Teddy?" she asked. "We need one more man." + +"I'm waiting for Mrs. Carnarvon and Marian," he explained. + +"Oh, of course." Mrs. Fortescue smiled. "What a nice girl she is--so +clever, so--so independent. I admired her immensely for deciding to +marry that poor, obscure young fellow. I like to see the young people +romantic." + +Danvers flushed angrily and pulled at his mustache. He tried to smile. +"We've teased her about it a good deal," he said, "but she denies it." + +"I suppose they aren't ready to announce the engagement yet," Mrs. +Fortescue suggested. "I suppose they are waiting until he betters +his position a little. It's never a good idea to have too long a time +between the announcement and the marriage." + +"Perhaps that is it." Danvers tried to look indifferent but his eyes +were sullen with jealousy. + +"I always rather thought that you and Marian were going to make a match +of it," continued Mrs. Fortescue. Just then her daughter came down the +walk. She was fashionably dressed in white and blue that brought out all +the loveliness of her golden hair and violet eyes and faintly-coloured, +smooth fair skin. Danvers had not seen her since she "came out," and was +dazzled by her radiance. + +They say that every man must be a little in love with every pretty +woman he sees. And Danvers at once gave Ellen Fortescue her due. She +sat silent beside her mother, looking the personification of innocence, +purity and poetry. Her mother continued subtly to poison Danvers against +Marian, to make him feel that she had not appreciated him, that she +had trifled with him, that she had not treated him as his dignity and +importance merited. When she and Mrs. Carnarvon appeared, he joined them +tardily, after having made an arrangement with the Fortescues for the +next day. + +That evening he danced several times with Ellen Fortescue and adopted +the familiar lover's tactics--he set about making Marian jealous. He +scored the customary success. When she went to bed she lay for several +hours looking out into the moonlight, raging against the Fortescues and +against Danvers. The mere fact that a man whom she regarded as hers was +permitting himself to show marked attention to another woman would have +been sufficient. But in addition, Marian was perfectly aware of the +material advantages of this particular man. She did not want to marry +him; at least she was of that mind at the moment. But she might change +her mind. Certainly, if there was to be any breaking off, she wished +it to be of her doing. She did not fancy the idea of him departing +joyfully. + +She was far too wise to show that she saw what was going on. She praised +Miss Fortescue to Danvers with apparent frankness and insisted on him +devoting more time to her. Danvers persisted in his scheme boldly for a +week and then, just as Marian was despairing and was casting about for +another plan of campaign, he gave in. They were sitting apart in the +shadow near one of the windows of the ball-room. He had been sullen all +the evening, almost rude. + +"How much longer are you going to keep me in suspense?" he burst out +angrily. + +"In suspense?" + +"You know what I mean. I think I've been very patient." + +"You mean our engagement?" Marian was looking at him, repelled by his +expression, his manner, the tone of his voice, his whole mood. + +"Yes--I want your decision." + +"I have not changed." + +"You still love that--that newspaper fellow?" + +"No, I don't mean that." Marian felt her irritation against Danvers +suddenly vanish and in its place a Sense of relief and of calmness. "I +mean toward you. It won't do, Teddy. We shall get on well as friends. +But I can't think of you in--in that way." + +Mrs. Fortescue had so swollen his vanity that he was astounded at +Marian's decision. He rapidly went over in his mind all the advantages +he offered as a husband, and then looked at her as if he thought her +beside herself. + +"Look here, Marian," he protested. "You can't mean it. Why, it's all +settled that we are to marry. It would be madness for you to break +it off. I can give you everything--everything. And he can't give you +anything." Then with fatal tactlessness: "He won't even give you the +little that he can, according to your own story." + +"Yes, it's madness, isn't it, Teddy, to refuse you--fascinating you, +who can give everything. But that's just it. You have too much. You +overwhelm me. I should feel like a cheat, taking so much and giving so +little." + +"Don't," he begged, his self-complacence and superiority all gone. +"Don't mind my blundering, please, dear. I want you. I can't say it. I +haven't any gift of words. But you've known me all my life and you know +that I love you. I've set my heart on it, Mary Ann,"--it was the name +he used to tease her with when they were children playing together--"You +won't go back on me now, will you?" + +"I wish I could do as you wish, Teddy." Marian was forgetful of +everything but the unhappiness she was causing this friend of so many, +many years and of so many, many memories. "But I can't--I can't." + +"Marry me, dear, anyhow. You will care afterward." Marian was silent and +Danvers hoped. "You know all about me. I'll not give you any surprises. +I shan't bother you. And I'll make you happy." + +"No," she said firmly. "You mustn't ask it. I'll tell you why. I have +thought of marrying you regardless of this. Only last night I thought of +it--finally, went over the whole thing. Listen, Teddy--if I were married +to you--and if he should come--and he would come sooner or later--if +he should come and say 'Come with me,'--I'd go--yes, I'm sure I'd go. +I can't explain why. But I know that nothing would stand in the +way--nothing." + +"You ought to be ashamed of yourself." Marian shrank from him. She was +horrified by the malignant fury that sparkled in his eyes and raged in +his voice. "That damned scoundrel is worthy of you and you of him. But +I'll get you yet. I never was crossed in anything in my life and I'll +not be beaten here." + +"And I thought you were my friend!" Marian was looking at him, pale, her +eyes wide with amazement. "Is it really you?" + +He laughed insolently. "Yes--you'll see. And he'll see. I'll crush him +as if he were an egg shell. And as for you--you perjurer--you liar!" + +He looked at her with coarse contempt, rose and stalked away. Marian sat +rigid. She was conscious of the insult. But even that humiliation was +not so strong in her mind as the astounding revelation of Danvers. She +remembered that even as his eyes blazed hatred at her, he looked at her, +at her neck, her bare arms, with the baffled desire of brute passion. +She did not fully understand the look, but she felt that it was a +degradation far greater than his insulting words. + +She slipped, almost skulked to her room, her eyes down, her face in +a burning flush, her scarf drawn tightly about her neck. As her door +closed behind her, she fell upon her bed and began to sob hysterically. +She started up with a scream to find her cousin standing beside her. + +"I'm so sorry. Forgive me." Mrs. Carnarvon's voice had lost its wonted +levity. "I saw that you were in trouble and followed. I knocked and +I thought I heard you answer. What is it, Marie? May I ask? Can I do +anything?" + +Marian drew her down to the bed and buried her face in her lap. "Oh, +I feel so unclean," she said. "It was--Teddy. Would you believe it, +Jessie, Teddy! I looked on him as a brother. And he showed me that he +was not my friend--that he didn't even love me--that he--oh, I shall +never forget the look in his eyes. He made me feel like a--like a +_thing_." + +Mrs. Carnarvon smothered a smile. "Of course Teddy's a brute," she said. +"I thought you knew. He's a domesticated brute, like most of the men and +some of the women. You'll have to get used to that." + +By refusing to fall in with her mood, Mrs. Carnarvon had gone far toward +curing it. Marian stopped sobbing and presently said: + +"Oh, I know all that. But I didn't expect it from Teddy--and toward me. +And--" she shuddered--"I was thinking, actually thinking of marrying +him. I wish never to see him again. And he pretended to be my friend!" + +"And he was, no doubt, until he got you on the brain in another way, in +the way he calls love. There isn't any love that has friendship in it." + +"We must go away at once." + +"Unless Teddy saves us the trouble by going first, as I suspect he +will." + +"Jessie, he hates me and--and--Mr. Howard." + +"So you talked to him about Howard again, did you?" Mrs. Carnarvon +was indignant. "You are old enough to know better, Marian. You carry +frankness entirely too far. There is such a thing as truth running +amuck." + +"He said he would crush Howard. And I believe he really meant it." + +"Teddy is a man who believes in revenges--or thinks he does. His father +taught him to keep accounts in grievances, and no doubt he has opened an +account with Howard. But don't be disturbed about it. His father would +have insisted on balancing the account. Teddy will just keep on hating, +but won't do anything. He's not underhanded." + +"He's everything that is vile and low." + +"You're quite mistaken, my dear. He's what they call a manly fellow--a +little too masculine perhaps, but----" + +A knock interrupted and Mrs. Carnarvon, answering it, took from the +bell-boy a note for Marian who read it, then handed it to her. Mrs. +Carnarvon read: "I apologise for the way I said what I did this evening, +not for what I said. Because you had forgotten yourself, had played the +traitor and the cheat was, perhaps, no excuse for my rudeness. You have +fallen under an evil influence. I hope no harm will come to you, for I +can't get over my feeling for you. But I have done my best and have not +been able to save you. I am going away early in the morning. + +"E. D." + +"Melodramatic, isn't it?" laughed Mrs. Carnarvon. "So he's off. How +furious Martha Fortescue and Ellen will be. But they'll go in pursuit, +and they'll get him. A man is never so susceptible as when he's +broken-hearted. Well, I must go. Good-night, dear. Don't mope and whine. +Take your punishment sensibly. You've learned something--if it's only +not to tell one man how much you love another." + +"I think I'll go abroad with Aunt Retta next month." + +"A good idea--you'll forget both these men. Good-night." + +"Good-night," answered Marian dolefully, expecting to resume her +thoughts of Danvers. But, instead, he straightway disappeared from +her mind and she could think only of Howard. She was free now. The one +barrier between him and her of which she had been really conscious was +gone. And her heart began to ache with longing for him. Why had he not +written? What was he doing? Did he really love her or was his passion +for her only a flash of a strong and swift imagination? + +No, he loved her--she could not doubt that. But she could not understand +his conduct. She felt that she ought to be very unhappy, yet she was +not. The longer she thought of him and the more she weighed his words +and looks, the stronger became her trust in him. "He loves me," she +said. "He will come when he can. It may be even harder for him than for +me." + +And so, explanation failing--for she rejected every explanation that +reflected upon him--she hid and excused him behind that familiar refuge +of the doubting, mystery. + + + + +XIV. + +THE NEWS-RECORD GETS A NEW EDITOR. + + +A few minutes after leaving Marian that last night at Mrs. Carnarvon's, +Howard was deep in a mood of self-contempt. He felt that he had faced +the crisis like a coward. He despised the weakness which enfeebled him +for effort to win her and at the same time made it impossible for him to +thrust her from his mind. + +In the working hours his will conquered with the aid of fixed habit and +he was able to concentrate upon his editorials. But in his rooms, and +especially after the lights were out, his imagination became master, +deprived him of sleep and occasionally lifted him to a height of hope +in order that it might dash him down the more cruelly upon the rocks of +fact. + +At last he was forced to face the situation--in his own evasive fashion. +It was impossible to go back. That loneliness which often threatened him +after Alice's death had become the permanent condition of his life. "I +will work for her," he said. "Until I have made a place for her I dare +not claim her. So much I will concede to my weakness. But when I have +won a position which reasonably assures the future, I shall claim +her--no matter what has happened in the meanwhile." + +He would have smiled at this wild resolution had he been in a less +distracted state of mind or had he been dealing with any other than a +matter of love. But in the circumstances it gave him heart and set him +to work with an energy and effectiveness which still further increased +Mr. Malcolm's esteem for him. + +"Will you dine with me at the Union Club on Wednesday?" Mr. Malcolm +asked one morning in mid-February. "Mr. Coulter and Mr. Stokely are +coming. I want you to know them better." + +Howard accepted and wondered that he took so little interest. +For Stokely and Coulter were the principal stockholders of the +_News-Record_, and with Malcolm formed the triumvirate which directed it +in all its departments. Mr. Malcolm held only a few shares of stock, +but received what was in the newspaper-world an immense salary--thirty +thousand a year. He was at once an able editor and an able diplomatist. +He knew how to make the plans of his two associates conform to +conditions of news and policy--when to let them use the paper, or, +rather, when to use the paper himself for their personal interests; when +and how to induce them to let the paper alone. Through a quarter of a +century of changing ownerships Malcolm had persisted, chiefly because +he had but one conviction--that the post of editor of the _News-Record_ +exactly suited him and must remain his at any sacrifice of personal +character. + +Howard had met Stokely and Coulter. He liked Stokely who was owner of a +few shares more than one-third; he disliked Coulter who owned just under +one-half. + +Stokely was a frank, coarse, dollar-hunter, cheerfully unscrupulous in a +large way, acute, caring not at all for principles of any kind, letting +the paper alone most of the time because he was astute enough to know +that in his ignorance of journalism he would surely injure it as a +property. + +Coulter was a hypocrite and a snob. Also he fancied he knew how to +conduct a newspaper. He was as unscrupulous as Stokely but tried to mask +it. + +When Stokely wished the _News-Record_ to advocate a "job," or steal, or +the election of some disreputable who would work in his interest, +he told Malcolm precisely what he wanted and left the details of the +stultification to his experienced adroitness. When Coulter wished +to "poison the fountain of publicity," as Malcolm called the paper's +departures from honesty and right, he approached the subject by stealth, +trying to convince Malcolm that the wrong was not really wrong, but was +right unfortunately disguised. + +He would take Malcolm into his confidence by slow and roundabout +steps, thus multiplying his difficulties in discharging his "duty." If +Coulter's son had not been married to Malcolm's daughter, it is probable +that not even his complete subserviency would have enabled him to keep +his place. + +"If you had told me frankly what you wanted in the first place, Mr. +Coulter," he said after an exasperating episode in which Coulter's +Pharisaic sensitiveness had resulted in Malcolm's having to "flop" the +paper both editorially and in its news columns twice in three days, "we +would not have made ourselves ridiculous and contemptible. The public +is an ass, but it is an ass with a memory at least three days long. Your +stealthiness has made the ass bray at us instead of with and for us. +And that is dangerous when you consider that running a newspaper is like +running a restaurant--you must please your customers every day afresh." + +Coulter was further difficult because of his anxieties about social +position for himself and his family. He was disturbed whenever the +_News-Record_ published an item that might offend any of the people +whose acquaintance he had gained with so much difficulty, and for +whose good will he was willing to sacrifice even considerable +money. Personally, but very privately, he edited the _News-Record's_ +"fashionable intelligence" columns on Sunday and made them an exhibit of +his own sycophancy and snobbishness which excited the amused disgust of +all who were in the secret. + +Malcolm liked Howard, admired him, in a way envied his fearlessness, his +earnestness for principles. For years he had had it in mind to retire +and write a history of the Civil War period which had been his own +period of greatest activity and most intimate acquaintance with the +behind-the-scenes of statecraft. Howard's energy, steady application, +enthusiasm for journalism and intelligence both as to editorials and as +to news made Malcolm look upon him as his natural successor. + +"I think Howard is the man we want," he said to his two associates when +he was arranging the dinner. "He has new ideas--just what the paper +needs. He is in touch with these recent developments. And above all he +has judgment. He knows what not to print, where and how to print what +ought to be printed. He is still young and is over-enthusiastic. He has +limitations, but he knows them and he is eager and capable to learn." + +It was a "shop" dinner, Howard doing most of the talking, led on by +Malcolm. The main point was the "new journalism," as it was called, and +how to adapt it to the _News-Record_ and the _News-Record_ to it. + +Malcolm kept the conversation closely to news and news-ideas, fearing +that, if editorial policies were brought in, Howard would make "breaks." +He soon saw that his associates were much impressed with Howard, with +his judgment, with his knowledge of the details of every important +newspaper in the city, with his analysis of the good and bad points in +each. + +"I'll drop you at your corner," said he to Howard at the end of the +dinner. As they drove up the Avenue he began: "How would you like to be +the editor of the _News-Record_? My place, I mean." + +"I don't understand," Howard answered, bewildered. + +"I am going to retire at once," Malcolm went on. "I've been at it nearly +fifty years--ever since I was a boy of eighteen and I've been in charge +there almost a quarter of a century. I think I've earned a few years of +leisure to work for my own amusement. I'm pretty sure they'll want you +to take my place. Would you like it?" + +"I'm not fit for it," Howard said, and he meant it. "I'm only an +apprentice. I'm always making blunders--but I needn't tell you about +that." + +"You can't say that you are not fit until you have tried. Besides, the +question is not, are _you_ fit? but, is there any one more fit than you? +I confess I don't see any one so well equipped, so certain to give the +paper all of the best that there is in him." + +"Of course I'd like to try. I can only fail." + +"Oh, you won't fail. But you may quarrel with Stokely and +Coulter--especially Coulter. In fact, I'm sure you'll quarrel with +them. But if you make yourself valuable enough, you'll probably win out. +Only----" + +Malcolm hesitated, then went on: + +"I stopped giving advice years ago. But I'll venture a suggestion. +Whenever your principles run counter to the policy of the paper, it +would be wise to think the matter over carefully before making an issue. +Usually there is truth on both sides, much that can be said fairly +and honestly for either side. Often devotion to principle is a mere +prejudice. Often the crowd, the mob, can be better controlled to right +ends by conceding or seeming to concede a principle for the time. Don't +strike a mortal blow at your own usefulness to good causes by making +yourself a hasty martyr to some fancied vital principle that will seem +of no consequence the next morning but one after the election." + +"I know, Mr. Malcolm, judgment is all but impossible. And I have been +trying to learn what you have been teaching me with your blue pencil, +what you now put into words. But there is something in me--an instinct, +perhaps--that forces me on in spite of myself. I've learned to curb and +guide it to a certain extent, but as long as I am I, I shall never learn +to control it. Every man must work out his own salvation along his own +lines. And with my limitations of judgment, it would be fatal to me, I +feel, to study the art of compromise. Where another, broader, stronger, +more master of himself and of others, would succeed by compromising, I +should fail miserably. I should be lost, compassless, rudderless. I have +often envied you your calmness, your ability to see not only to-morrow +but the day after. But, if I ever try to imitate you, I shall make a sad +mess of my career." + +As he ended Howard looked uneasily at the old editor, expecting to see +that caustic smile with which he preceded and accompanied his sarcasms +at "sentimental bosh." But instead, Malcolm's face was melancholy; and +his voice was sad and weary as he answered the young man who was just +starting where he had started so many years ago: + +"No doubt you are right. I'm not intending to try to dissuade you +from--from the best there is in you. All I mean is that caution, +self-examination, self-doubt, calm consideration of the other +side--these are as necessary to success as energy and resolute action. +All I suggest is that its splendour does not redeem a splendid folly. +Its folly remains its essential characteristic." + +Three weeks later Howard became editor-in-chief of the _News-Record_. +His salary was fifteen thousand a year; and Stokely and Coulter, acting +upon Malcolm's advice, gave him a "free hand" for one year. They agreed +not to interfere during that time unless the circulation or the profits +showed a decrease at the end of a quarter. + +The next morning Howard, in the Madison Avenue car on his way to the +office, read among the "Incidents in Society:" + +Mrs. George Alexander Provost and her niece, Miss Marion Trevor, sailed +in the _Campania_ yesterday. They will return in July for the Newport +season. + + + + + +XV. + +YELLOW JOURNALISM. + + +While several of the New York dailies were circulating from two to three +hundred thousand copies, the _News-Record_--the best-written, the most +complete, and, where the interests of the owners did not interfere, the +most accurate--circulated less than one hundred thousand. The Sunday +edition had a circulation of one hundred and fifty thousand where two +other newspapers had almost half a million. + +The theory of the _News-Record_ staff was that their journal was too +"respectable," too intelligent, to be widely read; that the "yellow +journals" grovelled, "appealed to the mob," drew their vast crowds by +the methods of the fakir and the freak. They professed pride in the +_News-Record's_ smaller circulation as proof of its freedom from +vulgarity and debasement. They looked down upon the journalists of the +popular newspapers and posed as the aristocracy of the profession. + +Howard did not assent to these self-complacent excuses. He was +democratic and modern, and the aristocratic pose appealed only to his +sense of humour and his suspicions. He believed that the success of +the "yellow journals" with the most intelligent, alert and progressive +public in the world must be based upon solid reasons of desert, must be +in spite of, not because of, their follies and exhibitions of bad taste. +He resolved upon a radical departure, a revolution from the policy of +satisfying petty vanity and tradition within the office to a policy of +satisfying the demands of the public. + +He gave Segur temporary charge of the editorial page, and, taking a desk +in the news-room, centred his attention upon news and the news-staff. +But he was careful not to agitate and antagonise those whose coperation +was necessary to success. He made only one change in the management; he +retired old Bowring on a pension and appointed to the city editorship +one of the young reporters--Frank Cumnock. + +He chose Cumnock for this position, in many respects the most important +on the staff of a New York daily, because he wrote well, was a judge of +good writing, had a minute knowledge of New York and its neighbourhood +and, finally and chiefly, because he had a "news-sense," keener than +that of any other man on the paper. + +For instance, there was the murder of old Thayer, the rich miser in East +Sixteenth Street. It was the sensation in all the newspapers for two +weeks. Then they dropped it as an unsolvable mystery. Cumnock persuaded +Mr. Bowring to let him keep on. After five days' work he heard of a +deaf and dumb woman who sat every afternoon at a back window of her flat +overlooking the back windows of Thayer's house. He had a trying struggle +with her infirmity and stupidity, but finally was rewarded. On the +afternoon of the murder, in its very hour (which the police had been +able to discover), she had seen a man and woman in the bathroom of the +Thayer house. Both were agitated and the man washed his hands again +and again, carefully rinsing the bowl afterward. From her description +Cumnock got upon the track of Thayer's niece and her husband, found the +proof of their guilt, had them watched until the _News-Record_ came out +with the "beat," then turned them over to the police. + +Also, Cumnock was keen at taking hints of good news-items concealed in +obscure paragraphs. The Morris Prison scandal was an example of this. He +found in the New England edition of _The World_ a six-line item giving +an astonishing death rate for the Morris Prison. He asked the City +Editor to assign him to go there; and within a week the press of the +entire country was discussing the _News-Record's_ exposure of the +barbarities of torture and starvation practised by Warden Johnson and +his keepers. + +"We are going to print the news, all the news and nothing but the news," +Howard said to Cumnock. "They've put you here because, so they tell me, +you know news no matter how thoroughly it is concealed or disguised. +And I assure you that no one shall interfere with you. No favours to +anybody; no use of the news-columns for revenge or exploitation. The +only questions a news-item need raise in your mind are: Is it true? +Is it interesting? Is it printable in a newspaper that will publish +anything which a healthy-minded grown-person wishes to read?" + +"Is that 'straight'?" asked Cumnock. "No favourites? No suppressions? No +exploitations?" + +"'Straight'--'dead straight'! And if I were you I'd make this +particularly clear to the Wall Street and political men. If +anybody"--with stress upon the anybody--"comes to you about this, send +him to me." + +Howard was uneasy about the managing editor, Mr. King. But he soon found +that his fears were groundless. Mr. King was without petty vanity, and +cordially and sincerely welcomed his control. + +"We look too dull," King began when Howard asked him if he had any +changes to suggest. "We need more and bigger headlines, and we need +pictures." + +"That is it!" Howard was delighted to find that King and he were in +perfect accord. "But we must not have pictures unless we can have the +best. Just at present we can't increase expenses by any great amount. +What do you say to trying what we can do with all the news, larger +headlines and plenty of leads?" + +"I'm sure we can do better with our class of readers by livening up the +appearance of our headlines than we could with second-rate pictures." + +"I hope," Howard said earnestly, "that we won't have to use that +phrase--'our class of readers'--much longer. Our paper should interest +every man and woman able to read. It seems to me that a newspaper's +audience should be like that of a good play--the orchestra chairs full +and the last seat in the gallery taken. I suppose you know we're not an +'organ' any longer?" + +"No, I didn't." Mr. King looked surprised. "Do you mean to say that +we're free to print the news?" + +"Free as freedom. In our news columns we're neither Democrat nor +Republican nor Mugwump nor Reform. We have no Wall Street or social +connections. We are going to print a newspaper--all the news and nothing +but the news." + +Mr. King drummed on his desk softly with the tips of his outstretched +fingers. "Hum--hum," he said. "This _is_ news. Well--the circulation'll +go up. And that's all I'm interested in." + +Howard went about his plans quietly. He avoided every appearance of +exerting authority, disturbed not a wheel in the great machine. He made +his changes so subtly that those who received the suggestions often came +to him a few days afterward, proposing as their own the very plans he +had hinted. He was thus cautious partly because of his experience of +the vanity of men, their sensitiveness to criticism, their instinctive +opposition to improvement from without; partly from his knowledge of the +hysteria which raged in the offices of the "yellow journals." He wished +to avoid an epidemic of that hysteria--the mad rush for sensation +and novelty; the strife of opposing ambitions; the plotting and +counter-plotting of rival heads of departments; the chaos out of which +the craziest ideas often emerged triumphant, making the pages of the +paper look like a series of disordered dreams. + +He was indifferent to the semblance of authority, to the shadows for +which small men are forever struggling. What he wanted, all he wanted, +was--results. + +The first opposition came from the night editor, who for twenty-six +years, his weekly "night off" and his two weeks' vacation in summer +excepted, had "made up" the paper--that is to say, had defined, with the +advice and consent of the managing editor, the position and order of +the various news items. This night editor, Mr. Vroom, was a strenuous +conservative. He believed that an editor's duty was done when he had +intelligently arranged his paper so that the news was placed before the +reader in the order of its importance. Big headlines, attempts at effect +with varying sizes of large type and varying column-widths he held to +be crowd-catching devices, vulgar and debasing. He had no sympathy with +Howard's theory that the first object of a newspaper published in a +democratic republic is to catch the crowd, to interest it, to compel it +to read, and so to lead it to think. + +"We're on the way to scuffling in the gutter with the 'yellow journals' +for the pennies of the mob," he was saying sarcastically to Mr. King, +one afternoon just as Howard joined them. + +Howard laughed. "Not on the way to the gutter, Mr. Vroom. Actually in +the gutter, actually scuffling." + +"Well, I'm frank to say that I don't like it. A newspaper ought to +appeal to the intelligent." + +"To intelligence, yes; to the intelligent, no. At least in my opinion, +that is the right theory. We want people to read us because we're +intelligent enough to know how to please them, not because they're +intelligent enough to overcome the difficulties we put in their way. But +let's go out to dinner this evening and talk it over." + +They dined together at Mouquin's every night for a week. At the end of +that time Vroom, still sarcastic and grumbling, was a convert. And a +great accession Howard found him. He had sound judgment as to the value +of news-items--what demanded first page, the "show-window," because +it would interest everybody; what was worth a line on an inside page +because it would interest only a few thousands. He was the most skillful +of the _News-Record's_ many good writers of headlines, a master of that, +for the newspaper, art of arts--condensed and interesting statement, +alluring the glancing reader to read on. Also he had an eye for effects +with type. "You make every page a picture," Howard said to him. "It is +wonderful how you balance your headlines, emphasising the important +news yet saving the minor items from obscurity. I should like to see the +paper you would make if you had the right sort of illustrations to put +in." + +Vroom was amazed at himself. He who had opposed any "head" which broke +the column rule was now so far degenerated into a "yellow journalist" +that, when Howard spoke of illustrations, he actually longed to test his +skill at distributing them effectively. + + * * * * * + +Two months of hard work, tedious, because necessarily so indirect, +produced a newspaper which was "on the right lines," as Howard +understood right lines. And he felt that the time had come to make the +necessary radical changes in the editorial page. + +The _News-Record_ had long posed as independent because it supported now +one political party and now the other, or divided its support. But this +superficial independence was in reality subservience to the financial +interests of the two principal owners. They made their newspaper assail +Republican or Democratic corruption and misgovernment in city, state +or nation, according as their personal interests lay. They used the +editorial page and, to even better advantage, the news-columns, in +revenging themselves for too heavy levies of blackmail upon their +corrupt interests or in securing unjust legislation and privileges. + +Obedient and cynical Mr. Malcolm had made the editorial page corrupt and +brilliant--never so effective as when assailing a good cause. The +great misfortune of good causes is that they attract so many fatal +friends--the superciliously conscientious; the well-meaning but +feeble-minded and blundering; the most offensive because least deceptive +kinds of hypocrites. Mr. Malcolm, as acute as he was intellectually +unscrupulous, well understood how to weaken or to ruin a just cause +through these supporters. Sometimes he stood afar off, showering the +poisoned arrows of raillery and satire. Again he was the plain-spoken +friend of the cause and warned its honest supporters against these "fool +friends" whom he pretended to regard as its leaders. Again he played the +part of a blind enthusiast and praised folly as wisdom and urged it on +to more damaging activities. + +"We abhor humbug here," he used to say; and perhaps he did in a measure +excuse himself to his conscience with the phrase. But in fact his +editorial page was usually a succession of humbugs, of brilliant +hypocrisies and cheats perpetrated under the guise of exposing humbug. + +Just as Howard was ready to reverse Malcolm's editorial programme, New +York was seized with one of its "periodic spasms of virtue." The city +government was, as usual, in the hands of the two bosses who owned the +two political machines. One was taking the responsibility and the larger +share of the spoils; the other was maintaining him in power and getting +the smaller but a satisfactory share. The alliance between the police +and criminal vice had become so open and aggressive under this bi-boss +patronage that the people were aroused and indignant. But as they had +no capable leaders and no way of selecting leaders, there arose a +self-constituted leadership of uptown Phariseeism and sentimentality, +planning the "purification" of the city. + +Every man of sense knowing human nature and the conditions of city life +knew that this plan was foredoomed to ridiculous failure, and that the +event would be a popular revulsion against "reform." + +"Why not speak the truth about these vice-hunters?" Howard was +discussing the situation with three of his editorial writers--Segur, +Huntington and Montgomery. + +"It's mighty dangerous," Montgomery objected. "You will be sticking +knives into a sacred Anglo-Saxon hypocrisy." + +"Yes, we'll have all the good people about our ears," said Segur. +"We'll be denounced as a defender of depravity, a foe of purity. They'll +thunder away at us from every pulpit. The other newspapers will take it +up, especially those that expect to sell millions of papers containing +accounts of the 'exposure' of the dives and dens." + +"That's good. I hope we shall," said Howard cheerfully. "It will +advertise us tremendously." + +The three were better pleased than they would have admitted to +themselves by the seeming certainty of Howard's impending undoing. + +"No, gentlemen," Howard said, as they were about to go to their rooms +for the day's work. "There's no danger in attacking any hypocrisy. Don't +attack beliefs that are universal or nearly universal--at least not +openly. But don't be afraid of a hypocrisy because it is universal. +People know that they are hypocrites in respect of it. They may not have +the courage publicly to applaud you. But they'll be privately delighted +and will admire your courage. We'll try to be discreet and we'll be +careful to be truthful. And we'll begin by making these gentlemen show +themselves up." + +The next morning the _News-Record_ published a double-leaded editorial. +It described the importance of improving political and social conditions +in New York; it went on to note the distinguished names on the committee +for the destruction of vice; it closed with the announcement that on the +following day the _News-Record_ would publish the views of these eminent +reformers upon conditions and remedies. + +The next day he printed the interviews--a collection of curiosities in +utopianism, cant, ignorant fanaticism, provincialism, hypocrisy. These +appeared strictly as news; for the cardinal principle of Howard's theory +of a newspaper was that it had no right to intrude its own views into +its news-columns. On the editorial page he riddled the interviews. By +adroit quotations, by contrasting one with another, he showed, or rather +made the so-called reformers themselves show, that where they were +sincere they were in the main silly, and where they were plausible +they were in the main insincere; that every man of them had his own pet +scheme for the salvation of wicked New York; and that they could not +possibly accomplish anything more valuable than leading the people on +the familiar, aimless, demoralizing excursion through the slums. + +On the following day he frankly laughed at them as a lot of +impracticables who either did not know the patent facts of city life or +refused to admit those facts. And he turned his attention to the real +problem, a respectable administration for the city--a practical end +which could easily be accomplished by practical action. From day to day +he kept this up, publishing a splendid series of articles, humorous, +witty, satirical, eloquent, bold, with a dominant strain of sincerity +and plain common sense. As his associates had predicted, a storm +gathered and burst in fury about the _News-Record_. It was denounced +by "leading citizens," including many of the clergy. Its "esteemed" +contemporaries published and endorsed and amplified the abuse. And its +circulation went up at the rate of five thousand a day. + +When the storm was at its height, when the whole town seemed to be +agreeing with the angry reformers but was quietly laughing at their +folly and hypocrisy, Howard threw his bomb. On a Saturday morning he +gave half of his first page with big but severely impartial headlines to +an analysis of the members of the vice committee--a broadside of facts +often hinted but never before verified and published. First came those +who owned property and sub-let it for vicious purposes, the property +and purpose specified in detail; then those who were directors in +corporations which had got corrupt privileges from the local boss, the +privileges being carefully specified, and also the amounts of which they +had robbed the city. Last came those who were directors in corporations +which had bought from the State-boss injustices and licenses to rob, the +specifications given in damning detail. + +His leading editorial was entitled "Why We Don't Have Decent +Government." It was powerful in its simplicity, its merciless raillery +and irony; and only at the very end did it contain passion. There, in a +few eloquent sentences he arraigned these professed reformers who were +growing rich through the boss-system, who were trafficking with the +bosses and were now engaged in wrecking the hopes of honesty and +decency. On that day the _News-Record's_ circulation went up thirty +thousand. The town rang with its "exposure" and the attention of the +whole country was arrested. It was one of the historic "beats" of New +York journalism. The reputation of the _News-Record_ for fearlessness +and truth-telling and news-enterprise was established. At abound it had +become the most conspicuous and one of the most powerful journals in New +York. + + + + + +XVI. + +MR. STOKELY IS TACTLESS. + + +Howard, riding in the Park one morning late in the spring, came upon +Mrs. Carnarvon. She gave him no chance to evade her, but joined him and +accommodated her horse's pace to his. + +"And are you still on the _News-Record?_" she said. "I hope not." + +"Why?" Howard was smiling, glad to get an outside view of what he had +been doing. + +"Because it's become so sensational. It used to be such a nice paper. +And now--gracious, what headlines! What attacks on the very best people +in the town!" + +"Dreadful, isn't it?" laughed Howard. "We've become so depraved that we +are actually telling the truth about somebodies instead of only about +nobodies." + +"I might have known that you would sympathise with that sort of thing." +Mrs. Carnarvon was teasing, yet reproachful. "You always were an +anarchist." + +"Is it anarchistic to be no respecter of persons and to put big +headlines over big items and little headlines over little items?" + +"Oh, you know what I mean. You are encouraging the unruly classes." + +"Dear me! And we thought we were fighting the unruly class. We thought +that it was our friends--or rather, your friends--the franchise grabbers +and legislature-buyers who won't obey the laws unless the laws happen +to suit their convenience. They're the only unruly class I know anything +about. I've heard of another kind but I've never been able to find it. +And I never hear much about it except when a lot of big rascals are +making off weighted down with plunder. They always shout back over +their shoulders: 'Don't raise a disturbance or you'll arouse the unruly +classes.'" + +Mrs. Carnarvon was laughing. "You put it well," she said, "and I'm not +clever enough to answer you. But they all tell me the _News-Record_ +has become a dangerous paper, that it's attacking everybody who has +anything." + +"Anything he has stolen, yes. But that's all." + +"You can't get me to sympathise with you. I like well-dressed, +well-mannered people who speak good English." + +"So do I. That's why I'm doing all in my power to improve the conditions +for making more and more people of the sort one likes to talk to and +dine with." + +"Why, I thought you sympathised with the lower classes." + +"Not a bit of it. Who has been maligning me to you? I abhor the lower +classes--so much so that I wish to see them abolished." + +"Well, you'll have to blame Marian for misleading me." + +"Miss Trevor? How is she?" Mrs. Carnarvon was looking closely at him, +and he was not sure that he succeeded in showing nothing more than +friendly interest. + +"Haven't you heard from her? She's in England, visiting in Lancashire. +You know her cousin married Lord Cranmore." + +"I saw in the papers several months ago that she was going abroad. I +haven't heard a word since." + +Mrs. Carnarvon started to say something, but changed her mind. + +"When is she coming home?" + +"Not until July. You must come to see us at Newport." + +"Nothing could please me better--if I can get away." + +"I'll send you an invitation, although you have treated me very badly of +late. But I suppose you are busy." + +"Busy? Isn't a galley slave always busy?" + +"Are you still writing editorials?" + +"Yes--and on the fallen _News-Record_. In fact----" + +"Well--what?" + +Howard laughed. "Don't faint," he said. "I'll leave you at once if you +wish me to, and I'll never give it away that you once knew me. I'm the +editor--the responsible devil for the depravity." + +"How interesting!" Mrs. Carnarvon was evidently not disturbed. Then the +American adoration of success came out. "I'm so glad you're getting on. +I always knew you would. Really, you must come to dinner. I'll invite +some of the people you've been attacking. They'll like to look at you, +and you will be amused by them. And I don't in the least mind your +giving it to them if they bait you, as I did this morning. Will you +come?" + +"If I may leave by ten o'clock. I go down town every night." + +"Why, when do you sleep?" + +"Not much, these days. Life's too interesting to permit of much sleep. +I'll make up when it slackens a bit." + +As he was turning his horse, she said: "Marian's address is Claridge's, +Brooke Street, Mayfair. If she isn't there, they forward her mail." + +Howard was puzzled. "What made her give me that address?" he thought. +"I know she didn't like my seeing so much of Marian. And here she is +practically inviting me to write to her." He could not understand it. +"If I were not a 'yellow' editor and if Marian were not engaged to one +of the richest men in New York, I'd say that this lady was encouraging +me." He smiled. "Not yet--not just yet." And he cheerfully urged his +horse into a canter. + +Mrs. Carnarvon's opinion of the _News-Record_ and its recent +performances fairly represented that of the fashionable and the very +rich. They read it, as they never did before, because it interested +them. They could not deny that what it said was true; that is, they +could not deny it to their own minds, although they did vigorously deny +it publicly. Those who were attacked directly or indirectly, or expected +to be attacked, denounced the paper as an "outrage," a "disgrace to the +city," a "specimen of the journalism of the gutter." Many who were not +in sympathy with the men or the methods assailed thought that its +course was "inexpedient," "tended to increase discontent among the lower +classes," "weakened the influence of the better classes." Only a few +of the "triumphant classes" saw the real value and benefit of the +_News-Record's_ frank attacks upon greed and hypocrisy, saw that these +attacks were not dangerous or demagogical because they were just and +were combined with a careful avoidance of encouragement to the lazy, the +envious, the incompetent and the ignorant. + +Fortunately for Howard's peace, that eminent New York "multi," Samuel +Jocelyn, for whom Coulter had the highest respect, was of this last +class. When Howard began, Coulter was at Aiken where Jocelyn had a +cottage. He had never been able to make headway with Jocelyn, and Mrs. +Jocelyn deigned to give him and Mrs. Coulter only the coldest of cold +nods. Just as Coulter had become so agitated by Howard's radical course +that he was preparing to go to New York to remonstrate with him, Jocelyn +called. + +"I came to thank you for what you are doing with your paper," he said +cordially. "It seems to me that all intelligent men who are not blind to +their own ultimate interests ought to stand by you. I can't tell you +how much I admire your frankness and honesty. And you draw the line just +right. You attack plunder, you defend property. Will your wife and you +dine with us this evening?" + +Coulter postponed his trip to New York. + +On the last day of the first three months the circulation of the +_News-Record_ was 147,253--an increase of 42,150 over what it was on the +day Howard took charge; its advertising had increased twelve per cent; +its net profits for the quarter were seventy-five thousand dollars as +against fifty-seven thousand for the preceding quarter. + +"Very good indeed," was Stokely's comment. + +"Another quarter like this," said Howard, "and I'm going to ask you to +let me increase expenses a thousand dollars a week to illustrate the +paper." + +"We'll talk that over with Coulter. Personally I like this +'yellow-journalism'--when it's done intelligently. I always told Coulter +we'd have to come to it. It's only common sense to make a paper easy +reading. Then, too, we can have a great deal more influence--in fact, +we have already. I'm getting what I want up at Albany this winter much +cheaper." + +Howard winced. "He made me feel like a blackmailer," he said to himself +when Stokely had gone. "And I suppose these fellows do look on me as a +new Malcolm with up-to-date tricks. Well, they will see, they will see." + +He tried to go on with his work, but Stokely's cynical words +persistently interrupted him. Why had he not squarely challenged Stokely +then and there? Why had he only winced where a year ago he would have +demanded an explanation? + +He hated to confess it to himself, he made every effort to smother it, +but the thought still stared him in the face--"I am not so strong in my +ideals of personal character as I was a year ago." + +The fact that his present course was profitable gave him, he felt, more +pleasure than the fact that it was right. If the alternative of wealth +and power with self-abasement or poverty, obscurity with self-respect +were put to him now, what would he decide? Would he give up his +prospects, his hopes of Marian and of an easy career? He was afraid to +answer. He contented himself with one of his habitual evasions--"I will +settle that when the time comes. No, Stokely's remark did not make a +crisis. If the crisis ever does come, surely I will act like a man. I'll +be securer then, more necessary to this pair of plunderers, able to make +better terms for myself. In practical life, it is necessary to sacrifice +something in order to succeed." + +But Stokely's words and his own silence and the real reasons for his +changing ideals and for his cowardice continued to annoy him. + +Every day he came down town planning for a better newspaper the next +morning than they had ever made before. And his vigour, his enthusiasm +permeated the entire office. He went from one news department to +another, suggesting, asking for suggestions, praising, criticising +judiciously and with the greatest consideration for vanity. He talked +with the reporters, urging them on by showing keen interest in them +and their work, and intimate knowledge of what they were doing. And he +dictated every day telegrams to correspondents, thanking them for any +conspicuously good stories they had telegraphed in, adding something to +the compensation of those who were paid by space and made little. + +If his work had not been his amusement the long hours, the constant +application, would have broken him down. But he had no interests outside +the office and he got his mental recreation by shifting his mind from +one department to another. + +In June his salary was increased to twenty-five thousand a year and +his last lingering feeling of financial insecurity disappeared. For +the first time in his life he felt strong enough to undertake a serious +responsibility, to give hostages to fortune without fear of being unable +to keep faith. He learned from Mrs. Carnarvon that Marian was +returning on the _Oceanic_ on the ninth of July, and he accepted a +Saturday-to-Monday invitation to Newport for the twelfth of July. It was +from Segur that he got the news that Danvers was in Japan and was not +returning until the autumn. + +On the ninth of July, from the window of his office, he saw the +_Oceanic_ steam up the bay and up the river to her pier. He sent down a +request that the ship-news reporter be sent up as soon as he returned. +"Is it a good story?" he asked when the reporter, Blackwell, entered. +"Was there anybody on board?" + +"A lot of swell people," the young man answered; "all the women got up +in the latest Paris gowns." + +"Did you notice whether Mrs. Provost came?" + +"Came? Well, rather, with two French maids chattering and chasing after +her. And there was a tall girl with her, a stunner, a girl she called +'Marian, my dear.'" + +Howard stopped him with "Thank you. Don't write anything about them." + +"It was the best thing I saw--the funniest." + +"Well--don't use the names." + +Young Blackwell turned to go. "Oh, I see--friends of yours," he smiled. +"Very well. I'll keep 'em out." + +Howard flushed and called him back. "Go ahead," he said. "Write just +what you were going to. Of course you wouldn't write anything that was +not fair and truthful. We don't 'play favourites' here. Forget what I +said." + +And so it came to pass that Mrs. Provost, half pleased, half indignant, +said to Miss Trevor as they sat in the drawing room of the Pullman on +the way to Newport the next day: "Just look at this, Marian dear, in +the horrid _News-Record_. And it used to be such a nice paper with that +slimy Coulter bowing and scraping to everybody." + +"This" was Mrs. Provost and her dogs and her maids and her asides +to "Marian dear," described with accuracy and a keen sense of the +ludicrous. + +"It's too dreadful," she continued. "There is no such thing as privacy +in this country. The newspapers are making us," with a slight accent on +the pronoun, "as common and public as tenement-house people." + +"Yes," Miss Trevor answered absently. "But why read the newspapers? I +never could get interested in them, though I've tried." + + + + + +XVII. + +A WOMAN AND A WARNING. + + +On the evening of Howard's arrival at Newport, Mrs. Carnarvon was having +a few people in to dine. He had just time to dress and so saw no one +until he descended to the reception room. + +"You are to take in Marian," said his hostess, going with him to +where Miss Trevor was sitting, her back to the door and her attention +apparently absorbed by the man facing her. + +"Here's Mr. Howard, Marian," Mrs. Carnarvon interrupted. "Come with me, +Willie. Your lady is over here and we're going in directly." + +Marian saw that Howard was looking at her in the straight, frank fashion +she remembered and liked so well. "I've come for you," he said. + +"Yes, you are to take me in," she evaded, her look even lamer than her +words. + +"You know what I mean." He was smiling, his heart in his eyes, as if the +dozen people were not about them. + +"I see you have not changed," she laughed, answering his look in kind. + +"Changed? I'm revolutionized. I was blind and now I see. I was paralyzed +and behold, I walk. I was weak and lo, I am strong--strong enough for +two, if necessary." + +"Now, hasn't it occurred to you that I might possibly have something to +say about my own fate?" + +"You? Why, you had everything to say. I reasoned it all out with you. +You simply can't add anything to the case I made you make out for +yourself when I talked it over with you. I made you protest very +vigorously." + +"Well, what did I say--that is, what did you make me say?" + +"You said you were engaged--pledged to another--that you could not draw +back without dishonour. And I answered that no engagement could bind you +to become the wife of a man you did not love; that no moral code could +hold you to such a sin; that no code of honour could command you to +permit a man to degrade himself and you. Then you pleaded that you were +not sure you liked my kind of a life, that you feared you wanted wealth +and a great establishment and social leadership and--and all that." + +"Did I?" Marian said with exaggerated astonishment. + +"You did indeed. You were perfectly open with me. You let me see +all that part of you which we try to keep concealed and fancy we +are concealing--all that one really feels and wishes and thinks as +distinguished from what one fancies he ought to feel and wish and +think." + +"I wonder that you cared, after a glance behind that curtain." + +"Oh, but I like what is behind that curtain best of all. The very human +things are there. They make me feel so at home." + +Dinner was announced and it was not until the second course that he had +a chance to resume. Then he began as if there had been no interval: + +"You said--" + +Marian laughed and looked at him--a flash of her luminous blue-green +eyes--and was looking away again with her usual expression. "You needn't +tell me the rest. It doesn't matter what I said. I've had you with me +wherever I went. You never doubted my--my caring, did you?" + +"No. I couldn't doubt you. If you were the sort of woman a man could +doubt, you wouldn't be the sort of woman I could love. And you know it +isn't vanity that makes me sure. I often wonder how you happened to care +for such a--but I must not attack any one whom you like so well. No, I +knew you cared by the same instinct that makes you know that I care for +you." + +"But why did you come?" + +"Because I have won a position for myself, have enough to enable us to +live without eternally fretting over money-matters. I feel that I +have the right to come. And then I could not be interested to live on, +without you; and I'm willing to face, willing to have you face, whatever +may come to us through me. I know that you and I together----" + +"Not now--don't--please." Marian was pale and she was obviously under a +great strain. "You see, you knew all about this. But I didn't until you +looked at me when Jessie brought you. It makes me--happy--I am so happy. +But I must--I can't control myself here." She leaned over as if her +napkin had slipped to the floor. "I love you," she murmured. + +It was Howard's turn to struggle for self-control. "I understand," he +said, "why you wished me not to go on. You never said those words to me +before--and----" + +"Oh, yes I have--many and many a time." + +"With your eyes, but not with your voice--at least not so that I could +hear. And--well, it is not easy to look calm and only friendly when +every nerve in one's body is vibrating like a violin string under +the bow. Yes, let us talk of something else. I've never been acutely +conscious of the presence of others when I've been with you. To-night +I'm in great danger of forgetting them altogether." + +"That would be so like you." Marian laughed, then raised her voice a +little and went on. "Yes, your little restaurant in the Rue Louis le +Grand was gone. There was a dressmaker in its place--Raudinitz. She made +this. How do you like it?" + +"It has the air of--of belonging to you." + +Marian looked amused. Howard shrugged his shoulders. "All roads lead to +Rome," he said. + + * * * * * + +Carnarvon hung about until the women went to bed, so Howard and Marian +had no opportunity to be alone. As soon as he saw his last chance +vanish, he went to his own room, to the solitude of its balcony in the +shadow of the projecting facade with the moonlight flooding the rocks +and the sea. + +As he sat smoking, the recession came, the reaction from weeks of +nervous tension. And with the ebb of the tide entered that Visitor who +alone has the privilege of the innermost chamber where lives the man +himself, unmasked of all vanity and show and pretense. The visit was not +unexpected; for at every such crisis every one is certain of a call from +this Visitor, this merciless critic, plain and rude of speech, rare and +reluctant in praise, so mocking in our moments of elation, so cruelly +frank about our follies and self-excuses when he comes in our moments of +depression. + +"So you are going to marry?" the Visitor said abruptly. "I thought you +had made up your mind on that subject long ago." + +"Love changes a man's point of view," Howard replied, timid and +apologetic before this quiet, relentless other-self. + +"But it doesn't change the facts of life, does it? It doesn't change +character, does it?" + +"I think so. For instance, it has changed me. It has made a man of me. +It has been the inspiration of the past year, strengthening me, making +me ambitious, energetic. Have I not thought of her all the time, worked +for her?" + +"You have been uncommonly persistent--as you always are when you +are thwarted." The Visitor wore a satirical smile. "But a spurt of +inspiration is one thing. A wife--responsibility--fetters----" + +"Not when one loves." + +"That depends upon the kind of love--and the kind of woman--and the kind +of man." + +"Could there be any higher kind of love than ours?" + +"Most romantic, most high-minded--quite idyllic." The Visitor's tone +was gently mocking. "And I don't deny that you may go on loving each the +other. But--how does she fit in with your scheme of life? What does +she really know of or care about your ambitions? Why, you had so little +confidence in her that you didn't dare to think of marrying her until +you had an income which you once would have thought wealth--an income +which, by the way, already begins to seem small to you." + +"No, it wasn't lack of confidence in her," protested Howard. "It was +lack of confidence in myself." + +"True, that did have something to do with it, I grant you. And that +reminds me--what has become of all your cowardice about responsibility?" + +"Oh, I'm changed there." + +"Are you sure? Are you not deceived by this sudden and maybe momentary +streak of good luck in your affairs? You have fixed your ambition +high--very high. You wish to make an honest and a useful and a +distinguished career. You know you have weaknesses. I needn't remind +you--need I--that you have had to fight those weaknesses? How could +you have won thus far if you had been responsible for others instead of +being alone, and certain that the consequences would fall upon yourself +only? I want to see you continue to win. I don't want to see you dragged +down by extravagance, by love for this woman, by ambition of the kind +her friends approve. I don't want to see you--You were silent when +Stokely insulted you!" + +"Love--such love as mine--and for such a woman--and with such love in +return--drag down? Impossible!" + +"Not so--not exactly so, though I must say you are plausible. But don't +forget that you and she are not starting out to make a career. Don't +forget that she is already fixed--her tastes, habits, friendships, +associations, ideals already formed. Don't forget that your love is the +only bond between you--and that it may drag you toward her mode of +life instead of drawing her towards yours. Don't forget that your own +associations and temptations are becoming more and more difficult. I +repeat, you cringed--yes, cringed--when Stokely insulted you. Why?" + +Howard was silent. + +"And," the Visitor went on relentlessly, "let me remind you that not +only did you give her up without a struggle a few months ago but also +she gave you up without a word." + +"But what could she have said?" + +"I don't know, I'm sure. I'm not familiar with ways feminine. But I +know--we know--that, if there had not been some reservation in her love, +some hesitation about you--unconscious, perhaps, but powerful enough to +make her yield--she would not have let you go as she did." + +"But she did not realise, as I did not, how much our love meant to us." + +"Perhaps--that sounds well. All I ask is, will she help you? Are you +really so much stronger than you were only four months ago? Or are you +stimulated by success? Suppose that days of disaster, of peril, come? +What then?" + +"But they will not. I have won a position. I can always command a large +salary--perhaps not quite so much but still a large salary." + +"Perhaps--if you don't trouble yourself about principles. But how would +it be if you would do nothing, write nothing, except what you think is +honest? Would you ask her to face it? Tell me, tell yourself honestly, +have you the right to assume a responsibility you may not be able to +bear, to invite temptations you may not be able to resist?" + +There was a long silence. At last Howard stood up and flung his cigar +into the sea. His face was drawn and his eyes burned. + +"God in heaven!" he cried, "am I not human? May I not have companionship +and sympathy and love? Must I be alone and friendless and loveless +always? That is not life; that is not just. I will not; I will not. I +love her--love her--love her. With the best that there is in me, I love +her. Am I such a coward that I cannot face even my own weaknesses?" + + + + + +XVIII. + +HOWARD EXPLAINS HIS MACHINE. + + +In August Marian and Mrs. Carnarvon came to the Waldorf for two days. +Howard had offered to show them how a newspaper is made; and Mrs. +Carnarvon, finding herself bored by too many days of the same few people +every day, herself proposed the trip. The three dined in the open air on +Sherry's piazza and at eleven o'clock drove down the Avenue, to the east +at Washington Square, and through the Bowery. + +"I never saw it before," said Marian, "and I must say I shall not care +if I never see it again. Why do people make so much fuss about slums, I +wonder?" + +"Oh, they're so queer, so like another world," suggested Mrs. Carnarvon. +"It gives you such a delightful sensation of sadness. It's just like a +not-too-melancholy play, only better because it's real. Then, too, it +makes one feel so much more comfortable and clean and contented in one's +own surroundings." + +"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Jessie." Marian spoke in mock +indignation. "The next thing we know you'll sink to being a patron of +the poor and go about enjoying yourself at making them self-conscious +and envious." + +"They're not at all sad down this way," said Howard, "except in the +usual inescapable human ways. When they're not hit too hard, they bear +up wonderfully. You see, living on the verge of ruin and tumbling over +every few weeks get one used to it. It ceases to give the sensation of +event." + +Their automobile had turned into Park Row and so reached the +_News-Record_ building in Printing House Square. Howard took the +two women to the elevator and they shot upward in a car crowded with +telegraph messengers, each carrying one or more envelopes, some of them +bearing in bold black type the words: "News!--Rush!" + +"I suppose that is the news for the paper?" Mrs. Carnarvon asked. + +"A little of it. Our special cable and special news from towns to which +we have no direct wire and also the _Associated Press_ reports come this +way. But we don't use much _Associated Press_ matter, as it is the same +for all the papers." + +"What do you do with it?" + +"Throw it away. A New York newspaper throws away every night enough to +fill two papers and often enough to fill five or six." + +"Isn't that very wasteful?" + +"Yes, but it's necessary. Every editor has his own idea of what to print +and what not to print and how much space each news event calls for. It +is there that editors show their judgment or lack of it. To print the +things the people wish to read in the quantities the people like and in +the form the most people can most easily understand--that is success as +an editor." + +"No doubt," said Marian, thinking of the low view all her friends +took of Howard's newspaper, "if you were making a newspaper to please +yourself, you would make a very different one." + +"Oh, no," laughed Howard, "I print what I myself like; that is, what I +like to find in a newspaper. We print human news made by human beings +and interesting to human beings. And we don't pretend to be anything +more than human. We try never to think of our own idea of what the +people ought to read, but always to get at what the people themselves +think they ought to read. We are journalists, not news-censors." + +"I must say newspapers do not interest me." Marian confessed it a little +diffidently. + +"You are probably not interested," Howard answered, "because you don't +care for news. It is a queer passion--the passion for news. The public +has it in a way. But to see it in its delirium you must come here." + +"This seems quiet enough." Marian looked about Howard's upstairs office. +It was silent, and from the windows one could see New York and its +rivers and harbour, vast, vague, mysterious, animated yet quiet. + +"Oh, I rarely come here--a few hours a week," Howard replied. "On this +floor the editorial writers work." He opened a door leading to a private +hall. There were five small rooms. In each sat a coatless man, smoking +and writing. One was Segur, and Howard called to him. + +"Are you too busy to look after Mrs. Carnarvon and Miss Trevor for a few +minutes? I must go downstairs." + +Segur gave some "copy" to a boy who handed him a bundle of proofs and +rushed away down a narrow staircase. Howard descended in the elevator, +and Segur, who had put on his coat, sat talking to the two women as he +looked through the proofs, glancing at each narrow strip, then letting +it drop to the floor. + +"You don't mind my working?" he asked. "I have to look at these things +to see if there is any news that calls for editional attention. If I +find anything and can think an editorial thought about it, I write it; +and if Howard is in the humour, perhaps the public is permitted to read +it." + +"Is he severe?" asked Mrs. Carnarvon. + +"The 'worst ever,'" laughed Segur. "He is very positive and likes only +a certain style and won't have anything that doesn't exactly fit his +ideas. He's easy to get along with but difficult to work for." + +"I imagine his positiveness is the secret of his success." Marian knew +that Segur was half in jest and was fond of Howard. But she couldn't +endure hearing him criticised. + +"No. I think he succeeds because he works, pushes straight on, never +stops to repair blunders but never makes the same kind of a blunder the +second time." + +Segur's eye caught an item that suggested an editorial paragraph. He +sat at Howard's desk, thought a moment, scrawled half a dozen lines in +a large ragged hand on a sheet of ruled yellow paper, and pressed +an electric button. The boy came, handed him another thick bundle of +proofs, took the "copy" and withdrew. Just then Howard returned. + +"We'll go down to the news-room," he said. + +The windows of the great news-room were thrown wide. Scores of electric +lights made it bright. At the various desks or in the aisles were +perhaps fifty men, most of them young, none of them beyond middle age. +They were in every kind of clothing from the most fashionable summer +attire to an old pair of cheap and stained duck trousers, collarless +negligee shirt open all the way down the front and suspenders hanging +about the hips. + +Some were writing long-hand; others were pounding away at the +typewriter; others were talking in undertones to "typists" taking +dictation to the machine; others were reading "copy" and altering it +with huge blue pencils which made apparently unreadable smears wherever +they touched the paper. In and out skurried a dozen office-boys, +responding to calls from various desks, bringing bundles of proofs, +thrusting copy into boxes which instantly and noisily shot up through +the ceiling. + +It was a scene of confusion and furious activity. The face of each +individual was calm and his motions by themselves were not excited. But +taking all together and adding the tense, strained expression underneath +the calm--the expression of the professional gambler--there was a total +of active energy that was oppressive. + +"We had a fire below us one night," said Howard. "We are two hundred +feet from the street and there were no fire escapes. We all thought it +was good-bye. It was nearly half an hour before we found out that the +smoke booming up the stairways and into this room had no danger behind +it." + +"Gracious!" Mrs. Carnarvon shuddered and looked uneasily about. + +"It's perfectly safe," Howard reassured her. "We've arranged things +better since then. Besides, that fire demonstrated that the building was +fireproof." + +"And what happened?" asked Miss Trevor. + +"Why, just what you see now. The Managing Editor, Mr. King over +there--I'll introduce him to you presently--went up to a group of men +standing at one of the windows. They were pretending indifference as +they looked down at the crowd which was shouting and tossing its arms +in a way that more than suggested pity for us poor devils up here. Well, +King said: 'Boys, boys, this isn't getting out a paper.' Every one went +back to his work and--and that was all." + +They went on to the room behind the newsroom. As Howard opened its heavy +door a sound, almost a roar, of clicking instruments and typewriters +burst out. Here again were scores of desks with men seated at them, +every man with a typewriter and a telegraph instrument before him. + +"These are our direct wires," Howard explained. "Our correspondents in +all the big cities, east, west, north and south and in London, are at +the other end of these wires. Let me show you." + +Howard spoke to the operator nearest them. "Whom have you got?" + +"I'm taking three thousand words from Kansas City," he replied. +"Washington is on the next wire." + +"Ask Mr. Simpson how the President is to-night," Howard said to the +Washington operator. + +His instrument clicked a few times and was silent. Almost immediately +the receiver began to click and, as the operator dashed the message off +on his typewriter the two women read over his shoulder: "Just came from +White House. He is no better, probably a little worse because weaker. +Simpson." + +"And can you hear just as quickly from London?" Marian asked. + +"Almost. I'll try. There is always a little delay in transmission from +the land systems to the cable system; and messages have to be telephoned +between our office in Trafalgar Square and the cable office down in the +city. Let's see, it's five o'clock in the morning in London now. They've +been having it hot there. I'll ask about the weather." + +Howard dictated to the man at the London wire: "Roberts, London. How is +the weather? Howard." + +In less than ten minutes the cable-man handed Howard a typewritten slip +reading: "_News-Record_, New York, Howard: Thermometer 97 our office +now. Promises hottest day yet. Roberts." + +"I never before realised how we have destroyed distance," said Mrs. +Carnarvon. + +"I don't think any one but a newspaper editor completely realises it," +Howard answered. "As one sits here night after night, sending messages +far and wide and receiving immediate answers, he loses all sense of +space. The whole world seems to be in his anteroom." + +"I begin to see fascination in this life of yours." Marian's face showed +interest to enthusiasm. "This atmosphere tightens one's nerves. It seems +to me that in the next moment I shall hear of some thrilling happening." + +"It's listening for the first rumour of the 'about to happen' that makes +newspaper-men so old and yet so young, so worn and yet so eager. Every +night, every moment of every night, we are expecting it, hoping for +some astounding news which it will test our resources to the utmost to +present adequately." + +From the news-room they went up to the composing room--a vast hall of +confusion, filled with strange-looking machines and half-dressed men and +boys. Some were hurrying about with galleys of type, with large metal +frames; some were wheeling tables here and there; scores of men and a +few women were seated at the machines. These responded to touches upon +their key-boards by going through uncanny internal agitations. Then out +from a mysterious somewhere would come a small thin strip of almost hot +metal, the width of a newspaper column and marked along one edge with +letters printed backwards. + +Up through the floor of this room burst boxes filled with "copy." Boys +snatched the scrawled, ragged-looking sheets and tossed them upon a +desk. A man seated there cut them into little strips, hanging each strip +upon a hook. A line of men filed rapidly past these hooks, snatching +each man a single strip and darting away to a machine. + +"It is getting late," said Howard. "The final rush for the first edition +is on. They are setting the last 'copy.'" + +"But," Mrs. Carnarvon asked, "how do they ever get the different parts +of the different news-items together straight?" + +"The man who is cutting copy there--don't you see him make little marks +on each piece? Those marks tell them just where their 'take,' as they +call it, belongs." + +They went over to the part of the great room where there were many +tables, on each a metal frame about the size of a page of the newspaper. +Some of the frames were filled with type, others were partly empty. And +men were lifting into them the galleys of type under the direction of +the Night Editor and his staff. As soon as a frame was filled two men +began to even the ends of the columns and then to screw up an inside +framework which held the type firmly in place. Then a man laid a great +sheet of what looked like blotting-paper upon the page of type and +pounded it down with a mallet and scraped it with a stiff brush. + +"That is the matrix," said Howard. "See him putting it on the elevator." +They looked down the shaft. "It has dropped to the sub-basement," said +Howard, "two hundred and fifty feet below us. They are already bending +it into a casting-box of the shape of the cylinders on the presses; +metal will be poured in and when it is cool, you will have the metal +form, the metal impression of the page. It will be fastened upon the +press to print from." + +They walked back through the room which was now in almost lunatic +confusion--forms being locked; galleys being lifted in; editors, +compositors, boys, rushing to and fro in a fury of activity. Again the +phenomenon of the news-room, the individual faces calm but their tense +expressions and their swift motions making an impression of almost +irrational excitement. + +"Why such haste?" asked Marian. + +"Because the paper must be put to press. It must contain the very latest +news and it must also catch the mails; and the mail-trains do not wait." + +They descended in the main elevator to the ground floor and then went +down a dark and winding staircase until they faced an iron door. Howard +pushed it open and they entered the press-room. Its temperature was +blood-heat, its air heavy and nauseating with the odours of ink, moist +paper and oil, its lights dim. They were in a gallery and below them on +all sides were the huge presses, silent, motionless, waiting. + +Suddenly a small army of men leaped upon the mighty machines, scrambled +over them, then sprang back. With a tremendous roar that shook the +entire building the presses began to revolve, to hurl out great heaps of +newspapers. + +"Those presses eat six hundred thousand pounds of paper and four tons +of ink a week," Howard shouted. "They can throw out two hundred thousand +complete papers an hour--papers that are cut, folded, pasted, and ready +to send away. Let us go before you are stifled. This air is horrible." + +They returned in the elevator to his lofty office. Even there a slight +vibration from the press-room could be felt. But it was calm and still, +a fit place from which to view the panorama of sleeping city and drowsy +harbour tranquil in the moonlight. + +"Look." Howard was leaning over the railing just outside his window. + +They looked straight down three hundred feet to the street made bright +by electric lights. Scores of wagons loaded with newspapers were rushing +away from the several newspaper buildings. The shouts, the clash of +hoofs and heavy tires on the granite blocks, the whirr of automobiles, +were borne faintly upward. + +"It is the race to the railway stations to catch the mail-trains," +Howard explained. "The first editions go to the country. These wagons +are hurrying in order that tens of thousands of people hundreds of miles +away, at Boston, Philadelphia, Washington and scores on scores of +towns between and beyond, may find the New York newspapers on their +breakfast-tables." + +The office-boy came with a bundle of papers, warm, moist, the ink +brilliant. + +"And now for the inquest," said Howard. + +"The inquest?" Marian looked at him inquiringly. + +"Yes--viewing the corpse. It was to give birth to this that there +was all that intensity and fury--that and a thousand times more. For, +remember, this paper is the work of perhaps twenty thousand brains, in +every part of the world, throughout civilisation and far into the depths +of barbarism. Look at these date lines--cities and towns everywhere in +our own country, Canada, Mexico, Central America, South America. You'll +find most of the capitals of Europe represented; and Africa, north, +south and central, east and west coast. Here's India and here the heart +of Siberia. + +"There is China and there Japan and there Australia. Think of these +scores of newspaper correspondents telegraphing news of the doings of +their fellow beings--not what they did last month or last year, but what +they did a few hours ago--some of it what they were doing while we were +dining up at Sherry's. Then think of the thousands on thousands of these +newspaper-men, eager, watchful agents of publicity, who were on duty but +had nothing to report to-day. And----" + +Howard shrugged his shoulders and tossed the paper from him. + +"There it lies," he said, "a corpse. Already a corpse, its life ended +before it was fairly born. There it is, dead and done for--writ in +water, and by anonymous hands. Who knows who did it? Who cares?" + +He caught Marian's eyes, looking wonder and reproach. + +"I don't like to hear you say that," she said, forgetting Mrs. +Carnarvon. "Other men--yes, the little men who work for the cheap +rewards. But not you, who work for the sake of work. This night's +experience has thrilled me. I understand your profession now. I see what +it means to us all, to civilisation, what a splendid force for good, +for enlightenment, for uplifting it is. I can see a great flood of light +radiating from this building, pouring into the dark places, driving +away ignorance. And the thunder of those presses seems to me to fill +the world with some mighty command--what is it?--oh, yes--I can hear it +distinctly. It is, 'Let there be light!'" + +Mrs. Carnarvon's back was toward them and she was looking out at the +harbour. Howard put his hands upon Marian's shoulders and they looked +each the other straight in the eyes. + +"Lovers and comrades," he said, "always. And how strong we +are--together!" + + + + + +XIX. + +"I MUST BE RICH." + + +"While I don't feel dependent upon the owners of the _News-Record_, +still I am not exactly independent of them either. And if I left them it +would only be to become dependent in the same way upon somebody else. A +man who makes his living by the advocacy of principles should be wholly +free. If he isn't, the principles are sure sooner or later to become +incidental to the living, instead of the living being incidental to the +principles." + +"But you see--perhaps I ought to have told you before--that is, there +may be"--Marian was stammering and blushing. + +"What's the matter? Don't frighten me by looking so--so criminal," +Howard laughed. + +It was late in August. Marian was visiting Mrs. Brandon at +Irvington-on-the-Hudson and she and Howard were driving. + +"I never told you. But the fact is"--she hesitated again. + +"Is it about your other engagement? You never told me about that--how +you broke it off. I don't want you to tell me unless you wish to. You +know I never meddle in past matters. I'm simply trying to help you out." + +"Instead, you're making it worse. I'd rather not tell you that if----" + +"We'll never speak of it again. And now, what is it that is troubling +you?" + +"I have been trying to tell you--I wish you wouldn't look at me--I've +got a small income--it's really very small." + +"I'm glad to hear it." + +"I was afraid you wouldn't like it. It isn't very big--only about +eight thousand a year--some years not so much. But then, if anything +happened--we could be--we could live." + +Howard smiled as he looked at her--but not with his eyes. + +"I'm glad," he said. "It makes me feel safer in several ways. And I'm +especially glad that it is not larger than mine. I know it's stupid, as +so many of our instincts are; but I should not like to marry a woman who +had a larger income than I could earn. I think it is the only remnant +I have of the 'lord and master' idea that makes so many men ridiculous. +But we need not let that bother us. Fate has made us about equal in this +respect, so unimportant yet so important; and we are each independent of +the other. Each will always know that love is the only bond that holds +us together." + +They decided that they would live at the rate of about fifteen thousand +a year and would put by the rest of their income. She was to undertake +the entire management of their home, he transferring his share by check +each month. + +"And so," she said, "we shall never have to discuss money matters." + +"We couldn't," laughed Howard. "I don't know anything about them and +could not take part in a discussion." + +As they were to be married in November, they planned to take an +apartment when Marian came back to town--in late September. She was to +attend to the furnishing and all was to be in readiness by the time they +were married. Howard was to get a six weeks' vacation and, as soon as +they returned, they were to go to housekeeping. + +Her visit to the _News-Record_ office had made a change in her. +Until she met Howard, she had known only the world-that-idles and +the world-that-drudges. Howard brought her the first real news of the +world-that-works. Of course she knew that there was such a world, but +she had confused it with the world-that-drudges. She liked to hear +Howard talk about his world, but she thought that his enthusiasm blinded +him to the truth of its drudgery; and she often caught herself half +regretting that he had to work. + +But that vast machine for the swift collecting and distributing of the +news of the world had opened her eyes, had made her see her lover and, +through him, his life, in a different aspect. She had accepted the +supercilious, thoughtless opinion of those about her that the newspaper +is a mere purveyor of inaccurate gossip. And while Howard had tried to +show her his profession as it was, he had only succeeded in convincing +her that he himself had an exalted view of it; a view which she thought +creditable to him but wide of the disagreeable truth. + +On that trip down-town she had seen "the press" with the flaws reduced +and the merits looming. She had looked into those all-seeing eyes +that watch the councils of statesmen and the movements of nations and +peoples, yet also note the swing of a murderous knife in an alley of the +slums. She had heard that stentorian voice of Publicity, arousing the +people of the earth to apprehend, to reflect, to progress. + +She had been proud of Howard for his appearance, for what he said and +the way he said it. Now she was proud of him for the part he was taking +in this wonderful world-that-works. And she would not have confessed to +him how insignificant she felt, how weak and worthless. + +She thought she was impatient for the time to come when she could learn +how to help him in his work, could begin to feel that she too had a +real share in it. With what seemed to her most creditable energy and +self-sacrifice she tried again to interest herself in newspapers. But +the trivial parts bored her; the chronicles of crime repelled her; and +the politics and most of the other serious articles were beyond the +range of her knowledge or of her interest. "I shall wait until we are +married," she said, "then he will teach me." And she did not suspect how +significant, how ominous her postponement was. + +She asked him if he would not teach her and he replied: "Why, certainly, +if you are interested. But I don't intend to trouble you with the +details of my profession. I want you to lead your own life--to do what +interests you." + +She did not stop to analyse her feeling of relief at this release, and +went on to protest: "But I want your life to be my life. I want there to +be only one life--our life." + +"And there shall be--each contributing his share, at least I'll try to +contribute mine. But you have your own individuality, dear; and a very +strong one it is. And I don't want you to change." + +At the time he was deep in his plans for illustrating the _News-Record_. +Early in that fall's campaign they had secured the best cartoonist +in America. Cartoons are rarely the work of one man but are got up by +consultations. Howard spent never less than an hour each day with +the cartoonist, Wickham, wrestling with the problem of the next day's +picture. For he insisted upon having a striking cartoon each day, and +gave it the most conspicuous place in the paper--the top-centre of the +first page. + +"If a cartoon is worth printing at all," he said, "it is worth printing +large and conspicuous. And to be worth printing it must be like an ideal +editorial--one point sharply and swiftly made and so clear that the most +careless glance-of-the-eye is enough." + +Wickham had made a series of cartoons on the campaign, humorous and +satirical, which had the distinction of being reproduced on lantern +slides for use in all parts of the town. It was an admirable beginning +of the new policy of illustration. Howard had been making a careful +study of all the illustrators in the country, not overlooking those +toiling in obscurity on the big western dailies. He had selected a staff +of twenty; as soon as Coulter and Stokely assented, he engaged them by +telegraph. Five were developed artists, the rest beginners with talent. +He gave all of his attention for two weeks to organising this staff. +He infected it with his enthusiasm. He impressed upon it his ideas of +newspaper illustration--the dash and energy of the French illustrators +adapted to American public taste. He insisted upon the artists studying +the French illustrated papers and applying what they learned. It was +not until the first Sunday in December that he felt ready to submit the +results of these labours to the public. + +Again he scored over the "contemporaries" of the _News-Record_. +They printed many more illustrations than it did. It had only one +illustration on a page, but there was one on every page and a good one. +All the subjects were well chosen--either action or character--and as +many good looking women as possible. + +"Never publish a commonplace face," he said. "There is no such thing in +life as an uninteresting face. Always find the element of interest and +bring it out." + +The result of this policy, interpreted by a carefully trained and +enthusiastic staff, was what the out-of-town press was soon praising as +"a revelation in newspaper-illustration." Howard himself was surprised. +He had mentally insured against a long period of disappointment. + +"This shows," he remarked to King and Vroom, "how much more competent +men are than we usually think--if they get a chance, if they are pointed +in the right direction and are left free." + +"He certainly knows his business." Vroom was looking after Howard +admiringly. "I never saw anybody who so well understood when to lead and +when to let alone. What results he does get!" + +"A pity to waste such talents on this thankless business," said King. +"If he'd gone into real business, he would have a salary of a hundred +thousand a year, would be rich and secure for life. Why, a business +man could and would make a whole career on the ideas he has in a single +week. As it is----" + +King shrugged his shoulders and Vroom finished the sentence for him: +"Coulter and Stokely could kick him out to-morrow and the _News-Record_ +would go straight on living upon his ideas for ten years at least." + +Howard needed no one to make this truth clear to him to the full. Often, +as he thought of his expanding tastes, his expanding expenditures and +his expanding plans both for his private life and for his career, he +felt an awful sinking at the heart and a sense of fundamental weakness. + +"I am building upon sand," he said to himself. "In business, in the law, +in almost any other career to-day's work would be to-morrow's capital. +As it is, I am ever more and more a slave. To be free I ought to be poor +or rich. And I cannot endure the thought of poverty again. I must be +rich." + +The idea allured him to a degree that made him ashamed of himself. +Sometimes, when he was talking to Marian or writing editorials, all in +the strain of high principle and contempt for sordidness, he would flush +at the thought that he was in reality a good deal of a hypocrite. "I'm +expressing the ideals I ought to have, the ideals I used to have, not +the ideals I have." + +But the clearer this discrepancy became to him and the wider the gap +between what he ought to think and what he really did think, the more +strenuously he protested to himself against himself, and the more +fiercely he denounced in public the very poison he was himself taking. + +"I am living in a tainted atmosphere," he said to Marian. "We all are. I +fight against the taint but how can I hope to avoid the consequences if +I persist in breathing it, in absorbing it at every pore of my body?" + +"I don't understand you." Marian was used to his moods of self-criticism +and did not attach much importance to them. + +He thought a moment. "Oh, nothing," he said. "What's the use of +discussing what can't be helped?" How could he tell her that the +greatest factor in his enervating environment was herself; that the +strongest chains which held him in it were the chains which bound him +to her? Indeed, was he not indulging in cowardly self-excuse in thinking +that this was true? Had not his success, rather than his love, made +ambition unfettered by principle the mainspring of his life? + + + + + +XX. + +ILLUSION. + + +"How shall we be married?" Howard asked her in the late Autumn. + +"I know it will not be in a church with ushers and bridesmaids and a +crowd gaping at us. I suppose there is a public side to marriage since +the state makes one enter into a formal contract. But that can be done +privately. I should as soon think of driving down the Avenue with my +arms about your neck as of a public wedding." + +"Thank you," he laughed. "I was afraid--well, women are usually so +fond of--but you're not usual. Let us see. The minister is absolutely +necessary, I suppose. Would one feel married if there were not a +minister?" + +"I don't know--I feel--" + +She hesitated and blushed but looked straight at him with that +expression in her eyes which always made him think of their love as +their religion. + +"Feel--go on. I want to hear that very, very much." + +"I feel as if I were just as much married to you now as I ever could +be." + +"And that is how I have felt ever since the day, when I hardly knew you, +when you suddenly came into my life--my real, inner life where no one +had been before--and sat down and at once made it look as if it were +your home. And the place that had been lonely was lonely no more, and +has not been since." + +She put her hand in his and he saw that there were tears in her eyes. + +"What is it?" he asked. + +"Only that--that I am so happy. It--it frightens me. It seems so like a +dream." + +"It's going to be a long, long dream, isn't it?" He lifted her hand and +kissed it, then put it down in her lap again gently as if he feared a +sudden movement might awaken them. "Perhaps it had better be at Mrs. +Carnarvon's house--some morning just before luncheon and we could go +quietly away afterward." + +"Yes--and--tell me," she said, "wouldn't it be better for us not to +go far away--and not to stay long? It seems to me that I most want to +begin--begin our life together just as it will be." + +"Are you afraid you wouldn't know what to do with me if I were idling +about all day long?" + +"Not exactly that. But I'd rather not take a vacation until we had +earned it together." + +"What a beautiful idea! I'll see what I can do." + +They postponed the wedding until Howard had the "art-department" of the +_News-Record_ well established. It was on a bright winter day in the +second week of January that they stood up together and were married by +the Mayor whom Howard had helped to elect. Only Mr. and Mrs. Carnarvon +and Marian's brother were there. Then the six sat down to luncheon, and +at three o'clock Howard and his wife started for Lakewood. + +When they arrived a victoria was waiting. As soon as they were seated, +Howard said "Home." The coachman touched his hat and the horses set +out at a swift trot. The sun was setting and the dry, still air was +saturated with the perfume of the snow-draped pines. Within five minutes +the carriage was at a pretty little cottage with wide, glass-enclosed +porches. They entered the hall. In the rooms on either side open fires +were blazing an ecstatic welcome. + +"How do you like 'home'?" asked Howard. + +"I don't quite understand." + +"You remember your plan of beginning at once. Well--this is the +compromise. Stokely has let me have his house here for a month--we may +keep it two if we like it. There is a telephone. The office isn't two +hours away by rail. The newspapers are here early. We can combine work +and play." + +The manservant had left the room, a sort of library-reception room. +Marian was seated in a big chair drawn near the fire. She had thrown +back her wraps and was slowly drawing off her gloves. Howard stood at +the side of the fire, leaning against the mantel and looking down at +her. + +"Before you definitely decide to stay--" he paused. + +"Yes," she said, her colour heightening as she slowly lifted her eyes to +his, "yes--why this solemn tone?" + +"If ever--in the days that come--one never knows what may happen--if +ever you should find that you had changed toward me----" + +"Yes?" + +"I ask you--don't promise--I never want you to promise me anything--I +want you always--at every moment--to be perfectly free. So I just ask +that you will let me see it. Then we can talk about it frankly, and we +can decide what is best to do." + +"But--suppose--you see I might still not wish to wound you--" she +suggested, half teasing, half in earnest. + +"It seems to me now that it is impossible that we can ever change. It +seems to me--" he sat on the wide arm of her chair, and leaned over +until his head touched hers, "that if you were to change it would break +my heart. But if you were to change and were to hide it from me, I +should find it out some day and----" + +"And what----" + +"It would be worse--a broken heart, a horror of myself, a--a contempt +for you." + +"Whatever comes, I'll be myself or try to be. Is that what you mean?" + +"Exactly." + +"And if you change?" + +"But I shall not!" + +"Why do you say that so positively?" + +"Because--well, there are some things that we wish to believe and half +believe, and some things that we believe that we believe, and somethings +that we _know_. I _know_ about you--about my love for you." + +"It is strange in a way, isn't it?" Marian was gently drawing her +fingers through his. "This is all so different from what I used to think +love would be. I used to picture to myself a man, something like you in +appearance, only taller and fair, who would be my master, who would make +me do what he wished. I think a woman always dreams of a lover who will +be strong enough to be her ruler. And here----" + +"So I am not the strong man that you look up to and tremble before? We +shall see." + +"Don't laugh at me. I mean that instead I have a man who makes me rule +myself. You make me feel strong, not weak, and proud, not humble. You +make me respect myself so." + +"The democracy of love--freedom, equality, fraternity. Don't you like +it?" + +"Madame is served." It was the servant holding back one of the +portires, his face expressionless, his eyes down. + + * * * * * + +Happiness evades description or analysis. We can only say that +it reaches its highest point when a man and a woman, intelligent, +appreciative, sympathetic, endowed with youth, health and freedom, are +devoting their energies solely and determinedly to verifying each a +preconceived idea of the other. + +"And what do you think of it by this time?" + +Marian asked the question in the pause after a twenty minutes' canter +over a straightaway stretch through the pines. + +"Of what?" Howard inquired. "I mean of what phase of it. Of you?" + +"Well,--yes, of me--after a week." + +"As I expected, only more so--more than I could have imagined. And you, +what do you think?" + +"It's very different from what I expected. It seemed to me beforehand +that you, even you, would 'get on my nerves' just a little at times. I +didn't expect you to appreciate--to feel my moods and to avoid doing--or +is it that you simply cannot do--anything jarring. You have amazing +instincts or else--" Marian looked at him and smiled mischievously, "or +else you have been well educated. Oh, I don't mind--not in the least. +No matter what the cause, I'm glad--glad--glad that you have been taught +how to treat a woman." + +"I see you are determined to destroy me," Howard was in jest, yet in +earnest. "I am not used to being flattered. I have never had but one +critic, and I have trained him to be severe and uncharitable. Now if you +set me up on a high altar and wave the censers and cry 'glory, glory, +glory,' I'll lose my head. You have a terrible responsibility. I trust +you and I believe everything you say." + +"I'll begin my duties as critic as soon as we go back to--to earth. But +at present I'm going to be selfish. You see it makes me happier to blind +myself to your faults." + +They rode in silence for a few moments and then she said: + +"I wish I had your feeling about--about democracy. I see your point of +view but I can't take it. I know that you are right but I'm afraid my +education is too strong for me. I don't believe in the people as you do. +It's beautiful when you say it. I like to hear you. And I would not +wish you to feel as I do. I'd hate it if you did. It would be stooping, +grovelling for you to make distinctions among people. But----" + +"Oh, but I do make distinctions among people--so much so that I have +never had a friend in my life until you came. I have been on intimate +terms with many, but no one except you has been on intimate terms with +me. Oh, yes, I'm one of the most exclusive persons in the world." + +"That sounds like autocracy, doesn't it?" laughed Marian. "But you know +I don't mean that. You think all the others are just as good as you are, +only in different ways, whereas I feel that they're not. You don't mind +vulgarity and underbreeding because you are perfectly indifferent to +people so long as they don't try to jump the fence about your own little +private enclosure." + +"Oh, I believe in letting other people alone, and I insist upon being +let alone myself. You see you make the whole world revolve about social +distinctions. The fact is, isn't it, that social distinctions are mere +trifles--" + +"You oughtn't to waste time arguing with a prejudice. I admit that what +I believe and feel is unreasonable. But I can't change an instinct. +To me some people are better than others and are entitled to more, and +ought to be looked up to and respected." + +Howard had an answer on the tip of his tongue. His passion for high +principle seemed to have been rekindled for the time by his love and in +this tranquillising environment. He felt strongly tempted to reason with +her unreasonableness, thus practically boasted as a virtue. It seemed so +unworthy, this streak of snobbery, so senseless in an American at most +three generations away from manual labour. But he had made up his mind +long ago to trust to new surroundings, new interests to create in her a +spirit more in sympathy with his career. + +"She is too intelligent, too high-minded," he often reassured himself, +"to cling to this stupidity of class-feeling. She has heard nothing but +class-distinction all her life. Now that she is away from those people, +with their petty routine of petty ideas, she will begin to see things as +they are." + +So he suppressed the argument and, instead, said in a tone of mock-pity: +"Poor fallen queen--to marry beneath her. How she must have fought +against the idea of such a plebeian partner." + +"Plebeian--you?" Marian looked at him proudly. "Why, one has only to see +you to know." + +"Yes, plebeian. I shall conceal it no longer. My ancestors were plain, +ordinary, common, untitled Americans." + +"Why, so were mine," she laughed. + +"Don't! You distress me. I should never have married you had I known +that." + +"I _am_ absurd, am I not?" Marian said gaily. "But let me have my craze +for well-mannered people and I'll leave you your craze for the--the +masses." + +They began to canter. Howard was smiling in spite of his irritation; +for it always irritated him to have her refuse to see his point in this +matter--his distinction between a person as a friend and a person as a +sociological unit. + +He worked for an hour or two every morning and sometimes in the evening, +Marian not far from his desk, so seated that when she turned the page +of her book she could lift her eyes and look at him. She read the papers +diligently every day for the first week. At the outset she thought she +was interested. But she knew so little about newspaper details that she +soon had to confess to herself that she was in fact interested in Howard +as her husband and lover, and that his career interested her only in a +broad, general way. What he talked about, that she understood and +liked and was able to discuss. But the newspapers and the news direct +suggested nothing to her, bored her. + +"Just read that," he would say, pointing to an item. She would read it +and wonder what he meant. + +"It seems to me," she would think, "that it wouldn't in the least matter +if that had not been printed." Then she would ask evasively but with an +assumption of interest, "What are you going to do about it?" + +And he would explain the meaning between the lines; the hinted facts +that ought to be brought out; the possibilities of getting a piece of +news that would attract wide attention. And she would see it, sometimes +clearly, usually vaguely; and she would admire him, but resume her +unconquerable indifference to news. + +She was soon looking at the paper only to read what he wrote; and she +often thought how much more interesting he was as a talker than as +a writer. "I'll start right when we get to town," she was constantly +promising herself. "It must, must, must be _our_ work." + +Howard was, as she had told him, acutely sensitive to her moods. He did +not formulate it to himself but simply obeyed an instinct which defined +for him the limits of her interest. Before they had been at Lakewood +a month, he was working alone without any expectation of sympathy or +interest from her and without the slightest sense of loss in not getting +it. Why should he miss that which he had never had, had never counted +upon getting? He had always been mentally alone, most alone in the +plans and actions bearing directly upon his own career. He was perfectly +content to have her as the companion of his leisure. + +Possibly, if he had been insistent, or if they had been in real sympathy +instead of in only surface sympathy in most respects, she might +have become interested in his work, might have impelled him to right +development. But her distaste and inertia and his habit of debating and +deciding questions as to the paper in his own mind, the fear of boring +her, the dread of intruding upon her rights to her own individual tastes +and feelings, restrained him without his having a sense of restraint. + +When, after two months, they went up to town to stay, their course +of life was settled, though Marian was protesting that it was not and +Howard was unconscious of there having been any settlement, or anything +to settle. + + + + +XXI. + +WAVERING. + +Their home was an apartment at Twenty-ninth Street and Madison +Avenue--just large enough for two with its eleven rooms, all bearing the +stamp of Marian's individuality. She had a keen sense of the beautiful +and she had given her thought and most of her time between the early +autumn and the wedding to making an attractive home. He had not seen her +work until they came together in the late afternoon of a day in the last +week of February. + +"You--everywhere you," he said, as they inspected room after room. "I +don't see how I could add anything to that. It is beautiful--the things +you have brought together, I mean, the furniture, curtains, carpets, +pictures, all beautiful in themselves, but--" + +He was looking at her in that way which made her feel his great love for +her even more deeply than when he put his arms about her and kissed +her. "It reminds me of what I so often think about you. Nature gave you +beauty but you make it wonderful because _you_ shine through it, give it +the force, the expression of your individuality. Other women have noses, +eyes, chins, mouths as beautiful as yours. But only you produce such +effects with the materials. I don't express it very well but--you +understand?" + +"Yes, I understand." She was leaning against him, her head resting upon +his shoulder. "And you like your home?" + +"We shall be happy here. I feel it in the air. This is a temple of the +three great gods--Freedom, Love and Happiness. And--we'll keep the fires +on the altars blazing, won't we?" + +His hours were most irregular. Sometimes he was off to work early in the +morning. Again he would not rise until noon. Sometimes he did not go +to the office after dinner, and again he came hurriedly to dinner, not +having the time to dress, and left immediately afterward to be gone +until two, three or even four in the morning. At first Marian tried to +follow his irregularities; but she was soon compelled to give up. As +he most often breakfasted about ten o'clock, she arranged to breakfast +regularly at that hour. If he was not yet up, she waited about the house +until she had seen him, listened while he talked of those "everlasting +newspapers," praised his work a great deal, criticised it little and +that gently. She made few and feeble struggles to interest herself in +newspapers as newspapers. But he did not encourage her; other interests, +domestic and social, clamoured for her time; and the idea of being +directly useful to him in his work faded from her mind. + +If she had loved him more sympathetically, if she had not been so +super-sensitive to his passion for complete freedom, she would have +resented what in another kind of man would have seemed frank neglect +of her. But she thought she understood him and was deceived by his +self-deceiving conviction that his work was her service and that the +highest proof of his devotion to her was devotion to "our" career. Thus +there was no bitterness or reproach of him, rarely much intensity, in +her regret that they were together so little. + +"Good morning, stranger!" she said, as he came into the dining room one +day in early June. + +He kissed her hand and then the "topknot" as he called the point into +which her hair was gathered at the crown of her head. "It has been four +days since I saw you," he said. And he sat opposite her looking at her +with an expression of sadness which she had not seen since the first +days of their acquaintance. + +"I have missed you--you know," she was trying to look cheerful, "but I +understand--" + +"Yes," he interrupted. "You understand what I intend, understand that I +mean my life to be for _us_. But sometimes--this morning--I think I am +mistaken. It seems to me that I am letting this--" he threw his hand +contemptuously toward the heap of morning newspapers beside him, "this +trash comes between us. You are my real career, not these, and under the +pretense of working for us I am spending my whole life, my one life, +my one chance to help to make us happy, upon these." And he pushed the +bundle of papers off the table. + +"Something has depressed you." She was leaning her elbow upon the table +and her chin upon her hand and was looking at him wistfully. "I wouldn't +have you any different. You must follow the law of your nature. You must +work at your ideal of being useful and influential in the world. You +would not be satisfied to take my hand and trudge off with me through +Arcadia to pick flowers and weave them into crowns for me. Nor should +I," she laughed, "or I try to think I shouldn't." + +"Let us go abroad for two months," he said. "I am tired, so tired. I am +so weary of all these others, men and things." + +"Can you spare the time?" + +"I"--he corrected himself--"we have earned a vacation. It will be for +me the first real vacation since I left Yale--thirteen years ago. I am +growing narrow and stale. Let us get away and forget. Shall we?" + +"The sooner the better--if this is not a passing mood. What has +depressed you?" she persisted. + +"What seems to be a piece of very good luck." He laughed almost +sneeringly. "They have given me a share in the paper, twenty thousand in +stock--which means a fixed income of five thousand a year so long as +the paper pays what it does now--twenty-five per cent. And they offer me +twenty thousand more at par to be paid for within two years. We are in a +fair way to be rich." + +"They don't want to lose you, evidently," she said. "But why does this +make you sad? We are independent now--absolutely independent, both of +us." + +"Yes--we are rich. Together we have more than thirty-five thousand a +year. But it is not what I wanted. I wanted to be free. Can a man be +free who is rich, and rich in the way we are? Will my mind be open? +Shall I dare to act and speak the truth? Or will our property, our +environment, speak for me?" + +"I can't imagine you a slave to mere dollars." + +"Can't you? Well, I am afraid--I'm really afraid. I have always said +that if I wished to--enslave a people I would make them prosperous, +would give them property, make them dependent upon their dollars. Then +the fear of losing their dollars, their investments, would make them +endure any oppression. Freedom's battles were never fought by men with +full stomachs and full purses." + +"But rich men have given up everything for freedom--Washington was a +rich man." + +"Ah, but how many Washingtons has the world produced? I see the time +coming when I shall have to choose. I see it and--I dread it." + +She rose and stood behind him leaning over with her arms about his neck +and her check against his. + +"You are brave. You are strong," she whispered. "You will meet that +crisis if it comes and I have no fear, Mr. Valiant-for-Truth, as to how +the battle will go." + +He was glad that he did not have to face her eyes just then. "We will +go abroad next Wednesday week," he whispered, "and we'll be happy in +France--in Switzerland--in Holland--I want to see the park at the Hague +again; and the tall trees with their straight big trunks green with +moss; and the boughs meeting over the canals and making the clear water +so black; and the snow-white swans sailing statelily about." + + * * * * * + +With the Atlantic between him and his work, he was able to suspend the +habit of so many years. You would have fancied them just married, at +whatever stage of their wanderings you might have met them. They were +always laughing and talking--an endless flow of high spirits, absorption +each in the other. They rose when they pleased, went to bed when it +suited them. They had a manservant and a maid with them to relieve them +of all the details. They travelled only in the afternoons, and then not +far. If they missed one train, they cheerfully waited for another. + +"I think we are achieving my ideal of vacation," he said. + +"What is that--perfect idleness? We certainly are idle. I shouldn't have +believed you could be so idle." + +"Perfect idleness--yes. But more than that. I aimed far higher. My ideal +was perfect irresponsibility. We have become like the wind that bloweth +where it listeth." + +And again, she said: "Let me see, what day is this?" + +"I think it is Thursday or Friday," he replied. "But it may be Sunday. +I can assure you that it is afternoon, late afternoon, and I think we +ought to dress for dinner soon. After dinner, if you still care to know, +and will remind me, I'll try to find out the day. But I'm sure we shall +have forgotten before to-morrow." + +Howard got an extension of his leave of absence and they roamed about +England in August, reaching New York on the first day of September. +Marian went on to Mrs. Carnarvon at Newport and Howard took rooms at the +Waldorf. She stayed away a full week, then came to town, opened their +apartment, and surprised him with a formal invitation to dinner. + +He came like a guest and they went through all the formalities of +meeting for the first time, of increasing intimacy--condensing a +complete courtship into one evening. + +"I thought you had had enough of me for the time," he said, as they sat +in the wide window-seat, he tracing with his forefinger the line of the +straps over her bare shoulders. + +"And I thought that I would give you a chance to forget how nice I am +and so give you the pleasure of learning all over again. But it was so +lonely and miserable up there. 'Who can come after the king?'" + +"Sometimes I think I ought to stir about more--meet the men who lead +in the city. But it seems such a waste of time when I can come and call +upon you." + +"But might it not be better in the long run if you did meet these men? +Mightn't it make your getting on quicker and easier?" + +"Perhaps--if I were a gregarious animal, but I'm not. I'm shy and +solitary and hard to get acquainted with. And it takes time to make +friends. Besides, in making friends you also make enemies, and one enemy +can do you more harm than all your friends can do you good. Then too, +friends take up too much time. We have so little time and--we can spend +it to so much better advantage--can't we?" + +Marian pushed herself closer against him and presently said dreamily: +"So much happiness, such utter happiness which no one, nothing can take +away. I wonder when and how the first storm will come?" + +"It needn't come at all--not for a long, long time. And when it does--we +can weather it, don't you think?" + + * * * * * + +During the next two months they were together more than they had been in +the spring. He imposed day office hours upon himself and did no work in +the evenings except the correcting of editorial proofs which he had sent +to him at the house, at the theatre, or at whatever restaurant they were +dining. And at midnight he called up the office on the telephone +and talked with Mr. King or Mr. Vroom about the news in hand and the +programme for presenting it in the next morning's paper. + +But as "people"--meaning Marian's friends--returned to town, they fell +into the former routine. It was in part his doing, in part hers. He was +now thirty-seven years old and his mind, always of a serious cast, was +intolerant of trifles and triflers. + +Marian's range of interests was shallower but much wider than his. Her +beauty, her cleverness, her tact caused her to be sought. She invited +many to their house and accepted more and more invitations. At first she +never went without him. But he was sometimes compelled by his work to +send her alone. He rarely went except for her sake--because he thought +going about amused her. And he was glad and relieved when she began to +go without him, instead of spending the evenings in solitude. + +"There is no reason why you should punish yourself and punish me because +you had the ill luck to marry a working-man," he said. "It cannot be +agreeable to sit here all by yourself evening after evening. And it +depresses me when I am at the office at night to think of you as lonely. +It makes me happier in my work--my pleasure, you know--to think of you +enjoying yourself." + +"But aren't you afraid that some one will steal me?" she asked, +laughingly. + +"Not I." He was smiling proudly at her. "If you could be stolen, if you +could be happier anywhere than with me, you have only to let me into the +plot." + +"There are some women who would not like that." + +"And there are men who wouldn't feel as I do. But you and I, we belong +to a class all by ourselves, don't we?" + +Apparently they were as devoted each to the other as ever. But each now +sought a separate happiness--he perforce in his work, she perforce in +the only way left open to her. When they were together, which meant +several hours every day and usually one whole day in the week, they +were at once seemingly absorbed each in the other with all the rest as +background. But none the less, they were leading separate lives, with +separate interests, separate tastes, separate modes of thinking. The +"bourgeois" life which they had planned--both standing behind the +counter and both adding up the results of the day's business after they +had put up the shutters, two as one in all the interests of life--became +a dead and forgotten dream. + + + + + +XXII. + +THE SHENSTONE EPISODE. + + +On the way to or from the opera or a party, she would peep in on him, +watching the back of his head as he bent over his desk or read away at +some dull-looking book, wishing that he would feel her presence and turn +with that smile which was always hers from him, yet fearing to make a +sound and compel his attention. + +"At times I think," she said one day when he caught her in his arms on a +sudden impulse and kissed her, "that the reason you don't try to rule me +is because you don't care enough." + +"That's precisely it." He was smoothing her eyebrows with his +forefinger. "I don't care enough about ruling. I don't care enough for +the sort of love that responds to 'must.'" + +"But a woman likes to have 'must' said to her sometimes." + +"Does she? Do you? Well--I'll say 'must' to you. You must love me freely +and voluntarily, or not at all. You must do as you please." + +"But don't you see that that drives me from you often, keeps us apart in +many ways. Now if you compelled me to think as you do, to like what you +like--" + +"But I couldn't. Then you would no longer be _you_. And I like you so +well just as you are that I would not change an idea in your head." + +Marian sighed and went away to her dinner party. She felt that she was +in danger. "Not of falling in love with some other man," she thought, +"for that's impossible. But if a man were to come along who invited me +to be interested in his work, to keep him at whatever he was doing, I'd +accept and that would lead on and on--where?" + +She soon had an opportunity to answer that question. Howard went away +to Washington to assist the party leaders in putting through a difficult +tariff-reform bill which all the protected interests were fighting. He +expected to be gone a week; but week after week passed and he was still +at the capital, directing the paper by telegraph and sending Marian +hurried notes postponing his return. She was going about daily, early +and late, her life vacant, her mind restlessly seeking occupation, +interest. + +After he had been gone three weeks she found herself at dinner at Mrs. +Provost's next to a tall, fair-haired athletic young man of about her +own age. Something in his expression--perhaps the amused way in which he +studied the faces of the others--attracted her to him. She glanced over +at his card. It read "Mr. Shenstone." + +"It doesn't add much to your information, does it?" he smiled, as he +caught her glance rising from the card. + +"Nothing," she confessed candidly. "I never heard of you before." + +"And yet I've been splashing about, trying to attract attention to +myself, for twelve years." + +"Perhaps not in this particular pond." + +"No, that is true." + +"I was wondering what you do--lawyer, doctor, journalist, business man +or what. + +"And what did you conclude?" + +"I concluded that you did nothing." + +"You are right. But I try--I paint." + +"Portraits?" + +"Yes." + +"That explains your way of looking at people. Only, you'll get no +customers if you paint them as you see them." + +"I only see what they see when they look in the mirror." + +"Yes, but you see it impartial--or rather, I should say, cynically." + +"Thank you." + +"For what?" + +"For calling me cynical. The two keenest pleasures a man can attain are +for a woman to call him a cynic and for a woman to call him a devil with +the women." + +"Are you a 'devil with the women'?" + +"Not I--not any more than I am a cynic. But let us talk about you--I +am about exhausted as a topic of conversation. Why do you look so +discontented?" + +"Because I have nothing to occupy my mind." + +"No children?" + +"None--and no dogs." + +"No husband?" + +"Husbands are busy." + +"So you are the typical American woman--the American instinct for doing, +the universal woman's instinct for sunshine and laziness; the husband +absorbed in his business or profession with his domestic life as an +incident; the wife--like you." + +"That is right, and wrong--nearer right than wrong, a little unjust to +the husband." + +"Oh, it's probably your fault that you are not absorbed in his business +or profession. It ought to be as much yours as his. What does he do?" + +"He edits a newspaper." + +"Oh, he's _the_ Mr. Howard. A very interesting, a very remarkable man." + +Marian was delighted by this appreciation. She talked with Shenstone +again after dinner and was pleased that he was to be in the same box +with her at the opera the next night. He had spent much of his time on +the other side of the Atlantic. He was unusually well educated for an +artist's, and his mind was not developed in one direction only. Like +Marian, his point of view was artistic and emotional. Like her he had a +reverence for tradition, a deference to caste--the latter not offensive +for the same reason that hers was not, because good birth and good +breeding made him of the "high caste" and not a cringer with his eyes +craned upward. It seemed in him, as in her, a sort of self-respect. + +Marian showed a candid liking for his society and he was quick to take +advantage of it. For a month they saw more and more each of the other, +she discreet without deliberation and he discreet with deliberation. +He talked to her of his work, of his ambition. He showed her himself +without egotism. He made an impression upon her so distinct and so +favourable that she admitted to herself that he was the most fascinating +man--except one--whom she had ever met. + +When Howard at last returned, defeated by corruption within his +own party and for the time disgusted with politics, she at once had +Shenstone at the house to dine. "What do you think of Mr. Shenstone?" +she asked when they were alone. + +"No wonder you're enthusiastic about him. As he talked to me, I could +hardly keep from laughing. It was your own views, almost your own words. +He has the look of a great man. I think he will 'arrive,' as they say in +the Bowery." + +Howard went out of his way to be agreeable to Shenstone, often inviting +him to the house and giving him a commission to paint Marian. For the +rest of the winter Shenstone was constantly in Marian's company; so +constantly that they were gossiped about, and all the women who were +unpleasantly discussed "for cause" conspired to throw them together as +much as possible. + +One evening in the very end of the winter, Howard called to Marian from +his dressing room: "Why, lady, Shenstone's gone, hasn't he? I've just +read a note from him." + +There was a pause before Marian answered in a constrained voice: "Yes, +he sailed to-day." + +Howard was tying his bow. He paused at the curious tone, then smiled +mysteriously to himself. He put on his waistcoat and coat and knocked on +the half-open door. "May I come in?" he asked. + +"Yes--I'm waiting for dinner to be announced." + +She was sitting before the fire, very beautiful in her evening gown. She +seemed not to observe that he had entered but stared on into the flames. +He stood beside her, looking down at her with the half mocking, half +tender smile. Presently he sat upon the arm of her chair and took one of +her hands. "Poor, friendless, beautiful lady," he said softly. + +She glanced up quickly, her cheeks flaming but her eyes clear and frank. +"Why do you say that?" she asked in the tone of one who knows why. + +"Other women will not be her friends because they are jealous of her, +and as for the men--how can a man be really a friend to a woman, a +fascinating, sympathetic woman?" + +Marian hid her face against the lapel of his coat. "He told me," she +whispered, "and then he went away." + +"He always does tell her. But----" + +"But--what?" + +"She doesn't always send him away. Poor fellow! Still, he went into it +with his eyes open." + +"He was very nice. He told it in a roundabout way. And I wasn't a bit +afraid that he'd--he'd--you know. But I got to thinking about how I'd +feel if he did--did touch me. And it made me--nervous." + +There was a long pause, then she went on: "I wonder how you'd feel about +touching another woman?" + +"I? Dear me, I wonder! I never thought. You see I'm such a domestic, +unattractive creature----" + +"Don't laugh at me, please," she pleaded. + +"I'm not laughing. Underneath, I'm thinking--thinking what I would do if +I met you and lost you. It's very black on the Atlantic for one pair of +eyes to-night." + +"And the worst of it is," she said, "that my vanity is flattered and I'm +not really sorry for him." + +"Rather proud of her conquest, is she?" + +"Yes, it pleased me to have him care." + +"She likes to think that he'll carry his broken heart to the grave, does +she?" + +"Yes. Isn't it shameful?" + +"Shameful? Shameless. I have always held that even the best woman dearly +loves to ruin a man. It's such a triumph. And the more she loves him, +the more she'd like to ruin him--that is, if ruin came solely through +love for her and didn't involve her." + +"But I would not want to ruin you." + +"If that seemed to be the supreme test of my love for you--are you sure? +I'm not. There's Thomas, knocking to announce dinner." + +The Shenstone incident was apparently closed. Marian, a most attractive +woman of thirty, absorbed in a social life that demanded all her +physical and mental energy as well as all of her time, did not long +vividly remember him. But he had given her a standard by which she +unconsciously measured her husband. She contrasted the life he had +promised her, the life Shenstone reminded her of, with the life that +was--so material, so suspiciously physical when it professed to be +loving, so suspiciously chill when it professed to be friendly. She +thrust aside these thoughts as disloyal and false. But they persisted in +returning. + +If she had been less appreciative of Howard's intellect, less fascinated +by the charm of his personality, she would soon have become one of the +"misunderstood" women in search of "consolation." Instead, she turned +her mind in the direction natural to her character--social ambition. + + + + + +XXIII. + +EXPANDING AND CONTRACTING. + + +In such a city as New York, to be deliberately careful about money is +the only way to keep within one's income, whether it be vast or small. +There are temptations to buy at the end of every glance of the eye. +The merchants are crafty in producing new and insidious allurements, in +creating new and expensive tastes. But these might be resisted were it +not that the habits of all one's associates are constantly and all but +irresistibly stimulating the faculty of imitation. + +Neither Howard nor Marian had been brought up to be watchful about +money. Both had been accustomed to having their wants supplied. And +now that they had a household and a growing income, it was a matter +of course that their expenditures should steadily expand. Before three +years had passed they were spending more than double the sum which +at the outset they had fixed upon as their limit. A merely decent and +self-respecting return of the hospitalities they accepted, a carriage +and pair and two saddle horses and the servants to look after +them--these items accounted for the increase. They looked upon this as +really necessary expenditure and soon would have found that curtailment +involved genuine deprivation. From the very beginning each step in +expansion made the next logical and inevitable, made the plea of +necessity seem valid. + +An aunt of Marian's died, leaving her a "small" house--worth perhaps a +quarter of a million--near the Avenue in Sixty-fifth Street, and eighty +thousand in cash. About the same time Stokely told Howard of a fine +speculative opportunity in certain copper properties. Howard hesitated. +He knew that the way of speculation was the way of bondage for his +newspaper and for him. But this particular adventure seemed harmless and +he yielded. The money was invested and within a few months was producing +an income of fifteen thousand a year which promised to be steady. +Howard's ownership of stock in the paper increased; and as the profits +advanced swiftly with its swift growth in its illustrated form, his own +income was nearly fifty thousand a year. They were growing very rich. +There was no longer the slightest anxiety as to money in his mind. + +"You know the great dread I had in marrying," he said to her one day, +"was lest I should make myself and you dependents, should some day +sacrifice my freedom to my fear of losing--happiness." + +"Yes, and very foolish you were, not to have more confidence in yourself +and in me." + +"Perhaps. But what I am thinking is that you have brought me luck. I am +free, beyond anybody's reach. I could quit the paper to-morrow and we +should hardly have to change our style of living even if I did not get +something else to do." + +"Style of living--" in that phrase lay the key to the change that was +swiftly going on in Howard's mind and mental attitude. It is not easy +for a man with environment wholly in his favour to keep his point +of view correct, to keep his horizon wide and clear, his sense of +proportion just. It is next to impossible for him to do so when his +environment opposes. + +The man who looks out from misery and squalor upon misery and squalor +is, if he thinks at all, naturally an anarchist. To him the established +order shows only injustice and persistence of injustice. The man who +looks out from luxury and ease and well-being upon luxury and ease and +well-being is forced by the very limitations of the human mind to an +over-reverence for the established order. He is unreasonably suspicious +of anything that threatens change. "When I'm comfortable all's well in +the world; change might bring discomfort to me." And he flatters himself +that he is a "conservative." + +Howard had had a long training at the correct standpoint and in right +thinking. But the influences were there, were at work, were destroying +his devotion to a social and political ideal wholly alien to the life +he was now living under the leading of his wife. He did not blame her, +indeed he could not justly have blamed her, for his falling away from +what he knew were correct principles for him. While she had brought him +into this environment, while at first it was in large part for her that +he gave so much time and thought to the accumulation of wealth, soon +love of luxury, dependence upon a train of servants, fondness for the +great extravagances to which New York tempts the rich and those living +near the rich, became stronger in him than it was in her. And through +the inevitable reaction of environment upon the man, the central point +in his valuation of men and women tended to shift from the fundamentals, +mind and character, to the surface qualities--dress and style and +manners and refinement, and even dress. + +This process of demoralisation was well advanced when they moved from +the apartment. After four years of "expansion" there, they had begun +to feel cramped; and a year after Marian inherited the house Howard had +progressed to the mental, the moral, the financial state where it seemed +natural, logical, practically necessary that they should set up a real +New York "establishment." + +"Isn't this just the house for us?" she said. "I hate huge, big houses. +Like you, I think the taste of the occupants should be everywhere. Now +this house is just big enough. You don't know how wonderful it would +be." + +"Oh, yes, I do," he laughed, "and you must try it." He was as +enthusiastic as she. + +In the late autumn the house was ready; and there was not a more +artistic interior in New York. It was not so much the result of great +expense as of intelligence and taste. It was an expression of an +individuality--a revelation of a woman's beautiful mind, inspired by +love. + +"At last I have something to interest, to occupy me," she said. "This is +our very own, through and through our own. It will be such a pleasure to +me to keep it always like this." + +"You--degenerated into a household drudge," he mocked. "Why, you used to +laugh at me when I held up a wife who was a good housekeeper as one of +my ideals." + +"Did I?" she answered. "Well, as you would say, see what I've come to +through living with--a member of the working-classes." + +Howard's own particular part of this house included a library with a +small study next to it. In the study was a most attractive table with +plenty of room to spread about books and papers, a huge divan in the +corner and a fire-place near by. He found himself doing more and more of +his work at home. There were not so many interruptions as at the office, +the beauty of the surroundings, the consciousness that "she" was not far +away--all combined to keep him at home and to enable him to do more and +better work there. + +He was justly and greatly proud of her achievement; and where he used to +be more regretful than he admitted even to himself when they had guests, +he was now glad to see others about, admiring her taste, appreciating +her skill as a hostess and giving him opportunities to look at her from +an ever new point of view. + +Of course these guests were almost all "_their_ kind of +people"--amiable, well mannered persons who thought and acted in that +most conventional of moulds, the mould of "good society." They +fitted into the surroundings, they did their part toward making those +surroundings luxurious--a "wallow of self-complacent content." And this +environment soon suited and fitted him exactly. + +But to her he was still The Democrat. She loved him in the way and to +the degree which her character, as the years had developed it, permitted +her to love. And this love, or rather admiring respect, was wholly based +upon her ideal of him, her belief in the honesty and intensity of his +convictions. While she did not share them, she had breadth enough to +admire them and to regard them as high removed above her own ideas to +which for herself she held tenaciously, instinct and association and +"tradition" triumphing over reason. + +Howard retained his ideal of her, never examining her closely, never +seeing or suspecting what a pale love she gave him and how shrivelled +had become the part of her nature which she and he both assumed was most +strongly developed. He knew how she idealised him and did not dare to +undeceive her. Therefore he practised toward her a hypocrisy that grew +steadily more disgraceful, yet grew so gradually that there was no +single moment at which he could conveniently halt and "straighten the +record." At first he was often and heartily ashamed of himself; but by +degrees this feeling deadened into cynical insensibility and he was +only ashamed to let her see him as he really was. She had kept her +self-respect. She esteemed self-respect at the exalted valuation he had +formerly put upon it. What if she should find him out? + + * * * * * + +When the famous "coal conspiracy" was formed, three of the men +conspicuous in it were among their intimates--that is, their families +were often at his house and he and Marian were often at theirs. Yet he +had never made a more relentless attack. Nor did he, either in the news +columns or on the editorial page, conceal the connection of his three +friends with the conspiracy. + +"Mrs. Mercer was here this morning," Marian said as they were waiting +for the butler to announce dinner. She was flushed and embarrassed. + +Howard laughed. "And did she tell you what a dreadful husband you had?" + +"Oh, she didn't blame you at all. She said they all knew how perfectly +upright you were. Only, she said you did not understand and were doing +Mr. Mercer a great injustice." + +"Well, what do you think?" + +"Why--I can't believe--is it possible, dear--I was just reading one of +your editorials. Can Mr. Mercer be in such a scheme? The way she told +it to me, he and the others were really doing a lot of people a +valuable service, putting their property on a paying basis, enabling the +railroads to meet their expenses and to keep thousands and thousands of +men employed." + +"Poor Mercer!" Howard said ironically. "Poor misunderstood +philanthropist! What a pity that that sort of benevolence has to be +carried on by bribing judges and prosecutors and legislatures, by making +the poor shiver and freeze, by subtracting from the pleasures and +adding to the anxieties of millions. One would almost say that such +a philanthropy had better not be undertaken. It is so likely to be +misunderstood by the 'unruly classes.'" + +"Oh, I knew you were right. I told her you must be right, that you never +wrote until you knew." + +"And what was the result?" + +"Well, we are making some very bitter enemies." + +"I doubt it. I suspect that before long they'll come wheedling about in +the hope that I'll let up on them or be a little easier next time." + +"I'm sure I do not care what they do," said Marian, drawing herself up. +"All I care for is--you, and to see you do your duty at whatever cost +or regardless of cost--" she was leaning over the back of his chair with +her arms about his neck and her lips very near to his ear--"you are my +love without fear and without reproach." + +"Listen, dear." He took her hand and drew her arms more closely about +his neck. "Suppose that the lines were drawn--as they may be any day. +Suppose that we had to choose, with all these friends of yours, with our +position, yes, even the place I have won in my profession, my place as +editor--all that we now have on the one side; and on the other side a +thankless, unprofitable, apparently useless standing up for the right. +Wouldn't you miss your friends?" + +"_All_ our friends? And who will be on the other side?" + +"Almost no one that we know--that you would care to call upon or go +about with or have here at the house. Nobody with any great amount of +wealth or social position. Those other people who are in town when it is +said 'Nobody is in town now!'" + +She did not answer. + +"Where would you be?" he repeated. + +"Oh, I wasn't thinking of that." She came around and sat on his +knee. "Where? Why, there's only one 'where' in all this world for +me--'wheresoever thou goest.'" + +And so the half-formed impulse to begin to straighten himself out with +her was smothered by her. + +Both were silent through dinner. She was thinking how honest, how +fearless he was, how he loved her, how eagerly she would follow him, +how blessed she was in the love of such a man. And he--he was regretting +that his "pose" had carried him so far; he was wishing that he had not +been so bitter in his attacks upon his and his wife's friends, the coal +conspirators. When he had definitely cast in his lot with "the shearers" +why persist in making his hypocrisy more abominable by protesting more +loudly than ever in behalf of "the sheep?" Above all, why had he let +his habit of voluble denunciation lead him into this hypocrisy with the +woman he loved? + +He admitted to himself that "causes" had ceased to interest him except +as they might contribute to the advancement of his power. Power!--that +was his ambition now. First he had wished to have an independent income +in order to be free. When he had achieved that, it was at the sacrifice +of his mental freedom. And now, with the clearness of self-knowledge +which only men of great ability have, he knew that the one cause for +which he would make sacrifices was--himself. + +"Of what are you thinking so gloomily?" she interrupted. + +"Oh--I--let me see--well, I was thinking what a fraud I am; and that I +wished I could dupe myself as completely as I can dupe--" + +"Me?" she laughed. "Oh, we're all frauds--shocking frauds. I wouldn't +have you see me as I really am for anything." + +Although her remark was a commonplace, of small meaning, as he knew, +he got comfort out of it, so desperately was he casting about for some +consolation. + +"That's true, my dear," he said. "And I wish that you liked the kind of +a fraud I am as well as I like the kind of a fraud you are." + + + + + +XXIV. + +"MR. VALIANT-FOR-TRUTH." + + +Stokely came rushing into his office the next morning. "Good God, old +man," he exclaimed, "What's the meaning of this attack on the coal +roads?" + +Howard flushed with resentment, not at what Stokely said, but at his +tone. + +"Now, don't get on your high horse. I don't think you understand." +Stokely's tone had moderated. "Don't you know that the Delaware Valley +road is in this?" + +Howard started. He had just invested two hundred thousand dollars in +that stock on Stokely's advice "No, I didn't know it." He recovered +himself. "And furthermore I don't give a damn." He struck his desk +angrily. His simulation of incorruptible indignation for the moment half +deceived himself. + +"Why, man, if this infernal roast is kept up, you'll lose a hundred +thousand. Then there are my interests. I'm up to my neck in this deal." + +"My advice to you is to get out of it. I'm sorry, but you know as well +as I do that the thing is infamous." + +"Infamous--nonsense! It will double our dividends and the consumers +won't feel it." + +"Let us not discuss it, Stokely. There--don't say anything you'll +regret." + +"But--" + +"Now, Stokely--don't argue it with me." + +Stokely put on his hat, stood up and looked at Howard with sullen +admiration. "You will drive away the last friend you've got on earth, if +you keep this up. Good morning." + +Howard sent a smile of cynical amusement after him, then stared +thoughtfully into the mass of papers on his desk for five, ten, fifteen +minutes. When his plan was formed he touched the electric button. + +"Please tell Mr. King I'd like to see him," he said to the answering +boy. + +Mr. King entered with a bundle of legal documents. "I suppose it's the +injunction you want to discuss," he said. "We've got the papers all +ready. It's simply great. Those fellows will be in a corner and will +have to give up. They can't get away from us. The price of coal will +drop half a dollar within a week, I'll bet." + +"I'm afraid you are over sanguine," Howard said. "I've just been going +over the matter with my lawyer. But leave the papers with me. And--about +the news--be careful what you say. We've been going a little strong. I +think a little less personal matter would be advisable." + +Mr. King was amazed and looked it. He slowly pulled himself together to +say, "All right, Mr. Howard. I think I understand." He laid the papers +down and departed. Outside the door he laughed softly to himself. +"Somebody's been cutting his comb, I guess," he murmured. "Well, I +didn't think he'd last. New York always gets 'em when they're worth +while." + +As the door closed behind King, Howard drew out the lowest and deepest +drawer of his desk. It was half-filled with long-undisturbed pamphlets +and newspaper cuttings. He tossed in the injunction papers. A cloud of +dust flew up and settled thickly upon them. He shut the drawer. + +He went to the window and looked out over the city--that seductive, +that overwhelming expression of wealth and power. "What was it my father +wrote me when I told him I was going to New York?" and he recalled +almost the exact words--"New York that lures young men from the towns +and the farms, and prostitutes them, teaches them to sell themselves +with unblushing cheeks for a fee, for an office, for riches, for power." +He shrugged his shoulders, smiled, drew himself up, returned to his desk +and was soon absorbed in his work. + +The next morning the _News-Record's_ double-leaded "leader" on the +Coal Trust was a discharge of heavy artillery. But it was artillery +in retreat. And in the succeeding days, the retreat continued--not +precipitate but orderly, masterly. + + * * * * * + +Ten days after their talk on the "coal conspiracy" Marian greeted him +late in the afternoon with "Oh, such a row with Mrs. Mercer!" + +"Mrs. Mercer! Why, what was she angry about?" + +"She wasn't--at least, not at first. It was I. I went to see her and she +asked me to thank you for stopping that fight on the coal conspiracy." + +"That was tactful of her," Howard said, turning away to hide his +nervousness. + +"And I told her that you had not stopped, that you wouldn't stop until +you had broken it up. And she smiled in a superior way and said I was +quite mistaken, that I didn't read the paper, I haven't read it for +several days, but I knew _you_, dear, and I remembered what you had +said. And so we just had it. We were polite but furious when I went. I +shall never go near her again." + +"But, unfortunately, we have stopped. We had to do it. We could +accomplish nothing." + +"Oh, it doesn't matter. What angered me was her insinuation." + +"That was irritating. But, tell me, what if it had been true?" Howard's +voice was strained and he was looking at her eagerly, with fever in his +eyes. + +"But it couldn't be. It isn't worth while imagining. You could not be +a coward and a traitor." So complete was her confidence in him that +suspicion of him was impossible. + +"Would you sit in judgment on me?" + +"Not if I could help it." + +"But you can--you could help it." His manner was agitated, and he spoke +almost fiercely. "I am free," he went on, and as she watched his +eyes she understood why men feared him. "I do what I will. I am not +accountable to you, not even to you. I have never asked you to approve +of me, to approve what I do, to love me. You are free also, free to +love, free to withdraw your love. I follow the law of my own being. You +must take me as you find me or not at all." + +She tried to stop him but could not. His words poured on. He leaned +forward and took her hand and his eyes were brilliant and piercing. "I +love you," he said. "Ah, how I love you--not because you love me, not +because you are an angel, not because you are a superior being. No, not +for any reason in all this wide world but because you are you. Do what +you will and I shall love you. Whether I had to look up among the stars +or down in the mire to find you, I would look just as steadily, just as +proudly." + +He drew along breath and his hand trembled. "If I were a traitor, then, +if you loved me, you would say, 'What! Is he to be found among traitors? +How I love treason!' If I were a coward, liar, thief, a sum of all the +vices, then, if you ever had loved me you would love me still. I want +no love with mental reservations, no love with ifs and buts and +provided-thats. I want love, free and fearless, that adapts itself to +changing human nature as the colour of the sea adapts itself to the +colour of the sky; love that does not have to be cajoled and persuaded +lest it be not there when I most need it. I want the love that loves." + +"You know you have it." She had been compelled by his mood and was +herself in a fever. She looked at him with the expression which used to +make his nerves vibrate. "You know that no human being ever was more to +another than I to you. But you can't expect me to be just the same +as you are. I love _you_--not the false, base creature you picture. I +admire the way you love, but I could not love in that way. Thank God, my +love, my dear--I shall never be put to that test. For my love for you is +my--my all." + +"We are very serious about a mere supposition." + +Howard was laughing, but not naturally. "We take each the other far too +seriously. I'm sorry you idealise me so. Who knows--you might find me +out some day--and then--well, don't blame me." + +Marian said no more, but late that evening she put her hands on his +shoulders and said: "You're not hiding something from me--something we +ought to bear together?" + +"Not I." Howard smiled down into her eyes and kissed her. + +His mood of reaction, of hysteria had passed. He was thinking how +little in reality she had had to do with his outburst. He had not been +addressing her at all, except as she seemed to him for the moment the +embodiment of his self-respect--or rather, of an "absurd," "extremely +youthful" ideal of self-respect which he had "outgrown." + + + + +XXV. + +THE PROMISED LAND. + + +A woman with a powerful personality may absorb in herself a man of +strong and resolute ambition, may compel him to make her his career, to +feel that to get and to keep her is all that he asks from destiny. But +Marian was not such a woman. + +She had come into Howard's life at just the time and in just the way to +arouse his latent passion for power and to give it a sufficient initial +impetus. It was love for her that set him to lifting himself from among +those who work through themselves alone to the potent few who work +chiefly by directing the labour of others. + +Once in this class, once having tasted the joy of power, Howard was +lost to her. She was unable to restrain or direct, or even clearly to +understand. She became an incident in his life. As riches came with +power, they pushed him to one side in her life. Living in separate parts +of a large house, leading separate lives, rarely meeting except when +others were present--following the typical life of New Yorkers of +fortune and fashion--they gradually grew to know little and see little +and think little each of the other. + +There was no abruptness in the transition. Every day had contributed its +little toward widening the gap. There was no coolness, no consciousness +of separation; simply the slow formation of the habit of complete +independence each of the other. + +His ambitions absorbed his thought and his time. To them he found her +very useful. The social side--forming and keeping up friendly relations +with the families whose heads were men of influence--was a vital part of +his plan. But he used her just as he used every and any one else whom +he found capable of contributing to his advancement; and, as she never +insisted upon herself, never sought to influence or even to inquire into +his course of action, she did not find him out. + +She was in a vague way an unhappy woman. A discontent, a feeling that +her life was incomplete, perpetually teased her. He was distinctly +unhappy, often gloomy, at times morose. In her rare analytic moods she +attributed their failure to prolong the happiness of their courtship to +the hard work which kept him from her, kept them from enjoying the great +love which she assumed they felt each for the other. She would not and +could not see that that love had long disappeared, leaving a mask of +forms, of phrases and of impulses of passion to conceal its departure. +And to this view he outwardly assented, when she suggested it; but he +knew that she was deceiving herself as to him, and wondered if she were +not deceiving herself as to her own feelings. + +Up to the time of the "Coal Conspiracy" and his attempt to put himself +straight with her, the idea of his love for her and of her oneness with +him had at least a hold upon his imagination. He then saw how far apart +they had drifted; and he dismissed from his mind even the pretense +that love played any part in his life. After that definite break with +principle and self-respect for the sake of his coal holdings, his +Wall Street friends and his newspaper career, the development of his +character continued along strictly logical lines with accelerating +speed. And it was accompanied by an ever franker, more cynical +acceptance of the change. + +He could not deceive himself, nor can any man with the clearness of +judgment necessary to great achievement--although many "successful" men, +for obvious reasons of self-interest, diligently encourage the popular +theory of warped conscience. He was well aware that he had shifted from +the ideal of use _to_ his fellow-beings to the ideal of use _of_ his +fellow-beings, from the ideal of character to the ideal of reputation. +And he knew that the two ideals can not be combined and that he not +only was not attempting to combine them but had no desire so to do. He +despised his former ideals; but also he despised himself for despising +them. + +His quarrel with himself was that he seemed to himself a rather vulgar +sort of hypocrite. This was highly disagreeable to him, as his whole +nature tended to make him wish to be himself, to make him shrink from +the part of the truckler and the sycophant which he was playing so +haughtily and so artistically. At times it exasperated him that he could +not regard his change of front as a deliberate sale for value received, +and not as the weak and cowardly surrender which he saw that it really +was. + + * * * * * + +On the day after Howard's forty-fourth birthday Coulter fell dead at the +entrance to the Union Club. When Stokely heard of it he went direct to +the _News-Record_ office. + +"I happen to know something about Coulter's will," he said to Howard. +"The _News-Record_ stock is to be sold and you and I are to have the +first chance to take it at three hundred and fifty--which is certainly +cheap enough." + +"Why did he arrange to dispose of the most valuable part of his estate?" + +"Well, we had an agreement about it. Then, too, Coulter had no faith in +newspapers as a permanent investment. You know there are only the widow, +the girl and that worthless boy. Heavens, what an ass that boy is! +Coulter has tied up his estate until the youngest grandchild comes of +age. He hopes that there will be a son among the grandchildren who will +realise his dream." + +"Dream?" Howard smiled. "I didn't know that Coulter ever indulged in +dreams." + +"Yes, he had the rich man's mania--the craze for founding a family. So +everything is to be put into real estate and long-term bonds. And for +years New York is to be reminded of Samuel Coulter by some incapable +who'll use his name and his money to advertise nature's contempt for +family pride in her distributions of brains. I think even a fine tomb is +a wiser memorial." + +"Well, how much of the stock shall you take?" Howard asked. + +"Not a share," Stokely replied dejectedly. "Coulter couldn't have died +at a worse time for me. I'm tied in every direction and shall be for a +year at least. So you've got a chance to become controlling owner." + +"I?" Howard laughed. "Where could I get a million and a half?" + +"How much could you take in cash?" + +"Well--let me see--perhaps--five hundred thousand." + +"You can borrow the million with the stock as collateral." + +"But how could I pay?" + +"Why, your dividends at our present rate would be more than two hundred +thousand a year. Your interest charge would be under seventy-five +thousand. Perhaps I can arrange it so that it won't be more than fifty +thousand. You can let the balance go on reducing the loan. Then I may +be able to put you onto a few good things. At any rate you can't lose +anything. Your stock would bring five hundred even at forced sale. It's +your chance, old man. I want to see you take it." + +"I'll think it over. I have no head for figures." + +"Let me manage it for you." Stokely rose to go. Howard began thanking +him, but he cut him off with: + +"You owe me no thanks. You've made money for me--big money. I owe you +my help. Besides, I don't want any outsider in here. Let me know when +you're ready." He nodded and was gone. + +"What a chance!" Howard repeated again and again. + +He was looking out over New York. + +Twenty years before he had faced it, asking of it nothing but a living +and his freedom. For twenty years he had fought. Year by year, even +when he seemed to be standing still or going backward, he had steadily +gained, making each step won a vantage-ground for forward attack. And +now--victory. Power, wealth, fame, all his! + +Yet a deep melancholy came over him. And he fell to despising himself +for the kind of exultation that filled him, its selfishness, its +sordidness, the absence of all high enthusiasm. Why was he denied the +happiness of self-deception? Why could he not forget the means, blot it +out, now that the end was attained? + +His mind went out, not to Marian, but to that other--the one sleeping +under the many, many layers of autumn leaves at Asheville. And he heard +a voice saying so faintly, so timidly: "I lay awake night after night +listening to your breathing, and whispering under my breath, 'I love +you, I love you. Why can't you love me?'" And then--he flung down the +cover of his desk and rushed away home. + +"Why did I think of Alice?" he asked himself. And the answer +came--because in those days, in the days of his youth, he had had +beliefs, high principles; he had been incapable of this slavery to +appearances, to vain show, incapable of this passion for reputation +regardless of character. His weaknesses were then weaknesses only, and +not, as now, the laws of his being controlling his every act. + +He smiled cynically at the self of such a few years ago--yet he could +not meet those honest, fearless eyes that looked out at him from the +mirror of memory. + +He was triumphant, but self-respect had gone and not all the thick +swathings of vanity covered him from the stabs of self-contempt. + +"When I am really free, when the paper is paid for and I can do as +I please, why not try to be a man again? Why not? It would cost me +nothing." + +But a man is the sum of _all_ his past. + + + + + +XXVI. + +IN POSSESSION. + + +Stokely arranged the loan, and within six months Howard was controlling +owner of the _News-Record._ There was a debt of a million and a quarter +attached to his ownership, but he saw how that would be wiped out. Once +more he threw himself into his work with the energy of a boy. He had +to give much of his time to the business department--to the details of +circulation and advertising. He felt that the profits of the paper +could be greatly increased by improving its facilities for reaching +the advertiser and the public. He had never been satisfied with the +circulation methods; but theretofore his ignorance of business and +his position as mere salaried editor had acted in restraint upon his +interference with the "ground floor." + +As he had suspected, the business office was afflicted with the twin +diseases--routine and imitativeness. It followed an old system, devised +in days of small circulation and grudgingly improved, not by thought +on the part of those who circulated the paper, but by compulsion on +the part of the public. No attempts were made to originate schemes for +advertising the paper. The only methods were wooden variations upon +placards in the street cars and the elevated stations, and cards hung +up at the news-stands. As forgetting advertising business, they thought +they showed enterprise by a little canvassing among the conspicuous +merchants in Greater New York. + +Howard had charts made showing the circulation by districts. With these +as a basis he ordered an elaborate campaign to "push" the paper in the +districts where it was circulated least and to increase its hold where +it was strong. "We do not reach one-third of the people who would like +to take our paper," he told Jowett, the business manager. "Let us have +an army of agents and let us take up our territory by districts." + +The Sunday edition was the largest source of revenue, both because it +carried a great deal more advertising at much higher rates than did the +week-day editions, and because it sold at a price which yielded a profit +on the paper itself, while the price of the weekday editions did not. +News constituted less than one-fourth of its contents. The rest was +"feature articles," as interesting a week late to a man in Seattle as on +the day of publication within a mile of the office. + +"We get out the very best magazine in the market," said Howard to +Jowett. "Are we pushing it in the east, in the west, in the south? Look +at the charts. + +"We have a Sunday circulation of five hundred in Oregon, of one thousand +in Texas, of six hundred in Georgia, of two thousand in Maine. Why not +ten times as much in each of those states? Why not ten times as much as +we now have near New York?" + +There was no reason except failure to "push" the paper. That reason +Howard proceeded to remove. But these enterprises involved large +expenditures, perhaps might mean postponement of the payment of the +debt. Receipts must be increased and the most promising way was an +increase in the advertising business. + +Howard noted on the chart nineteen cities and large towns near New York +in each of which the daily circulation of the _News-Record_ was equal +to that of any paper published there and far exceeded the combined +circulations of all the home dailies on Sunday. This suggested a system +of local advertising pages, and for its working out he engaged one of +the most capable newspaper advertising men in the city. Within three +months the idea had "caught on" and, instead of sending useless columns +of New York "want-ads" and the like to places where they could not be +useful, the _News-Record_ was presenting to its readers in twelve cities +and towns the advertisements of their local merchants. + +A year of this work, with Howard giving many hours of each day +personally to tiresome details, brought the natural results. The profits +of the _News-Record_ had risen to five hundred and forty thousand, of +which Howard's share was nearly three hundred thousand. The next year +the profits were seven hundred and fifty thousand, and Howard had +reduced his debt to eight hundred thousand. + +"We shall be free and clear in less than three years," he said to +Marian. + +"If we have luck," she added. + +"No--if we work--and we shall. Luck is a stone which envy flings at +success." + +"Then you don't think you have been lucky?" + +"Indeed I do not." + +"Not even," she smiled, drawing herself up. + +"Not even--" he said with a faint, sad answering smile. "If you only +knew how hard I worked preparing myself to be able to get you when you +came; if you only, only knew how life made me pay, pay, pay; if you only +knew--" + +"Go on," she said, coming closer to him. + +He sighed--not for the reason of sentiment which she fancied, though he +put his arms around her. "How willingly I paid," he evaded. + +He went to his desk and she stood looking at him. There was still +the charm of youth, even freshness, in her beauty--and she was not +unconscious of the fact. + +And he--he was handsome, distinguished looking and certainly did not +suggest age or the approach of age; but in his hair, so grey at the +temples, in the stern, rather haughty lines of his features, in the +weariness of his eyes, there was not a vestige of youth. "How he has +worked for me and for his ideals," she thought, sadly yet proudly. "Ah, +he is indeed a great man, and _my_ husband!" And she bent over him +and kissed him on an impulse to a kind of tenderness which was now so +strange to her that it made her feel shy. + +"And what a radical you'll be," she laughed, after a moment's silence. +"What a radical, what a democrat!" + +"When?" He was flushing a little and avoided her eyes. + +"When you're free--really the proprietor--able to express your own +views, all your own views. We shall become outcasts." + +"I wonder," he replied slowly, "does a rich man own his property or does +it own him?" + +For an instant he had an impulse of his old longing for sympathy, for +companionship. She was now thirty-six and, save for an expression of +experience, of self-control, seemed hardly so much as thirty. But with +the years, with the habit of self-restraint, with instinctive rather +than conscious realisation of his indifference toward her, had come a +chill perceptible at the surface and permeating her entire character. In +her own way she had become as self-absorbed, as ambitious as he. + +He looked at her, felt this chill, sighed, smiled at himself. Yes, he +was alone--and he preferred to be alone. + + + + + +XXVII. + +THE HARVEST. + + +Through all his scheming and shifting Howard had kept the _News-Record_ +in the main an "organ of the people." Coulter and Stokely had on many +occasions tried to persuade him to change, but he had stood out. He did +not confess to them that his real reason was not his alleged principles +but his cold judgment that the increases in circulation which produced +increases in advertising patronage were dependent upon the paper's +reputation of fearless democracy. + +In the fourth year of his ownership he felt that the time had come for +the change, that he could safely slip over to the other side--the +side of wealth and power, the winning side, the side with offices +and privileges to distribute. His debt was so far reduced that he had +nothing to fear from it. A presidential campaign was coming on and was +causing unusual confusion, a general shift of party lines. And he had +put the _News-Record_ in such a position that it could move in any +direction without shock to its readers. + +The "great battle" was on--the battle he had in his younger days looked +forward to and longed for--the battle against Privilege and for +a "restoration of government by the people." The candidates were +nominated, the platforms put forward and the issue squarely joined. + +The same issue had been involved in previous campaigns; but the +statement of the case by the party opposed to "government of, by and for +plutocracy" had been fantastic, extreme, entangled with social, economic +and political lunacies. And Howard had strengthened the _News-Record_ by +refusing to permit it to "go crazy." Now, however, there was in honesty +no reason for refusing support to the advocates of his professed +principles. + +But the _News-Record_ was silent. Howard and Marian went away to their +cottage at Newport, and he left rigid instructions that no political +editorials were to be published except those which he might send. There +he got typhoid fever and was at the point of death for two weeks. + +Marian gave herself to nursing him, stayed close beside him, read books +and the newspapers to him throughout his convalescence. They were +more intimate than they had been for years. A feeling bearing a remote +resemblance to the love he had once had for her arose out of his +weakness and dependence and his seclusion from the instruments and +objects of his ambition. And she swept aside the barriers she had +erected between herself and him and returned, as nearly as one may, to +the love and interest of their early days together. + +In the first week of September came Stokely with Senator Hereford, the +chairman of the "Plutocracy" campaign committee. + +"I shall not annoy you with evasions," said Hereford, "as Mr. Stokely +assures me that I may speak freely to you, that you personally are with +us. The fact is, our campaign is in a bad way, especially in New York +State, and there especially in New York City." + +"You surprise me," said Howard. "All my information has come from the +newspapers which my wife reads me. I had gathered that the victory was +all but won." + +"We encourage that impression. You know how many weak-kneed fellows +there are who like to be on the winning side. We've been pouring out the +money and stand ready to pour it out like water. But these damned reform +ballot-laws make it hard for us to control the vote. We buy, but we fear +that the goods will not be delivered. Feeling is high against us. Even +our farmers and shopkeepers are acting queerly. And the other fellows +have at last put up a safe man on a conservative platform." + +Howard turned his face away. There was still the memory, the now +quickened memory, of his former self to make him wince at being included +in such an "us." + +"You can't afford to keep silent any longer," Hereford continued. +"You've done the cause a world of good by your silence thus far. You +have the reputation of being the leading popular organ, and your keeping +quiet has meant thousands of votes for us. But the time has come to +attack. And you must attack if we are to carry New York. You can turn +the tide in the state, and--well, we have a very high regard for your +genius for making your points clearly and interestingly. We need your +ideas for our editors and speakers as much as we need your influence." + +"I cannot discuss it to-day," Howard answered after a moment's silence. +"It would be a grave step for the _News-Record_ to take. I am not well, +as you see. To-morrow or next day I'll decide. You'll see my answer in +the paper, I think." He closed his eyes with significant weariness. + +Hereford looked at him uneasily. Just outside the door Stokely +whispered, "Don't be alarmed. You've got him. He's with us, I tell you." + +"I must make sure," whispered Hereford. "I wish to speak to him alone +for a moment." + +"I beg your pardon, Mr. Howard," he said as he re-entered the room. "I +forgot an important part of my mission. Our candidate authorized me to +say to you on his behalf that he felt sure you would see your duty; that +he esteemed your character and judgment too highly to have any doubts; +and that he intends to show his appreciation of the conscientious, +independent vote which is rallying to his support; in the event of his +election, he feels that he could not do so in a more satisfactory manner +than by offering you either a place in his cabinet or an ambassadorship +as you may prefer." + +As soon as Howard saw Hereford returning, he knew the reason. He had +never before been offered a bribe; but he could not mistake the meaning +of Hereford's bold yet frightened expression. He kept his eyes averted +during the delivery of the long, rambling sentence. At the end, he +looked at Hereford frankly and said in his most gracious manner: + +"Thank him for me, will you? And express my appreciation of so high a +compliment from such a man." + +Hereford looked relieved, delighted. "I'm glad to have met you, Mr. +Howard, and to have had so satisfactory an interview." + +Again outside the door, he muttered gleefully: "Yes, we've him. +Otherwise he would have had his servants kick me down stairs. Gad, no +wonder ---- is on his way to the Presidency, I had a sneaking fear that +this fellow might be sincere. But _he_ saw through him without ever +having seen him. I suppose two men of that stripe instinctively +understand each other." + + * * * * * + +That was on a Sunday afternoon. On the following Wednesday, as Marian +came into Howard's sitting-room with the newspapers, she laughed: "I've +been reading such a speech from your candidate, you radical! I must +say I liked to read it. It was so like you, your very phrases in many +places, the things you used to talk to me before you gave me up as +hopeless. Just listen." + +And she read him the oration--a reproduction of the Howard she first +saw, the Howard she admired and loved and had never lost. "Isn't it +superb?" she asked at the end. "You must have written it for him. Don't +you like it?" + +"Very able," was Howard's only comment. + +Marian continued to read the paper, glancing from column to column, +giving him the substance of the news. Soon she reached the editorial +page. He was stealthily watching her face. He saw her glance through a +few lines of the leader, start, read on, look in a terrified way at him, +and then skip abruptly to the next page. + +"Read me the leader, won't you?" he asked. + +"My voice is tired," she pleaded. "I'll read it after awhile." + +"Please," he insisted. "I'm especially anxious to hear it." + +"I think," she almost stammered, "that somebody has taken advantage +of your illness. I didn't want to tell you until I'd had a chance to +think." + +"Please read it." His tone was abrupt. She had never heard that tone +before. + +She read. It was an assertion of that which her Howard most disbelieved, +most protested against; a defense of the public corruption she had heard +him denounce so often; an attack upon the ideas, the principles, the +elements she had so often heard him eulogize. It was as adroit as it was +detestable, as plausible as it was unprincipled. + +When she had done, there was a long silence which he broke. "What do you +think of it?" + +"Only a wretch, an enemy of yours could have written it. Who can it have +been?" Her eyes were ablaze and her voice trembled with anger. + +"I wrote it," he said. + +He did not dare to look at her for a few seconds. Then, with a flimsy +mask of pretended calmness only the more clearly revealing self-contempt +and cowardice, he faced her amazed eyes, her pale cheeks, her parted +lips--and dropped his gaze to the floor. + +"You?" she whispered. "You?" + +"Yes, I." + +She sat so still that he reached over and touched her hand. It was cold. +She shivered and drew it away. They were silent for a long time--several +minutes. She was looking at his face. It was old and sad and +feeble--pitiful, contemptible. She had never seen those lines of +weakness about his mouth before. She had never before noted that his +features had lost the expression of exalted character, the light of free +and independent manhood which made her look again the first time she saw +him. When had the man she loved departed? When had the new man come? How +long had she been giving herself to a stranger--and _such_ a stranger? + +"Yes--I," he repeated. "I have come over to your side." He laughed and +she shivered again. "Well--what do you think?" + +"Think?--I?--Oh, I think----" + +She burst into tears, flung herself down at his feet and buried her head +in his lap. + +"I think nothing," she sobbed, "except that I--I love you." + +He fell to smoothing her hair, slowly, gently, patronisingly. His face +was composed and he was looking down at her trembling head and agitated +shoulders with an absent-minded smile. How easily this once +dreaded crisis had passed! How he had overestimated her! How he had +underestimated himself! + +His glance and his thoughts soon fastened upon the copy of his newspaper +which she had thrown aside--_his_ newspaper indeed, his creation and his +creature, the epitome of his intellect and character, of his strength +and his weakness. Half a million circulation daily, three quarters of a +million on Sunday--how mighty as a direct influence upon the people! Its +clearness and vigour, its intelligence, its truth-like sophistry--how +mighty as an indirect influence upon the minds of other editors and of +public men! "Power--Success," he repeated to himself in an exaltation of +vanity and arrogance. + +Marian lifted her head and, turning, put it against his knee. She +reached out for his hand. He began to speak at once in a low persuasive +voice: + +"Trust me, dear, can't you? You do not--have not been reading the paper +until recently. You are not interested in politics. There have been many +changes in the few last years. And I too have changed. I am no longer +without responsibilities. They have sobered me, have given me +an appreciation of property, stability, conservatism. Youth is +enthusiastic, theoretical. I have--" + +"Ah, but I do trust you," she interrupted eagerly, fearful lest his +explanations would make it the more difficult for her to convince +herself of what she felt she must believe if life were to go on. "And +you--I don't want you to excite yourself. You must be quiet--must get +well." + +Each avoided meeting the other's eyes as she arranged the pillows for +him before leaving him alone to rest. + +The longer she juggled with her discovery the less appalling it seemed. +His line of action fitted too closely to her own ambitions of social +distinction, social leadership. If he had been her lover, the shock +would have killed love and set up contempt in its stead. But he was +not her lover, had not been for years; and to find that her husband was +doing a husband's duty, was winning position and power for himself and +therefore for his wife--that was a disclosure with mitigating aspects at +least. Besides, might she not be in part mistaken? Surely any course so +satisfactory in its results could not be wholly wrong, might perhaps be +the right in an unexpected, unaccustomed form. + + + + + +XXVIII. + +SUCCESS. + + +French had made a portrait of the new American ambassador to the Court +of St. James and it was shown at the spring exhibition of the Royal +Academy. The ambassador and his wife wished to see how it had been +hung, but they did not wish to be seen. So they chose an early hour of +a chill, rainy May morning to drive in a hansom from their place in Park +Lane to Burlington House. + +They found the portrait in Room VI, on the line, in a corner, but where +it had the benefit of such light as there was. When they entered no one +was there; but, as they were standing close to the picture, admiring +the energy and simplicity of the strokes of the master's brush, a crowd +swept in and enclosed them. + +"Let us go," Howard said in a low tone. + +Just then a man, almost at his shoulder because of the pressure of those +behind, said: "Wonderful, isn't it? I've never seen a better example of +his work. He had a subject that suited him perfectly." + +"No, let us stay," Marian whispered in reply to her husband. "They can't +see our faces and I'd like to hear." + +"Yes, it is superb," came the answer to the man behind them in a voice +unmistakably American. "Now, tell me, Saverhill, what sort of a person +would you say the ambassador is from that picture? You don't know him?" + +"Never heard of him until I read of his appointment," replied the first +voice. + +"I've heard of him often enough," came in the American voice. "But I've +never seen him." + +"You know him now," resumed the Englishman, "inside as well as out. +French always paints what he sees and always sees what he's painting." + +"Well, what is it?" + +"Let us go," whispered Marian. But Howard did not heed her. + +"I see--a fallen man. He was evidently a real man once; but he sold +himself." + +"Yes? Where does it show?" + +"He's got a good mind, this fellow-countryman of yours. There are the +eyes of a thinker and a doer. Nothing could have kept him down. His face +is almost as relentless as Kitchener's and fully as aggressive, except +that it shows intellect, and Kitchener's doesn't. Now note the corners +of his eyes, Marshall, and his mouth and nostrils and chin, and you'll +see why he sold himself, and the--the consequences." + +Howard and Marian, fascinated, compelled, looked where the unknown +requested. + +"I think I see what you mean," came in Marshall's voice, laughingly. +"But go on." + +"Ah, there it all is--hypocrisy, vanity, lack of principle, and, +plainest of all, weakness. It's a common enough type among your +successful men. The man himself is the fixed market price for a certain +kind of success. But, according to French, this ambassador of yours +seems to know what he has paid; and the knowledge doesn't make him more +content with his bargain. He has more brains than vanity; therefore he's +an unhappy hypocrite instead of a happy self-deceiver." + +Howard and Marian shrunk together with their heads close in the effort +to make sure of concealing their faces. She was suffering for herself, +but more acutely for him. She knew, as if she were looking into his +mind, his frightful humiliation. "Hereafter," she thought, "whenever any +one looks at him he will feel the thought behind the look." + +"How nearly did I come to him?" asked Saverhill. + +Howard started and Marian caught the rail for support. + +"A centre-shot," replied Marshall, "if the people who know him and have +talked to me about him tell the truth." + +"Oh, they're 'on to' him, as you say, over there, are they?" + +"No, not everybody. Only his friends and the few who are on the inside. +There's an ugly story going about privately as to how he got the +ambassadorship. They say he was bought with it. But--he's admired and +envied even by a good many who know or suspect that he's only an article +of commerce. He's got the cash and he's got position; and his paper +gives him tremendous power. Then too, as you say, all about him there +are men like himself. The only punishment he's likely to get is the +penalty of having to live with himself." + +"A good, round price if French is not mistaken," replied Saverhill. + +The two men passed on. Howard and Marian looked guiltily about, then +slipped away in the opposite direction. He helped her into the waiting +hansom. As they were driven homeward she cast a stealthy side-glance at +him. + +"Yes," she thought, "the portrait is a portrait of his face; and his +face is a portrait of himself." + +He caught her glance in the little mirror in the side of the +hansom--caught it and read it. And he began to hate her, this instrument +to his punishment, this constant remembrancer of his downfall. + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Great God Success, by +John Graham (David Graham Phillips) + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREAT GOD SUCCESS *** + +***** This file should be named 7989-8.txt or 7989-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/9/8/7989/ + +Produced by Eric Eldred, William Craig, Charles Franks and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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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: The Great God Success + +Author: John Graham (David Graham Phillips) + + +Release Date: April, 2005 [EBook #7989] +This file was first posted on June 10, 2003 +Last Updated: November 18, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREAT GOD SUCCESS *** + + + + +Text file produced by Eric Eldred, William Craig, 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> + THE GREAT GOD SUCCESS + </h1> + <h3> + A NOVEL + </h3> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By John Graham (David Graham Phillips) + </h2> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h5> + The Gregg Press / Ridgewood, N.J. + </h5> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>THE GREAT GOD SUCCESS</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> I. — THE CANDIDATE FROM YALE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> II. — THE CITY EDITOR RECONSIDERS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> III. — A PARK ROW CELEBRITY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> IV. — IN THE EDGE OF BOHEMIA. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> V. — ALICE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> VI. — IN A BOHEMIAN QUICKSAND. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> VII. — A LITTLE CANDLE GOES OUT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> VIII. — A STRUGGLE FOR SELF-CONTROL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> IX. — AMBITION AWAKENS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> X. — THE ETERNAL MASCULINE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> XI. — TRESPASSING. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> XII. — MAKING THE MOST OF A MONTH. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> XIII. — RECKONING WITH DANVERS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> XIV. — THE NEWS-RECORD GETS A NEW EDITOR. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> XV. — YELLOW JOURNALISM. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> XVI. — MR. STOKELY IS TACTLESS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> XVII. — A WOMAN AND A WARNING. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> XVIII. — HOWARD EXPLAINS HIS MACHINE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> XIX. — “I MUST BE RICH.” </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> XX. — ILLUSION. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> XXI. — WAVERING. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> XXII. — THE SHENSTONE EPISODE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> XXIII. — EXPANDING AND CONTRACTING. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> XXIV. — “MR. VALIANT-FOR-TRUTH.” </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> XXV. — THE PROMISED LAND. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> XXVI. — IN POSSESSION. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> XXVII. — THE HARVEST. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> XXVIII. — SUCCESS. </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> + THE GREAT GOD SUCCESS + </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. — THE CANDIDATE FROM YALE. + </h2> + <p> + “O your college paper, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I never wrote even a letter to the editor.” + </p> + <p> + “Took prizes for essays?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I never wrote if I could help it.” + </p> + <p> + “But you like to write?” + </p> + <p> + “I’d like to learn to write.” + </p> + <p> + “You say you are two months out of college—what college?” + </p> + <p> + “Yale.” + </p> + <p> + “Hum—I thought Yale men went into something commercial; law or + banking or railroads. ‘Leave hope of fortune behind, ye who enter here’ is + over the door of this profession.” + </p> + <p> + “I haven’t the money-making instinct.” + </p> + <p> + “We pay fifteen dollars a week at the start.” + </p> + <p> + “Couldn’t you make it twenty?” + </p> + <p> + The Managing Editor of the <i>News-Record</i> turned slowly in his chair + until his broad chest was full-front toward the young candidate for the + staff. He lowered his florid face slowly until his double chin swelled out + over his low “stick-up” collar. Then he gradually raised his eyelids until + his amused blue eyes were looking over the tops of his glasses, straight + into Howard’s eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” he asked. “Why should we?” + </p> + <p> + Howard’s grey eyes showed embarrassment and he flushed to the line of his + black hair which was so smoothly parted in the middle. “Well—you see—the + fact is—I need twenty a week. My expenses are arranged on that + scale. I’m not clever at money matters. I’m afraid I’d get in a mess with + only fifteen.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear young man,” said Mr. King, “I started here at fifteen dollars a + week. And I had a wife; and the first baby was coming.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but your wife was an energetic woman. She stood right beside you and + worked too. Now I have only myself.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. King raised his eyebrows and became a rosier red. He was evidently + preparing to rebuke this audacious intrusion into his private affairs by a + stranger whose card had been handed to him not ten minutes before. But + Howard’s tone and manner were simple and sincere. And they happened to + bring into Mr. King’s mind a rush of memories of his youth and his wife. + She had married him on faith. They had come to New York fifteen years + before, he to get a place as reporter on the <i>News-Record</i>, she to + start a boarding-house; he doubting and trembling, she with courage and + confidence for two. He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and + opened the book of memory at the place where the leaves most easily fell + apart: + </p> + <p> + He is coming home at one in the morning, worn out, sick at heart from the + day’s buffetings. As he puts his key into the latch, the door opens. There + stands a handsome girl; her face is flushed; her eyes are bright; her lips + are held up for him to kiss; she shows no trace of a day that began hours + before his and has been a succession of exasperations and humiliations + against which her sensitive nature, trained in the home of her father, a + distinguished up-the-state Judge, gives her no protection, “Victory,” she + whispers, her arms about his neck and her head upon his coat collar. + “Victory! We are seventy-two cents ahead on the week, and everything paid + up!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. King opened his eyes—they had been closed less than five + seconds. “Well, let it be twenty—though just why I’m sure I don’t + know. And we’ll give you a four weeks’ trial. When will you begin?” + </p> + <p> + “Now,” answered the young man, glancing about the room. “And I shall try + to show that I appreciate your consideration, whether I deserve it or + not.” + </p> + <p> + It was a large bare room, low of ceiling. Across one end were five windows + overlooking from a great height the tempest that rages about the City Hall + day and night with few lulls and no pauses. Mr. King’s roll-top desk was + at the first window. Under each of the other windows was a broad flat + table desk—for copy-readers. At the farthest of these sat the City + Editor—thin, precise-looking, with yellow skin, hollow cheeks, + ragged grey-brown moustache, ragged scant grey-brown hair and dark brown + eyes. He looked nervously tired and, because brown was his prevailing + shade, dusty. He rose as Mr. King came with young Howard. + </p> + <p> + “Here, Mr. Bowring, is a young man from Yale. He wishes you to teach him + how to write. Mr. Howard, Mr. Bowring. I hope you gentlemen will get on + comfortably together.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. King went back to his desk. Mr. Bowring and Howard looked each at the + other. Mr. Bowring smiled, with good-humour, without cordiality. “Let me + see, where shall we put you?” And his glance wandered along the rows of + sloping table-desks—those nearer the windows lighted by daylight; + those farther away, by electric lamps. Even on that cool, breezy August + afternoon the sunlight and fresh air did not penetrate far into the room. + </p> + <p> + “Do you see the young man with the beautiful fair moustache,” said Mr. + Bowring, “toiling away in his shirt-sleeves—there?” + </p> + <p> + “Near the railing at the entrance?” + </p> + <p> + “Precisely. I think I will put you next him.” Mr. Bowring touched a button + on his desk and presently an office boy—a mop of auburn curls, a + pert face and gangling legs in knickerbockers—hurried up with a + “Yes, Sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Please tell Mr. Kittredge that I would like to speak to him and—please + scrape your feet along the floor as little as possible.” + </p> + <p> + The boy smiled, walking away less as if he were trying to terrorize park + pedestrians by a rush on roller skates. Kittredge and Howard were made + acquainted and went toward their desks together. “A few moments—if + you will excuse me—and I’m done,” said Kittredge motioning Howard + into the adjoining chair as he sat and at once bent over his work. + </p> + <p> + Howard watched him with interest, admiration and envy. The reporter was + perhaps twenty-five years old—fair of hair, fair of skin, + goodlooking in a pretty way. His expression was keen and experienced yet + too self-complacent to be highly intelligent. He was rapidly covering + sheet after sheet of soft white paper with bold, loose hand-writing. + Howard noticed that at the end of each sentence he made a little cross + with a circle about it, and that he began each paragraph with a paragraph + sign. Presently he scrawled a big double cross in the centre of the sheet + under the last line of writing and gathered up his sheets in the numbered + order. “Done, thank God,” he said. “And I hope they won’t butcher it.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you send it to be put in type?” asked Howard. + </p> + <p> + “No,” Kittredge answered with a faint smile. “I hand it in to Mr. Bowring—the + City Editor, you know. And when the copyreaders come at six, it will be + turned over to one of them. He reads it, cuts it down if necessary, and + writes headlines for it. Then it goes upstairs to the composing room—see + the box, the little dumb-waiter, over there in the wall?—well, it + goes up by that to the floor above where they set the type and make up the + forms.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m a complete ignoramus,” said Howard, “I hope you’ll not mind my trying + to find out things. I hope I shall not bore you.” + </p> + <p> + “Glad to help you, I’m sure. I had to go through this two years ago when I + came here from Princeton.” + </p> + <p> + Kittredge “turned in” his copy and returned to his seat beside Howard. + </p> + <p> + “What were you writing about, if I may ask?” inquired Howard. + </p> + <p> + “About some snakes that came this morning in a ‘tramp’ from South America. + One of them, a boa constrictor, got loose and coiled around a windlass. + The cook was passing and it caught him. He fainted with fright and the + beast squeezed him to death. It’s a fine story—lots of amusing and + dramatic details. I wrote it for a column and I think they won’t cut it. I + hope not, anyhow. I need the money.” + </p> + <p> + “You are paid by the column?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I’m on space—what they call a space writer. If a man is of any + account here they gradually raise him to twenty-five dollars a week and + then put him on space. That means that he will make anywhere from forty to + a hundred a week, or perhaps more at times. The average for the best is + about eighty.” + </p> + <p> + “Eighty dollars a week,” thought Howard. “Fifty-two times eighty is + forty-one hundred and sixty. Four thousand a year, counting out two weeks + for vacation.” To Howard it seemed wealth at the limit of imagination. If + he could make so much as that!—he who had grave doubts whether, no + matter how hard he worked, he would ever wrench a living from the world. + </p> + <p> + Just then a seedy young man with red hair and a red beard came through the + gate in the railing, nodded to Kittredge and went to a desk well up toward + the daylight end of the room. + </p> + <p> + “That’s the best of ‘em all,” said Kittredge in a low tone. “His name is + Sewell. He’s a Harvard man—Harvard and Heidelberg. But drink! Ye + gods, how he does drink! His wife died last Christmas—practically + starvation. Sewell disappeared—frightful bust. A month afterward + they found him under an assumed name over on Blackwell’s Island, doing + three months for disorderly conduct. He wrote a Christmas carol while his + wife was dying. It began “Merrily over the Snow” and went on about light + hearts and youth and joy and all that—you know, the usual thing. + When he got the money, she didn’t need it or anything else in her nice + quiet grave over in Long Island City. So he ‘blew in’ the money on a + wake.” + </p> + <p> + Sewell was coming toward them. Kittredge called out: “Was it a good story, + Sam?” + </p> + <p> + “Simply great! You ought to have seen the room. Only the bed and the + cook-stove and a few dishes on a shelf—everything else gone to the + pawnshop. The man must have killed the children first. They lay side by + side on the bed, each with its hands folded on its chest—suppose the + mother did that; and each little throat was cut from ear to ear—suppose + the father did that. Then he dipped his paint brush in the blood and + daubed on the wall in big scrawling letters: ‘There is no God!’ Then he + took his wife in his arms, stabbed her to the heart and cut his own + throat. And there they lay, his arms about her, his cheek against hers, + dead. It was murder as a fine art. Gad, I wish I could write.” + </p> + <p> + Kittredge introduced Howard—“a Yale man—just came on the + paper.” + </p> + <p> + “Entering the profession? Well, they say of the other professions that + there is always room at the top. Journalism is just the reverse. The room + is all at the bottom—easy to enter, hard to achieve, impossible to + leave. It is all bottom, no top.” Sewell nodded, smiled attractively in + spite of his swollen face and his unsightly teeth, and went back to his + work. + </p> + <p> + “He’s sober,” said Kittredge when he was out of hearing, “so his story is + pretty sure to be the talk of Park Row tomorrow.” + </p> + <p> + Howard was astonished at the cheerful, businesslike point of view of these + two educated and apparently civilised young men as to the tragedies of + life. He had shuddered at Kittredge’s story of the man squeezed to death + by the snake. Sewell’s story, so graphically outlined, filled him with + horror, made it a struggle for him to conceal his feelings. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you must see a lot of frightful things,” he suggested. + </p> + <p> + “That’s our business. You soon get used to it, just as a doctor does. You + learn to look at life from the purely professional standpoint. Of course + you must feel in order to write. But you must not feel so keenly that you + can’t write. You have to remember always that you’re not there to cheer or + sympathise or have emotions, but only to report, to record. You tell what + your eyes see. You’ll soon get so that you can and will make good stories + out of your own calamaties.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that a portrait of the editor?” asked Howard, pointing to a grimed + oil-painting, the only relief to the stretch of cracked and streaked white + wall except a few ragged maps. + </p> + <p> + “That—oh, that is old man Stone—the ‘great condenser.’ He’s + there for a double purpose, as an example of what a journalist should be + and as a warning of what a journalist comes to. After twenty years of fine + work at crowding more news in good English into one column than any other + editor could get in bad English into four columns, he was discharged for + drunkenness. Soon afterwards he walked off the end of a dock one night in + a fog. At least it was said that there was a fog and that he was drunk. I + have my doubts.” + </p> + <p> + “Cheerful! I have not been in the profession an hour but I have already + learned something very valuable.” + </p> + <p> + “What’s that?” asked Kittredge, “that it’s a good profession to get out + of?” + </p> + <p> + “No. But that bad habits will not help a man to a career in journalism any + more than in any other profession.” + </p> + <p> + “Career?” smiled Kittredge, resenting Howard’s good-humoured irony and + putting on a supercilious look that brought out more strongly the + insignificance of his face. “Journalism is not a career. It is either a + school or a cemetery. A man may use it as a stepping-stone to something + else. But if he sticks to it, he finds himself an old man, dead and done + for to all intents and purposes years before he’s buried.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if it doesn’t attract a great many men who have a little talent + and fancy that they have much. I wonder if it does not disappoint their + vanity rather than their merit.” + </p> + <p> + “That sounds well,” replied Kittredge, “and there’s some truth in it. But, + believe me, journalism is the dragon that demands the annual sacrifice of + youth. It will have only youth. Why am I here? Why are you here? Because + we are young, have a fresh, a new point of view. As soon as we get a + little older, we shall be stale and, though still young in years, we must + step aside for young fellows with new ideas and a new point of view.” + </p> + <p> + “But why should not one have always new ideas, always a new point of view? + Why should one expect to escape the penalties of stagnation in journalism + when one can’t escape them in any other profession?” + </p> + <p> + “But who has new ideas all the time? The average successful man has at + most one idea and makes a whole career out of it. Then there are the + temptations.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + Kittredge flushed slightly and answered in a more serious tone: + </p> + <p> + “We must work while others amuse themselves or sleep. We must sleep while + others are at work. That throws us out of touch with the whole world of + respectability and regularity. When we get done at night, wrought up by + the afternoon and evening of this gambling with our brains and nerves as + the stake, what is open to us?” + </p> + <p> + “That is true,” said Howard. “There are the all-night saloons and—the + like.” + </p> + <p> + “And if we wish society, what society is open to us? What sort of young + women are waiting to entertain us at one, two, three o’clock in the + morning? Why, I have not made a call in a year. And I have not seen a + respectable girl of my acquaintance in at least that time, except once or + twice when I happened to have assignments that took me near Fifth Avenue + in the afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Kittredge, Mr. Bowring wishes to speak to you,” an office boy said + and Kittredge rose. As he went, he put his hand on Howard’s shoulder and + said: “No, I am getting out of it as fast as ever I can. I’m writing + books.” + </p> + <p> + “Kittredge,” thought Howard, “I wonder, is this Henry Jennings Kittredge, + whose stories are on all the news stands?” He saw an envelope on the floor + at his feet. The address was “Henry Jennings Kittredge, Esq.” + </p> + <p> + When Kittredge came back for his coat, Howard said in a tone of frank + admiration: “Why, I didn’t know you were the Kittredge that everybody is + talking about. You certainly have no cause for complaint.” + </p> + <p> + Kittredge shrugged his shoulders. “At fifteen cents a copy, I have to sell + ten thousand copies before I get enough to live on for four months. And + you’d be surprised how much reputation and how little money a man can make + out of a book. Don’t be distressed because they keep you here with nothing + to do but wonder how you’ll have the courage to face the cashier on pay + day. It’s the system. Your chance will come.” + </p> + <p> + It was three days before Howard had a chance. On a Sunday afternoon the + Assistant City Editor who was in charge of the City Desk for the day sent + him up to the Park to write a descriptive story of the crowds. “Try to get + a new point of view,” he said, “and let yourself loose. There’s usually + plenty of room in Monday’s paper.” + </p> + <p> + Howard wandered through the Central Park for two hours, struggling for the + “new point of view” of the crowds he saw there—these monotonous + millions, he thought, lazily drinking at a vast trough of country air in + the heart of the city. He planned an article carefully as he dined alone + at the Casino. He went down to the office early and wrote diligently—about + two thousand words. When he had finished, the Night City Editor told him + that he might go as there would be nothing more that night. + </p> + <p> + He was in the street at seven the next morning. As he walked along with a + News-Record, bought at the first news-stand, he searched every page: + first, the larger “heads”—such a long story would call for a “big + head;” then the smaller “heads”—they may have been crowded and have + had to cut it down; then the single-line “heads”—surely they found a + “stickful” or so worth printing. + </p> + <p> + At last he found it. A dozen items in the smallest type, agate, were + grouped under the general heading “City Jottings” at the end of an inside + column of an inside page. The first of these City Jottings was two lines + in length: + </p> + <p> + “The millions were in the Central Park yesterday, lazily drinking at that + vast trough of country air in the heart of the city.” + </p> + <p> + As he entered the office Howard looked appealingly and apologetically at + the boy on guard at the railing and braced himself to receive the sneering + frown of the City Editor and to bear the covert smiles of his fellow + reporters. But he soon saw that no one had observed his mighty spring for + a foothold and his ludicrous miss and fall. + </p> + <p> + “Had anything in yet?” Kittredge inquired casually, late in the afternoon. + </p> + <p> + “I wrote a column and a half yesterday and I found two lines among the + City Jottings,” replied Howard, reddening but laughing. + </p> + <p> + “The first story I wrote was cut to three lines but they got a libel suit + on it.” + </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 CITY EDITOR RECONSIDERS. + </h2> + <p> + At the end of six weeks, the City Editor called Howard up to the desk and + asked him to seat himself. He talked in a low tone so that the Assistant + City Editor, reading the newspapers at a nearby desk, could not hear. + </p> + <p> + “We like you, Mr. Howard.” Mr. Bowring spoke slowly and with a carefulness + in selecting words that indicated embarrassment. “And we have been + impressed by your earnestness. But we greatly fear that you are not fitted + for this profession. You write well enough, but you do not seem to get the + newspaper—the news—idea. So we feel that in justice to you and + to ourselves we ought to let you know where you stand. If you wish, we + shall be glad to have you remain with us two weeks longer. Meanwhile you + can be looking about you. I am certain that you will succeed somewhere, in + some line, sooner or later. But I think that the newspaper profession is a + waste of your time.” + </p> + <p> + Howard had expected this. Failure after failure, his articles thrown away + or rewritten by the copyreaders, had prepared him for the blow. Yet it + crushed him for the moment. His voice was not steady as he replied: + </p> + <p> + “No doubt you are right. Thank you for taking the trouble to study my case + and tell me so soon.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t hesitate to stay on for the two weeks,” Mr. Bowring continued. “We + can make you useful to us. And you can look about to much better advantage + than if you were out of a place.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll stay the two weeks,” Howard said, “unless I find something sooner.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be more discouraged than you can help,” said Mr. Bowring. “You may + be very grateful before long for finding out so early what many of us—I + myself, I fear—find out after years and—when it is too late.” + </p> + <p> + Always that note of despair; always that pointing to the motto over the + door of the profession: “Abandon hope, ye who enter here.” What was the + explanation? Were these men right? Was he wrong in thinking that + journalism offered the most splendid of careers—the development of + the mind and the character; the sharpening of all the faculties; the + service of truth and right and human betterment, in daily combat with + injustice and error and falsehood; the arousing and stimulating of the + drowsy minds of the masses of mankind? + </p> + <p> + Howard looked about at the men who held on where he was slipping. “Can it + be,” he thought, “that I cannot survive in a profession where the poorest + are so poor in intellect and equipment? Why am I so dull that I cannot + catch the trick?” + </p> + <p> + He set himself to study newspapers, reading them line by line, noting the + modes of presenting facts, the arrangement of headlines, the order in + which the editors put the several hundred items before the eyes of the + reader—what they displayed on each page and why; how they + apportioned the space. With the energy of unconquerable resolution he + applied himself to solving for himself the puzzle of the press—the + science and art of catching the eye and holding the attention of the + hurrying, impatient public. + </p> + <p> + He learned much. He began to develop the news-instinct, that subtle + instant realisation of what is interesting and what is not interesting to + the public mind. But the time was short; a sense of impending calamity and + the lack of self-confidence natural to inexperience made it impossible for + him effectively to use his new knowledge in the few small opportunities + which Mr. Bowring gave him. With only six days of his two weeks left, he + had succeeded in getting into the paper not a single item of a length + greater than two sticks. He slept little; he despaired not at all; but he + was heart-sick and, as he lay in his bed in the little hall-room of the + furnished-room house, he often envied women the relief of tears. What he + endured will be appreciated only by those who have been bred in sheltered + homes; who have abruptly and alone struck out for themselves in the ocean + of a great city without a single lesson in swimming; who have felt + themselves seized from below and dragged downward toward the deep-lying + feeding-grounds of Poverty and Failure. + </p> + <p> + “Buck up, old man,” said Kittredge to whom he told his bad news after + several days of hesitation and after Kittredge had shown him that he + strongly suspected it. “Don’t mind old Bowring. You’re sure to get on, + and, if you insist upon the folly, in this profession. I’ll give you a + note to Montgomery—he’s City Editor over at the <i>World</i>-shop—and + he’ll take you on. In some ways you will do better there. You’ll rise + faster, get a wider experience, make more money. In fact, this shop has + only one advantage. It does give a man peace of mind. It’s more like a + club than an office. But in a sense that is a drawback. I’ll give you a + note to-night. You will be at work over there to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I’ll wait a few days,” said Howard, his tone corresponding to the + look in his eyes and the compression of his resolute mouth. + </p> + <p> + The next day but one Mr. Bowring called him up to the City Desk and gave + him a newspaper-clipping which read: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Bald Peak, September 29—Willie Dent, the three-year-old baby + of John Dent, a farmer living two miles from here, strayed away + into the mountains yesterday and has not been seen since. His + dog, a cur, went with him. Several hundred men are out searching. + It has been storming, and the mountains are full of bears + and wild cats.” + </pre> + <p> + “Yes, I saw this in the <i>Herald</i>,” said Howard. + </p> + <p> + “Will you take the train that leaves at eleven tonight and get us the + story—if it is not a ‘fake,’ as I strongly suspect. Telegraph your + story if there is not time for you to get back here by nine to-morrow + night.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course it’s a fake, or at least a wild exaggeration,” thought Howard + as he turned away. “If Bowring had not been all but sure there was nothing + in it, he would never have given it to me.” + </p> + <p> + He was not well, his sleepless nights having begun to tell even upon his + powerful constitution. The rest of that afternoon and all of a night + without sleep in the Pullman he was in a depth of despond. He had been in + the habit of getting much comfort out of an observation his father had + made to him just before he died: “Remember that ninety per cent of these + fourteen hundred million human beings are uncertain where to-morrow’s food + is to come from. Be prudent but never be afraid.” But just then he could + get no consolation out of this maxim of grim cheer. He seemed to himself + incompetent and useless, a predestined failure. “What is to become of me?” + he kept repeating, his heart like lead and his mind fumbling about in a + confused darkness. + </p> + <p> + At Bald Peak he was somewhat revived by the cold mountain air of the early + morning. As he alighted upon the station platform he spoke to the + baggage-master standing in front of the steps. + </p> + <p> + “Was the little boy of a man named Dent lost in the mountains near here?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—three days ago,” replied the baggage-man. + </p> + <p> + “Have they found him yet?” + </p> + <p> + “No—nor never will alive—that’s my opinion.” + </p> + <p> + Howard asked for the nearest livery-stable and within twenty minutes was + on his way to Dent’s farm. His driver knew all about the lost child. Two + hundred men were still searching. “And Mrs. Dent, she’s been sittin’ by + the window, list’nin’ day and night. She won’t speak nor eat and she ain’t + shed a tear. It was her only child. The men come in sayin’ it ain’t no use + to hunt any more, an’ they look at her an’ out they goes ag’in.” + </p> + <p> + Soon the driver pointed to a cottage near the road. The gate was open; the + grass and the flower-beds were trampled into a morass. The door was thrown + wide and several women were standing about the threshold. At the window + within view of the road and the mountains sat the mother—a young + woman with large brown eyes, and clear-cut features, refined, beautified, + exalted by suffering. Her look was that of one listening for a faint, far + away sound upon which hangs the turn of the balances to joy or to despair. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + That morning two of the searchers went to the northeast into the dense and + tangled swamp woods between Bald Peak and Cloudy Peak—the wildest + wilderness in the mountains. The light barely penetrates the foliage on + the brightest days. The ground is rough, sometimes precipitous, closely + covered with bushes and tangled creepers. + </p> + <p> + The two explorers, almost lost themselves, came at last to the edge of a + swamp surrounded by cedars. They half-crawled, half-climbed through the + low trees and festooning creepers to the edge of a clear bit of open, firm + ground. + </p> + <p> + In the middle was a cedar tree. Under it, seated upon the ground, was the + lost boy. His bare, brown legs, torn and bleeding, were stretched straight + in front of him. His bare feet were bruised and cut. His gingham dress was + torn and wet and stained. His small hands were smears of dirt and blood. + He was playing with a tin can. He had put a stone into it and was making a + great rattling. The dog was running to and fro, apparently enjoying the + noise. The little boy’s face was tear-stained and his eyes were swollen. + But he was not crying just then and laughter lurked in his thin, + fever-flushed face. + </p> + <p> + As the men came into view, the dog began to bark angrily, but the boy + looked a solemn welcome. + </p> + <p> + “Want mamma,” he said. “I’se hungry.” + </p> + <p> + One of the men picked him up—the gingham dress was saturated. + </p> + <p> + “You’re hungry?” asked the man, his voice choking. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. An’ I’se so wet. It wained and wained.” Then the child began to sob. + “It was dark,” he whispered, “an’ cold. I want my mamma.” + </p> + <p> + It was an hour’s tedious journey back to Dent’s by the shortest route. At + the top of the hill those near the cottage saw the boy in the arms of the + man who had found him. They shouted and the mother sprang out of the house + and came running, stumbling down the path to the gate. She caught at the + gate-post and stood there, laughing, screaming, sobbing. + </p> + <p> + “Baby! Baby!” she called. + </p> + <p> + The little boy turned his head and stretched out his thin, blood-stained + arms. She ran toward him and snatched him from the young farmer. + </p> + <p> + “Hungry, mamma,” he sobbed, hiding his face on her shoulder. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Howard wrote his story on the train, going down to New York. It was a + straightforward chronicle of just what he had seen and heard. He began at + the beginning—the little mountain home, the family of three, the + disappearance of the child. He described the perils of the mountains, the + storm, the search, the wait, the listening mother, scene by scene, ending + with mother and child together again and the dog racing around them, with + wagging tail and hanging tongue. He wrote swiftly, making no changes, + without a trace of his usual self-consciousness in composition. When he + had done he went into the restaurant car and dined almost gaily. He felt + that he had failed again. How could he hope to tell such a story? But he + was not despondent. He was still under the spell of that intense human + drama with its climax of joy. His own concerns seemed secondary, of no + consequence. + </p> + <p> + He reached the office at half-past nine, handed in his “copy” and went + away. He was in bed at half-past ten and was at once asleep. At eleven the + next morning a knocking awakened him from a sound sleep that had restored + and refreshed him. “A messenger from the office,” was called through the + door in answer to his inquiry. He took the note from the boy and tore it + open: + </p> + <p> + “My dear Mr. Howard: Thank you for the splendid story you gave us last + night. It is one of the best, if not the best, we have had the pleasure of + publishing in years. Your salary has been raised to twenty-five dollars a + week. + </p> + <p> + “Congratulations. You have ‘caught on’ at last. I’m glad to take back what + I said the other day. + </p> + <h3> + “HENRY C. BOWRING.” + </h3> + <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. — A PARK ROW CELEBRITY. + </h2> + <p> + Kittredge was the first to congratulate him when he reached the office. + “Everybody is talking about your story,” he said. “I must say I was + surprised when I read it. I had begun to fear that you would never catch + the trick—for, with most of us writing is only a trick. But now I + see that you are a born writer. Your future is in your own hands.” + </p> + <p> + “You think I can learn to write?” + </p> + <p> + “That is the sane way to put it. Yes, I know that you can. If you’ll only + not be satisfied with the results that come easy, you will make a + reputation. Not a mere Park Row reputation, but the real thing.” + </p> + <p> + Howard got flattery enough in the next few days to turn a stronger head + than was his at twenty-two. But a few partial failures within a fortnight + sobered him and steadied him. His natural good sense made him take himself + in hand. He saw that his success had been to a great extent a happy + accident; that to repeat it, to improve upon it he must study life, study + the art of expression. He must keep his senses open to impression. He must + work at style, enlarge his vocabulary, learn the use of words, the effect + of varying combinations of words both as to sound and as to meaning. “I + must learn to write for the people,” he thought, “and that means to write + the most difficult of all styles.” + </p> + <p> + He was, then and always, one of those who like others and are liked by + them, yet never seek company and so are left to themselves. As he had no + money to spare and a deep aversion to debt, he was not tempted into + joining in the time-wasting dissipations that were now open to him. He + worked hard at his profession and, when he left the office, usually went + direct to his rooms to read until far into the morning. He was often busy + sixteen hours out of the twenty-four. His day at reporting was long—from + noon until midnight, and frequently until three in the morning. But the + work was far different from the grind which is the lot of the young men + striving in other professions or in business. It was the most fascinating + work imaginable for an intelligent, thirsty mind—the study of human + nature under stress of the great emotions. + </p> + <p> + His mode of thought and his style made Mr. Bowring and Mr. King give him + much of this particular kind of reporting. So he was always observing + love, hate, jealousy, revenge, greed. He saw these passions in action in + the lives of people of all kinds and conditions. And he saw little else. + The reporter is a historian. And history is, as Gibbon says, for the most + part “a record of the crimes, follies and misfortunes of mankind.” + </p> + <p> + For many a man this has been a ruinous, one-sided development. Howard was + saved by his extremely intelligent, sympathetic point of view. He saw the + whole of each character, each conflict that he was sent to study. If the + point of the story was the good side of human nature—some act of + generosity or self-sacrifice—he did not exaggerate it into godlike + heroism but adjusted it in its proper prospective by bringing out its + human quality and its human surroundings. If the main point was violence + or sordidness or baseness, he saw the characteristics which relieved and + partially redeemed it. His news-reports were accounts of the doings not of + angels or devils but of human beings, accounts written from a thoroughly + human standpoint. + </p> + <p> + Here lay the cause of his success. In all his better stories—for he + often wrote poor ones—there was the atmosphere of sincerity, of + realism, the marks of an acute observer, without prejudice and with a + justifiable leaning toward a belief in the fundamental worth of humanity. + Where others were cynical he was just. Where others were sentimental, he + had sincere, healthful sentiment. Where others were hysterical, he calmly + and accurately described, permitting the tragedy to reveal itself instead + of burying it beneath high-heaped adjectives. Simplicity of style was his + aim and he was never more delighted by any compliment than by one from the + chief political reporter. + </p> + <p> + “That story of yours this morning,” said this reporter whose lack as a + writer was more than compensated by his ability to get intimately + acquainted with public men, “reads as if a child might have written it. I + don’t see how you get such effects without any style at all. You just let + your story tell itself.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you see,” replied Howard, “I am writing for the masses, and fine + writing would be wasted upon them.” + </p> + <p> + “You’re right,” said Jackman, “we don’t need literature on this paper—long + words, high-sounding phrases and all that sort of thing. What we want is + just plain, simple English that goes straight to the point.” + </p> + <p> + “Like Shakespeare’s and Bunyan’s,” suggested Kittredge with a grin. + </p> + <p> + “Shakespeare? Fudge!” scoffed Jackman. “Why he couldn’t have made a living + as a space-writer on a New York newspaper.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don’t think he would have staid long in Park Row,” replied + Kittredge with a subtlety of meaning that escaped Jackman. + </p> + <p> + A few days before New Year’s the Managing Editor looked up and smiled as + Howard was passing his desk. + </p> + <p> + “How goes it?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, not so badly,” Howard answered, “but I am a good deal depressed at + times.” + </p> + <p> + “Depressed? Nonsense! You’ve got everything—youth, health and + freedom. And by the way, you are going on space the first of the year. Our + rule is a year on salary before space. But we felt that it was about time + to strengthen the rule by making an exception.” + </p> + <p> + Howard stammered thanks and went away. This piece of news, dropped + apparently so carelessly by Mr. King, meant a revolution in fortune for + him. It was the transition from close calculation on twenty-five dollars a + week to wealth beyond his most fanciful dreams of six months ago. Not + having the money-getting instinct and being one of those who compare their + work with the best instead of with the inferior, Howard never felt that he + was “entitled to a living.” He had a lively sense of gratitude for the + money return for his services which prudence presently taught him to + conceal. + </p> + <p> + “Space” meant to him eighty dollars a week at least—circumstances of + ease. So vast a sum did it seem that he began to consider the problem of + investment. “I have been not badly off on twenty-five dollars a week,” he + thought. “With, well, say forty dollars a week I shall be able to satisfy + all my wants. I can save at least forty a week and that will mean an + independence with a small income by the time I am thirty-four.” + </p> + <p> + But—a year after he was put “on space” he was still just about even + with his debts. He seemed to himself to be living no better and it was + only by careful counting-up that he could see how that dream of + independence had eluded him. A more extensive wardrobe, a little better + food, a more comfortable suite of rooms, an occasional dinner to some + friends, loans to broken-down reporters, and the mysteriously vanished two + thousand dollars was accounted for. + </p> + <p> + Howard tried to retrench, devised small ingenious schemes for saving + money, lectured himself severely and frequently for thus trifling away his + chance to be a free man. But all in vain. He remained poor; and, whenever + he gave the matter thought, which was not often, gloomy forebodings as to + the future oppressed him. “I shall find myself old,” he thought, “with + nothing accomplished, with nothing laid by. I shall be an old drudge.” He + understood the pessimistic tone of his profession. All about him were men + like himself—leading this gambler’s life of feverish excitement and + evanescent achievement, earning comfortable incomes and saving nothing, + looking forward to the inevitable time of failing freshness and shattered + nerves and declining income. + </p> + <p> + He spasmodically tried to write stories for the magazines, contrived plots + for novels and plays, wrote first chapters, first scenes of first acts. + But the exactions of newspaper life, the impossibility of continuous + effort at any one piece of work and his natural inertia—he was inert + but neither idle nor lazy—combined to make futile his efforts to + emancipate himself from hand-to-mouth journalism. + </p> + <p> + He had been four years a reporter and was almost twenty-six years old. He + was known throughout his profession in New York, although he had never + signed an article. One remarkable “human interest” story after another had + forced the knowledge of his abilities upon the reporters and editors of + other newspapers. And he was spoken of as one of the best and in some + respects the best “all round reporter” in the city. This meant that he was + capable to any emergency—that, whatever the subject, he could write + an accurate, graphic, consecutive and sustained story and could get it + into the editor’s hands quickly. + </p> + <p> + Indeed he possessed facility to the perilous degree. What others achieved + only after long toil, he achieved without effort. This was due chiefly to + the fact that he never relaxed but was at all times the journalist, + reading voraciously newspapers, magazines and the best books, and using + what he read; observing constantly and ever trying to see something that + would make “good copy”; turning over phrases in his mind to test the value + of words both as to sound and as to meaning. He was an incessantly active + man. His great weakness was the common weakness—failure to + concentrate. In Park Row they regarded him as a brilliant success. + Brilliant he was. But a success he was not. He knew that he was a + brilliant failure—and not very brilliant. + </p> + <p> + “Why is it?” he asked himself again and again in periods of reaction from + the nervous strain of some exciting experience. “Shall I never seize any + of these chances that are always thrusting themselves at me? Shall I + always act like a Neapolitan beggar? Will the stimulus to ambition never + come?” + </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. — IN THE EDGE OF BOHEMIA. + </h2> + <p> + Howard lived in Washington Square, South. He had gone to a “furnished-room + house” there because it was cheap. He staid because he was comfortable and + was without a motive for moving. + </p> + <p> + It was the centre of the most varied life in New York. To the north lay + fashion and wealth, to the east and west, respectability and moderate + means; to the south, poverty and squalor, vice and crime. All could be + seen and heard from the windows of his sitting room. In the evenings + toward spring he looked out upon a panorama of the human race such as is + presented by no other city in the world and by no other part of that city. + Within view were Americans of all kinds, French and Germans, Italians and + Austrians, Spaniards and Moors, Scandinavians and negroes, born New + Yorkers and born citizens of most of the capitals of civilisation and + semi-barbarism. There were actresses, dancers, shop girls, cocottes; + touts, thieves, confidence-men, mission workers; artists and students from + the musty University building, tramps and drunkards from the + “barrel-houses” and “stale-beer shops;” and, across the square to the + north, representatives of New York’s oldest and most noted families. To + the west were apartment houses whence stiff, prim bookkeepers, + floor-walkers, clerks and small shop-keepers issued with their families on + Sundays, bound for church. There were other apartment houses—the + most of them to the south—whence in the midnight hours came slattern + servants and reckless looking girls in loose wrappers and high-heeled + slippers, pitcher in hand, bound for the nearest saloon. + </p> + <p> + After dusk from early spring until late fall a multitude of interesting + sounds mingled with the roar of the elevated trains to the west and south + and the rumble of carriages in “the Avenue” to the north. Howard, reading + or writing at his window on his leisure days, heard the young men and + young women laughing and shouting and making love under the trees where + the Washington Arch glistened in the twilight. Later came the songs—“I + want you, my honey, yes I do,” or “Lu, Lu, how I love my Lu!”, or some + other of the current concert-hall jingles. Many figures could be seen + flitting about in the shadows. Usually these figures were in pairs; + usually one was in white; usually at her waist-line there was a black belt + that continued on until it was lost in the other and darker figure. + </p> + <p> + Scraps of a score of languages—curses, jests, terms of endearment—would + float up to him. Then came the hours of comparative silence, with the city + breathing softly and regularly, with the moon hanging low and the pale + arch rising above the dark trees like a giant ghost. There would be an + occasional drunken shout or shriek; a riotous roar of song from some + staggering reveller making company for himself on the journey home; the + heavy step of the policeman. Or perhaps the only sound to disturb the + city’s sleep would be that soft tread, timid as a mouse’s, stealthy as a + jackal’s—the tread of a lonely woman with draggled silk skirt and + painted cheeks and eyes burning into the darkness, and a heart as bitter + and as sad as no money, no home, no friends, no hope can make it. + </p> + <p> + Once he threw a silver dollar from his window to the sidewalk well in + front of her. She did not see it flash downward but she heard it ring upon + the walk. She rushed forward and twice kicked it away from her in her + frenzy to get it. When her bare hand—or was it a claw?—at last + closed upon it, she gave a low scream, looked slyly and fearfully about, + then ran as if death were at her heels. + </p> + <p> + Soon after Howard was put “on space” he took the best suite of rooms in + the house. It was a strange company which Mrs. Sands had gathered under + her roof. Except Howard there was no one, not even Mrs. Sands herself, who + did not have so much past that there was little left for future. Indeed, + perhaps none of these storm-tossed or wrecked human craft had had more of + a past than Mrs. Sands. There was no mistaking the significance of those + deep furrows filled with powder and plastered with paint, those few hairs + tinted and frizzed. But like all persons with real pasts Mrs. Sands and + her lodgers kept the veil tightly drawn. They confessed to no yesterdays + and they did not dare think of to-morrow. They were incuriously awaiting + the impulse which was sure to come, sure to thrust them on downward. + </p> + <p> + A new lodger at Mrs. Sand’s usually took the best rooms that were to be + had. Then, sometimes slowly, sometimes swiftly, came the retreat upward + until a cubby-hole under the eaves was reached. Finally came precipitate + and baggageless departure, often with a week or two of lodging unpaid. The + next pause, if pause there was, would be still nearer the river-bed or the + Morgue. + </p> + <p> + One morning when he had been living in Washington Square, South, about—three + years, Howard was dressing hurriedly, the door of his sitting-room + accidentally ajar. Through the crack he saw some one stooping over the + serving tray which he had himself put outside his door when he had + finished breakfast. He looked more closely. It was “the clergyman” from up + under the eaves—an unfrocked priest, thin to emaciation, misery + written upon his face even more deeply than weakness. He hastily bundled + the bones of two chops and a bit of bread into a stained and torn + handkerchief, and sprang away up the stairs toward his little hole at the + roof. + </p> + <p> + Howard was in a hurry and so put off for the time action upon the natural + impulse. When he came back at midnight, there was soon a knock at his + door. He opened it and invited in the man at the threshold—a tall, + strongly built, erect German, with a dissipated handsome face, heavily + scarred from university duels. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me for disturbing you,” said the German. His speech, his tone, his + manner, left no doubt as to his breeding though they raised the gravest + doubts as to his being willing to give a true account of why he had become + a tenant in that lodging house. + </p> + <p> + “Will you have a cigarette and some whiskey?” inquired Howard. + </p> + <p> + The German’s glance lit and lingered upon the bottle of Scotch on the + table. “Concentrated, double-distilled friendship,” said he as he poured + out his drink. + </p> + <p> + “But a friend that drives all others away,” smiled Howard. + </p> + <p> + “I have found it of a very jealous disposition,” replied the German with a + careless shrug of the shoulders and a lifting of the eyebrows. “But at + least this friend has the grace to stay after it has driven the others + away.” + </p> + <p> + “To stay until the last piece of silver is gone.” + </p> + <p> + “But what more does one expect of a friend? Besides, we are overlooking + one friend—the one who helped our clerical fellow-lodger of the + attic out of his troubles to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “His luck has turned?” + </p> + <p> + “Permanently. He shot himself this afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + “And only this morning I made up my mind to try to help him,” said Howard + regretfully. + </p> + <p> + “You could not have hoped to succeed so well. His case needed something + more than temporary expedient. But, to come to the point, I had a slight + acquaintance with him. He left a note for me—mailed it just before + he shot himself. In it he asked that I insert a personal in the Herald. + Unfortunately I have not the money. I thought that you as a journalist + might be able to suggest something.” + </p> + <p> + The German held out a slip of cheap writing paper on which was written: + “Helen—when you see this it will be over—L.” + </p> + <p> + “A good story,” was Howard’s first thought, his news-instinct alert. And + then he remembered that it was not for him to tell. “I will attend to this + for you to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said the German, helping himself to the whiskey. “Have you + seen the new lodgers?” + </p> + <p> + “Those in the room behind me? Yes. I saw them at the front door as I came + in.” + </p> + <p> + “They’re a queer pair—the youngest I’ve seen in this house. I’ve + been wondering what tempest wrecked them on this forlorn coast so early in + the voyage.” + </p> + <p> + “Why wrecked?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear sir, we are all—except you—wrecks here, all + unseaworthy at least.” + </p> + <p> + “One of them was quite pretty, I thought,” said Howard, “the slender one + with the black hair.” + </p> + <p> + “They are not mates. The other girl is of a different sort. She’s more + used to this kind of life, at least to poverty. I fancy Miss Black-Hair + looks on it as a lark. But she’ll find out the truth by the time she has + mounted another story.” + </p> + <p> + “Here, to go up means to go down,” Howard said, weary of the conversation + and wishing that the German would leave. + </p> + <p> + “They say that they’re sisters,” the German went on, again helping himself + to the whiskey; “They say they have run away from home because of a + stepmother and that they are going to earn their own living. But they + won’t. They spend the nights racing about with a gang of the young + wretches of this neighbourhood. They won’t be able to stand getting up + early for work. And then——” + </p> + <p> + The German blew out a huge cloud of cigarette smoke, shrugged his + shoulders and added: “Miss Black-Hair may get on up town presently. But I + doubt it. The Tenderloin rarely recruits from down here.” + </p> + <p> + The bottle was empty and the German bowed himself out. As the night was + hot, Howard opened the door a few moments afterward. At the other end of + the short hall light was streaming through the open door of the room the + two girls had taken. Before he could turn, there was a shadow and “Miss + Black-Hair” was standing in her doorway: + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she began, “I thought——” + </p> + <p> + Howard paused, looking at her. She was above the medium height—tall + for a woman—and slender. Her loose wrapper, a little open at her + round throat, clung to her, attracting attention to all the lines of her + form. Her hair was indeed black, jet black, waving back from her forehead + in a line of curving and beautiful irregularity. Her skin was clear and + dark. There were deep circles under her eyes, making them look unnaturally + large, pathetically weary. In repose her face was childish and sadly + serious. When she smiled she looked older and pert, but no happier. + </p> + <p> + “I thought,” she continued with the pert, self-confident smile, “that you + were my sister Nellie. I’m waiting for her.” + </p> + <p> + “You’re in early tonight,” said Howard, the circles under her eyes + reminding him of what the German had told him. + </p> + <p> + “I haven’t slept much for a week,” the girl replied, “I’m nearly dead. But + I won’t go to bed till Nellie comes.” + </p> + <p> + Howard was about to turn when she went on: “We agreed always to stay + together. She broke it tonight. My fellow got too fresh, so I came home. + She said she’d come too. That was an hour ago and she isn’t here yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t she rather young to be out alone at this time?” + </p> + <p> + Howard could hardly have told why he continued the conversation. He + certainly would not, had she been less beautiful or less lonely and + childish. At his remark about her sister’s youth she laughed with an + expression of cunning at once amusing and pitiful. + </p> + <p> + “She’s a year older than me,” she said, “and I guess I can take care of + myself. Still she hasn’t much sense. She’ll get into trouble yet. She + doesn’t understand how to manage the boys when they’re too fresh.” + </p> + <p> + “But you do, I suppose?” suggested Howard. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed I do,” with a quick nod of her small graceful head, “I know what + I’m about. <i>My</i> mother taught <i>me</i> a few things.” + </p> + <p> + “Didn’t she teach your sister also?” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Black-Hair” dropped her eyes and flushed a little, looking like a + child caught in a lie. “Of course,” she said after a pause. + </p> + <p> + “How long have you been without your mother?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve been away from home four months. But I saw her in the street + yesterday. She didn’t see me though.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you’ve got a step-father?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I haven’t. Nellie told that to Mrs. Sands. But it’s not so. You know + Nellie’s not my sister?” + </p> + <p> + “I fancied not from what you said a moment ago.” + </p> + <p> + “No, she used to be nurse girl in our family. We just say we’re sisters. I + wish she’d come. I’m tired of standing. Won’t you come in?” + </p> + <p> + She went into her room, her manner a frank and simple invitation. Howard + hesitated, then went just inside the door and half sat, half leaned upon + the high roll of the lounge. The room was cheaply furnished, the lounge + and a closed folding bed almost filling it. Upon the mantel, the bureau + and the little table were a few odds and ends that stamped it a woman’s + room. A street gown of thin pale-blue cloth was thrown over a rocking + chair. As the girl leaned back in this chair with her face framed in the + pale-blue of the gown, she looked tired and sad and beautiful and very + young. + </p> + <p> + “If Nellie doesn’t look out, I’ll go away and live alone,” she said, and + the accompanying unconscious look of loneliness touched Howard. + </p> + <p> + “You might go back home.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t know my home or you wouldn’t say that. You don’t know my + father.” She had got upon the subject of herself, and, once in that road + she kept it with no thought of turning out. “He can’t treat me as he + treats mother. Why, he goes away and stays for days. Then he comes home + and quarrels with her all the time. They never both sit through a meal. + One or the other flares up and leaves. He generally whipped me when he got + very mad—just for spite.” + </p> + <p> + “But there’s your mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. She doesn’t like my going away. But I can’t stand it. Papa wouldn’t + let me go anywhere or let anybody come to see me. He says everybody’s bad. + I guess he’s about right. Only he doesn’t include himself.” + </p> + <p> + “You seem to have a poor opinion of people.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you can’t blame me.” She put on her wise look of experience and + craft. “I’ve been away, living with Nellie for four months and I’ve seen + no good to speak of. A girl doesn’t get a fair chance.” + </p> + <p> + “But you’ve got work?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes. We both stayed down in a restaurant, Nellie’s got a place as + waiter. That’s the best she could do. The man said I was good-looking and + would catch trade. So he made me cashier. I get six dollars a week to + Nellie’s three. But it’s a bad place. The men are always slipping notes in + my hand when they give me their checks. Then the boss, he’s always + bothering around.” + </p> + <p> + “But you don’t have to work hard?” + </p> + <p> + “From nine till four. We get our lunch free. I pay three dollars on the + room and Nellie pays one.” + </p> + <p> + If Howard had not seen many such problems in economics before, he would + have been astonished at any one even hoping to be able to get two meals a + day, clothing and carfare out of two or three dollars a week. As it was, + he only wondered how long a girl who had been used at least to comfort + would endure this. “It’s easy for the other girl,” he thought, “because + she’s used to it. But this one—” and he decided that the “trouble” + would begin as soon as her clothing was worn out. + </p> + <p> + He noticed that she was pulling at the third finger of her right hand + where she would have worn rings if she had had any. “You’ve had to pawn + your rings?” he ventured. + </p> + <p> + She looked at him startled. “Did Nellie tell you?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he replied, “I saw that you were missing your rings and suspected + the rest.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; that’s so. I’ve pawned all my jewelry except a bracelet. Nellie + can’t get along on her three dollars. She eats too much.” + </p> + <p> + “I should think you’d rather be at home.” + </p> + <p> + “As I told you before,” she said impatiently, “anything’s better than + home. Besides, I’m pretty well off. I go where I please, stay out as late + as I please and have all the company I want. At home I’d have to be in bed + at ten o’clock.” + </p> + <p> + There was a sound at the front door down in the darkness. The girl started + from the chair, listened, then exclaimed: “There she comes now. And it’s + two o’clock!” + </p> + <p> + Howard took the hint, smiled and said: “Well, good-night. I’ll see you + again.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-night,” the girl answered absently. + </p> + <p> + From his room Howard heard Nellie coming up the stairs. “You’re a nice + one!” came in “Miss Black-Hair’s” indignant voice, “Where have you been? + Where did you and Jack go?” + </p> + <p> + The answer came in a sob—“Oh, Alice, you’ll never forgive me!” + </p> + <p> + Their door closed upon the two girls but Howard could still hear Nellie’s + voice tearful, pleading. There was the sound of some one falling heavily + upon the lounge, then sobs and cries of “Oh! Oh!” As Howard went into his + bedroom, he could hear the voices still more plainly through the thin + wall. He caught the words only once. “Miss Black-Hair,” her voice shaking + with anger, exclaimed: “Nellie Baker, you are a wicked girl, I shall go + away.” + </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. — ALICE. + </h2> + <p> + Several nights later Howard came upon Alice at the front door, where a + young man was detaining her in a lingering good-bye. Another night as he + was passing her room he saw her stretched upon the floor, her head + supported by her elbows and an open book in front of her. She looked so + childlike that Howard paused and said: “What is it—a fairy story?” + </p> + <p> + “No, it’s a love story,” she replied, just glancing at him with a faint + smile and showing that she did not wish to be interrupted. The same night + as he was going to bed he heard the angry voices of the two girls. A week + later, toward the end of July, he found Alice sitting on the front stoop, + when he came from dinner. She was obviously in the depths of the “blues.” + Her eyes, the droop of the corners of her mouth, even the colour of her + skin indicated anxiety and depression. She looked so forlorn that he said + gently: “Wouldn’t you like to walk in the Square?” + </p> + <p> + She rose at once. “Yes, I guess so.” They crossed to the green. She was + wearing the pale-blue gown and it fitted her well. Neither in the gown nor + in the big hat with its coquettish flowers nodding over the brim was there + much of fashion. But there was a certain distinction in her walk and her + manner of wearing her clothes; and to a pretty face and a graceful form + was added the charm of youth, magnetic youth. + </p> + <p> + “Do you want to walk?” she asked, lassitude in her voice. + </p> + <p> + “No, let us sit,” he said, and they went to a bench near the arch. It was + twilight. The children were still romping and shouting. Many fat elderly + women—mothers and grandmothers—were solemnly marching about, + talking in fat, elderly voices. + </p> + <p> + “You have the blues?” asked Howard, thinking it might make her feel better + to talk of her troubles. “If I were your doctor, I should prescribe a + series of good cries.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t cry,” said the girl. “Sometimes I wish I could. Nellie cries and + gets over things. I feel awful inside and sick and my eyes burn. But I + can’t cry.” + </p> + <p> + “You’re too young for that.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, in some ways I’m young; again, I’m not. I hate everybody this + evening.” + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter? Has Nellie deserted you?” + </p> + <p> + “She? Not much. I had to tell her to go”—this with a joyless little + laugh—“she quit work and wouldn’t behave herself. So now I’m going + on alone.” + </p> + <p> + “And you won’t go home?” + </p> + <p> + “Never in the world,” she said with almost fierce energy; then some + thought made her laugh in the same way as before. Howard decided that she + had not told him everything about her home life, even though she had + rattled on as if there were nothing to conceal. He sat watching her, she + looking straight before her, her small bare hands clasped in her lap. He + was pitying her keenly—this child, at once stunted and abnormally + developed, this stray from one of the classes that keeps their women + sheltered; and here she was adrift, without any of those resources of + experience which assist the girls of the tenements. + </p> + <p> + Her features were small, sensitive, regular. Her eyes were brown with + lines of reddish gold raying from the pupils. Her chin and mouth were firm + enough, yet suggested weakness through the passions. Her clear skin had + the glow of youth and health upon its smooth surface. She was certainly + beautiful and she certainly had magnetism. + </p> + <p> + “What do you think is going to become of you?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” she said, after a deep sigh. “A girl doesn’t have a fair + chance. I don’t seem to be able to have any fun without getting into + trouble. I don’t know what to think. It’s all so black. I wish I was + dead.” + </p> + <p> + Her dreary tone put the deepest pathos into her words. Howard had seen + despondency in youth before—had felt it himself. But there had + always been a certain lightness in it. Here was a mere child who evidently + thought, and thought with reason, that there was no hope for her; and her + despair was not a passing cloud or storm, but a settled conviction. + </p> + <p> + “There doesn’t seem to be any chance for a young girl,” she repeated as if + that phrase summed up all that was weighing upon her. And Howard feared + that she, was right. Even the readiest of all commodities, advice, failed + him. “What can she do?” he thought. “If she has no home, worth speaking + of”—then he went on aloud: + </p> + <p> + “Haven’t you friends?” + </p> + <p> + She laughed again with that slight moving of the lips and with eyes + mirthless. “Who wants me for a friend? Nobody’d think I was respectable. + And I guess I’m not so very. There’s Nellie and her—friends. Oh, the + girls join in with the men to drag other girls down. But I won’t do that. + I don’t care what becomes of me—except that.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” he asked, curious for her explanation of this aversion. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know why,” she replied. “There doesn’t seem to be any good + reason. I’ve thought I would several times. And then—well, I just + couldn’t.” + </p> + <p> + Howard turned the subject and tried to draw her out of this mood. They sat + there for several hours and became well acquainted. He found that she had + an intelligent way of looking at things, that she observed closely, and + that she appreciated and understood far more than he had expected. + </p> + <p> + It was the beginning of a series of evenings spent together. He took her + with him on many of his assignments and they often dined together at “Le + Chat Noir” or the “Restaurant de Paris,” or “The Manhattan” over in Second + Avenue. Late in June she bought a new gown—a pale-grey with ribbons + and hat to match. Howard was amused at the anxious expression in her + gold-brown eyes as she waited for his opinion. And when he said: “Well, + well, I never saw you look so pretty,” she looked much prettier with a + slight colour rising to tint the usual pallor of her cheeks. + </p> + <p> + One Sunday he came home in the afternoon and found her helping the maid at + straightening his rooms. As he lay on the lounge smoking he watched her + lazily. She handled his books with a great deal of awe. She opened one of + them and sat on the floor in the childlike way she often had. She read + several sentences aloud. It was a tangle of technical words on the subject + of political economy. + </p> + <p> + “What do you have such stupid things around for?” she said, smiling and + rising. She began to arrange the books and papers on the table. He was + looking at her but thinking of something else when he became conscious + that she had got suddenly white to the lips. He jumped to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter?” he asked, “are you going to faint?” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes were shining as with fever out of a ghostly face. Her lips + trembled as she answered: “Oh it’s nothing. I do this often.” She went + slowly into the back room where the maid was. In a few minutes she + returned, apparently as usual. She flitted about uneasily, taking up now + one thing, now another in a purposeless, nervous way. + </p> + <p> + “I never was in here before,” she said. “You’ve got lots of pretty things. + Whose picture is this?” + </p> + <p> + “That? Oh, my sister-in-law out in Chicago.” + </p> + <p> + Howard did not then understand why she became so gay, why her eyes danced + with happiness, why as soon as she went into the hall she began to sing + and kept it up in her own room, quieting down only to burst forth again. + He did not even especially note the swift change, the, for her, + extraordinary mood of high spirits. It was about this time that their + relations began to change. + </p> + <p> + Howard had thought of her, or had thought that he thought of her, only as + a lonely and desolate child, to be taught so far as he was capable of + teaching and she of learning. He was conscious of her extreme youth and of + the impassable gulf of thought and taste between them. He did not take her + feelings into account at all. It never occurred to him that this part of + friend and patron which he was playing was not safe for him, not just and + right toward her. + </p> + <p> + One night he took her to a ball at the Terrace Garden—a respectable, + amusing affair “under the auspices of the + Young-German-American-Shooting-Society.” The next day a reporter for the + <i>Sun</i> whom he knew slightly said to him with a grin he did not like: + “Mighty pretty little girl you’re taking about with you, Howard. Where’d + you pick her up?” + </p> + <p> + Howard reddened, angry with himself for reddening, angry with the <i>Sun</i> + man for his impudence, ashamed that he had put himself and Alice in such a + position. But the incident brought the matter of his relation with her + sharply and clearly before his mind and conscience. + </p> + <p> + “This must stop,” he said to himself; “it must stop at once. It is unjust + to her. And it is dragging me into an entanglement.” + </p> + <p> + But the mischief had been done. She loved him. And with the confidence of + youth and inexperience, she was disregarding all the obstacles, was giving + herself up to the dream that he would presently love her in return, with + the end as in the story books. Indeed love stories became her constant + companions. Where she once read them for amusement, she now read them as a + Christian reads his Bible—for instruction, inspiration, faith, hope + and courage. + </p> + <p> + One evening in July—it was in the week of Independence Day—Howard’s + windows and door were thrown wide to get the full benefit of whatever stir + there might be in the air. He was sprawled upon the lounge, the table + drawn close and upon it a lamp shedding a dim light through the room but + enough near by to let him read. He had dropped his book and was thinking + whether a stroll in the Square in the moonlight would repay the trouble of + moving. There were steps in the hall and then, peeping round the + door-frame was the face of his young neighbour. + </p> + <p> + “Hello,” he said, “I thought you were out somewhere. Come in.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I’m going to bed,” she answered, nevertheless gradually edging into + the room. She was wearing a loose wrapper of flowered silk, somewhat worn + and never very fine. Her black hair hung in a long thick braid to her + waist and she looked even younger than usual. + </p> + <p> + “Where have you been all evening?” asked Howard. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’ve been up to see a friend. She lives in Harlem, and she wants me + to come and live with her.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you going?” Howard inquired, noting that he was interested and not + pleased. “The house wouldn’t seem natural without you.” + </p> + <p> + She gave him a quick, gratified glance and, advancing further into the + room, sat upon the arm of the big rocking-chair. “She gave me a good + talking to,” she went on with a smile. “She told me I ought not to live + alone at my age. She said I ought to live with her and meet some friends + of hers. She said maybe I’d find a nice fellow to marry.” + </p> + <p> + Howard thought over this as he smoked and at last said in an + ostentatiously judicial tone: “Well, I think she’s right. I don’t see what + else there is to do. You can’t live on down here alone always. What’s + become of Nellie?” + </p> + <p> + “Nellie’s got to be a bad girl,” said Alice with a blush and a dropping of + the eyes. “She’s in Fourteenth Street every night. She says she doesn’t + care what happens to her. I saw her last night and she wanted me to come + with her. She says it’s of no use for me to put on airs. She says I’ve got + no friends and I might as well join her sooner as later.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” Howard was keeping his eyes carefully away from hers. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I sha’n’t go with her. As long as a girl has got anything at all to + live for, she doesn’t want that. Besides I’d rather go to the East River.” + </p> + <p> + “Drowning’s a serious matter,” said Howard with a smile and with banter in + his tone. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is,” said the girl seriously, “I’ve thought of it. And I don’t + believe I could.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you’d better go with your friend and get married.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want to get married,” she replied, shaking her head slowly from + side to side. + </p> + <p> + “That’s what all the girls say,” laughed Howard. “But of course you will. + It’s the only thing to do.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why don’t you get married?” asked Alice, tracing one of the flowers + in her wrapper with her slim, brown forefinger. + </p> + <p> + “I couldn’t if I would and I wouldn’t if I could.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you could get a nice girl to marry you, I’m sure,” she said, the + colour rising faintly toward her long, downcast lashes. + </p> + <p> + “But who would get the money? It takes money to keep a nice girl.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, not much,” said Alice earnestly, yet with a queer hesitation in her + voice. “You oughtn’t to marry those extravagant girls. I’ve read about + them and I think they don’t make very good wives, real wives to save money + and—and care.” + </p> + <p> + “You seem to know a good deal about these things for your age,” said + Howard, much amused and showing it. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t care,” she persisted, “you ought to get married.” + </p> + <p> + Howard felt that this was the time to clear the girl’s mind of any + “notions” she might have got. He would be very clever, very adroit. He + would not let her suspect that he had any idea of her thoughts. Indeed he + was not perfectly certain that he had. But he would gently and frankly + tell her the truth. + </p> + <p> + “I shall never get married,” he said, sitting up and talking as one who is + discussing a case which he understands thoroughly yet has no personal + interest in. “I haven’t the money and I haven’t the desire. I am what they + would call a confirmed bachelor. I wouldn’t marry any girl who had not + been brought up as I have been. We should be unhappy together unsuited + each to the other. She would soon hate me. Besides, I wish to be free. I + care more for freedom than I ever shall for any human being. As I am now, + so I shall always be, a wandering fellow without ties. It is not a + pleasant prospect for old age. But I have made up my mind to it and I + shall never marry.” + </p> + <p> + The girl’s hands had dropped limp into her lap; her face was down so that + he could barely see the burning blush which overspread it. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t mean that,” she said in a voice that was queer and choked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, I do, little girl,” he answered, intending to smile when she + should look up. + </p> + <p> + When she did lift her eyes, his smile could not come. For her face was + grey and her lips bloodless and from her eyes looked despair. Howard + glanced away instantly. With rude hand he had suddenly toppled into the + dust this child’s dream-castle of love and happiness which he had himself + helped her build. He felt like a criminal. But partly from a sense of + duty, chiefly from the cowardice of self-preservation, he made no effort + to lighten her suffering. + </p> + <p> + “I should only prolong it,” he thought, “only make matters worse. + To-morrow—perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + If she had been worldly wise, even if she had not been so completely + absorbed in her worship of him that her woman-instincts were dormant, she + would herself have found hope. But she had not a suspicion that these + strong words of apparent finality were spoken to give himself courage, to + keep him from obeying the impulse to respond to the appeal of her youth to + his, her aloneness to his, her passion to his. She believed him literally. + </p> + <p> + There was a long silence. He heard her move, heard a suppressed cry and + glanced toward her again. She was darting from the room. A second later + her door crashed. He started up and after her, hesitated, returned to his + book—but not to his reading. + </p> + <p> + Toward noon the next day, he passed her room on his way out. The door was + wide open; none of her belongings was in sight; the maid was sweeping + energetically. She paused when she saw him. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Alice left this morning,” she said, “and the room’s been let to + another party.” + </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. — IN A BOHEMIAN QUICKSAND. + </h2> + <p> + Howard could have got her new address; and for many weeks habit, at first + steadily, afterward intermittently, teased him to look her up. He was + amazed at her hold upon him. At times the longing for her was so intense + that he almost suspected himself of being in love with her. + </p> + <p> + “I escaped from that none too soon,” he congratulated himself. “It wasn’t + nearly so one-sided as I thought.” + </p> + <p> + He had never been gregarious. Thus far he had not had a single intimate + friend, man or woman. He knew many people and knew them well. They liked + him and some of them sought his friendship. These were often puzzled + because it was easy to get acquainted with him, impossible to know him + intimately. + </p> + <p> + The explanation of this combination of openness and reserve, friendliness + and unapproachableness, was that his boyhood and youth had been spent + wholly among books. That life had trained him not to look to others for + amusement, sympathy or counsel, but to depend upon himself. As his + temperament was open and good-natured and sympathetic, he was as free from + enemies and enmities as he was from friends and friendships. + </p> + <p> + Women there had been—several women, a succession of idealizations + which had dispersed in the strong light of his common sense. He had never + disturbed himself about morals in what he regarded as the limited sense. + He always insisted that he was free; and he was careful only of his + personal pride and of taking no advantage of another. What he had said to + Alice about marriage was true—as to his intentions, at least. A poor + woman, he felt, he could not marry; a rich woman, he felt, he would not + marry. And he cared nothing about marriage because he was never lonely, + never leaned or wished to lean upon another, abhorred the idea of any one + leaning upon him; because he regarded freedom as the very corner-stone of + his scheme of life. + </p> + <p> + The nearest he had come to companionship was with Alice. With the other + women whom he had known in various degrees from warmth to white-heat, + there had been interruptions, no such constant freedom of access, no such + intermingling of daily life. Her he had seen at all hours and in all + circumstances. She never disturbed him but was ready to talk when he + wished to listen, listened eagerly when he talked, and was silent and + beautiful and restful to look at when he wished to indulge in the + dissipation of mental laziness. + </p> + <p> + As she loved him, she showed him only the best that there was in her and + showed it in the most attractive of all lights. + </p> + <p> + While he was still wavering or fancying that he was wavering, the Managing + Editor sent him to “do” a great strike-riot in the coal regions of + Pennsylvania. He was there for three weeks, active day and night, + interested in the new phases of life—the mines and the miners, the + display of fierce passions, the excitement, the peril. + </p> + <p> + When he returned to New York, Alice had ceased to tempt him. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + One midnight in the early spring he was in his sitting room, reading and a + little bored. There came a knock at the door. He hoped that it was some + one bringing something interesting or coming to propose a search for + something interesting. “Come in,” he said with welcome in his voice. The + door opened. It was Alice. + </p> + <p> + She was dressed much as she had been the first time he talked with her—a + loose, clinging wrapper open at the throat. There was a change in her face—a + change for the better but also for the worse. She looked more intelligent, + more of a woman. There was more sparkle in her eyes and in her smile. But—Howard + saw instantly the price she had paid. As the German had suggested, she had + “got on up town.” + </p> + <p> + She was pulling at the long broad blue ribbons of her negligee. Her hands + were whiter and her pink finger nails had had careful attention. She + smiled, enjoying his astonishment. “I have come back,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Howard came forward and took her hand. “I’m glad, very glad to see you. + For a minute I thought I was dreaming.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she went on, “I’m in my old room. I came this afternoon. I must + have been asleep, for I didn’t hear you come in.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope it isn’t bad luck that has flung you back here.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no. I’ve been doing very well. I’ve been saving up to come. And when + I had enough to last me through the summer, I—I came.” + </p> + <p> + “You’ve been at work?” + </p> + <p> + She dropped her eyes and flushed. And her fingers played more nervously + with her ribbons. + </p> + <p> + “You needn’t treat me as a child any longer,” she said at last in a low + voice; “I’m eighteen now and—well, I’m not a child.” + </p> + <p> + Again there was a long pause. Howard, watching her downcast face, saw her + steadying her expression to meet his eyes. When she looked, it was + straight at him—appeal but also defiance. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t ask anything of you,” she said, “we are both free. And I wanted + to see you. I was sick of all those others—up there. I’ve never had—had—this + out of my mind. And I’ve come. And I can see you sometimes. I won’t be in + the way.” + </p> + <p> + Howard went over to the window and stared out into the lights and shadows + of the leafy Square. When he turned again she had lighted and was smoking + one of his cigarettes. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said smiling down at her, “Why not? Put on a street gown and + we’ll go out and get supper and talk it over.” + </p> + <p> + She sprang up, her face alight. She was almost running toward the door. + Midway she stopped, turned and came slowly back. She put one of her arms + upon his shoulder—a slender, cool, smooth, white arm with the lace + of the wide sleeve slipping away from it. She turned her face up until her + mouth, like a rosebud, was very near his lips. There was appeal in her + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I’m very, very glad to see you,” Howard said as he kissed her. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + And so Howard’s life was determined for the next four years. + </p> + <p> + He worked well at his profession. He read a great deal. He wrote fiction + and essays in desultory fashion and got a few things printed in the + magazines. He led a life that was a model of regularity. But he knew the + truth—that Alice had ended his career. + </p> + <p> + He was content. Ambition had always been vague with him and now his habit + of following the line of least resistance had drifted him into this + mill-pond. Sometimes, he would give himself up to bitter self-reproach, + disgusted that he should be so satisfied, so non-resisting in a lot in + every way the reverse of that which he had marked out for himself. If he + had been chained he might, probably would, have broken away. But Alice + never attempted to control him. His will was her law. She was especially + shrewd about money matters, so often the source of disputes and + estrangements. Two months after she reappeared, she proposed that they + take an apartment together. + </p> + <p> + “I saw one to-day in West Twelfth Street at seventy dollars a month,” she + said, “and I’m sure I could manage it so that you would be much better off + than you are now.” + </p> + <p> + He viewed this plan with suspicion. It definitely committed him to a mode + of life which he had always regarded as degrading both to the man and the + woman and as certain of a calamitous ending. So he made excuses for delay, + fully intending never to yield. But although Alice did not speak of her + plan again, he found himself more and more attracted by it, caught himself + speculating about various apartments he happened to see as he went about + the streets. She must have been conscious of what was going on in his + mind; for when, a month after she had spoken, he said abruptly: “Where was + that apartment you saw?” she went straight on discussing the details as if + there had been no interval. She was ready to act. + </p> + <p> + The apartment was taken in her name—Mrs. Cammack, the “Mrs.” being + necessary to account for him. They selected the furniture together, he as + interested as she and very pleased to find that she had the same good + taste in those matters that she had in dress. She took all the troubles + and annoyances upon herself. When she invited him to assist in the + arrangement, it was in matters that amused him and at times when she was + sure he had nothing else to do. It is not strange that he got a wholly + false idea of the difficulties of setting up an establishment. + </p> + <p> + After a month of selecting and discussing, of pleasure in the new + experience, pleasure in Alice’s enthusiasm and excitement and happiness, + he found himself master of five attractive and comfortable rooms, his + clothing, his books, all his belongings properly arranged. The door was + opened for him by a cleanlooking coloured maid, with a tiny white cap on + her head. + </p> + <p> + As he looked around and then at the beautiful face with the wistful, + gold-brown eyes so anxiously following his wandering glance, he was very + near to loving her. Indeed, he was like a husband who has left out that + period of passionate love which extends into married life until it gives + place to boredom, or to dislike, or to some such sympathetic affection as + he felt for Alice. “It is just this that holds me,” he thought, in his + infrequent moods of dissatisfaction. “If we quarrelled or if there were + any deep feeling on my side, I should not be in this mess. I should be”—Well, + where would he be? “Probably worse off,” he usually added. + </p> + <p> + Certainly he could not have been freer, for she never questioned him; and, + if she was ever uneasy or jealous when he came in late—for him—without + telling her where he had been, she never showed it. She had no friends, + and he often wondered how she passed the time when he was not with her. + Whenever he inquired he got the same answer: She had been busying herself + with their home; she had been planning to save money or to make him more + comfortable; she had been reading to improve her mind and to enable + herself to start him talking on subjects that interested him. + </p> + <p> + No matter how unexpectedly he looked in upon her life or her mind, he + found—himself. + </p> + <p> + One day she said to him—it was after two years of this life: + “Something is worrying you. Is it about me? You look at me so queerly at + times.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he answered. “It is about you. Tell me, Miss Black-Hair, do you + never think of getting old?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” she smiled. “I shall wait until I am twenty-five before I begin to + think of that.” + </p> + <p> + “But don’t you see that this sort of thing must stop sometime? It is + unjust to you. When I think of it, I reproach myself for permitting us to + get into it.” + </p> + <p> + “I am happy,” she said, looking straight at him, terror in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “But you have no friends?” + </p> + <p> + “Who has? And what do I want with friends?” + </p> + <p> + “But don’t you see, I can’t introduce you to anybody. I can’t talk about + you to the people I know. I am always having to explain you away, always + having to act as if I were ashamed of this, my real life. At times I am + Anglo-Saxon enough to be really ashamed of it. And I ought to be and am + ashamed of myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t let’s talk about it. You and I understand. Why should we bother + about the rest of the world?” + </p> + <p> + “No, we <i>must</i> talk about it. I have been going over it carefully. We + must—must be married.” + </p> + <p> + He laid his hand upon hers. She blushed deeply and lowered her head. A + tear dropped upon the front of her gown and hung glittering in the meshes + of the white lace. She crept into his arms and buried her face upon his + shoulder and sobbed. He had never seen her even look like tears before. + </p> + <p> + “We must be married,” he repeated, patting her on the shoulder. + </p> + <p> + She shook her head in negation. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said firmly, mentally noting that this was the very first time + he had ever caught her in a pretense. + </p> + <p> + “No.” Her tone was as firm as his. She lifted her head and put her cheek + against his. “It makes me very proud that you ask it. But—I—I + do not——” + </p> + <p> + “Do not—what?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not want—I will not—risk losing you.” + </p> + <p> + “But you won’t lose me. You will have me more than ever.” + </p> + <p> + “Some men—yes. But not you.” + </p> + <p> + “And why not I, O Wisdom?” + </p> + <p> + “Because—because—do you think I have watched you all this + time, without learning something about you? The way to keep you is to + leave you free. I do not want your name. I do not want your friends I do + not want to be respectable. I want—just you.” + </p> + <p> + “But are we not as good as married now?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—that’s it. And I want it to keep on. I never cared for anybody + until I saw you. I shall never care for anybody else. I never shall try. I + want you as long as I can have you. And then——” + </p> + <p> + “And then,” Howard laughed or rather, pretended to laugh, “and then, ‘Oh, + dig me a grave both wide and deep, wide and deep.’ How like + twenty-years-old that is.” + </p> + <p> + She seemed not to hear his jest and presently went on: “Do you remember + the evening before I left, down there at Mrs. Sands’s?” + </p> + <p> + “The night you proposed to me?” Howard said, pulling her ear. + </p> + <p> + She smiled faintly and continued: “I thought it all out that night. I + intended to come back just as I did. I went deliberately. I——” + </p> + <p> + Howard put his hand over her lips. + </p> + <p> + “O, I am not going to tell anything,”, said she, evading his fingers. + “Only this—that I understood you then, understood just why you would + never marry. Not so clearly as I understand it now, but still I—understood. + And you have been teaching me ever since, teaching me manners, teaching me + how to read and think and talk. And more than all, you’ve taught me your + way of looking at life.” + </p> + <p> + Howard held her away from him and studied her face, surprise in his eyes. + “Isn’t it strange?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Here I’ve been seeing you day after day all this time, have had a chance + to know you better than I ever knew any one in my life, have had you very + near to me day and night. And just now, as I look at you, I see the real + you for the first time in two years.” + </p> + <p> + “I have been wondering when you would look at me again,” said Alice with a + small, sly smile. + </p> + <p> + “Why, you are a woman grown. Where is the little girl I knew, the little + girl who used to look up to me?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, she’s gone these two years. She proposed to you and, when you refused + her, she—died.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—we must be married,” Howard went on. “Why not? It is more + convenient, let us say.” + </p> + <p> + Alice shook her head and put her cheek against his again and clasped his + fingers in hers. “No, my instinct is against it. Some day—perhaps. + But not now, not now. I want you. I want only you. We are together out + here—out beyond the pale. Inside, others would come in and—and + surely come between us. I want no others—none.” + </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. — A LITTLE CANDLE GOES OUT. + </h2> + <p> + Howard was now thirty years old. Park Row had long ceased talking of him + as a “coming man.” While his style of writing was steadily improving, he + wrote with no fixed aim, wrote simply for the day, for the newspaper which + dies with the day of its date. Some of his acquaintances wondered why a + man of such ability should thus stand still. The less observant spoke of + him as an impressive example of the “journalistic blight.” Those who + looked deeper saw the truth—a dangerous facility, a perilous + inertia, a fatal entanglement. Facility enabled him to earn a good living + with ease, working as he chose. Inertia prevented him from seeking + opportunities for advancement. Entanglement shut him off from the men and + women of his own kind who would have thrust opportunities upon him and + compelled him. + </p> + <p> + Howard himself saw this clearly in his occasional moods of self-criticism. + But as he saw no remedy, he raged intermittently and briefly, and + straightway relapsed. Vanity supplied him with many excuses and + consolations. Was he not one of the best reporters in the profession? + Where was there another, where indeed in any profession were there many of + his age, making five thousand a year? Was he not always improving his + mind? Was he not more and more careful in his personal habits? Was he not + respected by all who knew him; looked upon as a successful man; regarded + by those with whom he came in daily contact as a leader in the profession, + a model for style, a marvel for facility and versatility and for the + quantity of good “copy” he could turn out in a brief time? But with all + the soothings of vanity he never could quite hide from himself that his + life was a failure up to that moment. + </p> + <p> + “Why try to lie to myself?” he thought. “It’s never a question of what one + has done but always of what one could have and should have done. I am + thirty and I have been marking time for at least four years. Preparing by + study and reading? Yes, but not preparing for anything.” + </p> + <p> + On the whole he was glad that Alice had refused to marry him. Her reason + was valid. But there was another which he thought she did not see. He was + deceived as to the depth of her insight because he did not watch her + closely. He had no suspicion how many, many times, in their moments of + demonstrativeness, she listened for those words which never came, listened + and turned away to hide from him the disappointment in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + He did not love her—and she knew it. She did not inspire ambition in + him—and she knew it. She simply kept him comfortable and contented. + She simply prevented his amatory instincts from gathering strength + vigorously to renew that search which men and women keep up incessantly + until they find what they seek. She knew this also but never permitted + herself to see it clearly. + </p> + <p> + He was pleased with her but not proud of her. He was not exactly ashamed + of his relation with her but—well, he never relaxed his precautions + for keeping it conventionally concealed. He still had a room at his club + and occupied it occasionally. He laughed at himself, despised himself in a—gentle, + soothing way. But he excused himself to himself with earnestness despite + his sarcasms at his own expense. And for the most of the time he was + content—so well, so comfortably content that if his mind had not + been so nervously active he would have taken on the form and look of + settled middle-life. + </p> + <p> + There was just the one saving quality—his mental alertness. All his + life he had had insatiable intellectual curiosity. It had kept him from + wasting his time at play when he was a boy. It had kept him from plunging + deeply into dissipation when youth was hot in his veins. It was now + keeping him from the sluggard’s fate. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + On the last day of January—six weeks after his thirtieth birthday—he + came home earlier than usual, as they were going to the theatre and were + to dine at seven. He found Alice in bed and the doctor sitting beside her. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll have to get some one else to go with you, I’m afraid,” she said + with good-humoured resignation, a trifle over-acted. “My cold is worse and + the doctor says I must stay in bed.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing serious?” Howard asked anxiously, for her cheeks were flaming. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no. Just the cold. And I am taking care of myself.” + </p> + <p> + He accompanied the doctor to the door of the apartment. At the threshold + the doctor whispered: “Make some excuse and come to my office. I wish to + see you particularly.” + </p> + <p> + He grew pale. “Don’t let her see,” urged the doctor. He went back to + Alice, sick at heart. “I must go out and arrange for some one else to do + the play for me,” he said. “I shall spend the evening with you.” + </p> + <p> + She protested, but faintly. He went to the doctor’s office. + </p> + <p> + “She must go south at once,” he began, after looking at Howard steadily + and keenly. “Nothing can save her life. That may prolong it.” + </p> + <p> + Howard seemed not to understand. + </p> + <p> + “She must go to-morrow or she’ll be gone forever in ten days.” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible,” Howard said in a dull, dazed tone. + </p> + <p> + “At once, I tell you—at once.” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible,” Howard repeated. He was saying to himself, “And only this + afternoon I wished I were free and wondered how I could free myself.” He + laughed strangely. + </p> + <p> + “Impossible,” he said again. And again he laughed. The room swam around. + He stood up. “Impossible!” he said a fourth time, almost shouting it. And + he struck the doctor full in the face, reeled and fell headlong to the + floor. When he recovered consciousness he was lying on a lounge, the + doctor’s assistant standing beside him. + </p> + <p> + “I must go to her,” he exclaimed and sat up. He saw the doctor a few feet + away, holding a cloth odorous of arnica to his cheek. Howard remembered + and began, “I beg your pardon,”—The doctor interrupted with: “Not at + all. I’ve had many queer experiences but never one like that.” But Howard + had ceased to hear. He was staring vacantly at the floor, repeating to + himself, “And I wished to be free. And I am to be free.” + </p> + <p> + “You must go back to her. Take her south tomorrow. Asheville is the best + place.” + </p> + <p> + Howard was on his way to the door. “We shall go by the first train,” he + said. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me for telling you so abruptly,” said the doctor, following him. + “But I saw that you weren’t—that is I couldn’t help noticing that + you and she were—And usually the man in such cases—well, my + sympathy is for the woman.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think a man voluntarily lives with a woman because he hates her?” + Howard asked, with an angry sneer. He bowed coldly and was gone. + </p> + <p> + As he looked at Alice he saw that it was of no use to try to deceive her. + “We must go South in the morning,” he almost whispered, taking her hand + and kissing it again and again, slowly and gently. + </p> + <p> + The next day but one they were at Asheville and two weeks later Howard + could not hide from himself that she would soon be gone. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Her bed was drawn up to the open window and she Was propped with pillows. + A mild breeze was flooding the room with the odours of the pine forests + and the gardens. She looked out, dilated her nostrils and her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Beautiful!” she murmured. “It is so easy to die here.” + </p> + <p> + She put out her hand and laid it in his. + </p> + <p> + “I want you, my Alice.” He was looking into her eyes and she into his. “I + need you. I can’t do without you.” + </p> + <p> + She smiled with an expression of happiness. “Is it wrong,” she asked, “to + take pleasure in another’s pain? I see that you are in pain, that you + suffer. And, oh, it makes me happy, so happy.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t,” he begged. “Please don’t.” + </p> + <p> + “But listen,” she went on. “Don’t you see why? Because I—because I + love you. There,” she was smiling again. “I promised myself I never, never + would say it first. And I’ve broken my word.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “For nearly four years—all the years I’ve really lived—I have + had only one thought—my love for you. But I never would say it, + never would say ‘I love you,’ because I knew that you did not love me.” + </p> + <p> + He was beginning to speak but she lifted her hand to his lips. Then she + put it back in his and pushed her fingers up his coat-sleeve until they + were hidden, resting upon his bare arm. + </p> + <p> + “No, you did not.” Her voice was low and the words came slowly. “But since + we came here, you have loved me. If I were to get well, were to go back, + you would not. Ah, if you knew, if you only knew how I have wanted your + love, how I have lain awake night after night, hour after hour, whispering + under my breath ‘I love you. I love you. Why do you not love me?’” + </p> + <p> + Howard put his head down so that his face was hid from her in her lap. + </p> + <p> + “After the doctor had talked to me a few minutes, had asked me a few + questions,” she went on, “I knew. And I was not sorry. It was nearly over, + anyhow, dear. Did you know it? I often wondered if you did. Yes, I saw + many little signs. I wouldn’t admit it to myself until this illness came. + Then I confessed it to myself. And I was not sorry we were to part this + way. But I did not expect”—and she drew a long breath—“happiness!” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” he protested, lifting his face and looking at her. She drank in + the expression of his eyes—the love, the longing, the misery—as + if it had been a draught of life. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you make me so happy, so happy. How much I owe to you. Four long, + long, beautiful years. How much! How much! And at last—love!” + </p> + <p> + There was silence for several minutes. Then he spoke: “I loved you from + the first, I believe. Only I never appreciated you. I was so + self-absorbed. And you—you fed my vanity, never insisted upon + yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “But we have had happiness. And no one, no one, no one will ever be to you + what I have been.” + </p> + <p> + “I love you.” Howard’s voice had a passionate earnestness in it that + carried conviction. “The light goes out with you.” + </p> + <p> + “With this little candle? No, no, dear—<i>my</i> dear. You will be a + great man. You will not forget; but you will go on and do the things that + I’m afraid I didn’t help, maybe hindered, you in trying to do. And you + will keep a little room in your heart, a very little room. And I shall be + in there. And you’ll open the door every once in a while and come in and + take me in your arms and kiss me. And I think—yes, I feel that—that + I shall know and thrill.” + </p> + <p> + Her voice sank lower and lower and then her eyes closed, and presently he + called the nurse. + </p> + <p> + The next day he rose from his bed, just at the connecting door between his + room and hers, and looked in at her. The shades were drawn and only a + faint light crept into the room. He thought he saw her stir and went + nearer. + </p> + <p> + “Why, they’ve made you very gay this morning,” he laughed, “with the red + ribbons at your neck.” + </p> + <p> + There was no answer. He came still nearer. The red ribbons were long + streamers of blood. She was dead. + </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. — A STRUGGLE FOR SELF-CONTROL. + </h2> + <p> + He left her at Asheville as she wished—“where I have been happiest + and where I wish you to think of me.” On the train coming north he + reviewed his past and made his plans for the future. + </p> + <p> + As to the past he had only one regret—that he had not learned to + appreciate Alice until too late. He felt that his failure to advance had + been due entirely to himself—to his inertia, his willingness to + seize any pretext for refraining from action. As to the future—work, + work with a purpose. His mind must be fully and actively occupied. There + must be no leisure, for leisure meant paralysis. + </p> + <p> + At the Twenty-third Street ferry-house he got into a hansom and gave the + address of “the flat.” He did not note where he was until the hansom drew + up at the curb. He leaned forward and looked at the house—at their + windows with the curtains which she had draped so gracefully, which she + and he had selected at Vantine’s one morning. How often he had seen her + standing between those curtains, looking out for him, her blue-black hair + waving back from her forehead so beautifully and her face ready to smile + so soon as ever she should catch sight of him. + </p> + <p> + He leaned back and closed his eyes. The blood was pounding through his + temples and his eyeballs seemed to be scalding under the lids. + </p> + <p> + “Never again,” he moaned. “How lonely it is.” + </p> + <p> + The cabman lifted the trap. “Here we are, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—in a moment.” Where should he go? But what did it matter? “To a + hotel,” he said. “The nearest.” + </p> + <p> + “The Imperial?” + </p> + <p> + “That will do—yes—go there.” + </p> + <p> + He resolved never to return to “the flat.” On the following day he sent + for the maid and arranged the breaking up. He gave her everything except + his personal belongings and a few of Alice’s few possessions—those + he could keep, and those which he must destroy because he could not endure + the thought of any one having them. + </p> + <p> + At the office all understood his mourning; but no one, not even Kittredge, + knew him well enough to intrude beyond gentler looks and tones. Kittredge + had written a successful novel and was going abroad for two years of + travel and writing. Howard took his rooms in the Royalton. They dined + together a few nights before he sailed. + </p> + <p> + “And now,” said Kittredge, “I’m my own master. Why, I can’t begin to fill + the request for ‘stuff.’ I can go where I please, do as I please. At last + I shall work. For I don’t call the drudgery done under compulsion work.” + </p> + <p> + “Work!” Howard repeated the word several times absently. Then he leaned + forward and said with what was for him an approach to the confidential: + “What a mess I have been making of my life! What waste! What folly! I’ve + behaved like a child, an impulsive, irresponsible child. And now I must + get to work, really to work.” + </p> + <p> + “With your talents a year or so of work would free you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’m free.” Howard hesitated and flushed. “Yes, I’m free,” he repeated + bitterly. “We are all free except for the shackles we fasten upon + ourselves and can unlock for ourselves. I don’t agree with you that + earning one’s daily bread is drudgery.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, let’s see you work—work for something definite. Why don’t you + try for some higher place on the paper—correspondent at Washington + or London—no, not London, for that is a lounging job which would + ruin even an energetic man. Why not try for the editorial staff? They + ought to have somebody upstairs who takes an interest in something besides + politics.” + </p> + <p> + “But doesn’t a man have to write what he doesn’t believe? You know how + Segur is always laughing at the protection editorials he writes, although + he is a free-trader.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, there must be many directions in which the paper is free to express + honest opinions.” + </p> + <p> + Howard began that very night. As soon as he reached his club where he was + living for a few days he sat down to the file of the <i>News-Record</i> + and began to study its editorial style and method. He had learned a great + deal before three o’clock in the morning and had written a short editorial + on a subject he took from the news. In the morning he read his article + again and decided that with a few changes—adjectives cut out, long + sentences cut up, short sentences made shorter and the introduction and + the conclusion omitted—it would be worth handing in. With the + corrected article in his hand he knocked at the door of the editor’s room. + </p> + <p> + It was a small, plainly furnished office—no carpet, three severe + chairs, a revolving book case with a battered and dusty bust of Lincoln on + it, a table strewn with newspaper cuttings. Newspapers from all parts of + the world were scattered about the floor. At the table sat the editor, Mr. + Malcolm, whom Howard had never before seen. + </p> + <p> + He was short and slender, with thin white hair and a smooth, satirical + face, deeply wrinkled and unhealthily pale. He was dressed in black but + wore a string tie of a peculiarly lively shade of red. His most + conspicuous feature was his nose—long, narrow, pointed, sarcastic. + </p> + <p> + “My name is Howard,” began the candidate, all but stammering before Mr. + Malcolm’s politely uninterested glance, “and I come from downstairs.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh—so you are Mr. Howard. I’ve heard of you often. Will you be + seated?” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you—no. I’ve only brought in a little article I thought I’d + submit for your page. I’d like to write for it and, if you don’t mind, + I’ll bring in an article occasionally.” + </p> + <p> + “Glad to have it. We like new ideas; and a new pen, a new mind, ought to + produce them. If you don’t see your articles in the paper, you’ll know + what has happened to them. If you do, paste them on space slips and send + them up by the boy on Thursdays.” Mr. Malcolm nodded and smiled and dipped + his pen in the ink-well. + </p> + <p> + The editorial appeared just as Howard wrote it. He read and reread it, + admiring the large, handsome editorial type in which it was printed, and + deciding that it was worthy of the excellent place in the column which Mr. + Malcolm had given it. He wrote another that very day and sent it up by the + boy. He found it in his desk the next noon with “Too abstract—never + forget that you are writing for a newspaper” scrawled across the last page + in blue pencil. + </p> + <p> + In the two following months Howard submitted thirty-five articles. Three + were published in the main as he wrote them, six were “cut” to paragraphs, + one appeared as a letter to the editor with “H” signed to it. The others + disappeared. It was not encouraging, but Howard kept on. He knew that if + he stopped marching steadily, even though hopelessly, toward a definite + goal, a heavy hand would be laid upon his shoulder to drag him away and + fling him down upon a grave. + </p> + <p> + As it was, desperately though he fought to refrain from backward glances, + he was now and again taken off his guard. A few of her pencil marks on the + margin of a leaf in one of his books; a gesture, a little mannerism of + some woman passing him in the street—and he would be ready to sink + down with weariness and loneliness, like a tired traveller in a vast + desert. + </p> + <p> + He completely lost self-control only once. It was a cold, wet May night + and everything had gone against him that day. He looked drearily round his + rooms as he came in. How stiff, how forbidding, how desert they seemed! He + threw himself into a big chair. + </p> + <p> + “No friends,” he thought, “no one that cares a rap whether I live or die, + suffer or am happy. Nothing to care for. Why do I go on? What’s the use if + one has not an object—a human object?” + </p> + <p> + And their life together came flooding back—her eyes, her kisses, her + attentions, her passionate love for him, so pervasive yet so unobtrusive; + the feeling of her smooth, round arm about his neck; her way of pressing + close up to him and locking her fingers in his; the music of her voice, + singing her heartsong to him yet never putting it into words—— + </p> + <p> + He stumbled over to the divan and stretched himself out and buried his + face in the cushions. “Come back!” he sobbed. “Come back to me, dear.” And + then he cried, as a man cries—without tears, with sobs choking up + into his throat and issuing in moans. + </p> + <p> + “Curious,” he said aloud when the storm was over and he was sitting up, + ashamed before himself for his weakness, “who would have suspected me of + this?” + </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. — AMBITION AWAKENS. + </h2> + <p> + Howard was now thirty-two. He was still trying for the editorial staff; + but in the last month only five of his articles had been printed to + twenty-three thrown away. A national campaign was coming on and the <i>News-Record</i> + was taking a political stand that seemed to him sound and right. For the + first time he tried political editorials. + </p> + <p> + The cause aroused his passion for justice, for democratic equality and the + abolition of privilege. He had something to say and he succeeded in saying + it vigorously, effectively, with clearness and moderation of statement. + How to avoid hysteria; how to set others on fire instead of only making of + himself a fiery spectacle; how to be earnest, yet calm; how to be + satirical yet sincere; how to be interesting, yet direct—these were + his objects, pursued with incessant toiling, rewriting again and again, + recasting of sentences, careful balancing of words for exact shades of + meaning. + </p> + <p> + “I shall never learn to write,” had been his complaint of himself to + himself for years. And in these days it seemed to him that he was farther + from a good style than ever. His standards had risen, were rising; he + feared that his power of accomplishment was failing. Therefore his heart + sank and his face paled when an office boy told him that Mr. Malcolm + wished to see him. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it’s to tell me not to annoy him with any more of my attempts,” + he thought. “Well, anyway, I’ve had the benefit of the work. I’ll try a + novel next.” + </p> + <p> + “Take a seat,” said Mr. Malcolm with an absent nod. “Just a moment, if you + please.” + </p> + <p> + On a chair beside him was the remnant of what had been a huge up-piling of + newspapers—the exchanges that had come in during the past + twenty-four hours. The Exchange Editor had been through them and Mr. + Malcolm was reading “to feel the pulse of the country” and also to make + sure that nothing of importance had been overlooked. + </p> + <p> + On the floor were newspapers by the score, thrown about tumultuously. Mr. + Malcolm would seize a paper from the unread heap, whirl it open and send + his glance and his long pointed nose tearing down one column and up + another, and so from page to page. It took less than a minute for him to + finish and filing away great sixteen page dailies. A few seconds sufficed + for the smaller papers. Occasionally he took his long shears and with a + skilful twist cut out a piece from the middle of a page and laid it and + the shears upon the table with a single motion. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Mr. Howard.” Malcolm sent the last paper to increase the chaos on + the floor and faced about in his revolving chair. “How would you like to + come up here?” + </p> + <p> + Howard looked at him in amazement. “You mean——” + </p> + <p> + “We want you to join the editorial staff. Mr. Walker has married him a + rich wife and is going abroad to do literary work, which means that he is + going to do nothing. Will you come?” + </p> + <p> + “It is what I have been working for.” + </p> + <p> + “And very hard you have worked.” Mr. Malcolm’s cold face relaxed into a + half-friendly, half-satirical smile. “After you’d been sending up articles + for a fortnight, I knew you’d make it. You went about it systematically. + An intelligent plan, persisted in, is hard to beat in this world of + laggards and hap-hazard strugglers.” + </p> + <p> + “And I was on the point of giving up—that is, giving up this + particular ambition,” Howard confessed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I saw it in your articles—a certain pessimism and despondency. + You show your feelings plainly, young man. It is an excellent quality—but + dangerous. A man ought to make his mind a machine working evenly without + regard to his feelings or physical condition. The night my oldest child + died—I was editor of a country newspaper—I wrote my leaders as + usual. I never had written better. You can be absolute master inside, if + you will. You can learn to use your feelings when they’re helpful and to + shut them off when they hinder.” + </p> + <p> + “But don’t you think that temperament——” + </p> + <p> + “Temperament—that’s one of the subtlest forms of self-excuse. + However, the place is yours. The salary is a hundred and twenty-five a + week—an advance of about twelve hundred a year, I believe, on your + average downstairs. Can you begin soon?” + </p> + <p> + “Immediately,” said Howard, “if the City Editor is satisfied.” + </p> + <p> + An office boy showed him to his room—a mere hole-in-the-wall with + just space for a table-desk, a small table, a case of shelves for books of + reference, and two chairs. The one window overlooked the lower end of + Manhattan Island—the forest of business buildings peaked with the + Titan-tenements of financial New York. Their big, white plumes of smoke + and steam were waving in the wind and reflecting in pale pink the crimson + of the setting sun. + </p> + <p> + Howard had his first taste of the intoxication of triumph, his first deep + inspiration of ambition. He recalled his arrival in New York, his + timidity, his dread lest he should be unable to make a living—“Poor + boy,” they used to say at home, “he will have to be supported. He is too + much of a dreamer.” He remembered his explorations of those now familiar + streets—how acutely conscious he had been that they were paved with + stone, walled with stone, roofed with a stony sky, peopled with faces and + hearts of stone. How miserably insignificant he had felt! + </p> + <p> + And all these years he had been almost content to be one of the crowd, + like them exerting himself barely enough to provide himself with the + essentials of existence. Like them, he had given no real thought to the + morrow. And now, with comparatively little labour, he had put himself in + the way to become a master, a director of the enormous concentrated + energies summed up in the magic word New York. + </p> + <p> + The key to the situation was—work, incessant, self-improving, + self-developing. “And it is the key to happiness also,” he thought. “Work + and sleep—the two periods of unconsciousness of self—are the + two periods of happiness.” + </p> + <p> + His aloofness freed him from the temptations of distraction. He knew no + women. He did not put himself in the way of meeting them. He kept away + from theatres. He sunk himself in a routine of labour which, viewed from + the outside, seemed dull and monotonous. Viewed from his stand-point of + acquisition, of achievement, it was just the reverse. + </p> + <p> + The mind soon adapts itself to and enjoys any mental routine which + exercises it. The only difficulty is in forming the habit of the routine. + </p> + <p> + Howard was greatly helped by his natural bent toward editorial writing. + The idea of discussing important questions each day with a vast multitude + as an audience stirred his imagination and aroused his instincts for + helping on the great world-task of elevating the race. This enthusiasm + pleased and also amused his cynical chief. + </p> + <p> + “You believe in things?” Malcolm said to him after they had become well + acquainted. “Well, it is an admirable quality—but dangerous. You + will need careful editing. Your best plan is to give yourself up to your + belief while you are writing—then to edit yourself in cold blood. + That is the secret of success, of great success in any line, business, + politics, a profession—enthusiasm, carefully revised and edited.” + </p> + <p> + “It is difficult to be cold blooded when one is in earnest.” + </p> + <p> + “True,” Malcolm answered, “and there is the danger. My own enthusiasms are + confined to the important things—food, clothing and shelter. It + seems to me that the rest is largely a matter of taste, training and time + of life. But don’t let me discourage you. I only suggest that you may have + to guard against believing so intensely that you produce the impression of + being an impracticable, a fanatic. Be cautious always; be especially + cautious when you are cocksure you’re right. Unadulterated truth always + arouses suspicion in the unaccustomed public. It has the alarming + tastelessness of distilled water.” + </p> + <p> + Howard was acute enough to separate the wisdom from the cynicism of his + chief. He saw the lesson of moderation. “You have failed, my very able + chief,” he said to himself, “because you have never believed intensely + enough to move you to act. You have attached too much importance to the + adulteration—the folly and the humbug. And here you are, still only + a critic, destructive but never constructive.” + </p> + <p> + At first his associates were much amused by his intensity. But as he + learned to temper and train his enthusiasm they grew to respect both his + ability and his character. Before a year had passed they were feeling the + influence of his force—his trained, informed mind, made vigorous by + principles and ideals. + </p> + <p> + Malcolm had the keen appreciation of a broad mind for this honest, + intelligent energy. He used the editorial “blue-pencil” for alteration and + condensation with the hand of a master. He cut away Howard’s crudities, + toned down and so increased his intensity, and pointed it with the irony + and satire necessary to make it carry far and penetrate easily. + </p> + <p> + Malcolm was at once giving Howard a reputation greater than he deserved + and training him to deserve it. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + In the office next to Howard’s sat Segur, a bachelor of forty-five who + took life as a good-humoured jest and amused his leisure with the New + Yorkers who devote a life of idleness to a nervous flight from boredom. + Howard interested Segur who resolved to try to draw him out of his + seclusion. + </p> + <p> + “I’m having some people to dinner at the Waldorf on Thursday,” he said, + looking in at the door. “Won’t you join us?” + </p> + <p> + “I’d be glad to,” replied Howard, casting about for an excuse for + declining. “But I’m afraid I’d ruin your dinner. I haven’t been out for + years. I’ve been too busy to make friends or, rather, acquaintances.” + </p> + <p> + “A great mistake. You ought to see more of people.” + </p> + <p> + “Why? Can they tell me anything that I can’t learn from newspapers or + books more accurately and without wasting so much time? I’d like to know + the interesting people and to see them in their interesting moments. But I + can’t afford to hunt for them through the wilderness of nonentities and + wait for them to become interesting.” + </p> + <p> + “But you get amusement, relaxation. Then too, it’s first-hand study of + life.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not sure of that. Yawning is not a very attractive kind of + relaxation, is it? And as for study of life, eight years of reporting gave + me more of that than I could assimilate. And it was study of realities, + not of pretenses. As I remember them, ‘respectable’ people are all about + the same, whether in their vices or in their virtues. They are cut from a + few familiar, ‘old reliable’ patterns. No, I don’t think there is much to + be learned from respectability on dress parade.” + </p> + <p> + “You’ll be amused on Thursday. You must come. I’m counting on you.” + </p> + <p> + Howard accepted—cordially as he could not refuse decently. Yet he + had a presentiment or a shyness or an impatience at the interruption of + his routine which reproached him for accepting with insistence and + persistence. + </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 ETERNAL MASCULINE. + </h2> + <p> + It was the first week in November, and in those days “everybody” did not + stay in the country so late as now. There were many New Yorkers in the + crowd of out-of-town people at the Waldorf. Howard was attracted, + fascinated by the scene—carefully-groomed men and women, the air of + gaiety and ease, the flowers, the music, the lights, the perfumes. At a + glance it seemed a dream of life with evil and sorrow and pain banished. + </p> + <p> + “No place for a working man,” thought he, “at least not for my kind of a + working man. It appeals too sharply to the instincts for laziness and + luxury.” + </p> + <p> + He was late and stood in the entrance to the palm-garden, looking about + for Segur. Soon he saw him waving from a table near the wall under the + music-alcove. + </p> + <p> + “The oysters are just coming,” said Segur. “Sit over there between Mrs. + Carnarvon and Miss Trevor. They are cousins, Howard, so be cautious what + you say to one about the other. Oh, here is Mr. Berersford.” + </p> + <p> + The others knew each other well; Howard knew them only as he had seen + their names in the “fashionable intelligence” columns of the newspapers. + Mrs. Carnarvon was a small thin woman in a black velvet gown which made + her thinness obtrusive and attractive or the reverse according as one’s + taste is toward or away from attenuation. Her eyes were a dull, greenish + grey, her skin brown and smooth and tough from much exposure in the + hunting field. Her cheeks were beginning to hang slightly, so that one + said: “She is pretty, but she will soon not be.” Her mouth proclaimed + strong appetites—not unpleasantly since she was good-looking. + </p> + <p> + Miss Trevor was perhaps ten years younger than her cousin, not far from + twenty-four. She had a critical, almost amused yet not unpleasant way of + looking out of unusually clear blue-green eyes. Her hair was of an + ordinary shade of dark brown, but fine and thick and admirably arranged to + set off her long, sensitive, high bred features. Her chin and mouth + expressed decision and strong emotions. + </p> + <p> + There was a vacant chair between Segur and Berersford and it was presently + filled by a fat, middle-aged woman, neither blonde nor brunette, with a + large, serene face. Upon it was written a frank confession that she had + never in her life had an original thought capable of creating a ripple of + interest. She was Mrs. Sidney, rich, of an “old” family—in the New + York meaning of the word “old”—both by marriage and by birth, much + courted because of her position and because she entertained a great deal + both in town and at a large and hospitable country house. + </p> + <p> + The conversation was lively and amused, or seemed to amuse, all. It was + purely personal—about Kittie and Nellie and Jim and Peggie and Amy + and Bob; about the sayings and doings of a few dozen people who + constituted the intimates of these five persons. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Carnarvon turned to the silent Howard at last and began about the + weather. + </p> + <p> + “Horrible in the city, isn’t it?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, perhaps it is,” replied Howard. “But I fancied it delightful. You + see I have not lived anywhere but New York for so long that I am hardly + capable to judge.” + </p> + <p> + “Why everybody says we have the worst climate in the world.” + </p> + <p> + “Far be it from me to contradict everybody. But for me New York has the + ideal climate. Isn’t it the best of any great city in the world? You see, + we have the air of the sea in our streets. And when the sun shines, which + it does more days in the year than in any other great city, the effect is + like champagne—or rather, like the effect champagne looks as if it + ought to have.” + </p> + <p> + “I hate champagne,” said Mrs. Carnarvon. “Marian, you must not drink it; + you know you mustn’t.” This to Miss Trevor who was lifting the glass to + her lips. She drank a little of the champagne, then set the glass down + slowly. + </p> + <p> + “What you said made me want to drink it,” she said to Howard. “I was glad + to hear your lecture on the weather. I had never thought of it before, but + New York really has a fine climate. And only this afternoon I let that + stupid Englishman—Plymouth—you’ve met him? No?—Well, at + any rate, he was denouncing our climate and for the moment I forgot about + London.” + </p> + <p> + “Frightful there, isn’t it, after October and until May?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and the air is usually stale even in the late spring. When it’s + warm, it’s sticky. And when it’s cold, it’s raw.” + </p> + <p> + “You are a New Yorker?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Miss Trevor faintly, and for an instant showing surprise at + his ignorance. “That is, I spend part of the winter here—like all + New Yorkers.” + </p> + <p> + “All?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, all except those who don’t count, or rather, who merely count.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you mean?” Howard was taking advantage of her looking into her + plate to smile with a suggestion of irony. She happened to glance up and + so caught him. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she said, smiling with frank irony at him, “I mean all those people—the + masses, I think they’re called—the people who have to be fussed over + and reformed and who keep shops and—and all that.” + </p> + <p> + “The people who work, you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I mean the people you never meet about anywhere, the people who read + the newspapers and come to the basement door.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, I understand.” Howard was laughing. “Well, that’s one way of + looking at life. Of course it’s not my way.” + </p> + <p> + “What is your way?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, being one of those who count only in the census, I naturally take a + view rather different from yours. Now I should say that <i>your</i> people + don’t count. You see, I am most deeply interested in people who read + newspapers.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you write for the papers, like Jim Segur? What do you write?” + </p> + <p> + “What they call editorials.” + </p> + <p> + “You are an editor?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes and no. I am one of the editors who does not edit but is edited.” + </p> + <p> + “It must be interesting,” said Miss Trevor, vaguely. + </p> + <p> + “More interesting than you imagine. But then all work is that. In fact + work is the only permanently interesting thing in life. The rest produces + dissatisfaction and regret.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’m not so very dissatisfied. Yet I don’t work.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you quite sure? Think how hard you work at being fitted for gowns, at + going about to dinners and balls and the like, at chasing foxes and anise + seed bags and golf balls.” + </p> + <p> + “But that is not work. It is amusing myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you think so. But you forget that you are doing it in order that all + these people who don’t count may read about it in the papers and so get a + little harmless relaxation.” + </p> + <p> + “But we don’t do it to get into the papers.” + </p> + <p> + “Probably not. Neither did this—what is it here in my plate, a lamb + chop?—this lamb gambol about and keep itself in condition to form a + course at Segur’s dinner. But after all, wasn’t that what it was really + for? Then think how many people you support by your work.” + </p> + <p> + “You make me feel like a day-labourer.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you’re a much harder worker than any day labourer. And the saddest + part of it to me is that you work altogether for others. You give, give + and get in return nothing but a few flattering glances, a few careless + pats on the back of your vanity. I should hate to work so hard for so + little.” + </p> + <p> + “But what would you do?” Miss Trevor was looking at him, interested and + amused. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’d work for myself. I’d insist on a return, on getting back + something equivalent or near it. I’d insist on having my mind improved, or + having my power or my reputation advanced.” + </p> + <p> + “I was only jesting when I said that about people not counting.” + </p> + <p> + “Altogether?” + </p> + <p> + “No, not altogether. I don’t care much about the masses. They seem to me + to be underbred, of a different sort. I hate doing things that are useful + and I hate people that do useful things—in a general way, I mean.” + </p> + <p> + “That is doubtless due to defective education,” said Howard, with a smile + that carried off the thrust as a jest. + </p> + <p> + “Is that the way you’d describe a horror of contact with—well, with + unpleasant things?” Miss Trevor was serious. + </p> + <p> + “But is it that? Isn’t it just an unconscious affectation, taken up simply + because all the people about you think that way—if one can call the + process thinking? You don’t think, do you, that it is a sign of + superiority to be narrow, to be ignorant, to be out of touch with the + great masses of one’s fellow-beings, to play the part of a harlequin or a + ballet-girl on the stage of life? I understand how a stupid ass can + fritter away his one chance to live in saying and hearing and doing silly + things. But ought not an intelligent person try to enjoy life, try to get + something substantial out of it, try to possess himself of its ideas and + emotions? Why should one play the fool simply because those about one are + incapable of playing any other part?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m surprised that you are here to-night. Still, I suppose you’ll give + yourself absolution on the plea that one must dine somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “But I’m not wasting my time. I’m learning. I’m observing a phase of life. + And I’m seeing the latest styles in women’s gowns and—” + </p> + <p> + “Is that important—styles, I mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you suppose that my kind of people, the working classes, would spend + so much time and thought in making anything that was not important? There + is nothing more important.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you don’t think we women are wasting time when we talk about dress + so much?” + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary, it is an evidence of your superior sagacity. Women talk + trade, ‘shop,’ as soon as they get away from the men. They talk men and + dress—fish and nets.” + </p> + <p> + Berersford heard the word fish and interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “Do you go South next month, Marian?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—about the fifteenth.” Miss Trevor explained to Howard: “Bobby—Mr. + Berersford here—always fishes in Florida in January.” + </p> + <p> + The conversation again became general and personal. Howard knew none of + the people of whom they were talking and all that they said was of the + nature of gossip. But they talked in a sparkling way, using good English, + speaking in agreeable voices with a correct accent, and indulging in a + great deal of malicious humour. + </p> + <p> + As they separated Mrs. Sidney, to whom Howard had not spoken during the + evening, said to Segur: “You must bring Mr. Howard on Sunday afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you drop Marian at the house for me?” Mrs. Carnarvon asked her. “I + want to go on to Edith’s.” + </p> + <p> + Segur went with Mrs. Sidney and Marian to their carriage. “Who is Mr. + Howard?” Mrs. Sidney said, and Miss Trevor drew nearer to hear the answer. + </p> + <p> + “One of the editorial writers down on the paper and a very clever one—none + better. He works hard and is desperately serious and a regular hermit.” + </p> + <p> + “I think he’s very handsome—don’t you, Marian?” + </p> + <p> + “I found him interesting,” said Miss Trevor. + </p> + <p> + Howard thought a great deal about Miss Trevor that night, and she was + still in his head the next day. “This comes of never seeing women,” he + said to himself. “The first girl I meet seems the most beautiful I ever + saw, and the most intellectual. And, when I think it over, what did she + say that was startling?” + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless he went with Segur the next Sunday to Mrs. Sidney’s great + house in the upper Avenue overlooking the Park. + </p> + <p> + “Why do I come here?” he asked himself. “It is a sheer waste of time. Mrs. + Sidney can do me no good, or I her. It must be the hope of seeing Miss + Trevor.” + </p> + <p> + When the gaudy and be-powdered flunkey held back the heavy curtains of the + salon to announce him and Segur, he saw Miss Trevor on a low chair + absently staring into the fire. Yet when he had spoken to Mrs. Sidney and + turned toward her she at once stretched out her hand with a slight smile. + Some others came in and Howard was free to talk to her. He sat looking at + her steadily, admiring her almost perfect profile, delicate yet strong. + </p> + <p> + “And what have you been doing since I saw you?” Miss Trevor asked. + </p> + <p> + “Writing little pieces about politics for the paper,” replied Howard. + </p> + <p> + “Politics? I detest it. It is all stealing and calling names, isn’t it? + And something dreadful is always going to happen if somebody or other + isn’t elected, or is elected, to something or other. And then, whether he + is or not, nothing happens. I should think the men who have been so + excited and angry and alarmed would feel very cheap. But they don’t. And + the next time they carry on in just the same ridiculous way.” + </p> + <p> + “Politics is like everything else—interesting if you understand what + it is all about. But like everything else, you can’t understand it without + a little study at first. It’s a pity women don’t take an interest. If they + did the men might become more reasonable and sane about it than they are + now. But you—what have you been doing?” + </p> + <p> + “I—oh, industriously superintending the making of my new nets.” + Marian laughed and Howard was flattered. “And also, well, riding in the + Park every morning. But I never do anything interesting. I simply drift.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s so much simpler and more satisfactory than threshing and splashing + about as I do. It seems so fussy and foolish and futile. I wish—that + is, sometimes I wish—that I had learned to amuse myself in some less + violent and exhausting way.” + </p> + <p> + “Marian—I say, Marian,” called Mrs. Sidney. “Has Teddy come down?” + </p> + <p> + Miss Trevor coloured slightly as she answered: “No, he comes a week + Wednesday. He’s still hunting.” + </p> + <p> + “Hunting,” Howard repeated when Mrs. Sidney was again busy with the + others. “Now there is a kind of work that never bothers a man’s brains or + sets him to worrying. I wish I knew how to amuse myself in some such way.” + </p> + <p> + “You should go about more.” + </p> + <p> + “Go—where?” + </p> + <p> + “To see people.” + </p> + <p> + “But I do see a great many people. I’m always seeing them—all day + long.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—but that is in a serious way. I mean go where you will be + amused—to dinners for instance.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t dare. I can’t work at work and also work at play. I must work at + one or the other all the time. I can do nothing without a definite object. + I can’t be just a little interested in anything or anybody. With me it is + no interest at all or else absorption until interest is exhausted.” + </p> + <p> + “Then if you were interested in a woman, let us say, you’d be absorbed + until you found out all there was, and then you’d—take to your + heels.” + </p> + <p> + “But she might always be new. She might interest me more and more. Anyhow + I fancy that she would weary of me long before I wearied of her. I think + women usually weary first. Men are very monotonous. We are as vain as + women, if not vainer, without their capacity for concealing it. And vanity + makes one think he does not need to exert himself to please.” + </p> + <p> + “But why do people usually say that it is the men that are difficult to + hold?” + </p> + <p> + “Because the men hold the women, not through the kind of interest we are + talking about, but through another kind—quite different. Women are + so lazy and so dependent—dependent upon men for homes, for money, + for escort even.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Trevor was flushing, as if the fire were too hot—at least she + moved a little farther away from it. “Your ideal woman would be a + shop-girl, I should say from what you’ve told me.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps—in the abstract. I really do think that if I were going to + marry, I should look about for a working-girl, a girl that supported + herself. How can a man be certain of the love of a woman who is dependent + upon him? I should be afraid she was only tolerating me as a labour-saving + device.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Trevor laughed. “There certainly is no vanity in that remark,” she + said. “Now I can’t imagine most of the men I know thinking that.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s only theory with me. In practice doubtless I should be as + self-complacent as any other man.” + </p> + <p> + They left Mrs. Sidney’s together and Howard walked down the Avenue with + her. It seemed a wonderful afternoon—the air dazzling, intoxicating. + He was filled with the joy of living and was glad this particular tall, + slender, distinguished-looking girl was there to make his enjoyment + perfect. They were gay with the delight of being young and in health and + attractive physically and mentally each to the other. They looked each at + the other a great deal, and more and more frankly. + </p> + <p> + “Am I never to see you again?” he asked as he rang the bell for her. + </p> + <p> + “I believe Mrs. Carnarvon is going to invite you to dine here Thursday + night.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Howard. + </p> + <p> + Miss Trevor coloured. But she met his glance boldly and laughed. Howard + wondered why her laugh was defiant, almost reckless. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + He saw Segur at the club after dinner that same night. “And how do you + like Miss Trevor?” Segur began as the whiskey and carbonic were set before + them. + </p> + <p> + “A very attractive girl,” said Howard. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—so a good many men have thought in the last five years. She’s + marrying Teddy Danvers in the spring, I believe. At any rate it’s + generally looked on as settled. Teddy’s a good deal of a ‘chump.’ But he’s + a decent fellow—good-looking, good-natured, domestic in his tastes, + and nothing but money.” + </p> + <p> + Howard was smiling to himself. He understood Miss Trevor’s sudden + consciousness of the nearness of the fire, her flush when Mrs. Sidney + asked about “Teddy,” and the recklessness in her parting laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Teddy’s in luck,” he said aloud. + </p> + <p> + “Not so sure of that. She’s quite capable of leading him a dance if he + bores her. And bore her he will. But that is nothing new. This town is + full of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Full of what?” + </p> + <p> + “Of weary women—weary wives. The men are hobby-riders. They have + just one interest and that usually small and dull—stocks or iron or + real estate or hunting or automobiles. Our women are not like the English + women—stupid, sodden. They are alive, acute. They wish to be + interested. Their husbands bore them. So—well, what is the natural + temptation to a lazy woman in search of an interest?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s like Paris—like France?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, something. Except that perhaps our women are more sentimental, not + fond of intrigue for its own sake—at least, not as a rule.” + </p> + <p> + “Doesn’t interest them deeply enough, I suppose. It’s the American blood + coming out—the passion for achievement. They want a man of whom they + can be proud, a man who is doing something interesting and doing it well.” + </p> + <p> + “I doubt that,” replied Segur shrugging his shoulders. “When a woman loves + a man, she wants to absorb him.” + </p> + <p> + Howard soon went away to his rooms for a long evening of undisturbed + thought about Teddy Danvers’s fiancée—the first temptation that had + entered his loneliness since Alice died. + </p> + <p> + In the few weeks of her illness and the few months immediately following + her death, he had been at his very best. He was able to see her as she was + and to appreciate her. He was living in the clear pure air of the Valley + of the Great Shadow where all things appear in their true relations and + true proportions. But only there was it possible for the gap between him + and Alice to close—that gap of which she was more acutely conscious + than he, and which she made wider far than it really was by being too + humble with him, too obviously on her knees before him. Such superiority + as she thought he possessed is not in human nature; but neither is it in + human nature to refuse worship, to refuse to pose upon a pedestal if the + opportunity presses. + </p> + <p> + In the three years between her death and his meeting Marian, the eternal + masculine had been secretly gaining strength to resume its pursuit of the + eternal feminine. And the eternal feminine was certainly most alluringly + personified in this beautiful, graceful girl, at once appreciative and + worthy of appreciation. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps she appealed most strongly to Howard in her vivid suggestion of + the open air—of health and strength and nature. He had been leading + a cloistered existence and his blood had grown sluggish. She gave him the + sensation that a prisoner gets when he catches a glimpse from his barred + window of the fields and the streams radiating the joy of life and + freedom. And Marian was of his own kind—like the women among whom he + had been brought up. She satisfied his idea of what a “lady” should be, + but at the same time she was none the less a woman to him—a woman to + love and to be loved; to give him sympathy, companionship; to inspire him + to overcome his weaknesses by striving to be worthy of her; to bring into + his life that feminine charm without which a man’s life must be cold and + cheerless. + </p> + <p> + He knew that he could not marry her, that he had no right to make love to + her, that it was unwise to go near her again. But he had no power to + resist the temptation. And even in those days he had small regard for the + means when the end was one upon which he had fixed his mind. “Why not take + what I can get?” he thought, as he dreamed of her. “She’s engaged—her + future practically settled. Yes, I’ll be as happy as she’ll let me.” And + he resumed his idealising. + </p> + <p> + At his time of life idealisation is still not a difficult or a long + process. And in this case there was an ample physical basis for it—and + far more of a mental basis than young imagination demands. He took the + draught she so frankly offered him; he added a love potion of his own + concocting, and drank it off. + </p> + <p> + He was in love. + </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. — TRESPASSING. + </h2> + <p> + For the first time since he had been in newspaper work, Howard came to the + office the next day in a long coat and a top hat. He left early and went + for a walk in the Avenue. But Miss Trevor was neither driving nor walking. + He repeated this excursion the next afternoon with better success. At + Fortieth Street he saw her and her cousin half a block ahead of him. He + walked slowly and examined her. She was satisfactory from the aigrette in + her hat to her heels—a long, narrow, graceful figure, dressed with + the expensive simplicity characteristic of the most intelligent class of + the women of New York and Paris. She walked as if she were accustomed to + walking. Mrs. Carnarvon had that slight hesitation, almost stumble, which + indicates the woman who usually drives and never walks if she can avoid + it. As they paused at the crowded crossing of Forty-second Street he + joined them. When Mrs. Carnarvon found that he was “just out for the air” + she left them, to go home—in Forty-seventh Street, a few doors east + of the Avenue. + </p> + <p> + “Come back to tea with her,” she said as she nodded to Howard. + </p> + <p> + “We have at least an hour.” Howard was looking at Miss Trevor with his + happiness dancing in his eyes. “Why shouldn’t we go to the Park?” + </p> + <p> + “I believe it’s not customary,” objected Miss Trevor in a tone that made + the walk in the Park a certainty. + </p> + <p> + “I’m glad to hear that. I don’t care to do customary things as a rule.” + </p> + <p> + “I see that you don’t.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you say so because I show what I am thinking so plainly that you can’t + help seeing it—and don’t in the least mind?” + </p> + <p> + “Why shouldn’t you be glad to be alive and to be seeing me this fine + winter day?” + </p> + <p> + “Why indeed!” Howard looked at her from head to foot and then into her + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “We are not in the Park yet.” Miss Trevor accompanied her hint with a + laugh and added: “I feel reckless to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean you forget that there is any to-morrow. <i>I</i> have shut out + to-morrow ever since I saw you.” + </p> + <p> + “And yesterday?” She noted that he coloured slightly, but continued to + look at her, his eyes sad. “But there is a to-morrow,” she went on. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—my work, my career is my to-morrow and yours is——” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Your engagement, of course.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Trevor flushed, but Howard was smiling and she did not long resist + the contagion. + </p> + <p> + “My to-morrow,” he continued, “is far more menacing than yours. Yours is + just an ordinary, every-day, cut-and-dried affair. Mine is full of doubts + and uncertainties with the chances for failure and disappointment. If I + can turn my back on my to-morrow, surely you can waive yours for the + moment?” + </p> + <p> + “But why are you so certain that I wish to?” + </p> + <p> + “Instinct. I could not be so happy as I am with you if you were not + content to have me here.” + </p> + <p> + They spoke little until they were well within the Park. There they turned + down a by-path and took the walk skirting the lower lake. Miss Trevor + looked at Howard with a puzzled expression. + </p> + <p> + “I never met any one like you,” she said. “I have always felt so sure of + myself. You take me off my feet. I feel as if I did not know where I was + going and—didn’t much care. And that’s the worst of it.” + </p> + <p> + “No, the best of it. You are a star going comfortably through your + universe in a fixed orbit. You maintain your exact relations with your + brother and sister stars. You keep all your engagements, you never wobble + in your path—everything exact, mathematical. And up darts a + wild-haired, impetuous comet, a hurrying, bustling, irregular wanderer + coming from you don’t know where, going you don’t know whither. We pass + very near each to the other. The social astronomers may or may not note a + little variation in your movement—a very little, and soon over. They + probably will not note the insignificant meteor that darted close up to + you—close enough to get his poor face sadly scorched and his long + hair cruelly singed—and then hurried sadly away. And——” + </p> + <p> + “And—what? Isn’t there any more to the story?” Marian’s eyes were + shining with a light which she was conscious had never been there before. + </p> + <p> + “And—and——” Howard stopped and faced her. His hands were + thrust deep in the pockets of his overcoat. He looked at her in a way that + made the colour fly from her face and then leap back again. “And—I + love you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh”—Marian said, hiding her face in her white muff. “Oh.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t wish to touch you,” he went on, “I just wish to look at you—so + tall, so straight, so—so alive, and to love you and be happy.” Then + he laughed and turned. “But you’ll catch cold. Let us walk on.” + </p> + <p> + “So you are trying to make a career?” she asked after a few minutes’ + silence. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—trying—or, rather, I was. And shall again when you have + gone your way and I mine.” + </p> + <p> + Marian was amazed at herself. Every tradition, every instinct of her life + was being trampled by this unknown whom she had just met. And she was + assisting in the trampling. In fact it was difficult for her to restrain + herself from leading in the iconoclasm. She looked at him in wonder and + delighted terror. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you look at me in that way?” he said, turning his head suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “Because you are stronger than I—and I am afraid—yet I—well—I + like it.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not I that is stronger than you, nor you that are stronger than I. + It is a third that is stronger than both of us. I need not mention the + gentleman’s name?” + </p> + <p> + “It is not necessary. But I’d like to hear you pronounce it. At least I + did a moment ago.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll not risk repetition. I’ve been thinking of what might have been.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” Marian laughed a little, rather satirically. “A commonplace + engagement and a commonplace wedding and a commonplace honeymoon leading + into a land of commonplace disillusion and yawning—or worse?” + </p> + <p> + “Not unlikely. But since we’re only dreaming why not dream more to our + taste? Now as I look at your strong, clear, ambitious profile, I can dream + of a career made by two working as one, working cheerfully day in and day + out, fair and foul weather, working with the certainty of success as the + crown.” + </p> + <p> + “But failure might come.” + </p> + <p> + “It couldn’t. We wouldn’t work for fame or for riches or for any outside + thing. We would work to make ourselves wiser and better and more worthy + each of the other and both of our great love.” + </p> + <p> + Again they were walking in silence. + </p> + <p> + “I am so sad,” Marian said at last. “But I am so happy too. What has come + over me? But—you will work on, won’t you? And you will accomplish + everything. Yes, I am sure you will.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’ll work—in my own way. And I’ll get a good deal of what I + want. But not everything. You say you can’t understand yourself. No more + can I understand myself. I thought my purpose fixed. I knew that I had + nothing to do with marrying and giving in marriage, so I kept away from + danger. And here, as miraculously as if a thunderbolt had dropped from + this open winter sky, here is—you.” + </p> + <p> + They were in the Avenue again—“the awakening,” Howard said as the + flood of carriages rolled about them. + </p> + <p> + “You will win,” she repeated, when they were almost at Forty-seventh + Street. “You will be famous.” + </p> + <p> + “Probably not. The price for fame may be too big.” + </p> + <p> + “The price? But you are willing to work?” + </p> + <p> + “Work—yes. But not to lie, not to cheat, not to exchange + self-respect for self-contempt—at least, I think, I hope not.” + </p> + <p> + “But why should that be necessary?” + </p> + <p> + “It may not be if I am free—free to meet every situation as it + arises, with no responsibility for others resting upon me in the decision. + If I had a wife, how could I be free? I might be forced to sell myself—not + for fame but for a bare living. Suppose choice between freedom with + poverty and comfort with self-contempt were put squarely at me, and I a + married man. She would decide, wouldn’t she?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and if she were the right sort of a woman, decide instantly for + self-respect.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course—if I asked her. But do you imagine that when a man loves + a woman he lets her know?” + </p> + <p> + “It would be a crime not to let her know.” + </p> + <p> + “It would be a greater crime to put her to the test—if she were a + woman brought up, say, as you have been.” + </p> + <p> + “How can you say that? How can you so overestimate the value of mere + incidentals?” + </p> + <p> + “How can I? Because I have known poverty—have known what it was to + look want in the face. Because I have seen women, brought up as you have + been, crawling miserably about in the sloughs of poverty. Because I have + seen the weaknesses of human nature and know that they exist in me—yes, + and in you, for all your standing there so strong and arrogant and + self-reliant. It is easy to talk of misery when one does not understand + it. It is easy to be the martyr of an hour or a day. But to drag into a + sordid and squalid martyrdom the woman one loves—well, the man does + not live who would do it, if he knew what I know, had seen what I have + seen. No, love is a luxury of the rich and the poor and the steady-going. + It is not for my kind, not for me.” + </p> + <p> + They were pausing at Mrs. Carnarvon’s door. + </p> + <p> + “I shall not come in this afternoon,” he said. “But to-morrow—if I + don’t come in to-day, don’t you think it will be all right for me to come + then?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall expect you,” she said. + </p> + <p> + The talk of those who had come in for tea seemed artificial and flat. She + soon went up-stairs, eager to be alone. Mechanically she went to her desk + to write her customary daily letter to Danvers. She looked vacantly at the + pen and paper, and then she remembered why she was sitting there. + </p> + <p> + “You are a traitor,” she said to her reflection in the mirror over the + desk. “But you will pay for your treason. Has not one a right to that for + which she is willing to pay?” + </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. — MAKING THE MOST OF A MONTH. + </h2> + <p> + To be sure of a woman a man must be confident either of his own powers or + of her absolute frankness and honesty. It was self-assurance that made + Edward Danvers blindly confident of Marian. + </p> + <p> + His father, a man with none but selfish uses for his fellow men, had given + him a pains-taking training as a vigilant guard for a great fortune. His + favourite maxim was, “Always look for motives.” And he once summed up his + own character and idea of life by saying: “I often wake at night and laugh + as I think how many men are lying awake in their beds, scheming to get + something out of me for nothing.” + </p> + <p> + There could be but one result of such an education by such an educator. + Danvers was acutely suspicious, saved from cynicism and misanthropy by his + vanity only. He was the familiar combination of credulity and incredulity, + now trusting not at all and again trusting with an utter incapacity to + judge. Had he been far more attractive personally, he might still have + failed to find genuine affection. To be liked for one’s self alone or even + chiefly is rarely the lot of any human being who has a possession that is + all but universally coveted—wealth or position or power or beauty. + </p> + <p> + Danvers and Marian had known each the other from childhood. And she + perhaps came nearer to liking him for himself than did any one else of his + acquaintance. She was used to his conceit, his selfishness, his meanness + and smallness in suspicion, his arrogance, his narrow-mindedness. She knew + his good qualities—his kindness of heart, his shamed-face + generosity, his honesty, the strong if limited sense of justice which made + him a good employer and a good landlord. They had much in common—the + same companions, the same idea of the agreeable and the proper, the same + passion for out-door life, especially for hunting. He fell in love with + her when she came back from two years in England and France, and she + thought that she was in love with him. She undoubtedly was fond of him, + proud of his handsome, athletic look and bearing, proud of his skill and + daring in the hunting field. + </p> + <p> + One day—it was in the autumn a year before Howard met her—they + were “in at the death” together after a run across a stiff country that + included several dangerous jumps. “You’re the only one that can keep up + with me,” he said, admiring her glowing face and star-like eyes, her + graceful, assured seat on a hunter that no one else either cared or dared + to ride. + </p> + <p> + “You mean you are the only one who can keep up with <i>me,</i>” she + laughed, preparing for what his face warned her was coming. + </p> + <p> + “No I don’t, Marian dear. I mean that we ought to go right on keeping up + with each other. You won’t say no, will you?” + </p> + <p> + Marian was liking him that day—he was looking his best. She + particularly liked his expression as he proposed to her. She had intended + to pretend to refuse him; instead her colour rose and she said: “No—which + means yes. Everybody expects it of us, Teddy. So I suppose we mustn’t + disappoint them.” + </p> + <p> + The fact that “everybody” did expect it, the fact that he was the great + “catch” in their set, with his two hundred and fifty thousand a year, his + good looks and his good character—these were her real reasons, with + the first dominant. But she did not admit it to herself then. At + twenty-four even the mercenary instinct tricks itself out in a most + deceptive romantic disguise if there is the ghost of an opportunity. + Besides, there was no reason, and no sign of an approaching reason, for + the shadow of a suspicion that life with Teddy Danvers would not be full + of all that she and her friends regarded as happiness. + </p> + <p> + But she would not marry immediately. She was tenacious of her freedom. She + was restless, dissatisfied with herself and not elated by her prospects. + She had an excellent mind, reasonable, appreciative, ambitious. Until she + “came out” she had spent much time among books; but as she had had no + capable director of her reading, she got from it only a vague sense, that + there was somewhere something in the way of achievement which she might + possibly like to attain if she knew what it was or where to look for it. + As she became settled in her place in the routine of social life, as her + horizon narrowed to the conventional ideas of her set, this sense of + possible and attractive achievement became vaguer. But her restlessness + did not diminish. + </p> + <p> + “I never saw such an ungrateful girl,” was Mrs. Carnarvon’s comment upon + one of Marian’s outbursts of almost peevish fretting. “What do you want?” + </p> + <p> + “That’s just it,” exclaimed Marian, half-laughing. “What <i>do</i> I want? + I look all about me and I can’t see it. Yet I know that there must be + something. I think I ought to have been a man. Sometimes I feel like + running away—away off somewhere. I feel as if I were getting + second-bests, paste substitutes for the real jewels. I feel as I did when + I was a child and demanded the moon. They gave me a little gilt crescent + and said: ‘Here is a nice little moon for baby;’ and it made me furious.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Carnarvon looked irritated. “I don’t understand it. You are getting + the best of everything. Of course you can’t expect to be happy. I don’t + suppose that any one is happy. But all the solid things of life are yours, + and you can and should be comfortable and contented.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s just it,” answered Marian indignantly. “I have always been + swaddled in cotton wool. I have never been allowed really to feel. I think + it is the spirit of revolt in me. Yes, I ought to have been a man. I’m + sure that then I could have made life a little less tiresome.” + </p> + <p> + It was this dissatisfaction that postponed the announcement of the + engagement from month to month until a year had slipped away. + </p> + <p> + Instead of coming to New York, Danvers went off to Montana for a + mountain-lion hunt with two Englishmen who had been staying with him in + “The Valley.” He would join Marian for the trip South, the engagement + would be announced, and the wedding would be in May—such was the + arrangement which Marian succeeded in making. It settled everything and at + the same time it gave her a month of freedom in New York. She hinted + enough of this programme to Howard to enable him to grasp its essential + points. + </p> + <p> + “A month’s holiday,” was his comment. They were alone on the second seat + of George Browning’s coach, driving through the Park. “If we were like + those people”—he was looking at a young man and young woman, side by + side upon a Park bench, blue with cold but absorbed in themselves and + obviously ecstatic. Marian glanced at them with slightly supercilious + amusement and became so interested that she turned her head to follow them + with her eyes after the coach had passed. + </p> + <p> + “Is he kissing her?” asked Howard. + </p> + <p> + “No—not yet. But I’m sure he will as soon as we have turned the + corner.” She said nothing for a moment or two, her glance straight ahead + and upon vacancy, he admiring the curve of her cheek at the edge of its + effective framing of fur. + </p> + <p> + “But we are not——” She spoke in a low tone, regretful, + pensive, almost sad. “We are not like them.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes we are. But—we fancy we are not. We’ve sold our birthright, + our freedom, our independence for—for——” + </p> + <p> + “Well—what?” + </p> + <p> + “Baubles—childish toys—vanities—shadows. Doesn’t it show + what ridiculous little creatures we human beings are that we regard the + most valueless things as of the highest value, and think least of the true + valuables. For, tell me, Lady-Whom-I-Love, what is most valuable in the + few minutes of this little journey among the stars on the good ship Mother + Earth?” + </p> + <p> + “But you would not care always as you care now? It would not, could not, + last. If we—if we were like those people on the bench back there, + we’d go on and—and spoil it all.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps—who can say? But in some circumstances couldn’t I make you + just as happy as—as some one else could?” + </p> + <p> + “Not if you had made me infinitely happier at one time than even you could + hope to make me all the time. At least I think not. It would always be—be + racing against a record; we both would be, wouldn’t we?” + </p> + <p> + Howard looked at her with an expression which transfigured his face and + sent the colour flaming to her cheeks. “That being the case,” he said, + “let us—let us make the record one that will not be forgotten—soon.” + </p> + <p> + During the month he saw her almost every day. She was most ingenious in + arranging these meetings. They were together afternoons and evenings. They + were often alone. Yet she was careful not to violate any convention, + always to keep, or seem to be keeping, one foot “on the line.” Howard + threw himself into his infatuation with all his power of concentration He + practically took a month’s holiday from the office. He thought about her + incessantly. He used all his skill with words in making love to her. And + she abandoned herself to an equal infatuation with equal absorption. + Neither of them spoke of the past or the future. They lived in the + present, talked of the present. + </p> + <p> + One day she spoke of herself as an orphan. + </p> + <p> + “I did not know that,” he said. “But then what do I know about you in + relation to the rest of the world? To me you are an isolated act of + creation.” + </p> + <p> + “You must tell me about yourself.” She was looking at him, surprised. + “Why, I know nothing at all about you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, you do. You know all that there is to know—all that is + important.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” She was asking for the pleasure of hearing him say it. + </p> + <p> + “That I love you—you—all of you—all of you, with all of + me.” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes answered for her lips, which only said smilingly: “No, we haven’t + time to get acquainted—at least not to-day.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + She was to start for Florida at ten the next morning. Mrs. Carnarvon was + going away to the opera, giving them the last evening alone. Marian had + asked this of her point-blank. + </p> + <p> + “You are an extraordinarily sensible as well as strong-willed girl, + Marian,” Mrs. Carnarvon replied. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t find it in my heart to blame you for what you’re doing. The fact + that I haven’t even hinted a protest, but have lent myself to your little + plots, shows that that young man has hypnotized me also.” + </p> + <p> + “You needn’t disturb yourself, as you know,” Marian said gaily. “I’m not + hypnotized. I shall not see Mr. Howard again until—after it’s all + over. Perhaps not then.” + </p> + <p> + He came to dinner and they were not alone until almost nine. She sat near + the open fire among the cushions heaped high upon the little sofa. She had + never been more beautiful, and apparently never in a happier mood. They + both laughed and talked as if it were the first instead of the last day of + their month. Neither spoke of the parting; each avoided all subjects that + pointed in direction of the one subject of which both thought whenever + their minds left the immediate present. As the little clock on the mantle + began to intimate in a faint, polite voice the quarter before eleven, he + said abruptly, almost brusquely: + </p> + <p> + “I feel like a coward, giving you up in this way. Yes—giving you up; + for you have a traitor in your fortress who has offered me the keys, who + offers them to me now. But I do not trust you; and I can’t trust myself. + The curse of luxury is on you, the curse of ambition on me. If we had + found each the other younger; if I had lived less alone, more in the + ordinary habit of dependence upon others; if you had been brought up to + live instead of to have all the machinery of living provided and conducted + for you—well, it might have been different.” + </p> + <p> + “You are wrong as to me, right as to yourself. But yours is not the curse + of ambition. It is the passion for freedom. It would be madness for you, + thinking as you do, even if you could—and you can’t.” + </p> + <p> + He stood up and held out his hand. She did not rise or look at him. + </p> + <p> + “Good night,” she said at last, putting her hand in his. “Of course I am + thinking I shall see you tomorrow. One does not come out of such a dream,”—she + looked up at him smiling—“all in a moment.” + </p> + <p> + “Good night,” he smiled back at her. “I shall not open ‘the fiddler’s + bill’ until—until I have to.” At the door he turned. She had risen + and was kneeling on the sofa, her elbow on its low arm, her chin upon her + hand, her eyes staring into the fire. He came toward her. + </p> + <p> + “May I kiss you?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” Her voice was expressionless. + </p> + <p> + He bent over and just touched his lips to the back of her neck at the edge + of her hair. He thought that she trembled slightly, but her face was set + and she did not look toward him. He turned and left her. Half an hour + later she heard the bell ring—it was Mrs. Carnarvon. She wished to + see no one, so she fled through the rear door of the reception room and up + the great stairway to lock herself in her boudoir. She sank slowly upon + the lounge in front of the fire and closed her eyes. The fire died out and + the room grew cold. A warning chilliness made her rise to get ready for + bed. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said aloud. “It isn’t ambition and it isn’t lack of love. It’s a + queer sort of cowardice; but it’s cowardice for all that. He’s a coward or + he wouldn’t have given up. But—I wonder—how am I going to live + without him? I need him—more than he needs me, I’m afraid.” + </p> + <p> + She was standing before her dressing table. On it was a picture of Danvers—handsome, + self-satisfied, healthy, unintellectual. She looked at it, gave a little + shiver, and with the end of her comb toppled it over upon its face. + </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. — RECKONING WITH DANVERS. + </h2> + <p> + On that journey south Marian for the first time studied Danvers as a + husband in prospect. + </p> + <p> + The morning after they left New York, their private car arrived at + Savannah. At dark the night before they were rushing through a snow storm + raging in a wintry landscape. Now they were looking out upon spring from + the open windows. As soon as the train stopped, all except Marian and + Danvers left the car to walk up and down the platform. Danvers, standing + behind Marian, looked around to make sure that none of the servants was + about, then rubbed his hand caressingly and familiarly upon her cheek. + </p> + <p> + “Did you miss me?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Marian could not prevent her head from shrinking from his touch. + </p> + <p> + “There’s nobody about,” Danvers said, reassuringly. But he acted upon the + hint and, taking his hand away, came around and sat beside her. + </p> + <p> + “Did you miss me?” he repeated, looking at her with an expression in his + frank, manly blue eyes that made her flush at the thought of “treason” + past and to come. + </p> + <p> + “Did <i>you</i> miss <i>me</i>?” she evaded. + </p> + <p> + “I would have returned long ago if I had not been ashamed,” he answered, + smiling. “I never thought that I should come not to care for as good + shooting as that. You almost cost me my life.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” Marian spoke absently. She was absorbed in her mental comparison of + the two men. + </p> + <p> + “I got away from the others and was looking at your picture. They started + up a lion and he came straight at me from behind. If he hadn’t made a + misstep in his hurry and loosened a stone, I guess he would have got me. + As it was, I got him.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean your gun got him.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course. You don’t suppose I tackled him bare-handed.” + </p> + <p> + “It might have been fairer. I don’t see how you can boast of having killed + a creature that never bothered you, that you had to go thousands of miles + out of your way to find, and that you attacked with a gun, giving him no + chance to escape.” + </p> + <p> + “What nonsense!” laughed Danvers. “I never expected to hear you say + anything like that. Who’s been putting such stuff into your head?” + </p> + <p> + Marian coloured. She did not like his tone. She resented the suggestion of + the truth that her speech was borrowed. It made her uncomfortable to find + herself thus unexpectedly on the dangerous ground. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it must have been that newspaper fellow Mrs. Carnarvon has + taken up. She talked about him for an hour after you left us to go to bed + last night.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it was—was Mr. Howard.” Marian had recovered herself. “I want + you to meet him some time. You’ll like him, I’m sure.” + </p> + <p> + “I doubt it. Mrs. Carnarvon seemed not to know much about him. I suppose + he’s more or less of an adventurer.” + </p> + <p> + Marian wondered if this obvious dislike was the result of one of those + strange instincts that sometimes enable men to scent danger before any + sign of it appears. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps he is an adventurer,” she replied. “I’m sure I don’t know. Why + should one bother to find out about a passing acquaintance? It is enough + to know that he is amusing.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not so sure of that. He might make off with the jewels when you had + your back turned.” + </p> + <p> + As soon as she had made her jesting denial of her real lover Marian was + ashamed of herself. And Danvers’ remark, though a jest, cut her. “What I + said about a passing acquaintance was not just or true,” she said + impulsively and too warmly. “Mr. Howard is not an adventurer. I admire and + like him very much indeed. I’m proud of his friendship.” + </p> + <p> + Danvers shrugged his shoulders and looked at her suspiciously. + </p> + <p> + “You saw a good deal of this—this friend of yours?” he demanded, his + mouth straightening into a dictatorial line. + </p> + <p> + At this Marian grew haughty and her eyes flashed: “Why do you ask?” she + inquired, her tone dangerously calm. + </p> + <p> + “Because I have the right to know.” He pointed to the diamond on her third + finger. + </p> + <p> + “Oh—that is soon settled.” Marian drew off the ring and held it out + to him. “Really, Teddy, I think you ought to have waited a little longer + before insisting so fiercely on your rights.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be absurd, Marian.” Danvers did not take the ring but fixed his + eyes upon her face and changed his tone to friendly remonstrance. “You + know the ring doesn’t mean anything. It’s your promise that counts. And + honestly don’t you think your promise does give me the right to ask you + about your new friends when you speak of them, of one of them, in—in + such a way?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t intend to deceive you,” she said, turning the ring around slowly + on her finger. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I suppose the only way to + speak is just to speak.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think you are in love with this man, Marian?” + </p> + <p> + She nodded, then after a long pause, said, “Yes, Teddy, I love him.” + </p> + <p> + “But I thought——” + </p> + <p> + “And so did I, Teddy. But he came, and I—well I couldn’t help it.” + </p> + <p> + As he did not speak, she looked at him. His face was haggard and white and + in his eyes which met hers frankly there was suffering. + </p> + <p> + “It wasn’t my fault, Teddy,” Marian laid her hand on his arm, “at least, + not altogether. I might have kept away and I didn’t.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don’t blame you. I blame him.” + </p> + <p> + “But it wasn’t his fault. I—I—encouraged him.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he know that we were engaged?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” reluctantly. + </p> + <p> + “The scoundrel! I suspected that he was rotten somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “You are unjust to him. I have not told you properly.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he tell you that he cared for you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—but he didn’t try to get me to break my engagement.” + </p> + <p> + “So much the more a scoundrel, he. Tell me, Marian—come to your + senses and tell me—what in the devil did he hang about you for and + make love to you, if he didn’t want to marry you? Would an honest man, a + decent man, do that?” + </p> + <p> + Marian’s face confessed assent. + </p> + <p> + “I should think you would have seen what sort of a fellow he is. I should + think you would despise him.” + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes it seems to me that I ought to. But I always end by despising + myself—and—and—it makes no difference in the way I feel + toward him.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I would do well to look him up and give him a horse-whipping. But + you’ll get over him, Marian. I am astonished at your cousin. How could she + let this go on? But then, she’s crazy about him too.” + </p> + <p> + Marian smiled miserably. “I’ve owned up and you ought to congratulate + yourself on so luckily getting rid of such an untrustworthy person as I.” + </p> + <p> + “Getting rid of you?” Danvers looked at her defiantly. “Do you think I’m + going to let you go on and ruin yourself on an impulse? Not much! I hold + you to your promise. You’ll come round all right after you’ve been away + from this fellow for a few days. You’ll be amazed at yourself a week from + now.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t understand, Teddy.” Marian wished him to see once for all that, + whatever might be the future for her and Howard, there was no future for + her and him. “Don’t make it so hard for me to tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want to hear any more about it now, Marian. I can’t stand it—I + hardly know what I’m saying—wait a few days—let’s go on as we + have been—here they come.” + </p> + <p> + The others of the party came bustling into the car and the train started. + For the rest of the journey Danvers avoided her, keeping to the smoking + room and the game of poker there. Marian could neither read nor watch the + landscape. She did not know whether to be glad or sorry that she had told + him. She hated to think that she had inflicted pain and she could not + believe, in spite of what she had seen in his eyes, that his feeling in + the matter was more than jealousy and wounded vanity. + </p> + <p> + “He doesn’t really care for me,” she thought. “It’s his pride that is + hurt. He will flare out at me and break it off. I do hope he’ll get angry. + It will make it so much easier for me.” + </p> + <p> + Late in the afternoon she took Mrs. Carnarvon into her confidence. “I’ve + told Teddy,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I might have known!” exclaimed her cousin. “What on earth made you do + that?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know—perhaps shame.” + </p> + <p> + “Shame—trash! Your life is going to be a fine turmoil if you run to + Teddy with an account of every little mild flirtation you happen to have. + Of all the imbeciles, the most imbecile is the woman who confesses.” + </p> + <p> + “But how could I marry him when——” + </p> + <p> + “When you don’t love him?” + </p> + <p> + “No—I might have done that. I like him. But, when I love another + man.” + </p> + <p> + “It does make a difference. But you ought to be able to foresee that + you’ll get over Howard in a few weeks——” + </p> + <p> + “Precisely what Teddy said.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he? I’m surprised at his having so much sense. For, if you’ll forgive + me, I don’t think Teddy will ever set New York on fire—at least, + he’s—well, he has the makings of an ideal husband. And has he broken + it off?” + </p> + <p> + “No. He wouldn’t have it.” + </p> + <p> + “Really? Well he <i>is</i> in love. Most men in his position—able to + get any girl he wants—would have thrown up the whole business. Yes, + he must be awfully in love.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think that?” Marian’s voice spoke distress but she felt only + satisfaction. “Oh, I hope not—that is, I’d like to think he cared a + great deal and at the same time I don’t want to hurt him.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t fret yourself about these two men. Just go on thinking as you + please. You’ll be surprised how soon Howard will fade.” Mrs. Carnarvon + smiled satirically at some thought—perhaps a memory. “You’re a good + deal of a goose, my dear, but you are a great deal more of a woman. That’s + why I feel sure that Teddy will win.” + </p> + <p> + With such an opportunity—with the field clear and the woman + half-remorseful over her treachery, half-indignant at the man who had + shown himself so weak and spiritless—a cleverer or a less vain man + than Danvers would have triumphed easily. And for the first week he did + make progress. He acted upon the theory that Marian had been hypnotized + and that the proper treatment was to ignore her delusion and to treat her + with assiduous but not annoying consideration. He did not pose as an + injured or jealous lover. He was the friend, always at her service, always + thinking out plans for her amusement. He made no reference to their + engagement or to Howard. + </p> + <p> + Several people of their set were at the hotel and Marian was soon drifting + back into her accustomed modes of thought. The wider horizon which she + fancied Howard had shown her was growing dim and hazy. The horizon which + he had made her think narrow was beginning again to seem the only one. + This meant Danvers; but he was not acute enough to understand her and to + follow up his advantage. + </p> + <p> + One morning as he was walking up and down under the palms, waiting for + Mrs. Carnarvon and Marian, Mrs. Fortescue called him. She was a cold, + rather handsome woman. In her eyes was the expression that always betrays + the wife or the mistress who loathes the man she lives with, enduring him + only because he gives her that which she most wants—money. She had + one fixed idea—to marry her daughter “well,” that is, to money. + </p> + <p> + “Can you join us to-day, Teddy?” she asked. “We need one more man.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m waiting for Mrs. Carnarvon and Marian,” he explained. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, of course.” Mrs. Fortescue smiled. “What a nice girl she is—so + clever, so—so independent. I admired her immensely for deciding to + marry that poor, obscure young fellow. I like to see the young people + romantic.” + </p> + <p> + Danvers flushed angrily and pulled at his mustache. He tried to smile. + “We’ve teased her about it a good deal,” he said, “but she denies it.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose they aren’t ready to announce the engagement yet,” Mrs. + Fortescue suggested. “I suppose they are waiting until he betters his + position a little. It’s never a good idea to have too long a time between + the announcement and the marriage.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps that is it.” Danvers tried to look indifferent but his eyes were + sullen with jealousy. + </p> + <p> + “I always rather thought that you and Marian were going to make a match of + it,” continued Mrs. Fortescue. Just then her daughter came down the walk. + She was fashionably dressed in white and blue that brought out all the + loveliness of her golden hair and violet eyes and faintly-coloured, smooth + fair skin. Danvers had not seen her since she “came out,” and was dazzled + by her radiance. + </p> + <p> + They say that every man must be a little in love with every pretty woman + he sees. And Danvers at once gave Ellen Fortescue her due. She sat silent + beside her mother, looking the personification of innocence, purity and + poetry. Her mother continued subtly to poison Danvers against Marian, to + make him feel that she had not appreciated him, that she had trifled with + him, that she had not treated him as his dignity and importance merited. + When she and Mrs. Carnarvon appeared, he joined them tardily, after having + made an arrangement with the Fortescues for the next day. + </p> + <p> + That evening he danced several times with Ellen Fortescue and adopted the + familiar lover’s tactics—he set about making Marian jealous. He + scored the customary success. When she went to bed she lay for several + hours looking out into the moonlight, raging against the Fortescues and + against Danvers. The mere fact that a man whom she regarded as hers was + permitting himself to show marked attention to another woman would have + been sufficient. But in addition, Marian was perfectly aware of the + material advantages of this particular man. She did not want to marry him; + at least she was of that mind at the moment. But she might change her + mind. Certainly, if there was to be any breaking off, she wished it to be + of her doing. She did not fancy the idea of him departing joyfully. + </p> + <p> + She was far too wise to show that she saw what was going on. She praised + Miss Fortescue to Danvers with apparent frankness and insisted on him + devoting more time to her. Danvers persisted in his scheme boldly for a + week and then, just as Marian was despairing and was casting about for + another plan of campaign, he gave in. They were sitting apart in the + shadow near one of the windows of the ball-room. He had been sullen all + the evening, almost rude. + </p> + <p> + “How much longer are you going to keep me in suspense?” he burst out + angrily. + </p> + <p> + “In suspense?” + </p> + <p> + “You know what I mean. I think I’ve been very patient.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean our engagement?” Marian was looking at him, repelled by his + expression, his manner, the tone of his voice, his whole mood. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—I want your decision.” + </p> + <p> + “I have not changed.” + </p> + <p> + “You still love that—that newspaper fellow?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don’t mean that.” Marian felt her irritation against Danvers + suddenly vanish and in its place a Sense of relief and of calmness. “I + mean toward you. It won’t do, Teddy. We shall get on well as friends. But + I can’t think of you in—in that way.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Fortescue had so swollen his vanity that he was astounded at Marian’s + decision. He rapidly went over in his mind all the advantages he offered + as a husband, and then looked at her as if he thought her beside herself. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Marian,” he protested. “You can’t mean it. Why, it’s all + settled that we are to marry. It would be madness for you to break it off. + I can give you everything—everything. And he can’t give you + anything.” Then with fatal tactlessness: “He won’t even give you the + little that he can, according to your own story.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it’s madness, isn’t it, Teddy, to refuse you—fascinating you, + who can give everything. But that’s just it. You have too much. You + overwhelm me. I should feel like a cheat, taking so much and giving so + little.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t,” he begged, his self-complacence and superiority all gone. “Don’t + mind my blundering, please, dear. I want you. I can’t say it. I haven’t + any gift of words. But you’ve known me all my life and you know that I + love you. I’ve set my heart on it, Mary Ann,”—it was the name he + used to tease her with when they were children playing together—“You + won’t go back on me now, will you?” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could do as you wish, Teddy.” Marian was forgetful of everything + but the unhappiness she was causing this friend of so many, many years and + of so many, many memories. “But I can’t—I can’t.” + </p> + <p> + “Marry me, dear, anyhow. You will care afterward.” Marian was silent and + Danvers hoped. “You know all about me. I’ll not give you any surprises. I + shan’t bother you. And I’ll make you happy.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said firmly. “You mustn’t ask it. I’ll tell you why. I have + thought of marrying you regardless of this. Only last night I thought of + it—finally, went over the whole thing. Listen, Teddy—if I were + married to you—and if he should come—and he would come sooner + or later—if he should come and say ‘Come with me,’—I’d go—yes, + I’m sure I’d go. I can’t explain why. But I know that nothing would stand + in the way—nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “You ought to be ashamed of yourself.” Marian shrank from him. She was + horrified by the malignant fury that sparkled in his eyes and raged in his + voice. “That damned scoundrel is worthy of you and you of him. But I’ll + get you yet. I never was crossed in anything in my life and I’ll not be + beaten here.” + </p> + <p> + “And I thought you were my friend!” Marian was looking at him, pale, her + eyes wide with amazement. “Is it really you?” + </p> + <p> + He laughed insolently. “Yes—you’ll see. And he’ll see. I’ll crush + him as if he were an egg shell. And as for you—you perjurer—you + liar!” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her with coarse contempt, rose and stalked away. Marian sat + rigid. She was conscious of the insult. But even that humiliation was not + so strong in her mind as the astounding revelation of Danvers. She + remembered that even as his eyes blazed hatred at her, he looked at her, + at her neck, her bare arms, with the baffled desire of brute passion. She + did not fully understand the look, but she felt that it was a degradation + far greater than his insulting words. + </p> + <p> + She slipped, almost skulked to her room, her eyes down, her face in a + burning flush, her scarf drawn tightly about her neck. As her door closed + behind her, she fell upon her bed and began to sob hysterically. She + started up with a scream to find her cousin standing beside her. + </p> + <p> + “I’m so sorry. Forgive me.” Mrs. Carnarvon’s voice had lost its wonted + levity. “I saw that you were in trouble and followed. I knocked and I + thought I heard you answer. What is it, Marie? May I ask? Can I do + anything?” + </p> + <p> + Marian drew her down to the bed and buried her face in her lap. “Oh, I + feel so unclean,” she said. “It was—Teddy. Would you believe it, + Jessie, Teddy! I looked on him as a brother. And he showed me that he was + not my friend—that he didn’t even love me—that he—oh, I + shall never forget the look in his eyes. He made me feel like a—like + a <i>thing</i>.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Carnarvon smothered a smile. “Of course Teddy’s a brute,” she said. + “I thought you knew. He’s a domesticated brute, like most of the men and + some of the women. You’ll have to get used to that.” + </p> + <p> + By refusing to fall in with her mood, Mrs. Carnarvon had gone far toward + curing it. Marian stopped sobbing and presently said: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I know all that. But I didn’t expect it from Teddy—and toward + me. And—” she shuddered—“I was thinking, actually thinking of + marrying him. I wish never to see him again. And he pretended to be my + friend!” + </p> + <p> + “And he was, no doubt, until he got you on the brain in another way, in + the way he calls love. There isn’t any love that has friendship in it.” + </p> + <p> + “We must go away at once.” + </p> + <p> + “Unless Teddy saves us the trouble by going first, as I suspect he will.” + </p> + <p> + “Jessie, he hates me and—and—Mr. Howard.” + </p> + <p> + “So you talked to him about Howard again, did you?” Mrs. Carnarvon was + indignant. “You are old enough to know better, Marian. You carry frankness + entirely too far. There is such a thing as truth running amuck.” + </p> + <p> + “He said he would crush Howard. And I believe he really meant it.” + </p> + <p> + “Teddy is a man who believes in revenges—or thinks he does. His + father taught him to keep accounts in grievances, and no doubt he has + opened an account with Howard. But don’t be disturbed about it. His father + would have insisted on balancing the account. Teddy will just keep on + hating, but won’t do anything. He’s not underhanded.” + </p> + <p> + “He’s everything that is vile and low.” + </p> + <p> + “You’re quite mistaken, my dear. He’s what they call a manly fellow—a + little too masculine perhaps, but——” + </p> + <p> + A knock interrupted and Mrs. Carnarvon, answering it, took from the + bell-boy a note for Marian who read it, then handed it to her. Mrs. + Carnarvon read: “I apologise for the way I said what I did this evening, + not for what I said. Because you had forgotten yourself, had played the + traitor and the cheat was, perhaps, no excuse for my rudeness. You have + fallen under an evil influence. I hope no harm will come to you, for I + can’t get over my feeling for you. But I have done my best and have not + been able to save you. I am going away early in the morning. + </p> + <h3> + “E. D.” + </h3> + <p> + “Melodramatic, isn’t it?” laughed Mrs. Carnarvon. “So he’s off. How + furious Martha Fortescue and Ellen will be. But they’ll go in pursuit, and + they’ll get him. A man is never so susceptible as when he’s + broken-hearted. Well, I must go. Good-night, dear. Don’t mope and whine. + Take your punishment sensibly. You’ve learned something—if it’s only + not to tell one man how much you love another.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I’ll go abroad with Aunt Retta next month.” + </p> + <p> + “A good idea—you’ll forget both these men. Good-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-night,” answered Marian dolefully, expecting to resume her thoughts + of Danvers. But, instead, he straightway disappeared from her mind and she + could think only of Howard. She was free now. The one barrier between him + and her of which she had been really conscious was gone. And her heart + began to ache with longing for him. Why had he not written? What was he + doing? Did he really love her or was his passion for her only a flash of a + strong and swift imagination? + </p> + <p> + No, he loved her—she could not doubt that. But she could not + understand his conduct. She felt that she ought to be very unhappy, yet + she was not. The longer she thought of him and the more she weighed his + words and looks, the stronger became her trust in him. “He loves me,” she + said. “He will come when he can. It may be even harder for him than for + me.” + </p> + <p> + And so, explanation failing—for she rejected every explanation that + reflected upon him—she hid and excused him behind that familiar + refuge of the doubting, mystery. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIV. — THE NEWS-RECORD GETS A NEW EDITOR. + </h2> + <p> + A few minutes after leaving Marian that last night at Mrs. Carnarvon’s, + Howard was deep in a mood of self-contempt. He felt that he had faced the + crisis like a coward. He despised the weakness which enfeebled him for + effort to win her and at the same time made it impossible for him to + thrust her from his mind. + </p> + <p> + In the working hours his will conquered with the aid of fixed habit and he + was able to concentrate upon his editorials. But in his rooms, and + especially after the lights were out, his imagination became master, + deprived him of sleep and occasionally lifted him to a height of hope in + order that it might dash him down the more cruelly upon the rocks of fact. + </p> + <p> + At last he was forced to face the situation—in his own evasive + fashion. It was impossible to go back. That loneliness which often + threatened him after Alice’s death had become the permanent condition of + his life. “I will work for her,” he said. “Until I have made a place for + her I dare not claim her. So much I will concede to my weakness. But when + I have won a position which reasonably assures the future, I shall claim + her—no matter what has happened in the meanwhile.” + </p> + <p> + He would have smiled at this wild resolution had he been in a less + distracted state of mind or had he been dealing with any other than a + matter of love. But in the circumstances it gave him heart and set him to + work with an energy and effectiveness which still further increased Mr. + Malcolm’s esteem for him. + </p> + <p> + “Will you dine with me at the Union Club on Wednesday?” Mr. Malcolm asked + one morning in mid-February. “Mr. Coulter and Mr. Stokely are coming. I + want you to know them better.” + </p> + <p> + Howard accepted and wondered that he took so little interest. For Stokely + and Coulter were the principal stockholders of the <i>News-Record</i>, and + with Malcolm formed the triumvirate which directed it in all its + departments. Mr. Malcolm held only a few shares of stock, but received + what was in the newspaper-world an immense salary—thirty thousand a + year. He was at once an able editor and an able diplomatist. He knew how + to make the plans of his two associates conform to conditions of news and + policy—when to let them use the paper, or, rather, when to use the + paper himself for their personal interests; when and how to induce them to + let the paper alone. Through a quarter of a century of changing ownerships + Malcolm had persisted, chiefly because he had but one conviction—that + the post of editor of the <i>News-Record</i> exactly suited him and must + remain his at any sacrifice of personal character. + </p> + <p> + Howard had met Stokely and Coulter. He liked Stokely who was owner of a + few shares more than one-third; he disliked Coulter who owned just under + one-half. + </p> + <p> + Stokely was a frank, coarse, dollar-hunter, cheerfully unscrupulous in a + large way, acute, caring not at all for principles of any kind, letting + the paper alone most of the time because he was astute enough to know that + in his ignorance of journalism he would surely injure it as a property. + </p> + <p> + Coulter was a hypocrite and a snob. Also he fancied he knew how to conduct + a newspaper. He was as unscrupulous as Stokely but tried to mask it. + </p> + <p> + When Stokely wished the <i>News-Record</i> to advocate a “job,” or steal, + or the election of some disreputable who would work in his interest, he + told Malcolm precisely what he wanted and left the details of the + stultification to his experienced adroitness. When Coulter wished to + “poison the fountain of publicity,” as Malcolm called the paper’s + departures from honesty and right, he approached the subject by stealth, + trying to convince Malcolm that the wrong was not really wrong, but was + right unfortunately disguised. + </p> + <p> + He would take Malcolm into his confidence by slow and roundabout steps, + thus multiplying his difficulties in discharging his “duty.” If Coulter’s + son had not been married to Malcolm’s daughter, it is probable that not + even his complete subserviency would have enabled him to keep his place. + </p> + <p> + “If you had told me frankly what you wanted in the first place, Mr. + Coulter,” he said after an exasperating episode in which Coulter’s + Pharisaic sensitiveness had resulted in Malcolm’s having to “flop” the + paper both editorially and in its news columns twice in three days, “we + would not have made ourselves ridiculous and contemptible. The public is + an ass, but it is an ass with a memory at least three days long. Your + stealthiness has made the ass bray at us instead of with and for us. And + that is dangerous when you consider that running a newspaper is like + running a restaurant—you must please your customers every day + afresh.” + </p> + <p> + Coulter was further difficult because of his anxieties about social + position for himself and his family. He was disturbed whenever the <i>News-Record</i> + published an item that might offend any of the people whose acquaintance + he had gained with so much difficulty, and for whose good will he was + willing to sacrifice even considerable money. Personally, but very + privately, he edited the <i>News-Record’s</i> “fashionable intelligence” + columns on Sunday and made them an exhibit of his own sycophancy and + snobbishness which excited the amused disgust of all who were in the + secret. + </p> + <p> + Malcolm liked Howard, admired him, in a way envied his fearlessness, his + earnestness for principles. For years he had had it in mind to retire and + write a history of the Civil War period which had been his own period of + greatest activity and most intimate acquaintance with the + behind-the-scenes of statecraft. Howard’s energy, steady application, + enthusiasm for journalism and intelligence both as to editorials and as to + news made Malcolm look upon him as his natural successor. + </p> + <p> + “I think Howard is the man we want,” he said to his two associates when he + was arranging the dinner. “He has new ideas—just what the paper + needs. He is in touch with these recent developments. And above all he has + judgment. He knows what not to print, where and how to print what ought to + be printed. He is still young and is over-enthusiastic. He has + limitations, but he knows them and he is eager and capable to learn.” + </p> + <p> + It was a “shop” dinner, Howard doing most of the talking, led on by + Malcolm. The main point was the “new journalism,” as it was called, and + how to adapt it to the <i>News-Record</i> and the <i>News-Record</i> to + it. + </p> + <p> + Malcolm kept the conversation closely to news and news-ideas, fearing + that, if editorial policies were brought in, Howard would make “breaks.” + He soon saw that his associates were much impressed with Howard, with his + judgment, with his knowledge of the details of every important newspaper + in the city, with his analysis of the good and bad points in each. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll drop you at your corner,” said he to Howard at the end of the + dinner. As they drove up the Avenue he began: “How would you like to be + the editor of the <i>News-Record</i>? My place, I mean.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand,” Howard answered, bewildered. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to retire at once,” Malcolm went on. “I’ve been at it nearly + fifty years—ever since I was a boy of eighteen and I’ve been in + charge there almost a quarter of a century. I think I’ve earned a few + years of leisure to work for my own amusement. I’m pretty sure they’ll + want you to take my place. Would you like it?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not fit for it,” Howard said, and he meant it. “I’m only an + apprentice. I’m always making blunders—but I needn’t tell you about + that.” + </p> + <p> + “You can’t say that you are not fit until you have tried. Besides, the + question is not, are <i>you</i> fit? but, is there any one more fit than + you? I confess I don’t see any one so well equipped, so certain to give + the paper all of the best that there is in him.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I’d like to try. I can only fail.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you won’t fail. But you may quarrel with Stokely and Coulter—especially + Coulter. In fact, I’m sure you’ll quarrel with them. But if you make + yourself valuable enough, you’ll probably win out. Only——” + </p> + <p> + Malcolm hesitated, then went on: + </p> + <p> + “I stopped giving advice years ago. But I’ll venture a suggestion. + Whenever your principles run counter to the policy of the paper, it would + be wise to think the matter over carefully before making an issue. Usually + there is truth on both sides, much that can be said fairly and honestly + for either side. Often devotion to principle is a mere prejudice. Often + the crowd, the mob, can be better controlled to right ends by conceding or + seeming to concede a principle for the time. Don’t strike a mortal blow at + your own usefulness to good causes by making yourself a hasty martyr to + some fancied vital principle that will seem of no consequence the next + morning but one after the election.” + </p> + <p> + “I know, Mr. Malcolm, judgment is all but impossible. And I have been + trying to learn what you have been teaching me with your blue pencil, what + you now put into words. But there is something in me—an instinct, + perhaps—that forces me on in spite of myself. I’ve learned to curb + and guide it to a certain extent, but as long as I am I, I shall never + learn to control it. Every man must work out his own salvation along his + own lines. And with my limitations of judgment, it would be fatal to me, I + feel, to study the art of compromise. Where another, broader, stronger, + more master of himself and of others, would succeed by compromising, I + should fail miserably. I should be lost, compassless, rudderless. I have + often envied you your calmness, your ability to see not only to-morrow but + the day after. But, if I ever try to imitate you, I shall make a sad mess + of my career.” + </p> + <p> + As he ended Howard looked uneasily at the old editor, expecting to see + that caustic smile with which he preceded and accompanied his sarcasms at + “sentimental bosh.” But instead, Malcolm’s face was melancholy; and his + voice was sad and weary as he answered the young man who was just starting + where he had started so many years ago: + </p> + <p> + “No doubt you are right. I’m not intending to try to dissuade you from—from + the best there is in you. All I mean is that caution, self-examination, + self-doubt, calm consideration of the other side—these are as + necessary to success as energy and resolute action. All I suggest is that + its splendour does not redeem a splendid folly. Its folly remains its + essential characteristic.” + </p> + <p> + Three weeks later Howard became editor-in-chief of the <i>News-Record</i>. + His salary was fifteen thousand a year; and Stokely and Coulter, acting + upon Malcolm’s advice, gave him a “free hand” for one year. They agreed + not to interfere during that time unless the circulation or the profits + showed a decrease at the end of a quarter. + </p> + <p> + The next morning Howard, in the Madison Avenue car on his way to the + office, read among the “Incidents in Society:” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. George Alexander Provost and her niece, Miss Marion Trevor, sailed in + the <i>Campania</i> yesterday. They will return in July for the Newport + season. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XV. — YELLOW JOURNALISM. + </h2> + <p> + While several of the New York dailies were circulating from two to three + hundred thousand copies, the <i>News-Record</i>—the best-written, + the most complete, and, where the interests of the owners did not + interfere, the most accurate—circulated less than one hundred + thousand. The Sunday edition had a circulation of one hundred and fifty + thousand where two other newspapers had almost half a million. + </p> + <p> + The theory of the <i>News-Record</i> staff was that their journal was too + “respectable,” too intelligent, to be widely read; that the “yellow + journals” grovelled, “appealed to the mob,” drew their vast crowds by the + methods of the fakir and the freak. They professed pride in the <i>News-Record’s</i> + smaller circulation as proof of its freedom from vulgarity and debasement. + They looked down upon the journalists of the popular newspapers and posed + as the aristocracy of the profession. + </p> + <p> + Howard did not assent to these self-complacent excuses. He was democratic + and modern, and the aristocratic pose appealed only to his sense of humour + and his suspicions. He believed that the success of the “yellow journals” + with the most intelligent, alert and progressive public in the world must + be based upon solid reasons of desert, must be in spite of, not because + of, their follies and exhibitions of bad taste. He resolved upon a radical + departure, a revolution from the policy of satisfying petty vanity and + tradition within the office to a policy of satisfying the demands of the + public. + </p> + <p> + He gave Segur temporary charge of the editorial page, and, taking a desk + in the news-room, centred his attention upon news and the news-staff. But + he was careful not to agitate and antagonise those whose coöperation was + necessary to success. He made only one change in the management; he + retired old Bowring on a pension and appointed to the city editorship one + of the young reporters—Frank Cumnock. + </p> + <p> + He chose Cumnock for this position, in many respects the most important on + the staff of a New York daily, because he wrote well, was a judge of good + writing, had a minute knowledge of New York and its neighbourhood and, + finally and chiefly, because he had a “news-sense,” keener than that of + any other man on the paper. + </p> + <p> + For instance, there was the murder of old Thayer, the rich miser in East + Sixteenth Street. It was the sensation in all the newspapers for two + weeks. Then they dropped it as an unsolvable mystery. Cumnock persuaded + Mr. Bowring to let him keep on. After five days’ work he heard of a deaf + and dumb woman who sat every afternoon at a back window of her flat + overlooking the back windows of Thayer’s house. He had a trying struggle + with her infirmity and stupidity, but finally was rewarded. On the + afternoon of the murder, in its very hour (which the police had been able + to discover), she had seen a man and woman in the bathroom of the Thayer + house. Both were agitated and the man washed his hands again and again, + carefully rinsing the bowl afterward. From her description Cumnock got + upon the track of Thayer’s niece and her husband, found the proof of their + guilt, had them watched until the <i>News-Record</i> came out with the + “beat,” then turned them over to the police. + </p> + <p> + Also, Cumnock was keen at taking hints of good news-items concealed in + obscure paragraphs. The Morris Prison scandal was an example of this. He + found in the New England edition of <i>The World</i> a six-line item + giving an astonishing death rate for the Morris Prison. He asked the City + Editor to assign him to go there; and within a week the press of the + entire country was discussing the <i>News-Record’s</i> exposure of the + barbarities of torture and starvation practised by Warden Johnson and his + keepers. + </p> + <p> + “We are going to print the news, all the news and nothing but the news,” + Howard said to Cumnock. “They’ve put you here because, so they tell me, + you know news no matter how thoroughly it is concealed or disguised. And I + assure you that no one shall interfere with you. No favours to anybody; no + use of the news-columns for revenge or exploitation. The only questions a + news-item need raise in your mind are: Is it true? Is it interesting? Is + it printable in a newspaper that will publish anything which a + healthy-minded grown-person wishes to read?” + </p> + <p> + “Is that ‘straight’?” asked Cumnock. “No favourites? No suppressions? No + exploitations?” + </p> + <p> + “‘Straight’—‘dead straight’! And if I were you I’d make this + particularly clear to the Wall Street and political men. If anybody”—with + stress upon the anybody—“comes to you about this, send him to me.” + </p> + <p> + Howard was uneasy about the managing editor, Mr. King. But he soon found + that his fears were groundless. Mr. King was without petty vanity, and + cordially and sincerely welcomed his control. + </p> + <p> + “We look too dull,” King began when Howard asked him if he had any changes + to suggest. “We need more and bigger headlines, and we need pictures.” + </p> + <p> + “That is it!” Howard was delighted to find that King and he were in + perfect accord. “But we must not have pictures unless we can have the + best. Just at present we can’t increase expenses by any great amount. What + do you say to trying what we can do with all the news, larger headlines + and plenty of leads?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure we can do better with our class of readers by livening up the + appearance of our headlines than we could with second-rate pictures.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope,” Howard said earnestly, “that we won’t have to use that phrase—‘our + class of readers’—much longer. Our paper should interest every man + and woman able to read. It seems to me that a newspaper’s audience should + be like that of a good play—the orchestra chairs full and the last + seat in the gallery taken. I suppose you know we’re not an ‘organ’ any + longer?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I didn’t.” Mr. King looked surprised. “Do you mean to say that we’re + free to print the news?” + </p> + <p> + “Free as freedom. In our news columns we’re neither Democrat nor + Republican nor Mugwump nor Reform. We have no Wall Street or social + connections. We are going to print a newspaper—all the news and + nothing but the news.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. King drummed on his desk softly with the tips of his outstretched + fingers. “Hum—hum,” he said. “This <i>is</i> news. Well—the + circulation’ll go up. And that’s all I’m interested in.” + </p> + <p> + Howard went about his plans quietly. He avoided every appearance of + exerting authority, disturbed not a wheel in the great machine. He made + his changes so subtly that those who received the suggestions often came + to him a few days afterward, proposing as their own the very plans he had + hinted. He was thus cautious partly because of his experience of the + vanity of men, their sensitiveness to criticism, their instinctive + opposition to improvement from without; partly from his knowledge of the + hysteria which raged in the offices of the “yellow journals.” He wished to + avoid an epidemic of that hysteria—the mad rush for sensation and + novelty; the strife of opposing ambitions; the plotting and + counter-plotting of rival heads of departments; the chaos out of which the + craziest ideas often emerged triumphant, making the pages of the paper + look like a series of disordered dreams. + </p> + <p> + He was indifferent to the semblance of authority, to the shadows for which + small men are forever struggling. What he wanted, all he wanted, was—results. + </p> + <p> + The first opposition came from the night editor, who for twenty-six years, + his weekly “night off” and his two weeks’ vacation in summer excepted, had + “made up” the paper—that is to say, had defined, with the advice and + consent of the managing editor, the position and order of the various news + items. This night editor, Mr. Vroom, was a strenuous conservative. He + believed that an editor’s duty was done when he had intelligently arranged + his paper so that the news was placed before the reader in the order of + its importance. Big headlines, attempts at effect with varying sizes of + large type and varying column-widths he held to be crowd-catching devices, + vulgar and debasing. He had no sympathy with Howard’s theory that the + first object of a newspaper published in a democratic republic is to catch + the crowd, to interest it, to compel it to read, and so to lead it to + think. + </p> + <p> + “We’re on the way to scuffling in the gutter with the ‘yellow journals’ + for the pennies of the mob,” he was saying sarcastically to Mr. King, one + afternoon just as Howard joined them. + </p> + <p> + Howard laughed. “Not on the way to the gutter, Mr. Vroom. Actually in the + gutter, actually scuffling.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’m frank to say that I don’t like it. A newspaper ought to appeal + to the intelligent.” + </p> + <p> + “To intelligence, yes; to the intelligent, no. At least in my opinion, + that is the right theory. We want people to read us because we’re + intelligent enough to know how to please them, not because they’re + intelligent enough to overcome the difficulties we put in their way. But + let’s go out to dinner this evening and talk it over.” + </p> + <p> + They dined together at Mouquin’s every night for a week. At the end of + that time Vroom, still sarcastic and grumbling, was a convert. And a great + accession Howard found him. He had sound judgment as to the value of + news-items—what demanded first page, the “show-window,” because it + would interest everybody; what was worth a line on an inside page because + it would interest only a few thousands. He was the most skillful of the <i>News-Record’s</i> + many good writers of headlines, a master of that, for the newspaper, art + of arts—condensed and interesting statement, alluring the glancing + reader to read on. Also he had an eye for effects with type. “You make + every page a picture,” Howard said to him. “It is wonderful how you + balance your headlines, emphasising the important news yet saving the + minor items from obscurity. I should like to see the paper you would make + if you had the right sort of illustrations to put in.” + </p> + <p> + Vroom was amazed at himself. He who had opposed any “head” which broke the + column rule was now so far degenerated into a “yellow journalist” that, + when Howard spoke of illustrations, he actually longed to test his skill + at distributing them effectively. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Two months of hard work, tedious, because necessarily so indirect, + produced a newspaper which was “on the right lines,” as Howard understood + right lines. And he felt that the time had come to make the necessary + radical changes in the editorial page. + </p> + <p> + The <i>News-Record</i> had long posed as independent because it supported + now one political party and now the other, or divided its support. But + this superficial independence was in reality subservience to the financial + interests of the two principal owners. They made their newspaper assail + Republican or Democratic corruption and misgovernment in city, state or + nation, according as their personal interests lay. They used the editorial + page and, to even better advantage, the news-columns, in revenging + themselves for too heavy levies of blackmail upon their corrupt interests + or in securing unjust legislation and privileges. + </p> + <p> + Obedient and cynical Mr. Malcolm had made the editorial page corrupt and + brilliant—never so effective as when assailing a good cause. The + great misfortune of good causes is that they attract so many fatal friends—the + superciliously conscientious; the well-meaning but feeble-minded and + blundering; the most offensive because least deceptive kinds of + hypocrites. Mr. Malcolm, as acute as he was intellectually unscrupulous, + well understood how to weaken or to ruin a just cause through these + supporters. Sometimes he stood afar off, showering the poisoned arrows of + raillery and satire. Again he was the plain-spoken friend of the cause and + warned its honest supporters against these “fool friends” whom he + pretended to regard as its leaders. Again he played the part of a blind + enthusiast and praised folly as wisdom and urged it on to more damaging + activities. + </p> + <p> + “We abhor humbug here,” he used to say; and perhaps he did in a measure + excuse himself to his conscience with the phrase. But in fact his + editorial page was usually a succession of humbugs, of brilliant + hypocrisies and cheats perpetrated under the guise of exposing humbug. + </p> + <p> + Just as Howard was ready to reverse Malcolm’s editorial programme, New + York was seized with one of its “periodic spasms of virtue.” The city + government was, as usual, in the hands of the two bosses who owned the two + political machines. One was taking the responsibility and the larger share + of the spoils; the other was maintaining him in power and getting the + smaller but a satisfactory share. The alliance between the police and + criminal vice had become so open and aggressive under this bi-boss + patronage that the people were aroused and indignant. But as they had no + capable leaders and no way of selecting leaders, there arose a + self-constituted leadership of uptown Phariseeism and sentimentality, + planning the “purification” of the city. + </p> + <p> + Every man of sense knowing human nature and the conditions of city life + knew that this plan was foredoomed to ridiculous failure, and that the + event would be a popular revulsion against “reform.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not speak the truth about these vice-hunters?” Howard was discussing + the situation with three of his editorial writers—Segur, Huntington + and Montgomery. + </p> + <p> + “It’s mighty dangerous,” Montgomery objected. “You will be sticking knives + into a sacred Anglo-Saxon hypocrisy.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, we’ll have all the good people about our ears,” said Segur. “We’ll + be denounced as a defender of depravity, a foe of purity. They’ll thunder + away at us from every pulpit. The other newspapers will take it up, + especially those that expect to sell millions of papers containing + accounts of the ‘exposure’ of the dives and dens.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s good. I hope we shall,” said Howard cheerfully. “It will advertise + us tremendously.” + </p> + <p> + The three were better pleased than they would have admitted to themselves + by the seeming certainty of Howard’s impending undoing. + </p> + <p> + “No, gentlemen,” Howard said, as they were about to go to their rooms for + the day’s work. “There’s no danger in attacking any hypocrisy. Don’t + attack beliefs that are universal or nearly universal—at least not + openly. But don’t be afraid of a hypocrisy because it is universal. People + know that they are hypocrites in respect of it. They may not have the + courage publicly to applaud you. But they’ll be privately delighted and + will admire your courage. We’ll try to be discreet and we’ll be careful to + be truthful. And we’ll begin by making these gentlemen show themselves + up.” + </p> + <p> + The next morning the <i>News-Record</i> published a double-leaded + editorial. It described the importance of improving political and social + conditions in New York; it went on to note the distinguished names on the + committee for the destruction of vice; it closed with the announcement + that on the following day the <i>News-Record</i> would publish the views + of these eminent reformers upon conditions and remedies. + </p> + <p> + The next day he printed the interviews—a collection of curiosities + in utopianism, cant, ignorant fanaticism, provincialism, hypocrisy. These + appeared strictly as news; for the cardinal principle of Howard’s theory + of a newspaper was that it had no right to intrude its own views into its + news-columns. On the editorial page he riddled the interviews. By adroit + quotations, by contrasting one with another, he showed, or rather made the + so-called reformers themselves show, that where they were sincere they + were in the main silly, and where they were plausible they were in the + main insincere; that every man of them had his own pet scheme for the + salvation of wicked New York; and that they could not possibly accomplish + anything more valuable than leading the people on the familiar, aimless, + demoralizing excursion through the slums. + </p> + <p> + On the following day he frankly laughed at them as a lot of impracticables + who either did not know the patent facts of city life or refused to admit + those facts. And he turned his attention to the real problem, a + respectable administration for the city—a practical end which could + easily be accomplished by practical action. From day to day he kept this + up, publishing a splendid series of articles, humorous, witty, satirical, + eloquent, bold, with a dominant strain of sincerity and plain common + sense. As his associates had predicted, a storm gathered and burst in fury + about the <i>News-Record</i>. It was denounced by “leading citizens,” + including many of the clergy. Its “esteemed” contemporaries published and + endorsed and amplified the abuse. And its circulation went up at the rate + of five thousand a day. + </p> + <p> + When the storm was at its height, when the whole town seemed to be + agreeing with the angry reformers but was quietly laughing at their folly + and hypocrisy, Howard threw his bomb. On a Saturday morning he gave half + of his first page with big but severely impartial headlines to an analysis + of the members of the vice committee—a broadside of facts often + hinted but never before verified and published. First came those who owned + property and sub-let it for vicious purposes, the property and purpose + specified in detail; then those who were directors in corporations which + had got corrupt privileges from the local boss, the privileges being + carefully specified, and also the amounts of which they had robbed the + city. Last came those who were directors in corporations which had bought + from the State-boss injustices and licenses to rob, the specifications + given in damning detail. + </p> + <p> + His leading editorial was entitled “Why We Don’t Have Decent Government.” + It was powerful in its simplicity, its merciless raillery and irony; and + only at the very end did it contain passion. There, in a few eloquent + sentences he arraigned these professed reformers who were growing rich + through the boss-system, who were trafficking with the bosses and were now + engaged in wrecking the hopes of honesty and decency. On that day the <i>News-Record’s</i> + circulation went up thirty thousand. The town rang with its “exposure” and + the attention of the whole country was arrested. It was one of the + historic “beats” of New York journalism. The reputation of the <i>News-Record</i> + for fearlessness and truth-telling and news-enterprise was established. At + abound it had become the most conspicuous and one of the most powerful + journals in New York. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVI. — MR. STOKELY IS TACTLESS. + </h2> + <p> + Howard, riding in the Park one morning late in the spring, came upon Mrs. + Carnarvon. She gave him no chance to evade her, but joined him and + accommodated her horse’s pace to his. + </p> + <p> + “And are you still on the <i>News-Record?</i>” she said. “I hope not.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” Howard was smiling, glad to get an outside view of what he had been + doing. + </p> + <p> + “Because it’s become so sensational. It used to be such a nice paper. And + now—gracious, what headlines! What attacks on the very best people + in the town!” + </p> + <p> + “Dreadful, isn’t it?” laughed Howard. “We’ve become so depraved that we + are actually telling the truth about somebodies instead of only about + nobodies.” + </p> + <p> + “I might have known that you would sympathise with that sort of thing.” + Mrs. Carnarvon was teasing, yet reproachful. “You always were an + anarchist.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it anarchistic to be no respecter of persons and to put big headlines + over big items and little headlines over little items?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you know what I mean. You are encouraging the unruly classes.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear me! And we thought we were fighting the unruly class. We thought + that it was our friends—or rather, your friends—the franchise + grabbers and legislature-buyers who won’t obey the laws unless the laws + happen to suit their convenience. They’re the only unruly class I know + anything about. I’ve heard of another kind but I’ve never been able to + find it. And I never hear much about it except when a lot of big rascals + are making off weighted down with plunder. They always shout back over + their shoulders: ‘Don’t raise a disturbance or you’ll arouse the unruly + classes.’” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Carnarvon was laughing. “You put it well,” she said, “and I’m not + clever enough to answer you. But they all tell me the <i>News-Record</i> + has become a dangerous paper, that it’s attacking everybody who has + anything.” + </p> + <p> + “Anything he has stolen, yes. But that’s all.” + </p> + <p> + “You can’t get me to sympathise with you. I like well-dressed, + well-mannered people who speak good English.” + </p> + <p> + “So do I. That’s why I’m doing all in my power to improve the conditions + for making more and more people of the sort one likes to talk to and dine + with.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I thought you sympathised with the lower classes.” + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit of it. Who has been maligning me to you? I abhor the lower + classes—so much so that I wish to see them abolished.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you’ll have to blame Marian for misleading me.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Trevor? How is she?” Mrs. Carnarvon was looking closely at him, and + he was not sure that he succeeded in showing nothing more than friendly + interest. + </p> + <p> + “Haven’t you heard from her? She’s in England, visiting in Lancashire. You + know her cousin married Lord Cranmore.” + </p> + <p> + “I saw in the papers several months ago that she was going abroad. I + haven’t heard a word since.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Carnarvon started to say something, but changed her mind. + </p> + <p> + “When is she coming home?” + </p> + <p> + “Not until July. You must come to see us at Newport.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing could please me better—if I can get away.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll send you an invitation, although you have treated me very badly of + late. But I suppose you are busy.” + </p> + <p> + “Busy? Isn’t a galley slave always busy?” + </p> + <p> + “Are you still writing editorials?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—and on the fallen <i>News-Record</i>. In fact——” + </p> + <p> + “Well—what?” + </p> + <p> + Howard laughed. “Don’t faint,” he said. “I’ll leave you at once if you + wish me to, and I’ll never give it away that you once knew me. I’m the + editor—the responsible devil for the depravity.” + </p> + <p> + “How interesting!” Mrs. Carnarvon was evidently not disturbed. Then the + American adoration of success came out. “I’m so glad you’re getting on. I + always knew you would. Really, you must come to dinner. I’ll invite some + of the people you’ve been attacking. They’ll like to look at you, and you + will be amused by them. And I don’t in the least mind your giving it to + them if they bait you, as I did this morning. Will you come?” + </p> + <p> + “If I may leave by ten o’clock. I go down town every night.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, when do you sleep?” + </p> + <p> + “Not much, these days. Life’s too interesting to permit of much sleep. + I’ll make up when it slackens a bit.” + </p> + <p> + As he was turning his horse, she said: “Marian’s address is Claridge’s, + Brooke Street, Mayfair. If she isn’t there, they forward her mail.” + </p> + <p> + Howard was puzzled. “What made her give me that address?” he thought. “I + know she didn’t like my seeing so much of Marian. And here she is + practically inviting me to write to her.” He could not understand it. “If + I were not a ‘yellow’ editor and if Marian were not engaged to one of the + richest men in New York, I’d say that this lady was encouraging me.” He + smiled. “Not yet—not just yet.” And he cheerfully urged his horse + into a canter. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Carnarvon’s opinion of the <i>News-Record</i> and its recent + performances fairly represented that of the fashionable and the very rich. + They read it, as they never did before, because it interested them. They + could not deny that what it said was true; that is, they could not deny it + to their own minds, although they did vigorously deny it publicly. Those + who were attacked directly or indirectly, or expected to be attacked, + denounced the paper as an “outrage,” a “disgrace to the city,” a “specimen + of the journalism of the gutter.” Many who were not in sympathy with the + men or the methods assailed thought that its course was “inexpedient,” + “tended to increase discontent among the lower classes,” “weakened the + influence of the better classes.” Only a few of the “triumphant classes” + saw the real value and benefit of the <i>News-Record’s</i> frank attacks + upon greed and hypocrisy, saw that these attacks were not dangerous or + demagogical because they were just and were combined with a careful + avoidance of encouragement to the lazy, the envious, the incompetent and + the ignorant. + </p> + <p> + Fortunately for Howard’s peace, that eminent New York “multi,” Samuel + Jocelyn, for whom Coulter had the highest respect, was of this last class. + When Howard began, Coulter was at Aiken where Jocelyn had a cottage. He + had never been able to make headway with Jocelyn, and Mrs. Jocelyn deigned + to give him and Mrs. Coulter only the coldest of cold nods. Just as + Coulter had become so agitated by Howard’s radical course that he was + preparing to go to New York to remonstrate with him, Jocelyn called. + </p> + <p> + “I came to thank you for what you are doing with your paper,” he said + cordially. “It seems to me that all intelligent men who are not blind to + their own ultimate interests ought to stand by you. I can’t tell you how + much I admire your frankness and honesty. And you draw the line just + right. You attack plunder, you defend property. Will your wife and you + dine with us this evening?” + </p> + <p> + Coulter postponed his trip to New York. + </p> + <p> + On the last day of the first three months the circulation of the <i>News-Record</i> + was 147,253—an increase of 42,150 over what it was on the day Howard + took charge; its advertising had increased twelve per cent; its net + profits for the quarter were seventy-five thousand dollars as against + fifty-seven thousand for the preceding quarter. + </p> + <p> + “Very good indeed,” was Stokely’s comment. + </p> + <p> + “Another quarter like this,” said Howard, “and I’m going to ask you to let + me increase expenses a thousand dollars a week to illustrate the paper.” + </p> + <p> + “We’ll talk that over with Coulter. Personally I like this + ‘yellow-journalism’—when it’s done intelligently. I always told + Coulter we’d have to come to it. It’s only common sense to make a paper + easy reading. Then, too, we can have a great deal more influence—in + fact, we have already. I’m getting what I want up at Albany this winter + much cheaper.” + </p> + <p> + Howard winced. “He made me feel like a blackmailer,” he said to himself + when Stokely had gone. “And I suppose these fellows do look on me as a new + Malcolm with up-to-date tricks. Well, they will see, they will see.” + </p> + <p> + He tried to go on with his work, but Stokely’s cynical words persistently + interrupted him. Why had he not squarely challenged Stokely then and + there? Why had he only winced where a year ago he would have demanded an + explanation? + </p> + <p> + He hated to confess it to himself, he made every effort to smother it, but + the thought still stared him in the face—“I am not so strong in my + ideals of personal character as I was a year ago.” + </p> + <p> + The fact that his present course was profitable gave him, he felt, more + pleasure than the fact that it was right. If the alternative of wealth and + power with self-abasement or poverty, obscurity with self-respect were put + to him now, what would he decide? Would he give up his prospects, his + hopes of Marian and of an easy career? He was afraid to answer. He + contented himself with one of his habitual evasions—“I will settle + that when the time comes. No, Stokely’s remark did not make a crisis. If + the crisis ever does come, surely I will act like a man. I’ll be securer + then, more necessary to this pair of plunderers, able to make better terms + for myself. In practical life, it is necessary to sacrifice something in + order to succeed.” + </p> + <p> + But Stokely’s words and his own silence and the real reasons for his + changing ideals and for his cowardice continued to annoy him. + </p> + <p> + Every day he came down town planning for a better newspaper the next + morning than they had ever made before. And his vigour, his enthusiasm + permeated the entire office. He went from one news department to another, + suggesting, asking for suggestions, praising, criticising judiciously and + with the greatest consideration for vanity. He talked with the reporters, + urging them on by showing keen interest in them and their work, and + intimate knowledge of what they were doing. And he dictated every day + telegrams to correspondents, thanking them for any conspicuously good + stories they had telegraphed in, adding something to the compensation of + those who were paid by space and made little. + </p> + <p> + If his work had not been his amusement the long hours, the constant + application, would have broken him down. But he had no interests outside + the office and he got his mental recreation by shifting his mind from one + department to another. + </p> + <p> + In June his salary was increased to twenty-five thousand a year and his + last lingering feeling of financial insecurity disappeared. For the first + time in his life he felt strong enough to undertake a serious + responsibility, to give hostages to fortune without fear of being unable + to keep faith. He learned from Mrs. Carnarvon that Marian was returning on + the <i>Oceanic</i> on the ninth of July, and he accepted a + Saturday-to-Monday invitation to Newport for the twelfth of July. It was + from Segur that he got the news that Danvers was in Japan and was not + returning until the autumn. + </p> + <p> + On the ninth of July, from the window of his office, he saw the <i>Oceanic</i> + steam up the bay and up the river to her pier. He sent down a request that + the ship-news reporter be sent up as soon as he returned. “Is it a good + story?” he asked when the reporter, Blackwell, entered. “Was there anybody + on board?” + </p> + <p> + “A lot of swell people,” the young man answered; “all the women got up in + the latest Paris gowns.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you notice whether Mrs. Provost came?” + </p> + <p> + “Came? Well, rather, with two French maids chattering and chasing after + her. And there was a tall girl with her, a stunner, a girl she called + ‘Marian, my dear.’” + </p> + <p> + Howard stopped him with “Thank you. Don’t write anything about them.” + </p> + <p> + “It was the best thing I saw—the funniest.” + </p> + <p> + “Well—don’t use the names.” + </p> + <p> + Young Blackwell turned to go. “Oh, I see—friends of yours,” he + smiled. “Very well. I’ll keep ‘em out.” + </p> + <p> + Howard flushed and called him back. “Go ahead,” he said. “Write just what + you were going to. Of course you wouldn’t write anything that was not fair + and truthful. We don’t ‘play favourites’ here. Forget what I said.” + </p> + <p> + And so it came to pass that Mrs. Provost, half pleased, half indignant, + said to Miss Trevor as they sat in the drawing room of the Pullman on the + way to Newport the next day: “Just look at this, Marian dear, in the + horrid <i>News-Record</i>. And it used to be such a nice paper with that + slimy Coulter bowing and scraping to everybody.” + </p> + <p> + “This” was Mrs. Provost and her dogs and her maids and her asides to + “Marian dear,” described with accuracy and a keen sense of the ludicrous. + </p> + <p> + “It’s too dreadful,” she continued. “There is no such thing as privacy in + this country. The newspapers are making us,” with a slight accent on the + pronoun, “as common and public as tenement-house people.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Miss Trevor answered absently. “But why read the newspapers? I + never could get interested in them, though I’ve tried.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVII. — A WOMAN AND A WARNING. + </h2> + <p> + On the evening of Howard’s arrival at Newport, Mrs. Carnarvon was having a + few people in to dine. He had just time to dress and so saw no one until + he descended to the reception room. + </p> + <p> + “You are to take in Marian,” said his hostess, going with him to where + Miss Trevor was sitting, her back to the door and her attention apparently + absorbed by the man facing her. + </p> + <p> + “Here’s Mr. Howard, Marian,” Mrs. Carnarvon interrupted. “Come with me, + Willie. Your lady is over here and we’re going in directly.” + </p> + <p> + Marian saw that Howard was looking at her in the straight, frank fashion + she remembered and liked so well. “I’ve come for you,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you are to take me in,” she evaded, her look even lamer than her + words. + </p> + <p> + “You know what I mean.” He was smiling, his heart in his eyes, as if the + dozen people were not about them. + </p> + <p> + “I see you have not changed,” she laughed, answering his look in kind. + </p> + <p> + “Changed? I’m revolutionized. I was blind and now I see. I was paralyzed + and behold, I walk. I was weak and lo, I am strong—strong enough for + two, if necessary.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, hasn’t it occurred to you that I might possibly have something to + say about my own fate?” + </p> + <p> + “You? Why, you had everything to say. I reasoned it all out with you. You + simply can’t add anything to the case I made you make out for yourself + when I talked it over with you. I made you protest very vigorously.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what did I say—that is, what did you make me say?” + </p> + <p> + “You said you were engaged—pledged to another—that you could + not draw back without dishonour. And I answered that no engagement could + bind you to become the wife of a man you did not love; that no moral code + could hold you to such a sin; that no code of honour could command you to + permit a man to degrade himself and you. Then you pleaded that you were + not sure you liked my kind of a life, that you feared you wanted wealth + and a great establishment and social leadership and—and all that.” + </p> + <p> + “Did I?” Marian said with exaggerated astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “You did indeed. You were perfectly open with me. You let me see all that + part of you which we try to keep concealed and fancy we are concealing—all + that one really feels and wishes and thinks as distinguished from what one + fancies he ought to feel and wish and think.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder that you cared, after a glance behind that curtain.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but I like what is behind that curtain best of all. The very human + things are there. They make me feel so at home.” + </p> + <p> + Dinner was announced and it was not until the second course that he had a + chance to resume. Then he began as if there had been no interval: + </p> + <p> + “You said—” + </p> + <p> + Marian laughed and looked at him—a flash of her luminous blue-green + eyes—and was looking away again with her usual expression. “You + needn’t tell me the rest. It doesn’t matter what I said. I’ve had you with + me wherever I went. You never doubted my—my caring, did you?” + </p> + <p> + “No. I couldn’t doubt you. If you were the sort of woman a man could + doubt, you wouldn’t be the sort of woman I could love. And you know it + isn’t vanity that makes me sure. I often wonder how you happened to care + for such a—but I must not attack any one whom you like so well. No, + I knew you cared by the same instinct that makes you know that I care for + you.” + </p> + <p> + “But why did you come?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I have won a position for myself, have enough to enable us to + live without eternally fretting over money-matters. I feel that I have the + right to come. And then I could not be interested to live on, without you; + and I’m willing to face, willing to have you face, whatever may come to us + through me. I know that you and I together——” + </p> + <p> + “Not now—don’t—please.” Marian was pale and she was obviously + under a great strain. “You see, you knew all about this. But I didn’t + until you looked at me when Jessie brought you. It makes me—happy—I + am so happy. But I must—I can’t control myself here.” She leaned + over as if her napkin had slipped to the floor. “I love you,” she + murmured. + </p> + <p> + It was Howard’s turn to struggle for self-control. “I understand,” he + said, “why you wished me not to go on. You never said those words to me + before—and——” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes I have—many and many a time.” + </p> + <p> + “With your eyes, but not with your voice—at least not so that I + could hear. And—well, it is not easy to look calm and only friendly + when every nerve in one’s body is vibrating like a violin string under the + bow. Yes, let us talk of something else. I’ve never been acutely conscious + of the presence of others when I’ve been with you. To-night I’m in great + danger of forgetting them altogether.” + </p> + <p> + “That would be so like you.” Marian laughed, then raised her voice a + little and went on. “Yes, your little restaurant in the Rue Louis le Grand + was gone. There was a dressmaker in its place—Raudinitz. She made + this. How do you like it?” + </p> + <p> + “It has the air of—of belonging to you.” + </p> + <p> + Marian looked amused. Howard shrugged his shoulders. “All roads lead to + Rome,” he said. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Carnarvon hung about until the women went to bed, so Howard and Marian had + no opportunity to be alone. As soon as he saw his last chance vanish, he + went to his own room, to the solitude of its balcony in the shadow of the + projecting facade with the moonlight flooding the rocks and the sea. + </p> + <p> + As he sat smoking, the recession came, the reaction from weeks of nervous + tension. And with the ebb of the tide entered that Visitor who alone has + the privilege of the innermost chamber where lives the man himself, + unmasked of all vanity and show and pretense. The visit was not + unexpected; for at every such crisis every one is certain of a call from + this Visitor, this merciless critic, plain and rude of speech, rare and + reluctant in praise, so mocking in our moments of elation, so cruelly + frank about our follies and self-excuses when he comes in our moments of + depression. + </p> + <p> + “So you are going to marry?” the Visitor said abruptly. “I thought you had + made up your mind on that subject long ago.” + </p> + <p> + “Love changes a man’s point of view,” Howard replied, timid and apologetic + before this quiet, relentless other-self. + </p> + <p> + “But it doesn’t change the facts of life, does it? It doesn’t change + character, does it?” + </p> + <p> + “I think so. For instance, it has changed me. It has made a man of me. It + has been the inspiration of the past year, strengthening me, making me + ambitious, energetic. Have I not thought of her all the time, worked for + her?” + </p> + <p> + “You have been uncommonly persistent—as you always are when you are + thwarted.” The Visitor wore a satirical smile. “But a spurt of inspiration + is one thing. A wife—responsibility—fetters——” + </p> + <p> + “Not when one loves.” + </p> + <p> + “That depends upon the kind of love—and the kind of woman—and + the kind of man.” + </p> + <p> + “Could there be any higher kind of love than ours?” + </p> + <p> + “Most romantic, most high-minded—quite idyllic.” The Visitor’s tone + was gently mocking. “And I don’t deny that you may go on loving each the + other. But—how does she fit in with your scheme of life? What does + she really know of or care about your ambitions? Why, you had so little + confidence in her that you didn’t dare to think of marrying her until you + had an income which you once would have thought wealth—an income + which, by the way, already begins to seem small to you.” + </p> + <p> + “No, it wasn’t lack of confidence in her,” protested Howard. “It was lack + of confidence in myself.” + </p> + <p> + “True, that did have something to do with it, I grant you. And that + reminds me—what has become of all your cowardice about + responsibility?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’m changed there.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure? Are you not deceived by this sudden and maybe momentary + streak of good luck in your affairs? You have fixed your ambition high—very + high. You wish to make an honest and a useful and a distinguished career. + You know you have weaknesses. I needn’t remind you—need I—that + you have had to fight those weaknesses? How could you have won thus far if + you had been responsible for others instead of being alone, and certain + that the consequences would fall upon yourself only? I want to see you + continue to win. I don’t want to see you dragged down by extravagance, by + love for this woman, by ambition of the kind her friends approve. I don’t + want to see you—You were silent when Stokely insulted you!” + </p> + <p> + “Love—such love as mine—and for such a woman—and with + such love in return—drag down? Impossible!” + </p> + <p> + “Not so—not exactly so, though I must say you are plausible. But + don’t forget that you and she are not starting out to make a career. Don’t + forget that she is already fixed—her tastes, habits, friendships, + associations, ideals already formed. Don’t forget that your love is the + only bond between you—and that it may drag you toward her mode of + life instead of drawing her towards yours. Don’t forget that your own + associations and temptations are becoming more and more difficult. I + repeat, you cringed—yes, cringed—when Stokely insulted you. + Why?” + </p> + <p> + Howard was silent. + </p> + <p> + “And,” the Visitor went on relentlessly, “let me remind you that not only + did you give her up without a struggle a few months ago but also she gave + you up without a word.” + </p> + <p> + “But what could she have said?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know, I’m sure. I’m not familiar with ways feminine. But I know—we + know—that, if there had not been some reservation in her love, some + hesitation about you—unconscious, perhaps, but powerful enough to + make her yield—she would not have let you go as she did.” + </p> + <p> + “But she did not realise, as I did not, how much our love meant to us.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps—that sounds well. All I ask is, will she help you? Are you + really so much stronger than you were only four months ago? Or are you + stimulated by success? Suppose that days of disaster, of peril, come? What + then?” + </p> + <p> + “But they will not. I have won a position. I can always command a large + salary—perhaps not quite so much but still a large salary.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps—if you don’t trouble yourself about principles. But how + would it be if you would do nothing, write nothing, except what you think + is honest? Would you ask her to face it? Tell me, tell yourself honestly, + have you the right to assume a responsibility you may not be able to bear, + to invite temptations you may not be able to resist?” + </p> + <p> + There was a long silence. At last Howard stood up and flung his cigar into + the sea. His face was drawn and his eyes burned. + </p> + <p> + “God in heaven!” he cried, “am I not human? May I not have companionship + and sympathy and love? Must I be alone and friendless and loveless always? + That is not life; that is not just. I will not; I will not. I love her—love + her—love her. With the best that there is in me, I love her. Am I + such a coward that I cannot face even my own weaknesses?” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVIII. — HOWARD EXPLAINS HIS MACHINE. + </h2> + <p> + In August Marian and Mrs. Carnarvon came to the Waldorf for two days. + Howard had offered to show them how a newspaper is made; and Mrs. + Carnarvon, finding herself bored by too many days of the same few people + every day, herself proposed the trip. The three dined in the open air on + Sherry’s piazza and at eleven o’clock drove down the Avenue, to the east + at Washington Square, and through the Bowery. + </p> + <p> + “I never saw it before,” said Marian, “and I must say I shall not care if + I never see it again. Why do people make so much fuss about slums, I + wonder?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, they’re so queer, so like another world,” suggested Mrs. Carnarvon. + “It gives you such a delightful sensation of sadness. It’s just like a + not-too-melancholy play, only better because it’s real. Then, too, it + makes one feel so much more comfortable and clean and contented in one’s + own surroundings.” + </p> + <p> + “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Jessie.” Marian spoke in mock + indignation. “The next thing we know you’ll sink to being a patron of the + poor and go about enjoying yourself at making them self-conscious and + envious.” + </p> + <p> + “They’re not at all sad down this way,” said Howard, “except in the usual + inescapable human ways. When they’re not hit too hard, they bear up + wonderfully. You see, living on the verge of ruin and tumbling over every + few weeks get one used to it. It ceases to give the sensation of event.” + </p> + <p> + Their automobile had turned into Park Row and so reached the <i>News-Record</i> + building in Printing House Square. Howard took the two women to the + elevator and they shot upward in a car crowded with telegraph messengers, + each carrying one or more envelopes, some of them bearing in bold black + type the words: “News!—Rush!” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose that is the news for the paper?” Mrs. Carnarvon asked. + </p> + <p> + “A little of it. Our special cable and special news from towns to which we + have no direct wire and also the <i>Associated Press</i> reports come this + way. But we don’t use much <i>Associated Press</i> matter, as it is the + same for all the papers.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you do with it?” + </p> + <p> + “Throw it away. A New York newspaper throws away every night enough to + fill two papers and often enough to fill five or six.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t that very wasteful?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but it’s necessary. Every editor has his own idea of what to print + and what not to print and how much space each news event calls for. It is + there that editors show their judgment or lack of it. To print the things + the people wish to read in the quantities the people like and in the form + the most people can most easily understand—that is success as an + editor.” + </p> + <p> + “No doubt,” said Marian, thinking of the low view all her friends took of + Howard’s newspaper, “if you were making a newspaper to please yourself, + you would make a very different one.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” laughed Howard, “I print what I myself like; that is, what I + like to find in a newspaper. We print human news made by human beings and + interesting to human beings. And we don’t pretend to be anything more than + human. We try never to think of our own idea of what the people ought to + read, but always to get at what the people themselves think they ought to + read. We are journalists, not news-censors.” + </p> + <p> + “I must say newspapers do not interest me.” Marian confessed it a little + diffidently. + </p> + <p> + “You are probably not interested,” Howard answered, “because you don’t + care for news. It is a queer passion—the passion for news. The + public has it in a way. But to see it in its delirium you must come here.” + </p> + <p> + “This seems quiet enough.” Marian looked about Howard’s upstairs office. + It was silent, and from the windows one could see New York and its rivers + and harbour, vast, vague, mysterious, animated yet quiet. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I rarely come here—a few hours a week,” Howard replied. “On + this floor the editorial writers work.” He opened a door leading to a + private hall. There were five small rooms. In each sat a coatless man, + smoking and writing. One was Segur, and Howard called to him. + </p> + <p> + “Are you too busy to look after Mrs. Carnarvon and Miss Trevor for a few + minutes? I must go downstairs.” + </p> + <p> + Segur gave some “copy” to a boy who handed him a bundle of proofs and + rushed away down a narrow staircase. Howard descended in the elevator, and + Segur, who had put on his coat, sat talking to the two women as he looked + through the proofs, glancing at each narrow strip, then letting it drop to + the floor. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t mind my working?” he asked. “I have to look at these things to + see if there is any news that calls for editional attention. If I find + anything and can think an editorial thought about it, I write it; and if + Howard is in the humour, perhaps the public is permitted to read it.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he severe?” asked Mrs. Carnarvon. + </p> + <p> + “The ‘worst ever,’” laughed Segur. “He is very positive and likes only a + certain style and won’t have anything that doesn’t exactly fit his ideas. + He’s easy to get along with but difficult to work for.” + </p> + <p> + “I imagine his positiveness is the secret of his success.” Marian knew + that Segur was half in jest and was fond of Howard. But she couldn’t + endure hearing him criticised. + </p> + <p> + “No. I think he succeeds because he works, pushes straight on, never stops + to repair blunders but never makes the same kind of a blunder the second + time.” + </p> + <p> + Segur’s eye caught an item that suggested an editorial paragraph. He sat + at Howard’s desk, thought a moment, scrawled half a dozen lines in a large + ragged hand on a sheet of ruled yellow paper, and pressed an electric + button. The boy came, handed him another thick bundle of proofs, took the + “copy” and withdrew. Just then Howard returned. + </p> + <p> + “We’ll go down to the news-room,” he said. + </p> + <p> + The windows of the great news-room were thrown wide. Scores of electric + lights made it bright. At the various desks or in the aisles were perhaps + fifty men, most of them young, none of them beyond middle age. They were + in every kind of clothing from the most fashionable summer attire to an + old pair of cheap and stained duck trousers, collarless negligee shirt + open all the way down the front and suspenders hanging about the hips. + </p> + <p> + Some were writing long-hand; others were pounding away at the typewriter; + others were talking in undertones to “typists” taking dictation to the + machine; others were reading “copy” and altering it with huge blue pencils + which made apparently unreadable smears wherever they touched the paper. + In and out skurried a dozen office-boys, responding to calls from various + desks, bringing bundles of proofs, thrusting copy into boxes which + instantly and noisily shot up through the ceiling. + </p> + <p> + It was a scene of confusion and furious activity. The face of each + individual was calm and his motions by themselves were not excited. But + taking all together and adding the tense, strained expression underneath + the calm—the expression of the professional gambler—there was + a total of active energy that was oppressive. + </p> + <p> + “We had a fire below us one night,” said Howard. “We are two hundred feet + from the street and there were no fire escapes. We all thought it was + good-bye. It was nearly half an hour before we found out that the smoke + booming up the stairways and into this room had no danger behind it.” + </p> + <p> + “Gracious!” Mrs. Carnarvon shuddered and looked uneasily about. + </p> + <p> + “It’s perfectly safe,” Howard reassured her. “We’ve arranged things better + since then. Besides, that fire demonstrated that the building was + fireproof.” + </p> + <p> + “And what happened?” asked Miss Trevor. + </p> + <p> + “Why, just what you see now. The Managing Editor, Mr. King over there—I’ll + introduce him to you presently—went up to a group of men standing at + one of the windows. They were pretending indifference as they looked down + at the crowd which was shouting and tossing its arms in a way that more + than suggested pity for us poor devils up here. Well, King said: ‘Boys, + boys, this isn’t getting out a paper.’ Every one went back to his work and—and + that was all.” + </p> + <p> + They went on to the room behind the newsroom. As Howard opened its heavy + door a sound, almost a roar, of clicking instruments and typewriters burst + out. Here again were scores of desks with men seated at them, every man + with a typewriter and a telegraph instrument before him. + </p> + <p> + “These are our direct wires,” Howard explained. “Our correspondents in all + the big cities, east, west, north and south and in London, are at the + other end of these wires. Let me show you.” + </p> + <p> + Howard spoke to the operator nearest them. “Whom have you got?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m taking three thousand words from Kansas City,” he replied. + “Washington is on the next wire.” + </p> + <p> + “Ask Mr. Simpson how the President is to-night,” Howard said to the + Washington operator. + </p> + <p> + His instrument clicked a few times and was silent. Almost immediately the + receiver began to click and, as the operator dashed the message off on his + typewriter the two women read over his shoulder: “Just came from White + House. He is no better, probably a little worse because weaker. Simpson.” + </p> + <p> + “And can you hear just as quickly from London?” Marian asked. + </p> + <p> + “Almost. I’ll try. There is always a little delay in transmission from the + land systems to the cable system; and messages have to be telephoned + between our office in Trafalgar Square and the cable office down in the + city. Let’s see, it’s five o’clock in the morning in London now. They’ve + been having it hot there. I’ll ask about the weather.” + </p> + <p> + Howard dictated to the man at the London wire: “Roberts, London. How is + the weather? Howard.” + </p> + <p> + In less than ten minutes the cable-man handed Howard a typewritten slip + reading: “<i>News-Record</i>, New York, Howard: Thermometer 97 our office + now. Promises hottest day yet. Roberts.” + </p> + <p> + “I never before realised how we have destroyed distance,” said Mrs. + Carnarvon. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think any one but a newspaper editor completely realises it,” + Howard answered. “As one sits here night after night, sending messages far + and wide and receiving immediate answers, he loses all sense of space. The + whole world seems to be in his anteroom.” + </p> + <p> + “I begin to see fascination in this life of yours.” Marian’s face showed + interest to enthusiasm. “This atmosphere tightens one’s nerves. It seems + to me that in the next moment I shall hear of some thrilling happening.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s listening for the first rumour of the ‘about to happen’ that makes + newspaper-men so old and yet so young, so worn and yet so eager. Every + night, every moment of every night, we are expecting it, hoping for some + astounding news which it will test our resources to the utmost to present + adequately.” + </p> + <p> + From the news-room they went up to the composing room—a vast hall of + confusion, filled with strange-looking machines and half-dressed men and + boys. Some were hurrying about with galleys of type, with large metal + frames; some were wheeling tables here and there; scores of men and a few + women were seated at the machines. These responded to touches upon their + key-boards by going through uncanny internal agitations. Then out from a + mysterious somewhere would come a small thin strip of almost hot metal, + the width of a newspaper column and marked along one edge with letters + printed backwards. + </p> + <p> + Up through the floor of this room burst boxes filled with “copy.” Boys + snatched the scrawled, ragged-looking sheets and tossed them upon a desk. + A man seated there cut them into little strips, hanging each strip upon a + hook. A line of men filed rapidly past these hooks, snatching each man a + single strip and darting away to a machine. + </p> + <p> + “It is getting late,” said Howard. “The final rush for the first edition + is on. They are setting the last ‘copy.’” + </p> + <p> + “But,” Mrs. Carnarvon asked, “how do they ever get the different parts of + the different news-items together straight?” + </p> + <p> + “The man who is cutting copy there—don’t you see him make little + marks on each piece? Those marks tell them just where their ‘take,’ as + they call it, belongs.” + </p> + <p> + They went over to the part of the great room where there were many tables, + on each a metal frame about the size of a page of the newspaper. Some of + the frames were filled with type, others were partly empty. And men were + lifting into them the galleys of type under the direction of the Night + Editor and his staff. As soon as a frame was filled two men began to even + the ends of the columns and then to screw up an inside framework which + held the type firmly in place. Then a man laid a great sheet of what + looked like blotting-paper upon the page of type and pounded it down with + a mallet and scraped it with a stiff brush. + </p> + <p> + “That is the matrix,” said Howard. “See him putting it on the elevator.” + They looked down the shaft. “It has dropped to the sub-basement,” said + Howard, “two hundred and fifty feet below us. They are already bending it + into a casting-box of the shape of the cylinders on the presses; metal + will be poured in and when it is cool, you will have the metal form, the + metal impression of the page. It will be fastened upon the press to print + from.” + </p> + <p> + They walked back through the room which was now in almost lunatic + confusion—forms being locked; galleys being lifted in; editors, + compositors, boys, rushing to and fro in a fury of activity. Again the + phenomenon of the news-room, the individual faces calm but their tense + expressions and their swift motions making an impression of almost + irrational excitement. + </p> + <p> + “Why such haste?” asked Marian. + </p> + <p> + “Because the paper must be put to press. It must contain the very latest + news and it must also catch the mails; and the mail-trains do not wait.” + </p> + <p> + They descended in the main elevator to the ground floor and then went down + a dark and winding staircase until they faced an iron door. Howard pushed + it open and they entered the press-room. Its temperature was blood-heat, + its air heavy and nauseating with the odours of ink, moist paper and oil, + its lights dim. They were in a gallery and below them on all sides were + the huge presses, silent, motionless, waiting. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly a small army of men leaped upon the mighty machines, scrambled + over them, then sprang back. With a tremendous roar that shook the entire + building the presses began to revolve, to hurl out great heaps of + newspapers. + </p> + <p> + “Those presses eat six hundred thousand pounds of paper and four tons of + ink a week,” Howard shouted. “They can throw out two hundred thousand + complete papers an hour—papers that are cut, folded, pasted, and + ready to send away. Let us go before you are stifled. This air is + horrible.” + </p> + <p> + They returned in the elevator to his lofty office. Even there a slight + vibration from the press-room could be felt. But it was calm and still, a + fit place from which to view the panorama of sleeping city and drowsy + harbour tranquil in the moonlight. + </p> + <p> + “Look.” Howard was leaning over the railing just outside his window. + </p> + <p> + They looked straight down three hundred feet to the street made bright by + electric lights. Scores of wagons loaded with newspapers were rushing away + from the several newspaper buildings. The shouts, the clash of hoofs and + heavy tires on the granite blocks, the whirr of automobiles, were borne + faintly upward. + </p> + <p> + “It is the race to the railway stations to catch the mail-trains,” Howard + explained. “The first editions go to the country. These wagons are + hurrying in order that tens of thousands of people hundreds of miles away, + at Boston, Philadelphia, Washington and scores on scores of towns between + and beyond, may find the New York newspapers on their breakfast-tables.” + </p> + <p> + The office-boy came with a bundle of papers, warm, moist, the ink + brilliant. + </p> + <p> + “And now for the inquest,” said Howard. + </p> + <p> + “The inquest?” Marian looked at him inquiringly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—viewing the corpse. It was to give birth to this that there was + all that intensity and fury—that and a thousand times more. For, + remember, this paper is the work of perhaps twenty thousand brains, in + every part of the world, throughout civilisation and far into the depths + of barbarism. Look at these date lines—cities and towns everywhere + in our own country, Canada, Mexico, Central America, South America. You’ll + find most of the capitals of Europe represented; and Africa, north, south + and central, east and west coast. Here’s India and here the heart of + Siberia. + </p> + <p> + “There is China and there Japan and there Australia. Think of these scores + of newspaper correspondents telegraphing news of the doings of their + fellow beings—not what they did last month or last year, but what + they did a few hours ago—some of it what they were doing while we + were dining up at Sherry’s. Then think of the thousands on thousands of + these newspaper-men, eager, watchful agents of publicity, who were on duty + but had nothing to report to-day. And——” + </p> + <p> + Howard shrugged his shoulders and tossed the paper from him. + </p> + <p> + “There it lies,” he said, “a corpse. Already a corpse, its life ended + before it was fairly born. There it is, dead and done for—writ in + water, and by anonymous hands. Who knows who did it? Who cares?” + </p> + <p> + He caught Marian’s eyes, looking wonder and reproach. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t like to hear you say that,” she said, forgetting Mrs. Carnarvon. + “Other men—yes, the little men who work for the cheap rewards. But + not you, who work for the sake of work. This night’s experience has + thrilled me. I understand your profession now. I see what it means to us + all, to civilisation, what a splendid force for good, for enlightenment, + for uplifting it is. I can see a great flood of light radiating from this + building, pouring into the dark places, driving away ignorance. And the + thunder of those presses seems to me to fill the world with some mighty + command—what is it?—oh, yes—I can hear it distinctly. It + is, ‘Let there be light!’” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Carnarvon’s back was toward them and she was looking out at the + harbour. Howard put his hands upon Marian’s shoulders and they looked each + the other straight in the eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Lovers and comrades,” he said, “always. And how strong we are—together!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIX. — “I MUST BE RICH.” + </h2> + <p> + “While I don’t feel dependent upon the owners of the <i>News-Record</i>, + still I am not exactly independent of them either. And if I left them it + would only be to become dependent in the same way upon somebody else. A + man who makes his living by the advocacy of principles should be wholly + free. If he isn’t, the principles are sure sooner or later to become + incidental to the living, instead of the living being incidental to the + principles.” + </p> + <p> + “But you see—perhaps I ought to have told you before—that is, + there may be”—Marian was stammering and blushing. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter? Don’t frighten me by looking so—so criminal,” + Howard laughed. + </p> + <p> + It was late in August. Marian was visiting Mrs. Brandon at + Irvington-on-the-Hudson and she and Howard were driving. + </p> + <p> + “I never told you. But the fact is”—she hesitated again. + </p> + <p> + “Is it about your other engagement? You never told me about that—how + you broke it off. I don’t want you to tell me unless you wish to. You know + I never meddle in past matters. I’m simply trying to help you out.” + </p> + <p> + “Instead, you’re making it worse. I’d rather not tell you that if——” + </p> + <p> + “We’ll never speak of it again. And now, what is it that is troubling + you?” + </p> + <p> + “I have been trying to tell you—I wish you wouldn’t look at me—I’ve + got a small income—it’s really very small.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m glad to hear it.” + </p> + <p> + “I was afraid you wouldn’t like it. It isn’t very big—only about + eight thousand a year—some years not so much. But then, if anything + happened—we could be—we could live.” + </p> + <p> + Howard smiled as he looked at her—but not with his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I’m glad,” he said. “It makes me feel safer in several ways. And I’m + especially glad that it is not larger than mine. I know it’s stupid, as so + many of our instincts are; but I should not like to marry a woman who had + a larger income than I could earn. I think it is the only remnant I have + of the ‘lord and master’ idea that makes so many men ridiculous. But we + need not let that bother us. Fate has made us about equal in this respect, + so unimportant yet so important; and we are each independent of the other. + Each will always know that love is the only bond that holds us together.” + </p> + <p> + They decided that they would live at the rate of about fifteen thousand a + year and would put by the rest of their income. She was to undertake the + entire management of their home, he transferring his share by check each + month. + </p> + <p> + “And so,” she said, “we shall never have to discuss money matters.” + </p> + <p> + “We couldn’t,” laughed Howard. “I don’t know anything about them and could + not take part in a discussion.” + </p> + <p> + As they were to be married in November, they planned to take an apartment + when Marian came back to town—in late September. She was to attend + to the furnishing and all was to be in readiness by the time they were + married. Howard was to get a six weeks’ vacation and, as soon as they + returned, they were to go to housekeeping. + </p> + <p> + Her visit to the <i>News-Record</i> office had made a change in her. Until + she met Howard, she had known only the world-that-idles and the + world-that-drudges. Howard brought her the first real news of the + world-that-works. Of course she knew that there was such a world, but she + had confused it with the world-that-drudges. She liked to hear Howard talk + about his world, but she thought that his enthusiasm blinded him to the + truth of its drudgery; and she often caught herself half regretting that + he had to work. + </p> + <p> + But that vast machine for the swift collecting and distributing of the + news of the world had opened her eyes, had made her see her lover and, + through him, his life, in a different aspect. She had accepted the + supercilious, thoughtless opinion of those about her that the newspaper is + a mere purveyor of inaccurate gossip. And while Howard had tried to show + her his profession as it was, he had only succeeded in convincing her that + he himself had an exalted view of it; a view which she thought creditable + to him but wide of the disagreeable truth. + </p> + <p> + On that trip down-town she had seen “the press” with the flaws reduced and + the merits looming. She had looked into those all-seeing eyes that watch + the councils of statesmen and the movements of nations and peoples, yet + also note the swing of a murderous knife in an alley of the slums. She had + heard that stentorian voice of Publicity, arousing the people of the earth + to apprehend, to reflect, to progress. + </p> + <p> + She had been proud of Howard for his appearance, for what he said and the + way he said it. Now she was proud of him for the part he was taking in + this wonderful world-that-works. And she would not have confessed to him + how insignificant she felt, how weak and worthless. + </p> + <p> + She thought she was impatient for the time to come when she could learn + how to help him in his work, could begin to feel that she too had a real + share in it. With what seemed to her most creditable energy and + self-sacrifice she tried again to interest herself in newspapers. But the + trivial parts bored her; the chronicles of crime repelled her; and the + politics and most of the other serious articles were beyond the range of + her knowledge or of her interest. “I shall wait until we are married,” she + said, “then he will teach me.” And she did not suspect how significant, + how ominous her postponement was. + </p> + <p> + She asked him if he would not teach her and he replied: “Why, certainly, + if you are interested. But I don’t intend to trouble you with the details + of my profession. I want you to lead your own life—to do what + interests you.” + </p> + <p> + She did not stop to analyse her feeling of relief at this release, and + went on to protest: “But I want your life to be my life. I want there to + be only one life—our life.” + </p> + <p> + “And there shall be—each contributing his share, at least I’ll try + to contribute mine. But you have your own individuality, dear; and a very + strong one it is. And I don’t want you to change.” + </p> + <p> + At the time he was deep in his plans for illustrating the <i>News-Record</i>. + Early in that fall’s campaign they had secured the best cartoonist in + America. Cartoons are rarely the work of one man but are got up by + consultations. Howard spent never less than an hour each day with the + cartoonist, Wickham, wrestling with the problem of the next day’s picture. + For he insisted upon having a striking cartoon each day, and gave it the + most conspicuous place in the paper—the top-centre of the first + page. + </p> + <p> + “If a cartoon is worth printing at all,” he said, “it is worth printing + large and conspicuous. And to be worth printing it must be like an ideal + editorial—one point sharply and swiftly made and so clear that the + most careless glance-of-the-eye is enough.” + </p> + <p> + Wickham had made a series of cartoons on the campaign, humorous and + satirical, which had the distinction of being reproduced on lantern slides + for use in all parts of the town. It was an admirable beginning of the new + policy of illustration. Howard had been making a careful study of all the + illustrators in the country, not overlooking those toiling in obscurity on + the big western dailies. He had selected a staff of twenty; as soon as + Coulter and Stokely assented, he engaged them by telegraph. Five were + developed artists, the rest beginners with talent. He gave all of his + attention for two weeks to organising this staff. He infected it with his + enthusiasm. He impressed upon it his ideas of newspaper illustration—the + dash and energy of the French illustrators adapted to American public + taste. He insisted upon the artists studying the French illustrated papers + and applying what they learned. It was not until the first Sunday in + December that he felt ready to submit the results of these labours to the + public. + </p> + <p> + Again he scored over the “contemporaries” of the <i>News-Record</i>. They + printed many more illustrations than it did. It had only one illustration + on a page, but there was one on every page and a good one. All the + subjects were well chosen—either action or character—and as + many good looking women as possible. + </p> + <p> + “Never publish a commonplace face,” he said. “There is no such thing in + life as an uninteresting face. Always find the element of interest and + bring it out.” + </p> + <p> + The result of this policy, interpreted by a carefully trained and + enthusiastic staff, was what the out-of-town press was soon praising as “a + revelation in newspaper-illustration.” Howard himself was surprised. He + had mentally insured against a long period of disappointment. + </p> + <p> + “This shows,” he remarked to King and Vroom, “how much more competent men + are than we usually think—if they get a chance, if they are pointed + in the right direction and are left free.” + </p> + <p> + “He certainly knows his business.” Vroom was looking after Howard + admiringly. “I never saw anybody who so well understood when to lead and + when to let alone. What results he does get!” + </p> + <p> + “A pity to waste such talents on this thankless business,” said King. “If + he’d gone into real business, he would have a salary of a hundred thousand + a year, would be rich and secure for life. Why, a business man could and + would make a whole career on the ideas he has in a single week. As it is——” + </p> + <p> + King shrugged his shoulders and Vroom finished the sentence for him: + “Coulter and Stokely could kick him out to-morrow and the <i>News-Record</i> + would go straight on living upon his ideas for ten years at least.” + </p> + <p> + Howard needed no one to make this truth clear to him to the full. Often, + as he thought of his expanding tastes, his expanding expenditures and his + expanding plans both for his private life and for his career, he felt an + awful sinking at the heart and a sense of fundamental weakness. + </p> + <p> + “I am building upon sand,” he said to himself. “In business, in the law, + in almost any other career to-day’s work would be to-morrow’s capital. As + it is, I am ever more and more a slave. To be free I ought to be poor or + rich. And I cannot endure the thought of poverty again. I must be rich.” + </p> + <p> + The idea allured him to a degree that made him ashamed of himself. + Sometimes, when he was talking to Marian or writing editorials, all in the + strain of high principle and contempt for sordidness, he would flush at + the thought that he was in reality a good deal of a hypocrite. “I’m + expressing the ideals I ought to have, the ideals I used to have, not the + ideals I have.” + </p> + <p> + But the clearer this discrepancy became to him and the wider the gap + between what he ought to think and what he really did think, the more + strenuously he protested to himself against himself, and the more fiercely + he denounced in public the very poison he was himself taking. + </p> + <p> + “I am living in a tainted atmosphere,” he said to Marian. “We all are. I + fight against the taint but how can I hope to avoid the consequences if I + persist in breathing it, in absorbing it at every pore of my body?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand you.” Marian was used to his moods of self-criticism + and did not attach much importance to them. + </p> + <p> + He thought a moment. “Oh, nothing,” he said. “What’s the use of discussing + what can’t be helped?” How could he tell her that the greatest factor in + his enervating environment was herself; that the strongest chains which + held him in it were the chains which bound him to her? Indeed, was he not + indulging in cowardly self-excuse in thinking that this was true? Had not + his success, rather than his love, made ambition unfettered by principle + the mainspring of his life? + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XX. — ILLUSION. + </h2> + <p> + “How shall we be married?” Howard asked her in the late Autumn. + </p> + <p> + “I know it will not be in a church with ushers and bridesmaids and a crowd + gaping at us. I suppose there is a public side to marriage since the state + makes one enter into a formal contract. But that can be done privately. I + should as soon think of driving down the Avenue with my arms about your + neck as of a public wedding.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” he laughed. “I was afraid—well, women are usually so + fond of—but you’re not usual. Let us see. The minister is absolutely + necessary, I suppose. Would one feel married if there were not a + minister?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know—I feel—” + </p> + <p> + She hesitated and blushed but looked straight at him with that expression + in her eyes which always made him think of their love as their religion. + </p> + <p> + “Feel—go on. I want to hear that very, very much.” + </p> + <p> + “I feel as if I were just as much married to you now as I ever could be.” + </p> + <p> + “And that is how I have felt ever since the day, when I hardly knew you, + when you suddenly came into my life—my real, inner life where no one + had been before—and sat down and at once made it look as if it were + your home. And the place that had been lonely was lonely no more, and has + not been since.” + </p> + <p> + She put her hand in his and he saw that there were tears in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Only that—that I am so happy. It—it frightens me. It seems so + like a dream.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s going to be a long, long dream, isn’t it?” He lifted her hand and + kissed it, then put it down in her lap again gently as if he feared a + sudden movement might awaken them. “Perhaps it had better be at Mrs. + Carnarvon’s house—some morning just before luncheon and we could go + quietly away afterward.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—and—tell me,” she said, “wouldn’t it be better for us not + to go far away—and not to stay long? It seems to me that I most want + to begin—begin our life together just as it will be.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you afraid you wouldn’t know what to do with me if I were idling + about all day long?” + </p> + <p> + “Not exactly that. But I’d rather not take a vacation until we had earned + it together.” + </p> + <p> + “What a beautiful idea! I’ll see what I can do.” + </p> + <p> + They postponed the wedding until Howard had the “art-department” of the <i>News-Record</i> + well established. It was on a bright winter day in the second week of + January that they stood up together and were married by the Mayor whom + Howard had helped to elect. Only Mr. and Mrs. Carnarvon and Marian’s + brother were there. Then the six sat down to luncheon, and at three + o’clock Howard and his wife started for Lakewood. + </p> + <p> + When they arrived a victoria was waiting. As soon as they were seated, + Howard said “Home.” The coachman touched his hat and the horses set out at + a swift trot. The sun was setting and the dry, still air was saturated + with the perfume of the snow-draped pines. Within five minutes the + carriage was at a pretty little cottage with wide, glass-enclosed porches. + They entered the hall. In the rooms on either side open fires were blazing + an ecstatic welcome. + </p> + <p> + “How do you like ‘home’?” asked Howard. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t quite understand.” + </p> + <p> + “You remember your plan of beginning at once. Well—this is the + compromise. Stokely has let me have his house here for a month—we + may keep it two if we like it. There is a telephone. The office isn’t two + hours away by rail. The newspapers are here early. We can combine work and + play.” + </p> + <p> + The manservant had left the room, a sort of library-reception room. Marian + was seated in a big chair drawn near the fire. She had thrown back her + wraps and was slowly drawing off her gloves. Howard stood at the side of + the fire, leaning against the mantel and looking down at her. + </p> + <p> + “Before you definitely decide to stay—” he paused. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said, her colour heightening as she slowly lifted her eyes to + his, “yes—why this solemn tone?” + </p> + <p> + “If ever—in the days that come—one never knows what may happen—if + ever you should find that you had changed toward me——” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + “I ask you—don’t promise—I never want you to promise me + anything—I want you always—at every moment—to be + perfectly free. So I just ask that you will let me see it. Then we can + talk about it frankly, and we can decide what is best to do.” + </p> + <p> + “But—suppose—you see I might still not wish to wound you—” + she suggested, half teasing, half in earnest. + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me now that it is impossible that we can ever change. It + seems to me—” he sat on the wide arm of her chair, and leaned over + until his head touched hers, “that if you were to change it would break my + heart. But if you were to change and were to hide it from me, I should + find it out some day and——” + </p> + <p> + “And what——” + </p> + <p> + “It would be worse—a broken heart, a horror of myself, a—a + contempt for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Whatever comes, I’ll be myself or try to be. Is that what you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly.” + </p> + <p> + “And if you change?” + </p> + <p> + “But I shall not!” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you say that so positively?” + </p> + <p> + “Because—well, there are some things that we wish to believe and + half believe, and some things that we believe that we believe, and + somethings that we <i>know</i>. I <i>know</i> about you—about my + love for you.” + </p> + <p> + “It is strange in a way, isn’t it?” Marian was gently drawing her fingers + through his. “This is all so different from what I used to think love + would be. I used to picture to myself a man, something like you in + appearance, only taller and fair, who would be my master, who would make + me do what he wished. I think a woman always dreams of a lover who will be + strong enough to be her ruler. And here——” + </p> + <p> + “So I am not the strong man that you look up to and tremble before? We + shall see.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t laugh at me. I mean that instead I have a man who makes me rule + myself. You make me feel strong, not weak, and proud, not humble. You make + me respect myself so.” + </p> + <p> + “The democracy of love—freedom, equality, fraternity. Don’t you like + it?” + </p> + <p> + “Madame is served.” It was the servant holding back one of the portières, + his face expressionless, his eyes down. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Happiness evades description or analysis. We can only say that it reaches + its highest point when a man and a woman, intelligent, appreciative, + sympathetic, endowed with youth, health and freedom, are devoting their + energies solely and determinedly to verifying each a preconceived idea of + the other. + </p> + <p> + “And what do you think of it by this time?” + </p> + <p> + Marian asked the question in the pause after a twenty minutes’ canter over + a straightaway stretch through the pines. + </p> + <p> + “Of what?” Howard inquired. “I mean of what phase of it. Of you?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,—yes, of me—after a week.” + </p> + <p> + “As I expected, only more so—more than I could have imagined. And + you, what do you think?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s very different from what I expected. It seemed to me beforehand that + you, even you, would ‘get on my nerves’ just a little at times. I didn’t + expect you to appreciate—to feel my moods and to avoid doing—or + is it that you simply cannot do—anything jarring. You have amazing + instincts or else—” Marian looked at him and smiled mischievously, + “or else you have been well educated. Oh, I don’t mind—not in the + least. No matter what the cause, I’m glad—glad—glad that you + have been taught how to treat a woman.” + </p> + <p> + “I see you are determined to destroy me,” Howard was in jest, yet in + earnest. “I am not used to being flattered. I have never had but one + critic, and I have trained him to be severe and uncharitable. Now if you + set me up on a high altar and wave the censers and cry ‘glory, glory, + glory,’ I’ll lose my head. You have a terrible responsibility. I trust you + and I believe everything you say.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll begin my duties as critic as soon as we go back to—to earth. + But at present I’m going to be selfish. You see it makes me happier to + blind myself to your faults.” + </p> + <p> + They rode in silence for a few moments and then she said: + </p> + <p> + “I wish I had your feeling about—about democracy. I see your point + of view but I can’t take it. I know that you are right but I’m afraid my + education is too strong for me. I don’t believe in the people as you do. + It’s beautiful when you say it. I like to hear you. And I would not wish + you to feel as I do. I’d hate it if you did. It would be stooping, + grovelling for you to make distinctions among people. But——” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but I do make distinctions among people—so much so that I have + never had a friend in my life until you came. I have been on intimate + terms with many, but no one except you has been on intimate terms with me. + Oh, yes, I’m one of the most exclusive persons in the world.” + </p> + <p> + “That sounds like autocracy, doesn’t it?” laughed Marian. “But you know I + don’t mean that. You think all the others are just as good as you are, + only in different ways, whereas I feel that they’re not. You don’t mind + vulgarity and underbreeding because you are perfectly indifferent to + people so long as they don’t try to jump the fence about your own little + private enclosure.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I believe in letting other people alone, and I insist upon being let + alone myself. You see you make the whole world revolve about social + distinctions. The fact is, isn’t it, that social distinctions are mere + trifles—” + </p> + <p> + “You oughtn’t to waste time arguing with a prejudice. I admit that what I + believe and feel is unreasonable. But I can’t change an instinct. To me + some people are better than others and are entitled to more, and ought to + be looked up to and respected.” + </p> + <p> + Howard had an answer on the tip of his tongue. His passion for high + principle seemed to have been rekindled for the time by his love and in + this tranquillising environment. He felt strongly tempted to reason with + her unreasonableness, thus practically boasted as a virtue. It seemed so + unworthy, this streak of snobbery, so senseless in an American at most + three generations away from manual labour. But he had made up his mind + long ago to trust to new surroundings, new interests to create in her a + spirit more in sympathy with his career. + </p> + <p> + “She is too intelligent, too high-minded,” he often reassured himself, “to + cling to this stupidity of class-feeling. She has heard nothing but + class-distinction all her life. Now that she is away from those people, + with their petty routine of petty ideas, she will begin to see things as + they are.” + </p> + <p> + So he suppressed the argument and, instead, said in a tone of mock-pity: + “Poor fallen queen—to marry beneath her. How she must have fought + against the idea of such a plebeian partner.” + </p> + <p> + “Plebeian—you?” Marian looked at him proudly. “Why, one has only to + see you to know.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, plebeian. I shall conceal it no longer. My ancestors were plain, + ordinary, common, untitled Americans.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, so were mine,” she laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t! You distress me. I should never have married you had I known + that.” + </p> + <p> + “I <i>am</i> absurd, am I not?” Marian said gaily. “But let me have my + craze for well-mannered people and I’ll leave you your craze for the—the + masses.” + </p> + <p> + They began to canter. Howard was smiling in spite of his irritation; for + it always irritated him to have her refuse to see his point in this matter—his + distinction between a person as a friend and a person as a sociological + unit. + </p> + <p> + He worked for an hour or two every morning and sometimes in the evening, + Marian not far from his desk, so seated that when she turned the page of + her book she could lift her eyes and look at him. She read the papers + diligently every day for the first week. At the outset she thought she was + interested. But she knew so little about newspaper details that she soon + had to confess to herself that she was in fact interested in Howard as her + husband and lover, and that his career interested her only in a broad, + general way. What he talked about, that she understood and liked and was + able to discuss. But the newspapers and the news direct suggested nothing + to her, bored her. + </p> + <p> + “Just read that,” he would say, pointing to an item. She would read it and + wonder what he meant. + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me,” she would think, “that it wouldn’t in the least matter + if that had not been printed.” Then she would ask evasively but with an + assumption of interest, “What are you going to do about it?” + </p> + <p> + And he would explain the meaning between the lines; the hinted facts that + ought to be brought out; the possibilities of getting a piece of news that + would attract wide attention. And she would see it, sometimes clearly, + usually vaguely; and she would admire him, but resume her unconquerable + indifference to news. + </p> + <p> + She was soon looking at the paper only to read what he wrote; and she + often thought how much more interesting he was as a talker than as a + writer. “I’ll start right when we get to town,” she was constantly + promising herself. “It must, must, must be <i>our</i> work.” + </p> + <p> + Howard was, as she had told him, acutely sensitive to her moods. He did + not formulate it to himself but simply obeyed an instinct which defined + for him the limits of her interest. Before they had been at Lakewood a + month, he was working alone without any expectation of sympathy or + interest from her and without the slightest sense of loss in not getting + it. Why should he miss that which he had never had, had never counted upon + getting? He had always been mentally alone, most alone in the plans and + actions bearing directly upon his own career. He was perfectly content to + have her as the companion of his leisure. + </p> + <p> + Possibly, if he had been insistent, or if they had been in real sympathy + instead of in only surface sympathy in most respects, she might have + become interested in his work, might have impelled him to right + development. But her distaste and inertia and his habit of debating and + deciding questions as to the paper in his own mind, the fear of boring + her, the dread of intruding upon her rights to her own individual tastes + and feelings, restrained him without his having a sense of restraint. + </p> + <p> + When, after two months, they went up to town to stay, their course of life + was settled, though Marian was protesting that it was not and Howard was + unconscious of there having been any settlement, or anything to settle. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXI. — WAVERING. + </h2> + <p> + Their home was an apartment at Twenty-ninth Street and Madison Avenue—just + large enough for two with its eleven rooms, all bearing the stamp of + Marian’s individuality. She had a keen sense of the beautiful and she had + given her thought and most of her time between the early autumn and the + wedding to making an attractive home. He had not seen her work until they + came together in the late afternoon of a day in the last week of February. + </p> + <p> + “You—everywhere you,” he said, as they inspected room after room. “I + don’t see how I could add anything to that. It is beautiful—the + things you have brought together, I mean, the furniture, curtains, + carpets, pictures, all beautiful in themselves, but—” + </p> + <p> + He was looking at her in that way which made her feel his great love for + her even more deeply than when he put his arms about her and kissed her. + “It reminds me of what I so often think about you. Nature gave you beauty + but you make it wonderful because <i>you</i> shine through it, give it the + force, the expression of your individuality. Other women have noses, eyes, + chins, mouths as beautiful as yours. But only you produce such effects + with the materials. I don’t express it very well but—you + understand?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I understand.” She was leaning against him, her head resting upon + his shoulder. “And you like your home?” + </p> + <p> + “We shall be happy here. I feel it in the air. This is a temple of the + three great gods—Freedom, Love and Happiness. And—we’ll keep + the fires on the altars blazing, won’t we?” + </p> + <p> + His hours were most irregular. Sometimes he was off to work early in the + morning. Again he would not rise until noon. Sometimes he did not go to + the office after dinner, and again he came hurriedly to dinner, not having + the time to dress, and left immediately afterward to be gone until two, + three or even four in the morning. At first Marian tried to follow his + irregularities; but she was soon compelled to give up. As he most often + breakfasted about ten o’clock, she arranged to breakfast regularly at that + hour. If he was not yet up, she waited about the house until she had seen + him, listened while he talked of those “everlasting newspapers,” praised + his work a great deal, criticised it little and that gently. She made few + and feeble struggles to interest herself in newspapers as newspapers. But + he did not encourage her; other interests, domestic and social, clamoured + for her time; and the idea of being directly useful to him in his work + faded from her mind. + </p> + <p> + If she had loved him more sympathetically, if she had not been so + super-sensitive to his passion for complete freedom, she would have + resented what in another kind of man would have seemed frank neglect of + her. But she thought she understood him and was deceived by his + self-deceiving conviction that his work was her service and that the + highest proof of his devotion to her was devotion to “our” career. Thus + there was no bitterness or reproach of him, rarely much intensity, in her + regret that they were together so little. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, stranger!” she said, as he came into the dining room one + day in early June. + </p> + <p> + He kissed her hand and then the “topknot” as he called the point into + which her hair was gathered at the crown of her head. “It has been four + days since I saw you,” he said. And he sat opposite her looking at her + with an expression of sadness which she had not seen since the first days + of their acquaintance. + </p> + <p> + “I have missed you—you know,” she was trying to look cheerful, “but + I understand—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he interrupted. “You understand what I intend, understand that I + mean my life to be for <i>us</i>. But sometimes—this morning—I + think I am mistaken. It seems to me that I am letting this—” he + threw his hand contemptuously toward the heap of morning newspapers beside + him, “this trash comes between us. You are my real career, not these, and + under the pretense of working for us I am spending my whole life, my one + life, my one chance to help to make us happy, upon these.” And he pushed + the bundle of papers off the table. + </p> + <p> + “Something has depressed you.” She was leaning her elbow upon the table + and her chin upon her hand and was looking at him wistfully. “I wouldn’t + have you any different. You must follow the law of your nature. You must + work at your ideal of being useful and influential in the world. You would + not be satisfied to take my hand and trudge off with me through Arcadia to + pick flowers and weave them into crowns for me. Nor should I,” she + laughed, “or I try to think I shouldn’t.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us go abroad for two months,” he said. “I am tired, so tired. I am so + weary of all these others, men and things.” + </p> + <p> + “Can you spare the time?” + </p> + <p> + “I”—he corrected himself—“we have earned a vacation. It will + be for me the first real vacation since I left Yale—thirteen years + ago. I am growing narrow and stale. Let us get away and forget. Shall we?” + </p> + <p> + “The sooner the better—if this is not a passing mood. What has + depressed you?” she persisted. + </p> + <p> + “What seems to be a piece of very good luck.” He laughed almost + sneeringly. “They have given me a share in the paper, twenty thousand in + stock—which means a fixed income of five thousand a year so long as + the paper pays what it does now—twenty-five per cent. And they offer + me twenty thousand more at par to be paid for within two years. We are in + a fair way to be rich.” + </p> + <p> + “They don’t want to lose you, evidently,” she said. “But why does this + make you sad? We are independent now—absolutely independent, both of + us.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—we are rich. Together we have more than thirty-five thousand a + year. But it is not what I wanted. I wanted to be free. Can a man be free + who is rich, and rich in the way we are? Will my mind be open? Shall I + dare to act and speak the truth? Or will our property, our environment, + speak for me?” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t imagine you a slave to mere dollars.” + </p> + <p> + “Can’t you? Well, I am afraid—I’m really afraid. I have always said + that if I wished to—enslave a people I would make them prosperous, + would give them property, make them dependent upon their dollars. Then the + fear of losing their dollars, their investments, would make them endure + any oppression. Freedom’s battles were never fought by men with full + stomachs and full purses.” + </p> + <p> + “But rich men have given up everything for freedom—Washington was a + rich man.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, but how many Washingtons has the world produced? I see the time + coming when I shall have to choose. I see it and—I dread it.” + </p> + <p> + She rose and stood behind him leaning over with her arms about his neck + and her check against his. + </p> + <p> + “You are brave. You are strong,” she whispered. “You will meet that crisis + if it comes and I have no fear, Mr. Valiant-for-Truth, as to how the + battle will go.” + </p> + <p> + He was glad that he did not have to face her eyes just then. “We will go + abroad next Wednesday week,” he whispered, “and we’ll be happy in France—in + Switzerland—in Holland—I want to see the park at the Hague + again; and the tall trees with their straight big trunks green with moss; + and the boughs meeting over the canals and making the clear water so + black; and the snow-white swans sailing statelily about.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + With the Atlantic between him and his work, he was able to suspend the + habit of so many years. You would have fancied them just married, at + whatever stage of their wanderings you might have met them. They were + always laughing and talking—an endless flow of high spirits, + absorption each in the other. They rose when they pleased, went to bed + when it suited them. They had a manservant and a maid with them to relieve + them of all the details. They travelled only in the afternoons, and then + not far. If they missed one train, they cheerfully waited for another. + </p> + <p> + “I think we are achieving my ideal of vacation,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “What is that—perfect idleness? We certainly are idle. I shouldn’t + have believed you could be so idle.” + </p> + <p> + “Perfect idleness—yes. But more than that. I aimed far higher. My + ideal was perfect irresponsibility. We have become like the wind that + bloweth where it listeth.” + </p> + <p> + And again, she said: “Let me see, what day is this?” + </p> + <p> + “I think it is Thursday or Friday,” he replied. “But it may be Sunday. I + can assure you that it is afternoon, late afternoon, and I think we ought + to dress for dinner soon. After dinner, if you still care to know, and + will remind me, I’ll try to find out the day. But I’m sure we shall have + forgotten before to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + Howard got an extension of his leave of absence and they roamed about + England in August, reaching New York on the first day of September. Marian + went on to Mrs. Carnarvon at Newport and Howard took rooms at the Waldorf. + She stayed away a full week, then came to town, opened their apartment, + and surprised him with a formal invitation to dinner. + </p> + <p> + He came like a guest and they went through all the formalities of meeting + for the first time, of increasing intimacy—condensing a complete + courtship into one evening. + </p> + <p> + “I thought you had had enough of me for the time,” he said, as they sat in + the wide window-seat, he tracing with his forefinger the line of the + straps over her bare shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “And I thought that I would give you a chance to forget how nice I am and + so give you the pleasure of learning all over again. But it was so lonely + and miserable up there. ‘Who can come after the king?’” + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes I think I ought to stir about more—meet the men who lead + in the city. But it seems such a waste of time when I can come and call + upon you.” + </p> + <p> + “But might it not be better in the long run if you did meet these men? + Mightn’t it make your getting on quicker and easier?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps—if I were a gregarious animal, but I’m not. I’m shy and + solitary and hard to get acquainted with. And it takes time to make + friends. Besides, in making friends you also make enemies, and one enemy + can do you more harm than all your friends can do you good. Then too, + friends take up too much time. We have so little time and—we can + spend it to so much better advantage—can’t we?” + </p> + <p> + Marian pushed herself closer against him and presently said dreamily: “So + much happiness, such utter happiness which no one, nothing can take away. + I wonder when and how the first storm will come?” + </p> + <p> + “It needn’t come at all—not for a long, long time. And when it does—we + can weather it, don’t you think?” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + During the next two months they were together more than they had been in + the spring. He imposed day office hours upon himself and did no work in + the evenings except the correcting of editorial proofs which he had sent + to him at the house, at the theatre, or at whatever restaurant they were + dining. And at midnight he called up the office on the telephone and + talked with Mr. King or Mr. Vroom about the news in hand and the programme + for presenting it in the next morning’s paper. + </p> + <p> + But as “people”—meaning Marian’s friends—returned to town, + they fell into the former routine. It was in part his doing, in part hers. + He was now thirty-seven years old and his mind, always of a serious cast, + was intolerant of trifles and triflers. + </p> + <p> + Marian’s range of interests was shallower but much wider than his. Her + beauty, her cleverness, her tact caused her to be sought. She invited many + to their house and accepted more and more invitations. At first she never + went without him. But he was sometimes compelled by his work to send her + alone. He rarely went except for her sake—because he thought going + about amused her. And he was glad and relieved when she began to go + without him, instead of spending the evenings in solitude. + </p> + <p> + “There is no reason why you should punish yourself and punish me because + you had the ill luck to marry a working-man,” he said. “It cannot be + agreeable to sit here all by yourself evening after evening. And it + depresses me when I am at the office at night to think of you as lonely. + It makes me happier in my work—my pleasure, you know—to think + of you enjoying yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “But aren’t you afraid that some one will steal me?” she asked, + laughingly. + </p> + <p> + “Not I.” He was smiling proudly at her. “If you could be stolen, if you + could be happier anywhere than with me, you have only to let me into the + plot.” + </p> + <p> + “There are some women who would not like that.” + </p> + <p> + “And there are men who wouldn’t feel as I do. But you and I, we belong to + a class all by ourselves, don’t we?” + </p> + <p> + Apparently they were as devoted each to the other as ever. But each now + sought a separate happiness—he perforce in his work, she perforce in + the only way left open to her. When they were together, which meant + several hours every day and usually one whole day in the week, they were + at once seemingly absorbed each in the other with all the rest as + background. But none the less, they were leading separate lives, with + separate interests, separate tastes, separate modes of thinking. The + “bourgeois” life which they had planned—both standing behind the + counter and both adding up the results of the day’s business after they + had put up the shutters, two as one in all the interests of life—became + a dead and forgotten dream. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXII. — THE SHENSTONE EPISODE. + </h2> + <p> + On the way to or from the opera or a party, she would peep in on him, + watching the back of his head as he bent over his desk or read away at + some dull-looking book, wishing that he would feel her presence and turn + with that smile which was always hers from him, yet fearing to make a + sound and compel his attention. + </p> + <p> + “At times I think,” she said one day when he caught her in his arms on a + sudden impulse and kissed her, “that the reason you don’t try to rule me + is because you don’t care enough.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s precisely it.” He was smoothing her eyebrows with his forefinger. + “I don’t care enough about ruling. I don’t care enough for the sort of + love that responds to ‘must.’” + </p> + <p> + “But a woman likes to have ‘must’ said to her sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + “Does she? Do you? Well—I’ll say ‘must’ to you. You must love me + freely and voluntarily, or not at all. You must do as you please.” + </p> + <p> + “But don’t you see that that drives me from you often, keeps us apart in + many ways. Now if you compelled me to think as you do, to like what you + like—” + </p> + <p> + “But I couldn’t. Then you would no longer be <i>you</i>. And I like you so + well just as you are that I would not change an idea in your head.” + </p> + <p> + Marian sighed and went away to her dinner party. She felt that she was in + danger. “Not of falling in love with some other man,” she thought, “for + that’s impossible. But if a man were to come along who invited me to be + interested in his work, to keep him at whatever he was doing, I’d accept + and that would lead on and on—where?” + </p> + <p> + She soon had an opportunity to answer that question. Howard went away to + Washington to assist the party leaders in putting through a difficult + tariff-reform bill which all the protected interests were fighting. He + expected to be gone a week; but week after week passed and he was still at + the capital, directing the paper by telegraph and sending Marian hurried + notes postponing his return. She was going about daily, early and late, + her life vacant, her mind restlessly seeking occupation, interest. + </p> + <p> + After he had been gone three weeks she found herself at dinner at Mrs. + Provost’s next to a tall, fair-haired athletic young man of about her own + age. Something in his expression—perhaps the amused way in which he + studied the faces of the others—attracted her to him. She glanced + over at his card. It read “Mr. Shenstone.” + </p> + <p> + “It doesn’t add much to your information, does it?” he smiled, as he + caught her glance rising from the card. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” she confessed candidly. “I never heard of you before.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet I’ve been splashing about, trying to attract attention to myself, + for twelve years.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps not in this particular pond.” + </p> + <p> + “No, that is true.” + </p> + <p> + “I was wondering what you do—lawyer, doctor, journalist, business + man or what. + </p> + <p> + “And what did you conclude?” + </p> + <p> + “I concluded that you did nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right. But I try—I paint.” + </p> + <p> + “Portraits?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “That explains your way of looking at people. Only, you’ll get no + customers if you paint them as you see them.” + </p> + <p> + “I only see what they see when they look in the mirror.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but you see it impartial—or rather, I should say, cynically.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you.” + </p> + <p> + “For what?” + </p> + <p> + “For calling me cynical. The two keenest pleasures a man can attain are + for a woman to call him a cynic and for a woman to call him a devil with + the women.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you a ‘devil with the women’?” + </p> + <p> + “Not I—not any more than I am a cynic. But let us talk about you—I + am about exhausted as a topic of conversation. Why do you look so + discontented?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I have nothing to occupy my mind.” + </p> + <p> + “No children?” + </p> + <p> + “None—and no dogs.” + </p> + <p> + “No husband?” + </p> + <p> + “Husbands are busy.” + </p> + <p> + “So you are the typical American woman—the American instinct for + doing, the universal woman’s instinct for sunshine and laziness; the + husband absorbed in his business or profession with his domestic life as + an incident; the wife—like you.” + </p> + <p> + “That is right, and wrong—nearer right than wrong, a little unjust + to the husband.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it’s probably your fault that you are not absorbed in his business or + profession. It ought to be as much yours as his. What does he do?” + </p> + <p> + “He edits a newspaper.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he’s <i>the</i> Mr. Howard. A very interesting, a very remarkable + man.” + </p> + <p> + Marian was delighted by this appreciation. She talked with Shenstone again + after dinner and was pleased that he was to be in the same box with her at + the opera the next night. He had spent much of his time on the other side + of the Atlantic. He was unusually well educated for an artist’s, and his + mind was not developed in one direction only. Like Marian, his point of + view was artistic and emotional. Like her he had a reverence for + tradition, a deference to caste—the latter not offensive for the + same reason that hers was not, because good birth and good breeding made + him of the “high caste” and not a cringer with his eyes craned upward. It + seemed in him, as in her, a sort of self-respect. + </p> + <p> + Marian showed a candid liking for his society and he was quick to take + advantage of it. For a month they saw more and more each of the other, she + discreet without deliberation and he discreet with deliberation. He talked + to her of his work, of his ambition. He showed her himself without + egotism. He made an impression upon her so distinct and so favourable that + she admitted to herself that he was the most fascinating man—except + one—whom she had ever met. + </p> + <p> + When Howard at last returned, defeated by corruption within his own party + and for the time disgusted with politics, she at once had Shenstone at the + house to dine. “What do you think of Mr. Shenstone?” she asked when they + were alone. + </p> + <p> + “No wonder you’re enthusiastic about him. As he talked to me, I could + hardly keep from laughing. It was your own views, almost your own words. + He has the look of a great man. I think he will ‘arrive,’ as they say in + the Bowery.” + </p> + <p> + Howard went out of his way to be agreeable to Shenstone, often inviting + him to the house and giving him a commission to paint Marian. For the rest + of the winter Shenstone was constantly in Marian’s company; so constantly + that they were gossiped about, and all the women who were unpleasantly + discussed “for cause” conspired to throw them together as much as + possible. + </p> + <p> + One evening in the very end of the winter, Howard called to Marian from + his dressing room: “Why, lady, Shenstone’s gone, hasn’t he? I’ve just read + a note from him.” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause before Marian answered in a constrained voice: “Yes, he + sailed to-day.” + </p> + <p> + Howard was tying his bow. He paused at the curious tone, then smiled + mysteriously to himself. He put on his waistcoat and coat and knocked on + the half-open door. “May I come in?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—I’m waiting for dinner to be announced.” + </p> + <p> + She was sitting before the fire, very beautiful in her evening gown. She + seemed not to observe that he had entered but stared on into the flames. + He stood beside her, looking down at her with the half mocking, half + tender smile. Presently he sat upon the arm of her chair and took one of + her hands. “Poor, friendless, beautiful lady,” he said softly. + </p> + <p> + She glanced up quickly, her cheeks flaming but her eyes clear and frank. + “Why do you say that?” she asked in the tone of one who knows why. + </p> + <p> + “Other women will not be her friends because they are jealous of her, and + as for the men—how can a man be really a friend to a woman, a + fascinating, sympathetic woman?” + </p> + <p> + Marian hid her face against the lapel of his coat. “He told me,” she + whispered, “and then he went away.” + </p> + <p> + “He always does tell her. But——” + </p> + <p> + “But—what?” + </p> + <p> + “She doesn’t always send him away. Poor fellow! Still, he went into it + with his eyes open.” + </p> + <p> + “He was very nice. He told it in a roundabout way. And I wasn’t a bit + afraid that he’d—he’d—you know. But I got to thinking about + how I’d feel if he did—did touch me. And it made me—nervous.” + </p> + <p> + There was a long pause, then she went on: “I wonder how you’d feel about + touching another woman?” + </p> + <p> + “I? Dear me, I wonder! I never thought. You see I’m such a domestic, + unattractive creature——” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t laugh at me, please,” she pleaded. + </p> + <p> + “I’m not laughing. Underneath, I’m thinking—thinking what I would do + if I met you and lost you. It’s very black on the Atlantic for one pair of + eyes to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “And the worst of it is,” she said, “that my vanity is flattered and I’m + not really sorry for him.” + </p> + <p> + “Rather proud of her conquest, is she?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it pleased me to have him care.” + </p> + <p> + “She likes to think that he’ll carry his broken heart to the grave, does + she?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Isn’t it shameful?” + </p> + <p> + “Shameful? Shameless. I have always held that even the best woman dearly + loves to ruin a man. It’s such a triumph. And the more she loves him, the + more she’d like to ruin him—that is, if ruin came solely through + love for her and didn’t involve her.” + </p> + <p> + “But I would not want to ruin you.” + </p> + <p> + “If that seemed to be the supreme test of my love for you—are you + sure? I’m not. There’s Thomas, knocking to announce dinner.” + </p> + <p> + The Shenstone incident was apparently closed. Marian, a most attractive + woman of thirty, absorbed in a social life that demanded all her physical + and mental energy as well as all of her time, did not long vividly + remember him. But he had given her a standard by which she unconsciously + measured her husband. She contrasted the life he had promised her, the + life Shenstone reminded her of, with the life that was—so material, + so suspiciously physical when it professed to be loving, so suspiciously + chill when it professed to be friendly. She thrust aside these thoughts as + disloyal and false. But they persisted in returning. + </p> + <p> + If she had been less appreciative of Howard’s intellect, less fascinated + by the charm of his personality, she would soon have become one of the + “misunderstood” women in search of “consolation.” Instead, she turned her + mind in the direction natural to her character—social ambition. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIII. — EXPANDING AND CONTRACTING. + </h2> + <p> + In such a city as New York, to be deliberately careful about money is the + only way to keep within one’s income, whether it be vast or small. There + are temptations to buy at the end of every glance of the eye. The + merchants are crafty in producing new and insidious allurements, in + creating new and expensive tastes. But these might be resisted were it not + that the habits of all one’s associates are constantly and all but + irresistibly stimulating the faculty of imitation. + </p> + <p> + Neither Howard nor Marian had been brought up to be watchful about money. + Both had been accustomed to having their wants supplied. And now that they + had a household and a growing income, it was a matter of course that their + expenditures should steadily expand. Before three years had passed they + were spending more than double the sum which at the outset they had fixed + upon as their limit. A merely decent and self-respecting return of the + hospitalities they accepted, a carriage and pair and two saddle horses and + the servants to look after them—these items accounted for the + increase. They looked upon this as really necessary expenditure and soon + would have found that curtailment involved genuine deprivation. From the + very beginning each step in expansion made the next logical and + inevitable, made the plea of necessity seem valid. + </p> + <p> + An aunt of Marian’s died, leaving her a “small” house—worth perhaps + a quarter of a million—near the Avenue in Sixty-fifth Street, and + eighty thousand in cash. About the same time Stokely told Howard of a fine + speculative opportunity in certain copper properties. Howard hesitated. He + knew that the way of speculation was the way of bondage for his newspaper + and for him. But this particular adventure seemed harmless and he yielded. + The money was invested and within a few months was producing an income of + fifteen thousand a year which promised to be steady. Howard’s ownership of + stock in the paper increased; and as the profits advanced swiftly with its + swift growth in its illustrated form, his own income was nearly fifty + thousand a year. They were growing very rich. There was no longer the + slightest anxiety as to money in his mind. + </p> + <p> + “You know the great dread I had in marrying,” he said to her one day, “was + lest I should make myself and you dependents, should some day sacrifice my + freedom to my fear of losing—happiness.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and very foolish you were, not to have more confidence in yourself + and in me.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps. But what I am thinking is that you have brought me luck. I am + free, beyond anybody’s reach. I could quit the paper to-morrow and we + should hardly have to change our style of living even if I did not get + something else to do.” + </p> + <p> + “Style of living—” in that phrase lay the key to the change that was + swiftly going on in Howard’s mind and mental attitude. It is not easy for + a man with environment wholly in his favour to keep his point of view + correct, to keep his horizon wide and clear, his sense of proportion just. + It is next to impossible for him to do so when his environment opposes. + </p> + <p> + The man who looks out from misery and squalor upon misery and squalor is, + if he thinks at all, naturally an anarchist. To him the established order + shows only injustice and persistence of injustice. The man who looks out + from luxury and ease and well-being upon luxury and ease and well-being is + forced by the very limitations of the human mind to an over-reverence for + the established order. He is unreasonably suspicious of anything that + threatens change. “When I’m comfortable all’s well in the world; change + might bring discomfort to me.” And he flatters himself that he is a + “conservative.” + </p> + <p> + Howard had had a long training at the correct standpoint and in right + thinking. But the influences were there, were at work, were destroying his + devotion to a social and political ideal wholly alien to the life he was + now living under the leading of his wife. He did not blame her, indeed he + could not justly have blamed her, for his falling away from what he knew + were correct principles for him. While she had brought him into this + environment, while at first it was in large part for her that he gave so + much time and thought to the accumulation of wealth, soon love of luxury, + dependence upon a train of servants, fondness for the great extravagances + to which New York tempts the rich and those living near the rich, became + stronger in him than it was in her. And through the inevitable reaction of + environment upon the man, the central point in his valuation of men and + women tended to shift from the fundamentals, mind and character, to the + surface qualities—dress and style and manners and refinement, and + even dress. + </p> + <p> + This process of demoralisation was well advanced when they moved from the + apartment. After four years of “expansion” there, they had begun to feel + cramped; and a year after Marian inherited the house Howard had progressed + to the mental, the moral, the financial state where it seemed natural, + logical, practically necessary that they should set up a real New York + “establishment.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t this just the house for us?” she said. “I hate huge, big houses. + Like you, I think the taste of the occupants should be everywhere. Now + this house is just big enough. You don’t know how wonderful it would be.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, I do,” he laughed, “and you must try it.” He was as enthusiastic + as she. + </p> + <p> + In the late autumn the house was ready; and there was not a more artistic + interior in New York. It was not so much the result of great expense as of + intelligence and taste. It was an expression of an individuality—a + revelation of a woman’s beautiful mind, inspired by love. + </p> + <p> + “At last I have something to interest, to occupy me,” she said. “This is + our very own, through and through our own. It will be such a pleasure to + me to keep it always like this.” + </p> + <p> + “You—degenerated into a household drudge,” he mocked. “Why, you used + to laugh at me when I held up a wife who was a good housekeeper as one of + my ideals.” + </p> + <p> + “Did I?” she answered. “Well, as you would say, see what I’ve come to + through living with—a member of the working-classes.” + </p> + <p> + Howard’s own particular part of this house included a library with a small + study next to it. In the study was a most attractive table with plenty of + room to spread about books and papers, a huge divan in the corner and a + fire-place near by. He found himself doing more and more of his work at + home. There were not so many interruptions as at the office, the beauty of + the surroundings, the consciousness that “she” was not far away—all + combined to keep him at home and to enable him to do more and better work + there. + </p> + <p> + He was justly and greatly proud of her achievement; and where he used to + be more regretful than he admitted even to himself when they had guests, + he was now glad to see others about, admiring her taste, appreciating her + skill as a hostess and giving him opportunities to look at her from an + ever new point of view. + </p> + <p> + Of course these guests were almost all “<i>their</i> kind of people”—amiable, + well mannered persons who thought and acted in that most conventional of + moulds, the mould of “good society.” They fitted into the surroundings, + they did their part toward making those surroundings luxurious—a + “wallow of self-complacent content.” And this environment soon suited and + fitted him exactly. + </p> + <p> + But to her he was still The Democrat. She loved him in the way and to the + degree which her character, as the years had developed it, permitted her + to love. And this love, or rather admiring respect, was wholly based upon + her ideal of him, her belief in the honesty and intensity of his + convictions. While she did not share them, she had breadth enough to + admire them and to regard them as high removed above her own ideas to + which for herself she held tenaciously, instinct and association and + “tradition” triumphing over reason. + </p> + <p> + Howard retained his ideal of her, never examining her closely, never + seeing or suspecting what a pale love she gave him and how shrivelled had + become the part of her nature which she and he both assumed was most + strongly developed. He knew how she idealised him and did not dare to + undeceive her. Therefore he practised toward her a hypocrisy that grew + steadily more disgraceful, yet grew so gradually that there was no single + moment at which he could conveniently halt and “straighten the record.” At + first he was often and heartily ashamed of himself; but by degrees this + feeling deadened into cynical insensibility and he was only ashamed to let + her see him as he really was. She had kept her self-respect. She esteemed + self-respect at the exalted valuation he had formerly put upon it. What if + she should find him out? + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + When the famous “coal conspiracy” was formed, three of the men conspicuous + in it were among their intimates—that is, their families were often + at his house and he and Marian were often at theirs. Yet he had never made + a more relentless attack. Nor did he, either in the news columns or on the + editorial page, conceal the connection of his three friends with the + conspiracy. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Mercer was here this morning,” Marian said as they were waiting for + the butler to announce dinner. She was flushed and embarrassed. + </p> + <p> + Howard laughed. “And did she tell you what a dreadful husband you had?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, she didn’t blame you at all. She said they all knew how perfectly + upright you were. Only, she said you did not understand and were doing Mr. + Mercer a great injustice.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what do you think?” + </p> + <p> + “Why—I can’t believe—is it possible, dear—I was just + reading one of your editorials. Can Mr. Mercer be in such a scheme? The + way she told it to me, he and the others were really doing a lot of people + a valuable service, putting their property on a paying basis, enabling the + railroads to meet their expenses and to keep thousands and thousands of + men employed.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor Mercer!” Howard said ironically. “Poor misunderstood philanthropist! + What a pity that that sort of benevolence has to be carried on by bribing + judges and prosecutors and legislatures, by making the poor shiver and + freeze, by subtracting from the pleasures and adding to the anxieties of + millions. One would almost say that such a philanthropy had better not be + undertaken. It is so likely to be misunderstood by the ‘unruly classes.’” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I knew you were right. I told her you must be right, that you never + wrote until you knew.” + </p> + <p> + “And what was the result?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we are making some very bitter enemies.” + </p> + <p> + “I doubt it. I suspect that before long they’ll come wheedling about in + the hope that I’ll let up on them or be a little easier next time.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure I do not care what they do,” said Marian, drawing herself up. + “All I care for is—you, and to see you do your duty at whatever cost + or regardless of cost—” she was leaning over the back of his chair + with her arms about his neck and her lips very near to his ear—“you + are my love without fear and without reproach.” + </p> + <p> + “Listen, dear.” He took her hand and drew her arms more closely about his + neck. “Suppose that the lines were drawn—as they may be any day. + Suppose that we had to choose, with all these friends of yours, with our + position, yes, even the place I have won in my profession, my place as + editor—all that we now have on the one side; and on the other side a + thankless, unprofitable, apparently useless standing up for the right. + Wouldn’t you miss your friends?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>All</i> our friends? And who will be on the other side?” + </p> + <p> + “Almost no one that we know—that you would care to call upon or go + about with or have here at the house. Nobody with any great amount of + wealth or social position. Those other people who are in town when it is + said ‘Nobody is in town now!’” + </p> + <p> + She did not answer. + </p> + <p> + “Where would you be?” he repeated. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I wasn’t thinking of that.” She came around and sat on his knee. + “Where? Why, there’s only one ‘where’ in all this world for me—‘wheresoever + thou goest.’” + </p> + <p> + And so the half-formed impulse to begin to straighten himself out with her + was smothered by her. + </p> + <p> + Both were silent through dinner. She was thinking how honest, how fearless + he was, how he loved her, how eagerly she would follow him, how blessed + she was in the love of such a man. And he—he was regretting that his + “pose” had carried him so far; he was wishing that he had not been so + bitter in his attacks upon his and his wife’s friends, the coal + conspirators. When he had definitely cast in his lot with “the shearers” + why persist in making his hypocrisy more abominable by protesting more + loudly than ever in behalf of “the sheep?” Above all, why had he let his + habit of voluble denunciation lead him into this hypocrisy with the woman + he loved? + </p> + <p> + He admitted to himself that “causes” had ceased to interest him except as + they might contribute to the advancement of his power. Power!—that + was his ambition now. First he had wished to have an independent income in + order to be free. When he had achieved that, it was at the sacrifice of + his mental freedom. And now, with the clearness of self-knowledge which + only men of great ability have, he knew that the one cause for which he + would make sacrifices was—himself. + </p> + <p> + “Of what are you thinking so gloomily?” she interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “Oh—I—let me see—well, I was thinking what a fraud I am; + and that I wished I could dupe myself as completely as I can dupe—” + </p> + <p> + “Me?” she laughed. “Oh, we’re all frauds—shocking frauds. I wouldn’t + have you see me as I really am for anything.” + </p> + <p> + Although her remark was a commonplace, of small meaning, as he knew, he + got comfort out of it, so desperately was he casting about for some + consolation. + </p> + <p> + “That’s true, my dear,” he said. “And I wish that you liked the kind of a + fraud I am as well as I like the kind of a fraud you are.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIV. — “MR. VALIANT-FOR-TRUTH.” + </h2> + <p> + Stokely came rushing into his office the next morning. “Good God, old + man,” he exclaimed, “What’s the meaning of this attack on the coal roads?” + </p> + <p> + Howard flushed with resentment, not at what Stokely said, but at his tone. + </p> + <p> + “Now, don’t get on your high horse. I don’t think you understand.” + Stokely’s tone had moderated. “Don’t you know that the Delaware Valley + road is in this?” + </p> + <p> + Howard started. He had just invested two hundred thousand dollars in that + stock on Stokely’s advice “No, I didn’t know it.” He recovered himself. + “And furthermore I don’t give a damn.” He struck his desk angrily. His + simulation of incorruptible indignation for the moment half deceived + himself. + </p> + <p> + “Why, man, if this infernal roast is kept up, you’ll lose a hundred + thousand. Then there are my interests. I’m up to my neck in this deal.” + </p> + <p> + “My advice to you is to get out of it. I’m sorry, but you know as well as + I do that the thing is infamous.” + </p> + <p> + “Infamous—nonsense! It will double our dividends and the consumers + won’t feel it.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us not discuss it, Stokely. There—don’t say anything you’ll + regret.” + </p> + <p> + “But—” + </p> + <p> + “Now, Stokely—don’t argue it with me.” + </p> + <p> + Stokely put on his hat, stood up and looked at Howard with sullen + admiration. “You will drive away the last friend you’ve got on earth, if + you keep this up. Good morning.” + </p> + <p> + Howard sent a smile of cynical amusement after him, then stared + thoughtfully into the mass of papers on his desk for five, ten, fifteen + minutes. When his plan was formed he touched the electric button. + </p> + <p> + “Please tell Mr. King I’d like to see him,” he said to the answering boy. + </p> + <p> + Mr. King entered with a bundle of legal documents. “I suppose it’s the + injunction you want to discuss,” he said. “We’ve got the papers all ready. + It’s simply great. Those fellows will be in a corner and will have to give + up. They can’t get away from us. The price of coal will drop half a dollar + within a week, I’ll bet.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid you are over sanguine,” Howard said. “I’ve just been going + over the matter with my lawyer. But leave the papers with me. And—about + the news—be careful what you say. We’ve been going a little strong. + I think a little less personal matter would be advisable.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. King was amazed and looked it. He slowly pulled himself together to + say, “All right, Mr. Howard. I think I understand.” He laid the papers + down and departed. Outside the door he laughed softly to himself. + “Somebody’s been cutting his comb, I guess,” he murmured. “Well, I didn’t + think he’d last. New York always gets ‘em when they’re worth while.” + </p> + <p> + As the door closed behind King, Howard drew out the lowest and deepest + drawer of his desk. It was half-filled with long-undisturbed pamphlets and + newspaper cuttings. He tossed in the injunction papers. A cloud of dust + flew up and settled thickly upon them. He shut the drawer. + </p> + <p> + He went to the window and looked out over the city—that seductive, + that overwhelming expression of wealth and power. “What was it my father + wrote me when I told him I was going to New York?” and he recalled almost + the exact words—“New York that lures young men from the towns and + the farms, and prostitutes them, teaches them to sell themselves with + unblushing cheeks for a fee, for an office, for riches, for power.” He + shrugged his shoulders, smiled, drew himself up, returned to his desk and + was soon absorbed in his work. + </p> + <p> + The next morning the <i>News-Record’s</i> double-leaded “leader” on the + Coal Trust was a discharge of heavy artillery. But it was artillery in + retreat. And in the succeeding days, the retreat continued—not + precipitate but orderly, masterly. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Ten days after their talk on the “coal conspiracy” Marian greeted him late + in the afternoon with “Oh, such a row with Mrs. Mercer!” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Mercer! Why, what was she angry about?” + </p> + <p> + “She wasn’t—at least, not at first. It was I. I went to see her and + she asked me to thank you for stopping that fight on the coal conspiracy.” + </p> + <p> + “That was tactful of her,” Howard said, turning away to hide his + nervousness. + </p> + <p> + “And I told her that you had not stopped, that you wouldn’t stop until you + had broken it up. And she smiled in a superior way and said I was quite + mistaken, that I didn’t read the paper, I haven’t read it for several + days, but I knew <i>you</i>, dear, and I remembered what you had said. And + so we just had it. We were polite but furious when I went. I shall never + go near her again.” + </p> + <p> + “But, unfortunately, we have stopped. We had to do it. We could accomplish + nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it doesn’t matter. What angered me was her insinuation.” + </p> + <p> + “That was irritating. But, tell me, what if it had been true?” Howard’s + voice was strained and he was looking at her eagerly, with fever in his + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “But it couldn’t be. It isn’t worth while imagining. You could not be a + coward and a traitor.” So complete was her confidence in him that + suspicion of him was impossible. + </p> + <p> + “Would you sit in judgment on me?” + </p> + <p> + “Not if I could help it.” + </p> + <p> + “But you can—you could help it.” His manner was agitated, and he + spoke almost fiercely. “I am free,” he went on, and as she watched his + eyes she understood why men feared him. “I do what I will. I am not + accountable to you, not even to you. I have never asked you to approve of + me, to approve what I do, to love me. You are free also, free to love, + free to withdraw your love. I follow the law of my own being. You must + take me as you find me or not at all.” + </p> + <p> + She tried to stop him but could not. His words poured on. He leaned + forward and took her hand and his eyes were brilliant and piercing. “I + love you,” he said. “Ah, how I love you—not because you love me, not + because you are an angel, not because you are a superior being. No, not + for any reason in all this wide world but because you are you. Do what you + will and I shall love you. Whether I had to look up among the stars or + down in the mire to find you, I would look just as steadily, just as + proudly.” + </p> + <p> + He drew along breath and his hand trembled. “If I were a traitor, then, if + you loved me, you would say, ‘What! Is he to be found among traitors? How + I love treason!’ If I were a coward, liar, thief, a sum of all the vices, + then, if you ever had loved me you would love me still. I want no love + with mental reservations, no love with ifs and buts and provided-thats. I + want love, free and fearless, that adapts itself to changing human nature + as the colour of the sea adapts itself to the colour of the sky; love that + does not have to be cajoled and persuaded lest it be not there when I most + need it. I want the love that loves.” + </p> + <p> + “You know you have it.” She had been compelled by his mood and was herself + in a fever. She looked at him with the expression which used to make his + nerves vibrate. “You know that no human being ever was more to another + than I to you. But you can’t expect me to be just the same as you are. I + love <i>you</i>—not the false, base creature you picture. I admire + the way you love, but I could not love in that way. Thank God, my love, my + dear—I shall never be put to that test. For my love for you is my—my + all.” + </p> + <p> + “We are very serious about a mere supposition.” + </p> + <p> + Howard was laughing, but not naturally. “We take each the other far too + seriously. I’m sorry you idealise me so. Who knows—you might find me + out some day—and then—well, don’t blame me.” + </p> + <p> + Marian said no more, but late that evening she put her hands on his + shoulders and said: “You’re not hiding something from me—something + we ought to bear together?” + </p> + <p> + “Not I.” Howard smiled down into her eyes and kissed her. + </p> + <p> + His mood of reaction, of hysteria had passed. He was thinking how little + in reality she had had to do with his outburst. He had not been addressing + her at all, except as she seemed to him for the moment the embodiment of + his self-respect—or rather, of an “absurd,” “extremely youthful” + ideal of self-respect which he had “outgrown.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXV. — THE PROMISED LAND. + </h2> + <p> + A woman with a powerful personality may absorb in herself a man of strong + and resolute ambition, may compel him to make her his career, to feel that + to get and to keep her is all that he asks from destiny. But Marian was + not such a woman. + </p> + <p> + She had come into Howard’s life at just the time and in just the way to + arouse his latent passion for power and to give it a sufficient initial + impetus. It was love for her that set him to lifting himself from among + those who work through themselves alone to the potent few who work chiefly + by directing the labour of others. + </p> + <p> + Once in this class, once having tasted the joy of power, Howard was lost + to her. She was unable to restrain or direct, or even clearly to + understand. She became an incident in his life. As riches came with power, + they pushed him to one side in her life. Living in separate parts of a + large house, leading separate lives, rarely meeting except when others + were present—following the typical life of New Yorkers of fortune + and fashion—they gradually grew to know little and see little and + think little each of the other. + </p> + <p> + There was no abruptness in the transition. Every day had contributed its + little toward widening the gap. There was no coolness, no consciousness of + separation; simply the slow formation of the habit of complete + independence each of the other. + </p> + <p> + His ambitions absorbed his thought and his time. To them he found her very + useful. The social side—forming and keeping up friendly relations + with the families whose heads were men of influence—was a vital part + of his plan. But he used her just as he used every and any one else whom + he found capable of contributing to his advancement; and, as she never + insisted upon herself, never sought to influence or even to inquire into + his course of action, she did not find him out. + </p> + <p> + She was in a vague way an unhappy woman. A discontent, a feeling that her + life was incomplete, perpetually teased her. He was distinctly unhappy, + often gloomy, at times morose. In her rare analytic moods she attributed + their failure to prolong the happiness of their courtship to the hard work + which kept him from her, kept them from enjoying the great love which she + assumed they felt each for the other. She would not and could not see that + that love had long disappeared, leaving a mask of forms, of phrases and of + impulses of passion to conceal its departure. And to this view he + outwardly assented, when she suggested it; but he knew that she was + deceiving herself as to him, and wondered if she were not deceiving + herself as to her own feelings. + </p> + <p> + Up to the time of the “Coal Conspiracy” and his attempt to put himself + straight with her, the idea of his love for her and of her oneness with + him had at least a hold upon his imagination. He then saw how far apart + they had drifted; and he dismissed from his mind even the pretense that + love played any part in his life. After that definite break with principle + and self-respect for the sake of his coal holdings, his Wall Street + friends and his newspaper career, the development of his character + continued along strictly logical lines with accelerating speed. And it was + accompanied by an ever franker, more cynical acceptance of the change. + </p> + <p> + He could not deceive himself, nor can any man with the clearness of + judgment necessary to great achievement—although many “successful” + men, for obvious reasons of self-interest, diligently encourage the + popular theory of warped conscience. He was well aware that he had shifted + from the ideal of use <i>to</i> his fellow-beings to the ideal of use <i>of</i> + his fellow-beings, from the ideal of character to the ideal of reputation. + And he knew that the two ideals can not be combined and that he not only + was not attempting to combine them but had no desire so to do. He despised + his former ideals; but also he despised himself for despising them. + </p> + <p> + His quarrel with himself was that he seemed to himself a rather vulgar + sort of hypocrite. This was highly disagreeable to him, as his whole + nature tended to make him wish to be himself, to make him shrink from the + part of the truckler and the sycophant which he was playing so haughtily + and so artistically. At times it exasperated him that he could not regard + his change of front as a deliberate sale for value received, and not as + the weak and cowardly surrender which he saw that it really was. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + On the day after Howard’s forty-fourth birthday Coulter fell dead at the + entrance to the Union Club. When Stokely heard of it he went direct to the + <i>News-Record</i> office. + </p> + <p> + “I happen to know something about Coulter’s will,” he said to Howard. “The + <i>News-Record</i> stock is to be sold and you and I are to have the first + chance to take it at three hundred and fifty—which is certainly + cheap enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did he arrange to dispose of the most valuable part of his estate?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we had an agreement about it. Then, too, Coulter had no faith in + newspapers as a permanent investment. You know there are only the widow, + the girl and that worthless boy. Heavens, what an ass that boy is! Coulter + has tied up his estate until the youngest grandchild comes of age. He + hopes that there will be a son among the grandchildren who will realise + his dream.” + </p> + <p> + “Dream?” Howard smiled. “I didn’t know that Coulter ever indulged in + dreams.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he had the rich man’s mania—the craze for founding a family. + So everything is to be put into real estate and long-term bonds. And for + years New York is to be reminded of Samuel Coulter by some incapable + who’ll use his name and his money to advertise nature’s contempt for + family pride in her distributions of brains. I think even a fine tomb is a + wiser memorial.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, how much of the stock shall you take?” Howard asked. + </p> + <p> + “Not a share,” Stokely replied dejectedly. “Coulter couldn’t have died at + a worse time for me. I’m tied in every direction and shall be for a year + at least. So you’ve got a chance to become controlling owner.” + </p> + <p> + “I?” Howard laughed. “Where could I get a million and a half?” + </p> + <p> + “How much could you take in cash?” + </p> + <p> + “Well—let me see—perhaps—five hundred thousand.” + </p> + <p> + “You can borrow the million with the stock as collateral.” + </p> + <p> + “But how could I pay?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, your dividends at our present rate would be more than two hundred + thousand a year. Your interest charge would be under seventy-five + thousand. Perhaps I can arrange it so that it won’t be more than fifty + thousand. You can let the balance go on reducing the loan. Then I may be + able to put you onto a few good things. At any rate you can’t lose + anything. Your stock would bring five hundred even at forced sale. It’s + your chance, old man. I want to see you take it.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll think it over. I have no head for figures.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me manage it for you.” Stokely rose to go. Howard began thanking him, + but he cut him off with: + </p> + <p> + “You owe me no thanks. You’ve made money for me—big money. I owe you + my help. Besides, I don’t want any outsider in here. Let me know when + you’re ready.” He nodded and was gone. + </p> + <p> + “What a chance!” Howard repeated again and again. + </p> + <p> + He was looking out over New York. + </p> + <p> + Twenty years before he had faced it, asking of it nothing but a living and + his freedom. For twenty years he had fought. Year by year, even when he + seemed to be standing still or going backward, he had steadily gained, + making each step won a vantage-ground for forward attack. And now—victory. + Power, wealth, fame, all his! + </p> + <p> + Yet a deep melancholy came over him. And he fell to despising himself for + the kind of exultation that filled him, its selfishness, its sordidness, + the absence of all high enthusiasm. Why was he denied the happiness of + self-deception? Why could he not forget the means, blot it out, now that + the end was attained? + </p> + <p> + His mind went out, not to Marian, but to that other—the one sleeping + under the many, many layers of autumn leaves at Asheville. And he heard a + voice saying so faintly, so timidly: “I lay awake night after night + listening to your breathing, and whispering under my breath, ‘I love you, + I love you. Why can’t you love me?’” And then—he flung down the + cover of his desk and rushed away home. + </p> + <p> + “Why did I think of Alice?” he asked himself. And the answer came—because + in those days, in the days of his youth, he had had beliefs, high + principles; he had been incapable of this slavery to appearances, to vain + show, incapable of this passion for reputation regardless of character. + His weaknesses were then weaknesses only, and not, as now, the laws of his + being controlling his every act. + </p> + <p> + He smiled cynically at the self of such a few years ago—yet he could + not meet those honest, fearless eyes that looked out at him from the + mirror of memory. + </p> + <p> + He was triumphant, but self-respect had gone and not all the thick + swathings of vanity covered him from the stabs of self-contempt. + </p> + <p> + “When I am really free, when the paper is paid for and I can do as I + please, why not try to be a man again? Why not? It would cost me nothing.” + </p> + <p> + But a man is the sum of <i>all</i> his past. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXVI. — IN POSSESSION. + </h2> + <p> + Stokely arranged the loan, and within six months Howard was controlling + owner of the <i>News-Record.</i> There was a debt of a million and a + quarter attached to his ownership, but he saw how that would be wiped out. + Once more he threw himself into his work with the energy of a boy. He had + to give much of his time to the business department—to the details + of circulation and advertising. He felt that the profits of the paper + could be greatly increased by improving its facilities for reaching the + advertiser and the public. He had never been satisfied with the + circulation methods; but theretofore his ignorance of business and his + position as mere salaried editor had acted in restraint upon his + interference with the “ground floor.” + </p> + <p> + As he had suspected, the business office was afflicted with the twin + diseases—routine and imitativeness. It followed an old system, + devised in days of small circulation and grudgingly improved, not by + thought on the part of those who circulated the paper, but by compulsion + on the part of the public. No attempts were made to originate schemes for + advertising the paper. The only methods were wooden variations upon + placards in the street cars and the elevated stations, and cards hung up + at the news-stands. As forgetting advertising business, they thought they + showed enterprise by a little canvassing among the conspicuous merchants + in Greater New York. + </p> + <p> + Howard had charts made showing the circulation by districts. With these as + a basis he ordered an elaborate campaign to “push” the paper in the + districts where it was circulated least and to increase its hold where it + was strong. “We do not reach one-third of the people who would like to + take our paper,” he told Jowett, the business manager. “Let us have an + army of agents and let us take up our territory by districts.” + </p> + <p> + The Sunday edition was the largest source of revenue, both because it + carried a great deal more advertising at much higher rates than did the + week-day editions, and because it sold at a price which yielded a profit + on the paper itself, while the price of the weekday editions did not. News + constituted less than one-fourth of its contents. The rest was “feature + articles,” as interesting a week late to a man in Seattle as on the day of + publication within a mile of the office. + </p> + <p> + “We get out the very best magazine in the market,” said Howard to Jowett. + “Are we pushing it in the east, in the west, in the south? Look at the + charts. + </p> + <p> + “We have a Sunday circulation of five hundred in Oregon, of one thousand + in Texas, of six hundred in Georgia, of two thousand in Maine. Why not ten + times as much in each of those states? Why not ten times as much as we now + have near New York?” + </p> + <p> + There was no reason except failure to “push” the paper. That reason Howard + proceeded to remove. But these enterprises involved large expenditures, + perhaps might mean postponement of the payment of the debt. Receipts must + be increased and the most promising way was an increase in the advertising + business. + </p> + <p> + Howard noted on the chart nineteen cities and large towns near New York in + each of which the daily circulation of the <i>News-Record</i> was equal to + that of any paper published there and far exceeded the combined + circulations of all the home dailies on Sunday. This suggested a system of + local advertising pages, and for its working out he engaged one of the + most capable newspaper advertising men in the city. Within three months + the idea had “caught on” and, instead of sending useless columns of New + York “want-ads” and the like to places where they could not be useful, the + <i>News-Record</i> was presenting to its readers in twelve cities and + towns the advertisements of their local merchants. + </p> + <p> + A year of this work, with Howard giving many hours of each day personally + to tiresome details, brought the natural results. The profits of the <i>News-Record</i> + had risen to five hundred and forty thousand, of which Howard’s share was + nearly three hundred thousand. The next year the profits were seven + hundred and fifty thousand, and Howard had reduced his debt to eight + hundred thousand. + </p> + <p> + “We shall be free and clear in less than three years,” he said to Marian. + </p> + <p> + “If we have luck,” she added. + </p> + <p> + “No—if we work—and we shall. Luck is a stone which envy flings + at success.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you don’t think you have been lucky?” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed I do not.” + </p> + <p> + “Not even,” she smiled, drawing herself up. + </p> + <p> + “Not even—” he said with a faint, sad answering smile. “If you only + knew how hard I worked preparing myself to be able to get you when you + came; if you only, only knew how life made me pay, pay, pay; if you only + knew—” + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” she said, coming closer to him. + </p> + <p> + He sighed—not for the reason of sentiment which she fancied, though + he put his arms around her. “How willingly I paid,” he evaded. + </p> + <p> + He went to his desk and she stood looking at him. There was still the + charm of youth, even freshness, in her beauty—and she was not + unconscious of the fact. + </p> + <p> + And he—he was handsome, distinguished looking and certainly did not + suggest age or the approach of age; but in his hair, so grey at the + temples, in the stern, rather haughty lines of his features, in the + weariness of his eyes, there was not a vestige of youth. “How he has + worked for me and for his ideals,” she thought, sadly yet proudly. “Ah, he + is indeed a great man, and <i>my</i> husband!” And she bent over him and + kissed him on an impulse to a kind of tenderness which was now so strange + to her that it made her feel shy. + </p> + <p> + “And what a radical you’ll be,” she laughed, after a moment’s silence. + “What a radical, what a democrat!” + </p> + <p> + “When?” He was flushing a little and avoided her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “When you’re free—really the proprietor—able to express your + own views, all your own views. We shall become outcasts.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder,” he replied slowly, “does a rich man own his property or does + it own him?” + </p> + <p> + For an instant he had an impulse of his old longing for sympathy, for + companionship. She was now thirty-six and, save for an expression of + experience, of self-control, seemed hardly so much as thirty. But with the + years, with the habit of self-restraint, with instinctive rather than + conscious realisation of his indifference toward her, had come a chill + perceptible at the surface and permeating her entire character. In her own + way she had become as self-absorbed, as ambitious as he. + </p> + <p> + He looked at her, felt this chill, sighed, smiled at himself. Yes, he was + alone—and he preferred to be alone. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXVII. — THE HARVEST. + </h2> + <p> + Through all his scheming and shifting Howard had kept the <i>News-Record</i> + in the main an “organ of the people.” Coulter and Stokely had on many + occasions tried to persuade him to change, but he had stood out. He did + not confess to them that his real reason was not his alleged principles + but his cold judgment that the increases in circulation which produced + increases in advertising patronage were dependent upon the paper’s + reputation of fearless democracy. + </p> + <p> + In the fourth year of his ownership he felt that the time had come for the + change, that he could safely slip over to the other side—the side of + wealth and power, the winning side, the side with offices and privileges + to distribute. His debt was so far reduced that he had nothing to fear + from it. A presidential campaign was coming on and was causing unusual + confusion, a general shift of party lines. And he had put the <i>News-Record</i> + in such a position that it could move in any direction without shock to + its readers. + </p> + <p> + The “great battle” was on—the battle he had in his younger days + looked forward to and longed for—the battle against Privilege and + for a “restoration of government by the people.” The candidates were + nominated, the platforms put forward and the issue squarely joined. + </p> + <p> + The same issue had been involved in previous campaigns; but the statement + of the case by the party opposed to “government of, by and for plutocracy” + had been fantastic, extreme, entangled with social, economic and political + lunacies. And Howard had strengthened the <i>News-Record</i> by refusing + to permit it to “go crazy.” Now, however, there was in honesty no reason + for refusing support to the advocates of his professed principles. + </p> + <p> + But the <i>News-Record</i> was silent. Howard and Marian went away to + their cottage at Newport, and he left rigid instructions that no political + editorials were to be published except those which he might send. There he + got typhoid fever and was at the point of death for two weeks. + </p> + <p> + Marian gave herself to nursing him, stayed close beside him, read books + and the newspapers to him throughout his convalescence. They were more + intimate than they had been for years. A feeling bearing a remote + resemblance to the love he had once had for her arose out of his weakness + and dependence and his seclusion from the instruments and objects of his + ambition. And she swept aside the barriers she had erected between herself + and him and returned, as nearly as one may, to the love and interest of + their early days together. + </p> + <p> + In the first week of September came Stokely with Senator Hereford, the + chairman of the “Plutocracy” campaign committee. + </p> + <p> + “I shall not annoy you with evasions,” said Hereford, “as Mr. Stokely + assures me that I may speak freely to you, that you personally are with + us. The fact is, our campaign is in a bad way, especially in New York + State, and there especially in New York City.” + </p> + <p> + “You surprise me,” said Howard. “All my information has come from the + newspapers which my wife reads me. I had gathered that the victory was all + but won.” + </p> + <p> + “We encourage that impression. You know how many weak-kneed fellows there + are who like to be on the winning side. We’ve been pouring out the money + and stand ready to pour it out like water. But these damned reform + ballot-laws make it hard for us to control the vote. We buy, but we fear + that the goods will not be delivered. Feeling is high against us. Even our + farmers and shopkeepers are acting queerly. And the other fellows have at + last put up a safe man on a conservative platform.” + </p> + <p> + Howard turned his face away. There was still the memory, the now quickened + memory, of his former self to make him wince at being included in such an + “us.” + </p> + <p> + “You can’t afford to keep silent any longer,” Hereford continued. “You’ve + done the cause a world of good by your silence thus far. You have the + reputation of being the leading popular organ, and your keeping quiet has + meant thousands of votes for us. But the time has come to attack. And you + must attack if we are to carry New York. You can turn the tide in the + state, and—well, we have a very high regard for your genius for + making your points clearly and interestingly. We need your ideas for our + editors and speakers as much as we need your influence.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot discuss it to-day,” Howard answered after a moment’s silence. + “It would be a grave step for the <i>News-Record</i> to take. I am not + well, as you see. To-morrow or next day I’ll decide. You’ll see my answer + in the paper, I think.” He closed his eyes with significant weariness. + </p> + <p> + Hereford looked at him uneasily. Just outside the door Stokely whispered, + “Don’t be alarmed. You’ve got him. He’s with us, I tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “I must make sure,” whispered Hereford. “I wish to speak to him alone for + a moment.” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, Mr. Howard,” he said as he re-entered the room. “I + forgot an important part of my mission. Our candidate authorized me to say + to you on his behalf that he felt sure you would see your duty; that he + esteemed your character and judgment too highly to have any doubts; and + that he intends to show his appreciation of the conscientious, independent + vote which is rallying to his support; in the event of his election, he + feels that he could not do so in a more satisfactory manner than by + offering you either a place in his cabinet or an ambassadorship as you may + prefer.” + </p> + <p> + As soon as Howard saw Hereford returning, he knew the reason. He had never + before been offered a bribe; but he could not mistake the meaning of + Hereford’s bold yet frightened expression. He kept his eyes averted during + the delivery of the long, rambling sentence. At the end, he looked at + Hereford frankly and said in his most gracious manner: + </p> + <p> + “Thank him for me, will you? And express my appreciation of so high a + compliment from such a man.” + </p> + <p> + Hereford looked relieved, delighted. “I’m glad to have met you, Mr. + Howard, and to have had so satisfactory an interview.” + </p> + <p> + Again outside the door, he muttered gleefully: “Yes, we’ve him. Otherwise + he would have had his servants kick me down stairs. Gad, no wonder —— + is on his way to the Presidency, I had a sneaking fear that this fellow + might be sincere. But <i>he</i> saw through him without ever having seen + him. I suppose two men of that stripe instinctively understand each + other.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + That was on a Sunday afternoon. On the following Wednesday, as Marian came + into Howard’s sitting-room with the newspapers, she laughed: “I’ve been + reading such a speech from your candidate, you radical! I must say I liked + to read it. It was so like you, your very phrases in many places, the + things you used to talk to me before you gave me up as hopeless. Just + listen.” + </p> + <p> + And she read him the oration—a reproduction of the Howard she first + saw, the Howard she admired and loved and had never lost. “Isn’t it + superb?” she asked at the end. “You must have written it for him. Don’t + you like it?” + </p> + <p> + “Very able,” was Howard’s only comment. + </p> + <p> + Marian continued to read the paper, glancing from column to column, giving + him the substance of the news. Soon she reached the editorial page. He was + stealthily watching her face. He saw her glance through a few lines of the + leader, start, read on, look in a terrified way at him, and then skip + abruptly to the next page. + </p> + <p> + “Read me the leader, won’t you?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “My voice is tired,” she pleaded. “I’ll read it after awhile.” + </p> + <p> + “Please,” he insisted. “I’m especially anxious to hear it.” + </p> + <p> + “I think,” she almost stammered, “that somebody has taken advantage of + your illness. I didn’t want to tell you until I’d had a chance to think.” + </p> + <p> + “Please read it.” His tone was abrupt. She had never heard that tone + before. + </p> + <p> + She read. It was an assertion of that which her Howard most disbelieved, + most protested against; a defense of the public corruption she had heard + him denounce so often; an attack upon the ideas, the principles, the + elements she had so often heard him eulogize. It was as adroit as it was + detestable, as plausible as it was unprincipled. + </p> + <p> + When she had done, there was a long silence which he broke. “What do you + think of it?” + </p> + <p> + “Only a wretch, an enemy of yours could have written it. Who can it have + been?” Her eyes were ablaze and her voice trembled with anger. + </p> + <p> + “I wrote it,” he said. + </p> + <p> + He did not dare to look at her for a few seconds. Then, with a flimsy mask + of pretended calmness only the more clearly revealing self-contempt and + cowardice, he faced her amazed eyes, her pale cheeks, her parted lips—and + dropped his gaze to the floor. + </p> + <p> + “You?” she whispered. “You?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I.” + </p> + <p> + She sat so still that he reached over and touched her hand. It was cold. + She shivered and drew it away. They were silent for a long time—several + minutes. She was looking at his face. It was old and sad and feeble—pitiful, + contemptible. She had never seen those lines of weakness about his mouth + before. She had never before noted that his features had lost the + expression of exalted character, the light of free and independent manhood + which made her look again the first time she saw him. When had the man she + loved departed? When had the new man come? How long had she been giving + herself to a stranger—and <i>such</i> a stranger? + </p> + <p> + “Yes—I,” he repeated. “I have come over to your side.” He laughed + and she shivered again. “Well—what do you think?” + </p> + <p> + “Think?—I?—Oh, I think——” + </p> + <p> + She burst into tears, flung herself down at his feet and buried her head + in his lap. + </p> + <p> + “I think nothing,” she sobbed, “except that I—I love you.” + </p> + <p> + He fell to smoothing her hair, slowly, gently, patronisingly. His face was + composed and he was looking down at her trembling head and agitated + shoulders with an absent-minded smile. How easily this once dreaded crisis + had passed! How he had overestimated her! How he had underestimated + himself! + </p> + <p> + His glance and his thoughts soon fastened upon the copy of his newspaper + which she had thrown aside—<i>his</i> newspaper indeed, his creation + and his creature, the epitome of his intellect and character, of his + strength and his weakness. Half a million circulation daily, three + quarters of a million on Sunday—how mighty as a direct influence + upon the people! Its clearness and vigour, its intelligence, its + truth-like sophistry—how mighty as an indirect influence upon the + minds of other editors and of public men! “Power—Success,” he + repeated to himself in an exaltation of vanity and arrogance. + </p> + <p> + Marian lifted her head and, turning, put it against his knee. She reached + out for his hand. He began to speak at once in a low persuasive voice: + </p> + <p> + “Trust me, dear, can’t you? You do not—have not been reading the + paper until recently. You are not interested in politics. There have been + many changes in the few last years. And I too have changed. I am no longer + without responsibilities. They have sobered me, have given me an + appreciation of property, stability, conservatism. Youth is enthusiastic, + theoretical. I have—” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, but I do trust you,” she interrupted eagerly, fearful lest his + explanations would make it the more difficult for her to convince herself + of what she felt she must believe if life were to go on. “And you—I + don’t want you to excite yourself. You must be quiet—must get well.” + </p> + <p> + Each avoided meeting the other’s eyes as she arranged the pillows for him + before leaving him alone to rest. + </p> + <p> + The longer she juggled with her discovery the less appalling it seemed. + His line of action fitted too closely to her own ambitions of social + distinction, social leadership. If he had been her lover, the shock would + have killed love and set up contempt in its stead. But he was not her + lover, had not been for years; and to find that her husband was doing a + husband’s duty, was winning position and power for himself and therefore + for his wife—that was a disclosure with mitigating aspects at least. + Besides, might she not be in part mistaken? Surely any course so + satisfactory in its results could not be wholly wrong, might perhaps be + the right in an unexpected, unaccustomed form. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXVIII. — SUCCESS. + </h2> + <p> + French had made a portrait of the new American ambassador to the Court of + St. James and it was shown at the spring exhibition of the Royal Academy. + The ambassador and his wife wished to see how it had been hung, but they + did not wish to be seen. So they chose an early hour of a chill, rainy May + morning to drive in a hansom from their place in Park Lane to Burlington + House. + </p> + <p> + They found the portrait in Room VI, on the line, in a corner, but where it + had the benefit of such light as there was. When they entered no one was + there; but, as they were standing close to the picture, admiring the + energy and simplicity of the strokes of the master’s brush, a crowd swept + in and enclosed them. + </p> + <p> + “Let us go,” Howard said in a low tone. + </p> + <p> + Just then a man, almost at his shoulder because of the pressure of those + behind, said: “Wonderful, isn’t it? I’ve never seen a better example of + his work. He had a subject that suited him perfectly.” + </p> + <p> + “No, let us stay,” Marian whispered in reply to her husband. “They can’t + see our faces and I’d like to hear.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is superb,” came the answer to the man behind them in a voice + unmistakably American. “Now, tell me, Saverhill, what sort of a person + would you say the ambassador is from that picture? You don’t know him?” + </p> + <p> + “Never heard of him until I read of his appointment,” replied the first + voice. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve heard of him often enough,” came in the American voice. “But I’ve + never seen him.” + </p> + <p> + “You know him now,” resumed the Englishman, “inside as well as out. French + always paints what he sees and always sees what he’s painting.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Let us go,” whispered Marian. But Howard did not heed her. + </p> + <p> + “I see—a fallen man. He was evidently a real man once; but he sold + himself.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes? Where does it show?” + </p> + <p> + “He’s got a good mind, this fellow-countryman of yours. There are the eyes + of a thinker and a doer. Nothing could have kept him down. His face is + almost as relentless as Kitchener’s and fully as aggressive, except that + it shows intellect, and Kitchener’s doesn’t. Now note the corners of his + eyes, Marshall, and his mouth and nostrils and chin, and you’ll see why he + sold himself, and the—the consequences.” + </p> + <p> + Howard and Marian, fascinated, compelled, looked where the unknown + requested. + </p> + <p> + “I think I see what you mean,” came in Marshall’s voice, laughingly. “But + go on.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, there it all is—hypocrisy, vanity, lack of principle, and, + plainest of all, weakness. It’s a common enough type among your successful + men. The man himself is the fixed market price for a certain kind of + success. But, according to French, this ambassador of yours seems to know + what he has paid; and the knowledge doesn’t make him more content with his + bargain. He has more brains than vanity; therefore he’s an unhappy + hypocrite instead of a happy self-deceiver.” + </p> + <p> + Howard and Marian shrunk together with their heads close in the effort to + make sure of concealing their faces. She was suffering for herself, but + more acutely for him. She knew, as if she were looking into his mind, his + frightful humiliation. “Hereafter,” she thought, “whenever any one looks + at him he will feel the thought behind the look.” + </p> + <p> + “How nearly did I come to him?” asked Saverhill. + </p> + <p> + Howard started and Marian caught the rail for support. + </p> + <p> + “A centre-shot,” replied Marshall, “if the people who know him and have + talked to me about him tell the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, they’re ‘on to’ him, as you say, over there, are they?” + </p> + <p> + “No, not everybody. Only his friends and the few who are on the inside. + There’s an ugly story going about privately as to how he got the + ambassadorship. They say he was bought with it. But—he’s admired and + envied even by a good many who know or suspect that he’s only an article + of commerce. He’s got the cash and he’s got position; and his paper gives + him tremendous power. Then too, as you say, all about him there are men + like himself. The only punishment he’s likely to get is the penalty of + having to live with himself.” + </p> + <p> + “A good, round price if French is not mistaken,” replied Saverhill. + </p> + <p> + The two men passed on. Howard and Marian looked guiltily about, then + slipped away in the opposite direction. He helped her into the waiting + hansom. As they were driven homeward she cast a stealthy side-glance at + him. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she thought, “the portrait is a portrait of his face; and his face + is a portrait of himself.” + </p> + <p> + He caught her glance in the little mirror in the side of the hansom—caught + it and read it. And he began to hate her, this instrument to his + punishment, this constant remembrancer of his downfall. + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Great God Success, by +John Graham (David Graham Phillips) + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREAT GOD SUCCESS *** + +***** This file should be named 7989-h.htm or 7989-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/9/8/7989/ + + +Text file produced by Eric Eldred, William Craig, Charles Franks and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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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: The Great God Success + +Author: John Graham (David Graham Phillips) + + +Release Date: April, 2005 [EBook #7989] +This file was first posted on June 10, 2003 +Last Updated: May 21, 2013 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREAT GOD SUCCESS *** + + + + +Produced by Eric Eldred, William Craig, Charles Franks and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + + + + +THE GREAT GOD SUCCESS + +A NOVEL + +By John Graham (David Graham Phillips) + + + +The Gregg Press / Ridgewood, N.J. + + + +CONTENTS. + +CHAPTER + +I. THE CANDIDATE FROM YALE + +II. THE CITY EDITOR RECONSIDERS + +III. A PARK ROW CELEBRITY + +IV. IN THE EDGE OF BOHEMIA + +V. ALICE + +VI. IN A BOHEMIAN QUICKSAND + +VII. A LITTLE CANDLE GOES OUT + +VIII. A STRUGGLE FOR SELF-CONTROL + +IX. AMBITION AWAKENS + +X. THE ETERNAL MASCULINE + +XI. TRESPASSING + +XII. MAKING THE MOST OF A MONTH + +XIII. RECKONING WITH DANVERS + +XIV. THE NEWS-RECORD GETS A NEW EDITOR + +XV. YELLOW JOURNALISM + +XVI. MR. STOKELY IS TACTLESS + +XVII. A WOMAN AND A WARNING + +XVIII. HOWARD EXPLAINS HIS MACHINE + +XIX. "I MUST BE RICH." + +XX. ILLUSION + +XXI. WAVERING + +XXII. THE SHENSTONE EPISODE + +XXIII. EXPANDING AND CONTRACTING + +XXIV. "MR. VALIANT-FOR-TRUTH." + +XXV. THE PROMISED LAND + +XXVI. IN POSSESSION + +XXVII. THE HARVEST + +XXVIII. SUCCESS + + + + +THE GREAT GOD SUCCESS + + + + +I. + +THE CANDIDATE FROM YALE. + + +"O your college paper, I suppose?" + +"No, I never wrote even a letter to the editor." + +"Took prizes for essays?" + +"No, I never wrote if I could help it." + +"But you like to write?" + +"I'd like to learn to write." + +"You say you are two months out of college--what college?" + +"Yale." + +"Hum--I thought Yale men went into something commercial; law or banking +or railroads. 'Leave hope of fortune behind, ye who enter here' is over +the door of this profession." + +"I haven't the money-making instinct." + +"We pay fifteen dollars a week at the start." + +"Couldn't you make it twenty?" + +The Managing Editor of the _News-Record_ turned slowly in his chair +until his broad chest was full-front toward the young candidate for the +staff. He lowered his florid face slowly until his double chin swelled +out over his low "stick-up" collar. Then he gradually raised his eyelids +until his amused blue eyes were looking over the tops of his glasses, +straight into Howard's eyes. + +"Why?" he asked. "Why should we?" + +Howard's grey eyes showed embarrassment and he flushed to the line of +his black hair which was so smoothly parted in the middle. "Well--you +see--the fact is--I need twenty a week. My expenses are arranged on that +scale. I'm not clever at money matters. I'm afraid I'd get in a mess +with only fifteen." + +"My dear young man," said Mr. King, "I started here at fifteen dollars a +week. And I had a wife; and the first baby was coming." + +"Yes, but your wife was an energetic woman. She stood right beside you +and worked too. Now I have only myself." + +Mr. King raised his eyebrows and became a rosier red. He was evidently +preparing to rebuke this audacious intrusion into his private affairs by +a stranger whose card had been handed to him not ten minutes before. But +Howard's tone and manner were simple and sincere. And they happened to +bring into Mr. King's mind a rush of memories of his youth and his wife. +She had married him on faith. They had come to New York fifteen years +before, he to get a place as reporter on the _News-Record_, she to +start a boarding-house; he doubting and trembling, she with courage and +confidence for two. He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and +opened the book of memory at the place where the leaves most easily fell +apart: + +He is coming home at one in the morning, worn out, sick at heart from +the day's buffetings. As he puts his key into the latch, the door opens. +There stands a handsome girl; her face is flushed; her eyes are bright; +her lips are held up for him to kiss; she shows no trace of a day that +began hours before his and has been a succession of exasperations and +humiliations against which her sensitive nature, trained in the home of +her father, a distinguished up-the-state Judge, gives her no protection, +"Victory," she whispers, her arms about his neck and her head upon his +coat collar. "Victory! We are seventy-two cents ahead on the week, and +everything paid up!" + +Mr. King opened his eyes--they had been closed less than five seconds. +"Well, let it be twenty--though just why I'm sure I don't know. And +we'll give you a four weeks' trial. When will you begin?" + +"Now," answered the young man, glancing about the room. "And I shall try +to show that I appreciate your consideration, whether I deserve it or +not." + +It was a large bare room, low of ceiling. Across one end were five +windows overlooking from a great height the tempest that rages about +the City Hall day and night with few lulls and no pauses. Mr. King's +roll-top desk was at the first window. Under each of the other windows +was a broad flat table desk--for copy-readers. At the farthest of these +sat the City Editor--thin, precise-looking, with yellow skin, hollow +cheeks, ragged grey-brown moustache, ragged scant grey-brown hair and +dark brown eyes. He looked nervously tired and, because brown was his +prevailing shade, dusty. He rose as Mr. King came with young Howard. + +"Here, Mr. Bowring, is a young man from Yale. He wishes you to teach him +how to write. Mr. Howard, Mr. Bowring. I hope you gentlemen will get on +comfortably together." + +Mr. King went back to his desk. Mr. Bowring and Howard looked each at +the other. Mr. Bowring smiled, with good-humour, without cordiality. +"Let me see, where shall we put you?" And his glance wandered along +the rows of sloping table-desks--those nearer the windows lighted by +daylight; those farther away, by electric lamps. Even on that cool, +breezy August afternoon the sunlight and fresh air did not penetrate far +into the room. + +"Do you see the young man with the beautiful fair moustache," said Mr. +Bowring, "toiling away in his shirt-sleeves--there?" + +"Near the railing at the entrance?" + +"Precisely. I think I will put you next him." Mr. Bowring touched a +button on his desk and presently an office boy--a mop of auburn curls, +a pert face and gangling legs in knickerbockers--hurried up with a "Yes, +Sir?" + +"Please tell Mr. Kittredge that I would like to speak to him and--please +scrape your feet along the floor as little as possible." + +The boy smiled, walking away less as if he were trying to terrorize park +pedestrians by a rush on roller skates. Kittredge and Howard were made +acquainted and went toward their desks together. "A few moments--if you +will excuse me--and I'm done," said Kittredge motioning Howard into the +adjoining chair as he sat and at once bent over his work. + +Howard watched him with interest, admiration and envy. The reporter was +perhaps twenty-five years old--fair of hair, fair of skin, goodlooking +in a pretty way. His expression was keen and experienced yet too +self-complacent to be highly intelligent. He was rapidly covering sheet +after sheet of soft white paper with bold, loose hand-writing. Howard +noticed that at the end of each sentence he made a little cross with a +circle about it, and that he began each paragraph with a paragraph sign. +Presently he scrawled a big double cross in the centre of the sheet +under the last line of writing and gathered up his sheets in the +numbered order. "Done, thank God," he said. "And I hope they won't +butcher it." + +"Do you send it to be put in type?" asked Howard. + +"No," Kittredge answered with a faint smile. "I hand it in to Mr. +Bowring--the City Editor, you know. And when the copyreaders come at +six, it will be turned over to one of them. He reads it, cuts it down +if necessary, and writes headlines for it. Then it goes upstairs to the +composing room--see the box, the little dumb-waiter, over there in the +wall?--well, it goes up by that to the floor above where they set the +type and make up the forms." + +"I'm a complete ignoramus," said Howard, "I hope you'll not mind my +trying to find out things. I hope I shall not bore you." + +"Glad to help you, I'm sure. I had to go through this two years ago when +I came here from Princeton." + +Kittredge "turned in" his copy and returned to his seat beside Howard. + +"What were you writing about, if I may ask?" inquired Howard. + +"About some snakes that came this morning in a 'tramp' from South +America. One of them, a boa constrictor, got loose and coiled around a +windlass. The cook was passing and it caught him. He fainted with fright +and the beast squeezed him to death. It's a fine story--lots of amusing +and dramatic details. I wrote it for a column and I think they won't cut +it. I hope not, anyhow. I need the money." + +"You are paid by the column?" + +"Yes. I'm on space--what they call a space writer. If a man is of any +account here they gradually raise him to twenty-five dollars a week and +then put him on space. That means that he will make anywhere from forty +to a hundred a week, or perhaps more at times. The average for the best +is about eighty." + +"Eighty dollars a week," thought Howard. "Fifty-two times eighty is +forty-one hundred and sixty. Four thousand a year, counting out +two weeks for vacation." To Howard it seemed wealth at the limit of +imagination. If he could make so much as that!--he who had grave doubts +whether, no matter how hard he worked, he would ever wrench a living +from the world. + +Just then a seedy young man with red hair and a red beard came through +the gate in the railing, nodded to Kittredge and went to a desk well up +toward the daylight end of the room. + +"That's the best of 'em all," said Kittredge in a low tone. "His name is +Sewell. He's a Harvard man--Harvard and Heidelberg. But drink! Ye gods, +how he does drink! His wife died last Christmas--practically starvation. +Sewell disappeared--frightful bust. A month afterward they found him +under an assumed name over on Blackwell's Island, doing three months for +disorderly conduct. He wrote a Christmas carol while his wife was dying. +It began "Merrily over the Snow" and went on about light hearts and +youth and joy and all that--you know, the usual thing. When he got the +money, she didn't need it or anything else in her nice quiet grave over +in Long Island City. So he 'blew in' the money on a wake." + +Sewell was coming toward them. Kittredge called out: "Was it a good +story, Sam?" + +"Simply great! You ought to have seen the room. Only the bed and the +cook-stove and a few dishes on a shelf--everything else gone to the +pawnshop. The man must have killed the children first. They lay side by +side on the bed, each with its hands folded on its chest--suppose the +mother did that; and each little throat was cut from ear to ear--suppose +the father did that. Then he dipped his paint brush in the blood and +daubed on the wall in big scrawling letters: 'There is no God!' Then +he took his wife in his arms, stabbed her to the heart and cut his own +throat. And there they lay, his arms about her, his cheek against hers, +dead. It was murder as a fine art. Gad, I wish I could write." + +Kittredge introduced Howard--"a Yale man--just came on the paper." + +"Entering the profession? Well, they say of the other professions that +there is always room at the top. Journalism is just the reverse. The +room is all at the bottom--easy to enter, hard to achieve, impossible to +leave. It is all bottom, no top." Sewell nodded, smiled attractively in +spite of his swollen face and his unsightly teeth, and went back to his +work. + +"He's sober," said Kittredge when he was out of hearing, "so his story +is pretty sure to be the talk of Park Row tomorrow." + +Howard was astonished at the cheerful, businesslike point of view +of these two educated and apparently civilised young men as to the +tragedies of life. He had shuddered at Kittredge's story of the man +squeezed to death by the snake. Sewell's story, so graphically outlined, +filled him with horror, made it a struggle for him to conceal his +feelings. + +"I suppose you must see a lot of frightful things," he suggested. + +"That's our business. You soon get used to it, just as a doctor does. +You learn to look at life from the purely professional standpoint. Of +course you must feel in order to write. But you must not feel so keenly +that you can't write. You have to remember always that you're not there +to cheer or sympathise or have emotions, but only to report, to record. +You tell what your eyes see. You'll soon get so that you can and will +make good stories out of your own calamaties." + +"Is that a portrait of the editor?" asked Howard, pointing to a grimed +oil-painting, the only relief to the stretch of cracked and streaked +white wall except a few ragged maps. + +"That--oh, that is old man Stone--the 'great condenser.' He's there for +a double purpose, as an example of what a journalist should be and as a +warning of what a journalist comes to. After twenty years of fine work +at crowding more news in good English into one column than any other +editor could get in bad English into four columns, he was discharged for +drunkenness. Soon afterwards he walked off the end of a dock one night +in a fog. At least it was said that there was a fog and that he was +drunk. I have my doubts." + +"Cheerful! I have not been in the profession an hour but I have already +learned something very valuable." + +"What's that?" asked Kittredge, "that it's a good profession to get out +of?" + +"No. But that bad habits will not help a man to a career in journalism +any more than in any other profession." + +"Career?" smiled Kittredge, resenting Howard's good-humoured irony +and putting on a supercilious look that brought out more strongly the +insignificance of his face. "Journalism is not a career. It is either a +school or a cemetery. A man may use it as a stepping-stone to something +else. But if he sticks to it, he finds himself an old man, dead and done +for to all intents and purposes years before he's buried." + +"I wonder if it doesn't attract a great many men who have a little +talent and fancy that they have much. I wonder if it does not disappoint +their vanity rather than their merit." + +"That sounds well," replied Kittredge, "and there's some truth in +it. But, believe me, journalism is the dragon that demands the annual +sacrifice of youth. It will have only youth. Why am I here? Why are you +here? Because we are young, have a fresh, a new point of view. As soon +as we get a little older, we shall be stale and, though still young in +years, we must step aside for young fellows with new ideas and a new +point of view." + +"But why should not one have always new ideas, always a new point of +view? Why should one expect to escape the penalties of stagnation in +journalism when one can't escape them in any other profession?" + +"But who has new ideas all the time? The average successful man has at +most one idea and makes a whole career out of it. Then there are the +temptations." + +"How do you mean?" + +Kittredge flushed slightly and answered in a more serious tone: + +"We must work while others amuse themselves or sleep. We must sleep +while others are at work. That throws us out of touch with the whole +world of respectability and regularity. When we get done at night, +wrought up by the afternoon and evening of this gambling with our brains +and nerves as the stake, what is open to us?" + +"That is true," said Howard. "There are the all-night saloons and--the +like." + +"And if we wish society, what society is open to us? What sort of young +women are waiting to entertain us at one, two, three o'clock in the +morning? Why, I have not made a call in a year. And I have not seen a +respectable girl of my acquaintance in at least that time, except once +or twice when I happened to have assignments that took me near Fifth +Avenue in the afternoon." + +"Mr. Kittredge, Mr. Bowring wishes to speak to you," an office boy said +and Kittredge rose. As he went, he put his hand on Howard's shoulder +and said: "No, I am getting out of it as fast as ever I can. I'm writing +books." + +"Kittredge," thought Howard, "I wonder, is this Henry Jennings +Kittredge, whose stories are on all the news stands?" He saw an envelope +on the floor at his feet. The address was "Henry Jennings Kittredge, +Esq." + +When Kittredge came back for his coat, Howard said in a tone of frank +admiration: "Why, I didn't know you were the Kittredge that everybody is +talking about. You certainly have no cause for complaint." + +Kittredge shrugged his shoulders. "At fifteen cents a copy, I have to +sell ten thousand copies before I get enough to live on for four months. +And you'd be surprised how much reputation and how little money a man +can make out of a book. Don't be distressed because they keep you here +with nothing to do but wonder how you'll have the courage to face the +cashier on pay day. It's the system. Your chance will come." + +It was three days before Howard had a chance. On a Sunday afternoon the +Assistant City Editor who was in charge of the City Desk for the day +sent him up to the Park to write a descriptive story of the crowds. "Try +to get a new point of view," he said, "and let yourself loose. There's +usually plenty of room in Monday's paper." + +Howard wandered through the Central Park for two hours, struggling for +the "new point of view" of the crowds he saw there--these monotonous +millions, he thought, lazily drinking at a vast trough of country air in +the heart of the city. He planned an article carefully as he dined +alone at the Casino. He went down to the office early and wrote +diligently--about two thousand words. When he had finished, the Night +City Editor told him that he might go as there would be nothing more +that night. + +He was in the street at seven the next morning. As he walked along with +a News-Record, bought at the first news-stand, he searched every page: +first, the larger "heads"--such a long story would call for a "big +head;" then the smaller "heads"--they may have been crowded and have +had to cut it down; then the single-line "heads"--surely they found a +"stickful" or so worth printing. + +At last he found it. A dozen items in the smallest type, agate, were +grouped under the general heading "City Jottings" at the end of an +inside column of an inside page. The first of these City Jottings was +two lines in length: + +"The millions were in the Central Park yesterday, lazily drinking at +that vast trough of country air in the heart of the city." + +As he entered the office Howard looked appealingly and apologetically +at the boy on guard at the railing and braced himself to receive the +sneering frown of the City Editor and to bear the covert smiles of his +fellow reporters. But he soon saw that no one had observed his mighty +spring for a foothold and his ludicrous miss and fall. + +"Had anything in yet?" Kittredge inquired casually, late in the +afternoon. + +"I wrote a column and a half yesterday and I found two lines among the +City Jottings," replied Howard, reddening but laughing. + +"The first story I wrote was cut to three lines but they got a libel +suit on it." + + + + + +II. + +THE CITY EDITOR RECONSIDERS. + + +At the end of six weeks, the City Editor called Howard up to the desk +and asked him to seat himself. He talked in a low tone so that the +Assistant City Editor, reading the newspapers at a nearby desk, could +not hear. + +"We like you, Mr. Howard." Mr. Bowring spoke slowly and with a +carefulness in selecting words that indicated embarrassment. "And we +have been impressed by your earnestness. But we greatly fear that you +are not fitted for this profession. You write well enough, but you +do not seem to get the newspaper--the news--idea. So we feel that in +justice to you and to ourselves we ought to let you know where you +stand. If you wish, we shall be glad to have you remain with us two +weeks longer. Meanwhile you can be looking about you. I am certain that +you will succeed somewhere, in some line, sooner or later. But I think +that the newspaper profession is a waste of your time." + +Howard had expected this. Failure after failure, his articles thrown +away or rewritten by the copyreaders, had prepared him for the blow. Yet +it crushed him for the moment. His voice was not steady as he replied: + +"No doubt you are right. Thank you for taking the trouble to study my +case and tell me so soon." + +"Don't hesitate to stay on for the two weeks," Mr. Bowring continued. +"We can make you useful to us. And you can look about to much better +advantage than if you were out of a place." + +"I'll stay the two weeks," Howard said, "unless I find something +sooner." + +"Don't be more discouraged than you can help," said Mr. Bowring. "You +may be very grateful before long for finding out so early what many of +us--I myself, I fear--find out after years and--when it is too late." + +Always that note of despair; always that pointing to the motto over the +door of the profession: "Abandon hope, ye who enter here." What was +the explanation? Were these men right? Was he wrong in thinking that +journalism offered the most splendid of careers--the development of the +mind and the character; the sharpening of all the faculties; the service +of truth and right and human betterment, in daily combat with injustice +and error and falsehood; the arousing and stimulating of the drowsy +minds of the masses of mankind? + +Howard looked about at the men who held on where he was slipping. "Can +it be," he thought, "that I cannot survive in a profession where the +poorest are so poor in intellect and equipment? Why am I so dull that I +cannot catch the trick?" + +He set himself to study newspapers, reading them line by line, noting +the modes of presenting facts, the arrangement of headlines, the order +in which the editors put the several hundred items before the eyes +of the reader--what they displayed on each page and why; how they +apportioned the space. With the energy of unconquerable resolution he +applied himself to solving for himself the puzzle of the press--the +science and art of catching the eye and holding the attention of the +hurrying, impatient public. + +He learned much. He began to develop the news-instinct, that subtle +instant realisation of what is interesting and what is not interesting +to the public mind. But the time was short; a sense of impending +calamity and the lack of self-confidence natural to inexperience made it +impossible for him effectively to use his new knowledge in the few small +opportunities which Mr. Bowring gave him. With only six days of his two +weeks left, he had succeeded in getting into the paper not a single item +of a length greater than two sticks. He slept little; he despaired not +at all; but he was heart-sick and, as he lay in his bed in the little +hall-room of the furnished-room house, he often envied women the relief +of tears. What he endured will be appreciated only by those who have +been bred in sheltered homes; who have abruptly and alone struck out +for themselves in the ocean of a great city without a single lesson +in swimming; who have felt themselves seized from below and dragged +downward toward the deep-lying feeding-grounds of Poverty and Failure. + +"Buck up, old man," said Kittredge to whom he told his bad news after +several days of hesitation and after Kittredge had shown him that he +strongly suspected it. "Don't mind old Bowring. You're sure to get on, +and, if you insist upon the folly, in this profession. I'll give you a +note to Montgomery--he's City Editor over at the _World_-shop--and he'll +take you on. In some ways you will do better there. You'll rise faster, +get a wider experience, make more money. In fact, this shop has only one +advantage. It does give a man peace of mind. It's more like a club +than an office. But in a sense that is a drawback. I'll give you a note +to-night. You will be at work over there to-morrow." + +"I think I'll wait a few days," said Howard, his tone corresponding to +the look in his eyes and the compression of his resolute mouth. + +The next day but one Mr. Bowring called him up to the City Desk and gave +him a newspaper-clipping which read: + + "Bald Peak, September 29--Willie Dent, the three-year-old baby + of John Dent, a farmer living two miles from here, strayed away + into the mountains yesterday and has not been seen since. His + dog, a cur, went with him. Several hundred men are out searching. + It has been storming, and the mountains are full of bears + and wild cats." + +"Yes, I saw this in the _Herald_," said Howard. + +"Will you take the train that leaves at eleven tonight and get us the +story--if it is not a 'fake,' as I strongly suspect. Telegraph your +story if there is not time for you to get back here by nine to-morrow +night." + +"Of course it's a fake, or at least a wild exaggeration," thought Howard +as he turned away. "If Bowring had not been all but sure there was +nothing in it, he would never have given it to me." + +He was not well, his sleepless nights having begun to tell even upon +his powerful constitution. The rest of that afternoon and all of a night +without sleep in the Pullman he was in a depth of despond. He had been +in the habit of getting much comfort out of an observation his father +had made to him just before he died: "Remember that ninety per cent +of these fourteen hundred million human beings are uncertain where +to-morrow's food is to come from. Be prudent but never be afraid." But +just then he could get no consolation out of this maxim of grim cheer. +He seemed to himself incompetent and useless, a predestined failure. +"What is to become of me?" he kept repeating, his heart like lead and +his mind fumbling about in a confused darkness. + +At Bald Peak he was somewhat revived by the cold mountain air of the +early morning. As he alighted upon the station platform he spoke to the +baggage-master standing in front of the steps. + +"Was the little boy of a man named Dent lost in the mountains near +here?" + +"Yes--three days ago," replied the baggage-man. + +"Have they found him yet?" + +"No--nor never will alive--that's my opinion." + +Howard asked for the nearest livery-stable and within twenty minutes was +on his way to Dent's farm. His driver knew all about the lost child. Two +hundred men were still searching. "And Mrs. Dent, she's been sittin' +by the window, list'nin' day and night. She won't speak nor eat and +she ain't shed a tear. It was her only child. The men come in sayin' it +ain't no use to hunt any more, an' they look at her an' out they goes +ag'in." + +Soon the driver pointed to a cottage near the road. The gate was open; +the grass and the flower-beds were trampled into a morass. The door was +thrown wide and several women were standing about the threshold. At the +window within view of the road and the mountains sat the mother--a +young woman with large brown eyes, and clear-cut features, refined, +beautified, exalted by suffering. Her look was that of one listening for +a faint, far away sound upon which hangs the turn of the balances to joy +or to despair. + + * * * * * + +That morning two of the searchers went to the northeast into the dense +and tangled swamp woods between Bald Peak and Cloudy Peak--the wildest +wilderness in the mountains. The light barely penetrates the foliage on +the brightest days. The ground is rough, sometimes precipitous, closely +covered with bushes and tangled creepers. + +The two explorers, almost lost themselves, came at last to the edge of a +swamp surrounded by cedars. They half-crawled, half-climbed through the +low trees and festooning creepers to the edge of a clear bit of open, +firm ground. + +In the middle was a cedar tree. Under it, seated upon the ground, was +the lost boy. His bare, brown legs, torn and bleeding, were stretched +straight in front of him. His bare feet were bruised and cut. His +gingham dress was torn and wet and stained. His small hands were smears +of dirt and blood. He was playing with a tin can. He had put a stone +into it and was making a great rattling. The dog was running to and fro, +apparently enjoying the noise. The little boy's face was tear-stained +and his eyes were swollen. But he was not crying just then and laughter +lurked in his thin, fever-flushed face. + +As the men came into view, the dog began to bark angrily, but the boy +looked a solemn welcome. + +"Want mamma," he said. "I'se hungry." + +One of the men picked him up--the gingham dress was saturated. + +"You're hungry?" asked the man, his voice choking. + +"Yes. An' I'se so wet. It wained and wained." Then the child began to +sob. "It was dark," he whispered, "an' cold. I want my mamma." + +It was an hour's tedious journey back to Dent's by the shortest route. +At the top of the hill those near the cottage saw the boy in the arms of +the man who had found him. They shouted and the mother sprang out of the +house and came running, stumbling down the path to the gate. She caught +at the gate-post and stood there, laughing, screaming, sobbing. + +"Baby! Baby!" she called. + +The little boy turned his head and stretched out his thin, blood-stained +arms. She ran toward him and snatched him from the young farmer. + +"Hungry, mamma," he sobbed, hiding his face on her shoulder. + + * * * * * + +Howard wrote his story on the train, going down to New York. It was a +straightforward chronicle of just what he had seen and heard. He began +at the beginning--the little mountain home, the family of three, the +disappearance of the child. He described the perils of the mountains, +the storm, the search, the wait, the listening mother, scene by scene, +ending with mother and child together again and the dog racing around +them, with wagging tail and hanging tongue. He wrote swiftly, making no +changes, without a trace of his usual self-consciousness in composition. +When he had done he went into the restaurant car and dined almost gaily. +He felt that he had failed again. How could he hope to tell such a +story? But he was not despondent. He was still under the spell of that +intense human drama with its climax of joy. His own concerns seemed +secondary, of no consequence. + +He reached the office at half-past nine, handed in his "copy" and went +away. He was in bed at half-past ten and was at once asleep. At eleven +the next morning a knocking awakened him from a sound sleep that had +restored and refreshed him. "A messenger from the office," was called +through the door in answer to his inquiry. He took the note from the boy +and tore it open: + +"My dear Mr. Howard: Thank you for the splendid story you gave us last +night. It is one of the best, if not the best, we have had the pleasure +of publishing in years. Your salary has been raised to twenty-five +dollars a week. + +"Congratulations. You have 'caught on' at last. I'm glad to take back +what I said the other day. + +"HENRY C. BOWRING." + + + + + +III. + +A PARK ROW CELEBRITY. + + +Kittredge was the first to congratulate him when he reached the office. +"Everybody is talking about your story," he said. "I must say I was +surprised when I read it. I had begun to fear that you would never catch +the trick--for, with most of us writing is only a trick. But now I see +that you are a born writer. Your future is in your own hands." + +"You think I can learn to write?" + +"That is the sane way to put it. Yes, I know that you can. If you'll +only not be satisfied with the results that come easy, you will make a +reputation. Not a mere Park Row reputation, but the real thing." + +Howard got flattery enough in the next few days to turn a stronger +head than was his at twenty-two. But a few partial failures within a +fortnight sobered him and steadied him. His natural good sense made him +take himself in hand. He saw that his success had been to a great extent +a happy accident; that to repeat it, to improve upon it he must study +life, study the art of expression. He must keep his senses open to +impression. He must work at style, enlarge his vocabulary, learn the use +of words, the effect of varying combinations of words both as to sound +and as to meaning. "I must learn to write for the people," he thought, +"and that means to write the most difficult of all styles." + +He was, then and always, one of those who like others and are liked by +them, yet never seek company and so are left to themselves. As he had +no money to spare and a deep aversion to debt, he was not tempted into +joining in the time-wasting dissipations that were now open to him. He +worked hard at his profession and, when he left the office, usually went +direct to his rooms to read until far into the morning. He was often +busy sixteen hours out of the twenty-four. His day at reporting was +long--from noon until midnight, and frequently until three in the +morning. But the work was far different from the grind which is the lot +of the young men striving in other professions or in business. It +was the most fascinating work imaginable for an intelligent, thirsty +mind--the study of human nature under stress of the great emotions. + +His mode of thought and his style made Mr. Bowring and Mr. King give him +much of this particular kind of reporting. So he was always observing +love, hate, jealousy, revenge, greed. He saw these passions in action in +the lives of people of all kinds and conditions. And he saw little else. +The reporter is a historian. And history is, as Gibbon says, for the +most part "a record of the crimes, follies and misfortunes of mankind." + +For many a man this has been a ruinous, one-sided development. Howard +was saved by his extremely intelligent, sympathetic point of view. +He saw the whole of each character, each conflict that he was sent to +study. If the point of the story was the good side of human nature--some +act of generosity or self-sacrifice--he did not exaggerate it into +godlike heroism but adjusted it in its proper prospective by bringing +out its human quality and its human surroundings. If the main point was +violence or sordidness or baseness, he saw the characteristics which +relieved and partially redeemed it. His news-reports were accounts of +the doings not of angels or devils but of human beings, accounts written +from a thoroughly human standpoint. + +Here lay the cause of his success. In all his better stories--for +he often wrote poor ones--there was the atmosphere of sincerity, of +realism, the marks of an acute observer, without prejudice and with +a justifiable leaning toward a belief in the fundamental worth of +humanity. Where others were cynical he was just. Where others were +sentimental, he had sincere, healthful sentiment. Where others were +hysterical, he calmly and accurately described, permitting the tragedy +to reveal itself instead of burying it beneath high-heaped adjectives. +Simplicity of style was his aim and he was never more delighted by any +compliment than by one from the chief political reporter. + +"That story of yours this morning," said this reporter whose lack as +a writer was more than compensated by his ability to get intimately +acquainted with public men, "reads as if a child might have written it. +I don't see how you get such effects without any style at all. You just +let your story tell itself." + +"Well, you see," replied Howard, "I am writing for the masses, and fine +writing would be wasted upon them." + +"You're right," said Jackman, "we don't need literature on this +paper--long words, high-sounding phrases and all that sort of thing. +What we want is just plain, simple English that goes straight to the +point." + +"Like Shakespeare's and Bunyan's," suggested Kittredge with a grin. + +"Shakespeare? Fudge!" scoffed Jackman. "Why he couldn't have made a +living as a space-writer on a New York newspaper." + +"No, I don't think he would have staid long in Park Row," replied +Kittredge with a subtlety of meaning that escaped Jackman. + +A few days before New Year's the Managing Editor looked up and smiled as +Howard was passing his desk. + +"How goes it?" he asked. + +"Oh, not so badly," Howard answered, "but I am a good deal depressed at +times." + +"Depressed? Nonsense! You've got everything--youth, health and freedom. +And by the way, you are going on space the first of the year. Our rule +is a year on salary before space. But we felt that it was about time to +strengthen the rule by making an exception." + +Howard stammered thanks and went away. This piece of news, dropped +apparently so carelessly by Mr. King, meant a revolution in fortune for +him. It was the transition from close calculation on twenty-five dollars +a week to wealth beyond his most fanciful dreams of six months ago. Not +having the money-getting instinct and being one of those who compare +their work with the best instead of with the inferior, Howard never felt +that he was "entitled to a living." He had a lively sense of gratitude +for the money return for his services which prudence presently taught +him to conceal. + +"Space" meant to him eighty dollars a week at least--circumstances of +ease. So vast a sum did it seem that he began to consider the problem of +investment. "I have been not badly off on twenty-five dollars a week," +he thought. "With, well, say forty dollars a week I shall be able to +satisfy all my wants. I can save at least forty a week and that will +mean an independence with a small income by the time I am thirty-four." + +But--a year after he was put "on space" he was still just about even +with his debts. He seemed to himself to be living no better and it +was only by careful counting-up that he could see how that dream of +independence had eluded him. A more extensive wardrobe, a little better +food, a more comfortable suite of rooms, an occasional dinner to some +friends, loans to broken-down reporters, and the mysteriously vanished +two thousand dollars was accounted for. + +Howard tried to retrench, devised small ingenious schemes for saving +money, lectured himself severely and frequently for thus trifling away +his chance to be a free man. But all in vain. He remained poor; and, +whenever he gave the matter thought, which was not often, gloomy +forebodings as to the future oppressed him. "I shall find myself old," +he thought, "with nothing accomplished, with nothing laid by. I shall +be an old drudge." He understood the pessimistic tone of his profession. +All about him were men like himself--leading this gambler's life of +feverish excitement and evanescent achievement, earning comfortable +incomes and saving nothing, looking forward to the inevitable time of +failing freshness and shattered nerves and declining income. + +He spasmodically tried to write stories for the magazines, contrived +plots for novels and plays, wrote first chapters, first scenes of +first acts. But the exactions of newspaper life, the impossibility of +continuous effort at any one piece of work and his natural inertia--he +was inert but neither idle nor lazy--combined to make futile his efforts +to emancipate himself from hand-to-mouth journalism. + +He had been four years a reporter and was almost twenty-six years old. +He was known throughout his profession in New York, although he had +never signed an article. One remarkable "human interest" story after +another had forced the knowledge of his abilities upon the reporters and +editors of other newspapers. And he was spoken of as one of the best and +in some respects the best "all round reporter" in the city. This meant +that he was capable to any emergency--that, whatever the subject, he +could write an accurate, graphic, consecutive and sustained story and +could get it into the editor's hands quickly. + +Indeed he possessed facility to the perilous degree. What others +achieved only after long toil, he achieved without effort. This was +due chiefly to the fact that he never relaxed but was at all times +the journalist, reading voraciously newspapers, magazines and the best +books, and using what he read; observing constantly and ever trying to +see something that would make "good copy"; turning over phrases in his +mind to test the value of words both as to sound and as to meaning. +He was an incessantly active man. His great weakness was the common +weakness--failure to concentrate. In Park Row they regarded him as a +brilliant success. Brilliant he was. But a success he was not. He knew +that he was a brilliant failure--and not very brilliant. + +"Why is it?" he asked himself again and again in periods of reaction +from the nervous strain of some exciting experience. "Shall I never +seize any of these chances that are always thrusting themselves at +me? Shall I always act like a Neapolitan beggar? Will the stimulus to +ambition never come?" + + + + + +IV. + +IN THE EDGE OF BOHEMIA. + + +Howard lived in Washington Square, South. He had gone to a +"furnished-room house" there because it was cheap. He staid because he +was comfortable and was without a motive for moving. + +It was the centre of the most varied life in New York. To the north lay +fashion and wealth, to the east and west, respectability and moderate +means; to the south, poverty and squalor, vice and crime. All could be +seen and heard from the windows of his sitting room. In the evenings +toward spring he looked out upon a panorama of the human race such as +is presented by no other city in the world and by no other part of +that city. Within view were Americans of all kinds, French and Germans, +Italians and Austrians, Spaniards and Moors, Scandinavians and +negroes, born New Yorkers and born citizens of most of the capitals of +civilisation and semi-barbarism. There were actresses, dancers, shop +girls, cocottes; touts, thieves, confidence-men, mission workers; +artists and students from the musty University building, tramps and +drunkards from the "barrel-houses" and "stale-beer shops;" and, across +the square to the north, representatives of New York's oldest and most +noted families. To the west were apartment houses whence stiff, prim +bookkeepers, floor-walkers, clerks and small shop-keepers issued with +their families on Sundays, bound for church. There were other apartment +houses--the most of them to the south--whence in the midnight hours +came slattern servants and reckless looking girls in loose wrappers and +high-heeled slippers, pitcher in hand, bound for the nearest saloon. + +After dusk from early spring until late fall a multitude of interesting +sounds mingled with the roar of the elevated trains to the west and +south and the rumble of carriages in "the Avenue" to the north. Howard, +reading or writing at his window on his leisure days, heard the young +men and young women laughing and shouting and making love under the +trees where the Washington Arch glistened in the twilight. Later came +the songs--"I want you, my honey, yes I do," or "Lu, Lu, how I love my +Lu!", or some other of the current concert-hall jingles. Many figures +could be seen flitting about in the shadows. Usually these figures were +in pairs; usually one was in white; usually at her waist-line there was +a black belt that continued on until it was lost in the other and darker +figure. + +Scraps of a score of languages--curses, jests, terms of +endearment--would float up to him. Then came the hours of comparative +silence, with the city breathing softly and regularly, with the moon +hanging low and the pale arch rising above the dark trees like a giant +ghost. There would be an occasional drunken shout or shriek; a riotous +roar of song from some staggering reveller making company for himself on +the journey home; the heavy step of the policeman. Or perhaps the only +sound to disturb the city's sleep would be that soft tread, timid as +a mouse's, stealthy as a jackal's--the tread of a lonely woman with +draggled silk skirt and painted cheeks and eyes burning into the +darkness, and a heart as bitter and as sad as no money, no home, no +friends, no hope can make it. + +Once he threw a silver dollar from his window to the sidewalk well in +front of her. She did not see it flash downward but she heard it ring +upon the walk. She rushed forward and twice kicked it away from her in +her frenzy to get it. When her bare hand--or was it a claw?--at last +closed upon it, she gave a low scream, looked slyly and fearfully about, +then ran as if death were at her heels. + +Soon after Howard was put "on space" he took the best suite of rooms in +the house. It was a strange company which Mrs. Sands had gathered under +her roof. Except Howard there was no one, not even Mrs. Sands herself, +who did not have so much past that there was little left for future. +Indeed, perhaps none of these storm-tossed or wrecked human craft +had had more of a past than Mrs. Sands. There was no mistaking the +significance of those deep furrows filled with powder and plastered with +paint, those few hairs tinted and frizzed. But like all persons with +real pasts Mrs. Sands and her lodgers kept the veil tightly drawn. They +confessed to no yesterdays and they did not dare think of to-morrow. +They were incuriously awaiting the impulse which was sure to come, sure +to thrust them on downward. + +A new lodger at Mrs. Sand's usually took the best rooms that were to be +had. Then, sometimes slowly, sometimes swiftly, came the retreat upward +until a cubby-hole under the eaves was reached. Finally came precipitate +and baggageless departure, often with a week or two of lodging unpaid. +The next pause, if pause there was, would be still nearer the river-bed +or the Morgue. + +One morning when he had been living in Washington Square, South, +about--three years, Howard was dressing hurriedly, the door of his +sitting-room accidentally ajar. Through the crack he saw some one +stooping over the serving tray which he had himself put outside his +door when he had finished breakfast. He looked more closely. It was +"the clergyman" from up under the eaves--an unfrocked priest, thin to +emaciation, misery written upon his face even more deeply than weakness. +He hastily bundled the bones of two chops and a bit of bread into a +stained and torn handkerchief, and sprang away up the stairs toward his +little hole at the roof. + +Howard was in a hurry and so put off for the time action upon the +natural impulse. When he came back at midnight, there was soon a knock +at his door. He opened it and invited in the man at the threshold--a +tall, strongly built, erect German, with a dissipated handsome face, +heavily scarred from university duels. + +"Pardon me for disturbing you," said the German. His speech, his tone, +his manner, left no doubt as to his breeding though they raised the +gravest doubts as to his being willing to give a true account of why he +had become a tenant in that lodging house. + +"Will you have a cigarette and some whiskey?" inquired Howard. + +The German's glance lit and lingered upon the bottle of Scotch on the +table. "Concentrated, double-distilled friendship," said he as he poured +out his drink. + +"But a friend that drives all others away," smiled Howard. + +"I have found it of a very jealous disposition," replied the German with +a careless shrug of the shoulders and a lifting of the eyebrows. "But at +least this friend has the grace to stay after it has driven the others +away." + +"To stay until the last piece of silver is gone." + +"But what more does one expect of a friend? Besides, we are overlooking +one friend--the one who helped our clerical fellow-lodger of the attic +out of his troubles to-day." + +"His luck has turned?" + +"Permanently. He shot himself this afternoon." + +"And only this morning I made up my mind to try to help him," said +Howard regretfully. + +"You could not have hoped to succeed so well. His case needed something +more than temporary expedient. But, to come to the point, I had a slight +acquaintance with him. He left a note for me--mailed it just before he +shot himself. In it he asked that I insert a personal in the Herald. +Unfortunately I have not the money. I thought that you as a journalist +might be able to suggest something." + +The German held out a slip of cheap writing paper on which was written: +"Helen--when you see this it will be over--L." + +"A good story," was Howard's first thought, his news-instinct alert. And +then he remembered that it was not for him to tell. "I will attend to +this for you to-morrow." + +"Thank you," said the German, helping himself to the whiskey. "Have you +seen the new lodgers?" + +"Those in the room behind me? Yes. I saw them at the front door as I +came in." + +"They're a queer pair--the youngest I've seen in this house. I've been +wondering what tempest wrecked them on this forlorn coast so early in +the voyage." + +"Why wrecked?" + +"My dear sir, we are all--except you--wrecks here, all unseaworthy at +least." + +"One of them was quite pretty, I thought," said Howard, "the slender one +with the black hair." + +"They are not mates. The other girl is of a different sort. She's more +used to this kind of life, at least to poverty. I fancy Miss Black-Hair +looks on it as a lark. But she'll find out the truth by the time she has +mounted another story." + +"Here, to go up means to go down," Howard said, weary of the +conversation and wishing that the German would leave. + +"They say that they're sisters," the German went on, again helping +himself to the whiskey; "They say they have run away from home because +of a stepmother and that they are going to earn their own living. But +they won't. They spend the nights racing about with a gang of the young +wretches of this neighbourhood. They won't be able to stand getting up +early for work. And then----" + +The German blew out a huge cloud of cigarette smoke, shrugged his +shoulders and added: "Miss Black-Hair may get on up town presently. But +I doubt it. The Tenderloin rarely recruits from down here." + +The bottle was empty and the German bowed himself out. As the night was +hot, Howard opened the door a few moments afterward. At the other end of +the short hall light was streaming through the open door of the room the +two girls had taken. Before he could turn, there was a shadow and "Miss +Black-Hair" was standing in her doorway: + +"Oh," she began, "I thought----" + +Howard paused, looking at her. She was above the medium height--tall +for a woman--and slender. Her loose wrapper, a little open at her round +throat, clung to her, attracting attention to all the lines of her form. +Her hair was indeed black, jet black, waving back from her forehead in a +line of curving and beautiful irregularity. Her skin was clear and dark. +There were deep circles under her eyes, making them look unnaturally +large, pathetically weary. In repose her face was childish and sadly +serious. When she smiled she looked older and pert, but no happier. + +"I thought," she continued with the pert, self-confident smile, "that +you were my sister Nellie. I'm waiting for her." + +"You're in early tonight," said Howard, the circles under her eyes +reminding him of what the German had told him. + +"I haven't slept much for a week," the girl replied, "I'm nearly dead. +But I won't go to bed till Nellie comes." + +Howard was about to turn when she went on: "We agreed always to stay +together. She broke it tonight. My fellow got too fresh, so I came home. +She said she'd come too. That was an hour ago and she isn't here yet." + +"Isn't she rather young to be out alone at this time?" + +Howard could hardly have told why he continued the conversation. He +certainly would not, had she been less beautiful or less lonely and +childish. At his remark about her sister's youth she laughed with an +expression of cunning at once amusing and pitiful. + +"She's a year older than me," she said, "and I guess I can take care of +myself. Still she hasn't much sense. She'll get into trouble yet. She +doesn't understand how to manage the boys when they're too fresh." + +"But you do, I suppose?" suggested Howard. + +"Indeed I do," with a quick nod of her small graceful head, "I know what +I'm about. _My_ mother taught _me_ a few things." + +"Didn't she teach your sister also?" + +"Miss Black-Hair" dropped her eyes and flushed a little, looking like a +child caught in a lie. "Of course," she said after a pause. + +"How long have you been without your mother?" + +"I've been away from home four months. But I saw her in the street +yesterday. She didn't see me though." + +"Then you've got a step-father?" + +"No, I haven't. Nellie told that to Mrs. Sands. But it's not so. You +know Nellie's not my sister?" + +"I fancied not from what you said a moment ago." + +"No, she used to be nurse girl in our family. We just say we're sisters. +I wish she'd come. I'm tired of standing. Won't you come in?" + +She went into her room, her manner a frank and simple invitation. Howard +hesitated, then went just inside the door and half sat, half leaned upon +the high roll of the lounge. The room was cheaply furnished, the lounge +and a closed folding bed almost filling it. Upon the mantel, the bureau +and the little table were a few odds and ends that stamped it a woman's +room. A street gown of thin pale-blue cloth was thrown over a rocking +chair. As the girl leaned back in this chair with her face framed in the +pale-blue of the gown, she looked tired and sad and beautiful and very +young. + +"If Nellie doesn't look out, I'll go away and live alone," she said, and +the accompanying unconscious look of loneliness touched Howard. + +"You might go back home." + +"You don't know my home or you wouldn't say that. You don't know my +father." She had got upon the subject of herself, and, once in that road +she kept it with no thought of turning out. "He can't treat me as he +treats mother. Why, he goes away and stays for days. Then he comes home +and quarrels with her all the time. They never both sit through a meal. +One or the other flares up and leaves. He generally whipped me when he +got very mad--just for spite." + +"But there's your mother." + +"Yes. She doesn't like my going away. But I can't stand it. Papa +wouldn't let me go anywhere or let anybody come to see me. He says +everybody's bad. I guess he's about right. Only he doesn't include +himself." + +"You seem to have a poor opinion of people." + +"Well, you can't blame me." She put on her wise look of experience and +craft. "I've been away, living with Nellie for four months and I've seen +no good to speak of. A girl doesn't get a fair chance." + +"But you've got work?" + +"Oh, yes. We both stayed down in a restaurant, Nellie's got a place as +waiter. That's the best she could do. The man said I was good-looking +and would catch trade. So he made me cashier. I get six dollars a week +to Nellie's three. But it's a bad place. The men are always slipping +notes in my hand when they give me their checks. Then the boss, he's +always bothering around." + +"But you don't have to work hard?" + +"From nine till four. We get our lunch free. I pay three dollars on the +room and Nellie pays one." + +If Howard had not seen many such problems in economics before, he would +have been astonished at any one even hoping to be able to get two meals +a day, clothing and carfare out of two or three dollars a week. As it +was, he only wondered how long a girl who had been used at least to +comfort would endure this. "It's easy for the other girl," he thought, +"because she's used to it. But this one--" and he decided that the +"trouble" would begin as soon as her clothing was worn out. + +He noticed that she was pulling at the third finger of her right hand +where she would have worn rings if she had had any. "You've had to pawn +your rings?" he ventured. + +She looked at him startled. "Did Nellie tell you?" she asked. + +"No," he replied, "I saw that you were missing your rings and suspected +the rest." + +"Yes; that's so. I've pawned all my jewelry except a bracelet. Nellie +can't get along on her three dollars. She eats too much." + +"I should think you'd rather be at home." + +"As I told you before," she said impatiently, "anything's better than +home. Besides, I'm pretty well off. I go where I please, stay out as +late as I please and have all the company I want. At home I'd have to be +in bed at ten o'clock." + +There was a sound at the front door down in the darkness. The girl +started from the chair, listened, then exclaimed: "There she comes now. +And it's two o'clock!" + +Howard took the hint, smiled and said: "Well, good-night. I'll see you +again." + +"Good-night," the girl answered absently. + +From his room Howard heard Nellie coming up the stairs. "You're a nice +one!" came in "Miss Black-Hair's" indignant voice, "Where have you been? +Where did you and Jack go?" + +The answer came in a sob--"Oh, Alice, you'll never forgive me!" + +Their door closed upon the two girls but Howard could still hear +Nellie's voice tearful, pleading. There was the sound of some one +falling heavily upon the lounge, then sobs and cries of "Oh! Oh!" +As Howard went into his bedroom, he could hear the voices still more +plainly through the thin wall. He caught the words only once. "Miss +Black-Hair," her voice shaking with anger, exclaimed: "Nellie Baker, you +are a wicked girl, I shall go away." + + + + +V. + +ALICE. + +Several nights later Howard came upon Alice at the front door, where a +young man was detaining her in a lingering good-bye. Another night as +he was passing her room he saw her stretched upon the floor, her head +supported by her elbows and an open book in front of her. She looked so +childlike that Howard paused and said: "What is it--a fairy story?" + +"No, it's a love story," she replied, just glancing at him with a faint +smile and showing that she did not wish to be interrupted. The same +night as he was going to bed he heard the angry voices of the two girls. +A week later, toward the end of July, he found Alice sitting on the +front stoop, when he came from dinner. She was obviously in the depths +of the "blues." Her eyes, the droop of the corners of her mouth, even +the colour of her skin indicated anxiety and depression. She looked so +forlorn that he said gently: "Wouldn't you like to walk in the Square?" + +She rose at once. "Yes, I guess so." They crossed to the green. She was +wearing the pale-blue gown and it fitted her well. Neither in the gown +nor in the big hat with its coquettish flowers nodding over the brim was +there much of fashion. But there was a certain distinction in her +walk and her manner of wearing her clothes; and to a pretty face and a +graceful form was added the charm of youth, magnetic youth. + +"Do you want to walk?" she asked, lassitude in her voice. + +"No, let us sit," he said, and they went to a bench near the arch. It +was twilight. The children were still romping and shouting. Many fat +elderly women--mothers and grandmothers--were solemnly marching about, +talking in fat, elderly voices. + +"You have the blues?" asked Howard, thinking it might make her feel +better to talk of her troubles. "If I were your doctor, I should +prescribe a series of good cries." + +"I don't cry," said the girl. "Sometimes I wish I could. Nellie cries +and gets over things. I feel awful inside and sick and my eyes burn. But +I can't cry." + +"You're too young for that." + +"Oh, in some ways I'm young; again, I'm not. I hate everybody this +evening." + +"What's the matter? Has Nellie deserted you?" + +"She? Not much. I had to tell her to go"--this with a joyless little +laugh--"she quit work and wouldn't behave herself. So now I'm going on +alone." + +"And you won't go home?" + +"Never in the world," she said with almost fierce energy; then some +thought made her laugh in the same way as before. Howard decided that +she had not told him everything about her home life, even though she had +rattled on as if there were nothing to conceal. He sat watching her, she +looking straight before her, her small bare hands clasped in her lap. +He was pitying her keenly--this child, at once stunted and abnormally +developed, this stray from one of the classes that keeps their women +sheltered; and here she was adrift, without any of those resources of +experience which assist the girls of the tenements. + +Her features were small, sensitive, regular. Her eyes were brown with +lines of reddish gold raying from the pupils. Her chin and mouth were +firm enough, yet suggested weakness through the passions. Her clear +skin had the glow of youth and health upon its smooth surface. She was +certainly beautiful and she certainly had magnetism. + +"What do you think is going to become of you?" he asked. + +"I don't know," she said, after a deep sigh. "A girl doesn't have a fair +chance. I don't seem to be able to have any fun without getting into +trouble. I don't know what to think. It's all so black. I wish I was +dead." + +Her dreary tone put the deepest pathos into her words. Howard had seen +despondency in youth before--had felt it himself. But there had always +been a certain lightness in it. Here was a mere child who evidently +thought, and thought with reason, that there was no hope for her; and +her despair was not a passing cloud or storm, but a settled conviction. + +"There doesn't seem to be any chance for a young girl," she repeated +as if that phrase summed up all that was weighing upon her. And Howard +feared that she, was right. Even the readiest of all commodities, +advice, failed him. "What can she do?" he thought. "If she has no home, +worth speaking of"--then he went on aloud: + +"Haven't you friends?" + +She laughed again with that slight moving of the lips and with eyes +mirthless. "Who wants me for a friend? Nobody'd think I was respectable. +And I guess I'm not so very. There's Nellie and her--friends. Oh, the +girls join in with the men to drag other girls down. But I won't do +that. I don't care what becomes of me--except that." + +"Why?" he asked, curious for her explanation of this aversion. + +"I don't know why," she replied. "There doesn't seem to be any good +reason. I've thought I would several times. And then--well, I just +couldn't." + +Howard turned the subject and tried to draw her out of this mood. They +sat there for several hours and became well acquainted. He found that +she had an intelligent way of looking at things, that she observed +closely, and that she appreciated and understood far more than he had +expected. + +It was the beginning of a series of evenings spent together. He took her +with him on many of his assignments and they often dined together at +"Le Chat Noir" or the "Restaurant de Paris," or "The Manhattan" over +in Second Avenue. Late in June she bought a new gown--a pale-grey with +ribbons and hat to match. Howard was amused at the anxious expression +in her gold-brown eyes as she waited for his opinion. And when he said: +"Well, well, I never saw you look so pretty," she looked much prettier +with a slight colour rising to tint the usual pallor of her cheeks. + +One Sunday he came home in the afternoon and found her helping the maid +at straightening his rooms. As he lay on the lounge smoking he watched +her lazily. She handled his books with a great deal of awe. She opened +one of them and sat on the floor in the childlike way she often had. She +read several sentences aloud. It was a tangle of technical words on the +subject of political economy. + +"What do you have such stupid things around for?" she said, smiling and +rising. She began to arrange the books and papers on the table. He was +looking at her but thinking of something else when he became conscious +that she had got suddenly white to the lips. He jumped to his feet. + +"What's the matter?" he asked, "are you going to faint?" + +Her eyes were shining as with fever out of a ghostly face. Her lips +trembled as she answered: "Oh it's nothing. I do this often." She went +slowly into the back room where the maid was. In a few minutes she +returned, apparently as usual. She flitted about uneasily, taking up now +one thing, now another in a purposeless, nervous way. + +"I never was in here before," she said. "You've got lots of pretty +things. Whose picture is this?" + +"That? Oh, my sister-in-law out in Chicago." + +Howard did not then understand why she became so gay, why her eyes +danced with happiness, why as soon as she went into the hall she began +to sing and kept it up in her own room, quieting down only to burst +forth again. He did not even especially note the swift change, the, for +her, extraordinary mood of high spirits. It was about this time that +their relations began to change. + +Howard had thought of her, or had thought that he thought of her, only +as a lonely and desolate child, to be taught so far as he was capable of +teaching and she of learning. He was conscious of her extreme youth and +of the impassable gulf of thought and taste between them. He did not +take her feelings into account at all. It never occurred to him that +this part of friend and patron which he was playing was not safe for +him, not just and right toward her. + +One night he took her to a ball at the Terrace Garden--a +respectable, amusing affair "under the auspices of the +Young-German-American-Shooting-Society." The next day a reporter for the +_Sun_ whom he knew slightly said to him with a grin he did not like: +"Mighty pretty little girl you're taking about with you, Howard. Where'd +you pick her up?" + +Howard reddened, angry with himself for reddening, angry with the _Sun_ +man for his impudence, ashamed that he had put himself and Alice in such +a position. But the incident brought the matter of his relation with her +sharply and clearly before his mind and conscience. + +"This must stop," he said to himself; "it must stop at once. It is +unjust to her. And it is dragging me into an entanglement." + +But the mischief had been done. She loved him. And with the confidence +of youth and inexperience, she was disregarding all the obstacles, +was giving herself up to the dream that he would presently love her in +return, with the end as in the story books. Indeed love stories became +her constant companions. Where she once read them for amusement, she now +read them as a Christian reads his Bible--for instruction, inspiration, +faith, hope and courage. + +One evening in July--it was in the week of Independence Day--Howard's +windows and door were thrown wide to get the full benefit of whatever +stir there might be in the air. He was sprawled upon the lounge, the +table drawn close and upon it a lamp shedding a dim light through the +room but enough near by to let him read. He had dropped his book and was +thinking whether a stroll in the Square in the moonlight would repay the +trouble of moving. There were steps in the hall and then, peeping round +the door-frame was the face of his young neighbour. + +"Hello," he said, "I thought you were out somewhere. Come in." + +"No, I'm going to bed," she answered, nevertheless gradually edging into +the room. She was wearing a loose wrapper of flowered silk, somewhat +worn and never very fine. Her black hair hung in a long thick braid to +her waist and she looked even younger than usual. + +"Where have you been all evening?" asked Howard. + + +"Oh, I've been up to see a friend. She lives in Harlem, and she wants me +to come and live with her." + +"Are you going?" Howard inquired, noting that he was interested and not +pleased. "The house wouldn't seem natural without you." + +She gave him a quick, gratified glance and, advancing further into the +room, sat upon the arm of the big rocking-chair. "She gave me a good +talking to," she went on with a smile. "She told me I ought not to live +alone at my age. She said I ought to live with her and meet some friends +of hers. She said maybe I'd find a nice fellow to marry." + +Howard thought over this as he smoked and at last said in an +ostentatiously judicial tone: "Well, I think she's right. I don't see +what else there is to do. You can't live on down here alone always. +What's become of Nellie?" + +"Nellie's got to be a bad girl," said Alice with a blush and a dropping +of the eyes. "She's in Fourteenth Street every night. She says she +doesn't care what happens to her. I saw her last night and she wanted +me to come with her. She says it's of no use for me to put on airs. She +says I've got no friends and I might as well join her sooner as later." + +"Well?" Howard was keeping his eyes carefully away from hers. + +"Oh, I sha'n't go with her. As long as a girl has got anything at all +to live for, she doesn't want that. Besides I'd rather go to the East +River." + +"Drowning's a serious matter," said Howard with a smile and with banter +in his tone. + +"Yes, it is," said the girl seriously, "I've thought of it. And I don't +believe I could." + +"Then you'd better go with your friend and get married." + +"I don't want to get married," she replied, shaking her head slowly from +side to side. + +"That's what all the girls say," laughed Howard. "But of course you +will. It's the only thing to do." + +"Then why don't you get married?" asked Alice, tracing one of the +flowers in her wrapper with her slim, brown forefinger. + +"I couldn't if I would and I wouldn't if I could." + +"Oh, you could get a nice girl to marry you, I'm sure," she said, the +colour rising faintly toward her long, downcast lashes. + +"But who would get the money? It takes money to keep a nice girl." + +"Oh, not much," said Alice earnestly, yet with a queer hesitation in her +voice. "You oughtn't to marry those extravagant girls. I've read about +them and I think they don't make very good wives, real wives to save +money and--and care." + +"You seem to know a good deal about these things for your age," said +Howard, much amused and showing it. + +"I don't care," she persisted, "you ought to get married." + +Howard felt that this was the time to clear the girl's mind of any +"notions" she might have got. He would be very clever, very adroit. He +would not let her suspect that he had any idea of her thoughts. Indeed +he was not perfectly certain that he had. But he would gently and +frankly tell her the truth. + +"I shall never get married," he said, sitting up and talking as one who +is discussing a case which he understands thoroughly yet has no personal +interest in. "I haven't the money and I haven't the desire. I am what +they would call a confirmed bachelor. I wouldn't marry any girl who +had not been brought up as I have been. We should be unhappy together +unsuited each to the other. She would soon hate me. Besides, I wish to +be free. I care more for freedom than I ever shall for any human being. +As I am now, so I shall always be, a wandering fellow without ties. It +is not a pleasant prospect for old age. But I have made up my mind to it +and I shall never marry." + +The girl's hands had dropped limp into her lap; her face was down so +that he could barely see the burning blush which overspread it. + +"You don't mean that," she said in a voice that was queer and choked. + +"Oh yes, I do, little girl," he answered, intending to smile when she +should look up. + +When she did lift her eyes, his smile could not come. For her face was +grey and her lips bloodless and from her eyes looked despair. Howard +glanced away instantly. With rude hand he had suddenly toppled into +the dust this child's dream-castle of love and happiness which he had +himself helped her build. He felt like a criminal. But partly from a +sense of duty, chiefly from the cowardice of self-preservation, he made +no effort to lighten her suffering. + +"I should only prolong it," he thought, "only make matters worse. +To-morrow--perhaps." + +If she had been worldly wise, even if she had not been so completely +absorbed in her worship of him that her woman-instincts were dormant, +she would herself have found hope. But she had not a suspicion that +these strong words of apparent finality were spoken to give himself +courage, to keep him from obeying the impulse to respond to the appeal +of her youth to his, her aloneness to his, her passion to his. She +believed him literally. + +There was a long silence. He heard her move, heard a suppressed cry and +glanced toward her again. She was darting from the room. A second later +her door crashed. He started up and after her, hesitated, returned to +his book--but not to his reading. + +Toward noon the next day, he passed her room on his way out. The +door was wide open; none of her belongings was in sight; the maid was +sweeping energetically. She paused when she saw him. + +"Miss Alice left this morning," she said, "and the room's been let to +another party." + + + + + +VI. + +IN A BOHEMIAN QUICKSAND. + + +Howard could have got her new address; and for many weeks habit, at +first steadily, afterward intermittently, teased him to look her up. +He was amazed at her hold upon him. At times the longing for her was so +intense that he almost suspected himself of being in love with her. + +"I escaped from that none too soon," he congratulated himself. "It +wasn't nearly so one-sided as I thought." + +He had never been gregarious. Thus far he had not had a single intimate +friend, man or woman. He knew many people and knew them well. They liked +him and some of them sought his friendship. These were often puzzled +because it was easy to get acquainted with him, impossible to know him +intimately. + +The explanation of this combination of openness and reserve, +friendliness and unapproachableness, was that his boyhood and youth had +been spent wholly among books. That life had trained him not to look to +others for amusement, sympathy or counsel, but to depend upon himself. +As his temperament was open and good-natured and sympathetic, he was as +free from enemies and enmities as he was from friends and friendships. + +Women there had been--several women, a succession of idealizations which +had dispersed in the strong light of his common sense. He had never +disturbed himself about morals in what he regarded as the limited sense. +He always insisted that he was free; and he was careful only of his +personal pride and of taking no advantage of another. What he had said +to Alice about marriage was true--as to his intentions, at least. A poor +woman, he felt, he could not marry; a rich woman, he felt, he would not +marry. And he cared nothing about marriage because he was never lonely, +never leaned or wished to lean upon another, abhorred the idea of +any one leaning upon him; because he regarded freedom as the very +corner-stone of his scheme of life. + +The nearest he had come to companionship was with Alice. With the other +women whom he had known in various degrees from warmth to white-heat, +there had been interruptions, no such constant freedom of access, no +such intermingling of daily life. Her he had seen at all hours and in +all circumstances. She never disturbed him but was ready to talk when +he wished to listen, listened eagerly when he talked, and was silent +and beautiful and restful to look at when he wished to indulge in the +dissipation of mental laziness. + +As she loved him, she showed him only the best that there was in her and +showed it in the most attractive of all lights. + +While he was still wavering or fancying that he was wavering, the +Managing Editor sent him to "do" a great strike-riot in the coal regions +of Pennsylvania. He was there for three weeks, active day and night, +interested in the new phases of life--the mines and the miners, the +display of fierce passions, the excitement, the peril. + +When he returned to New York, Alice had ceased to tempt him. + + * * * * * + +One midnight in the early spring he was in his sitting room, reading +and a little bored. There came a knock at the door. He hoped that it was +some one bringing something interesting or coming to propose a search +for something interesting. "Come in," he said with welcome in his voice. +The door opened. It was Alice. + +She was dressed much as she had been the first time he talked with +her--a loose, clinging wrapper open at the throat. There was a change +in her face--a change for the better but also for the worse. She looked +more intelligent, more of a woman. There was more sparkle in her eyes +and in her smile. But--Howard saw instantly the price she had paid. As +the German had suggested, she had "got on up town." + +She was pulling at the long broad blue ribbons of her negligee. Her +hands were whiter and her pink finger nails had had careful attention. +She smiled, enjoying his astonishment. "I have come back," she said. + +Howard came forward and took her hand. "I'm glad, very glad to see you. +For a minute I thought I was dreaming." + +"Yes," she went on, "I'm in my old room. I came this afternoon. I must +have been asleep, for I didn't hear you come in." + +"I hope it isn't bad luck that has flung you back here." + +"Oh, no. I've been doing very well. I've been saving up to come. And +when I had enough to last me through the summer, I--I came." + +"You've been at work?" + +She dropped her eyes and flushed. And her fingers played more nervously +with her ribbons. + +"You needn't treat me as a child any longer," she said at last in a low +voice; "I'm eighteen now and--well, I'm not a child." + +Again there was a long pause. Howard, watching her downcast face, saw +her steadying her expression to meet his eyes. When she looked, it was +straight at him--appeal but also defiance. + +"I don't ask anything of you," she said, "we are both free. And I +wanted to see you. I was sick of all those others--up there. I've +never had--had--this out of my mind. And I've come. And I can see you +sometimes. I won't be in the way." + +Howard went over to the window and stared out into the lights and +shadows of the leafy Square. When he turned again she had lighted and +was smoking one of his cigarettes. + +"Well," he said smiling down at her, "Why not? Put on a street gown and +we'll go out and get supper and talk it over." + +She sprang up, her face alight. She was almost running toward the door. +Midway she stopped, turned and came slowly back. She put one of her arms +upon his shoulder--a slender, cool, smooth, white arm with the lace of +the wide sleeve slipping away from it. She turned her face up until her +mouth, like a rosebud, was very near his lips. There was appeal in her +eyes. + +"I'm very, very glad to see you," Howard said as he kissed her. + + * * * * * + +And so Howard's life was determined for the next four years. + +He worked well at his profession. He read a great deal. He wrote fiction +and essays in desultory fashion and got a few things printed in the +magazines. He led a life that was a model of regularity. But he knew the +truth--that Alice had ended his career. + +He was content. Ambition had always been vague with him and now his +habit of following the line of least resistance had drifted him +into this mill-pond. Sometimes, he would give himself up to +bitter self-reproach, disgusted that he should be so satisfied, so +non-resisting in a lot in every way the reverse of that which he had +marked out for himself. If he had been chained he might, probably would, +have broken away. But Alice never attempted to control him. His will +was her law. She was especially shrewd about money matters, so often the +source of disputes and estrangements. Two months after she reappeared, +she proposed that they take an apartment together. + +"I saw one to-day in West Twelfth Street at seventy dollars a month," +she said, "and I'm sure I could manage it so that you would be much +better off than you are now." + +He viewed this plan with suspicion. It definitely committed him to a +mode of life which he had always regarded as degrading both to the man +and the woman and as certain of a calamitous ending. So he made excuses +for delay, fully intending never to yield. But although Alice did not +speak of her plan again, he found himself more and more attracted by it, +caught himself speculating about various apartments he happened to see +as he went about the streets. She must have been conscious of what was +going on in his mind; for when, a month after she had spoken, he said +abruptly: "Where was that apartment you saw?" she went straight on +discussing the details as if there had been no interval. She was ready +to act. + +The apartment was taken in her name--Mrs. Cammack, the "Mrs." being +necessary to account for him. They selected the furniture together, he +as interested as she and very pleased to find that she had the same good +taste in those matters that she had in dress. She took all the troubles +and annoyances upon herself. When she invited him to assist in the +arrangement, it was in matters that amused him and at times when she was +sure he had nothing else to do. It is not strange that he got a wholly +false idea of the difficulties of setting up an establishment. + +After a month of selecting and discussing, of pleasure in the new +experience, pleasure in Alice's enthusiasm and excitement and happiness, +he found himself master of five attractive and comfortable rooms, his +clothing, his books, all his belongings properly arranged. The door was +opened for him by a cleanlooking coloured maid, with a tiny white cap on +her head. + +As he looked around and then at the beautiful face with the wistful, +gold-brown eyes so anxiously following his wandering glance, he was very +near to loving her. Indeed, he was like a husband who has left out that +period of passionate love which extends into married life until it gives +place to boredom, or to dislike, or to some such sympathetic affection +as he felt for Alice. "It is just this that holds me," he thought, in +his infrequent moods of dissatisfaction. "If we quarrelled or if there +were any deep feeling on my side, I should not be in this mess. I should +be"--Well, where would he be? "Probably worse off," he usually added. + +Certainly he could not have been freer, for she never questioned +him; and, if she was ever uneasy or jealous when he came in late--for +him--without telling her where he had been, she never showed it. She had +no friends, and he often wondered how she passed the time when he was +not with her. Whenever he inquired he got the same answer: She had been +busying herself with their home; she had been planning to save money or +to make him more comfortable; she had been reading to improve her mind +and to enable herself to start him talking on subjects that interested +him. + +No matter how unexpectedly he looked in upon her life or her mind, he +found--himself. + +One day she said to him--it was after two years of this life: "Something +is worrying you. Is it about me? You look at me so queerly at times." + +"Yes," he answered. "It is about you. Tell me, Miss Black-Hair, do you +never think of getting old?" + +"No," she smiled. "I shall wait until I am twenty-five before I begin to +think of that." + +"But don't you see that this sort of thing must stop sometime? It is +unjust to you. When I think of it, I reproach myself for permitting us +to get into it." + +"I am happy," she said, looking straight at him, terror in her eyes. + +"But you have no friends?" + +"Who has? And what do I want with friends?" + +"But don't you see, I can't introduce you to anybody. I can't talk about +you to the people I know. I am always having to explain you away, always +having to act as if I were ashamed of this, my real life. At times I am +Anglo-Saxon enough to be really ashamed of it. And I ought to be and am +ashamed of myself." + +"Don't let's talk about it. You and I understand. Why should we bother +about the rest of the world?" + +"No, we _must_ talk about it. I have been going over it carefully. We +must--must be married." + +He laid his hand upon hers. She blushed deeply and lowered her head. +A tear dropped upon the front of her gown and hung glittering in the +meshes of the white lace. She crept into his arms and buried her face +upon his shoulder and sobbed. He had never seen her even look like tears +before. + +"We must be married," he repeated, patting her on the shoulder. + +She shook her head in negation. + +"Yes," he said firmly, mentally noting that this was the very first time +he had ever caught her in a pretense. + +"No." Her tone was as firm as his. She lifted her head and put her +cheek against his. "It makes me very proud that you ask it. But--I--I do +not----" + +"Do not--what?" + +"I do not want--I will not--risk losing you." + +"But you won't lose me. You will have me more than ever." + +"Some men--yes. But not you." + +"And why not I, O Wisdom?" + +"Because--because--do you think I have watched you all this time, +without learning something about you? The way to keep you is to leave +you free. I do not want your name. I do not want your friends I do not +want to be respectable. I want--just you." + +"But are we not as good as married now?" + +"Yes--that's it. And I want it to keep on. I never cared for anybody +until I saw you. I shall never care for anybody else. I never shall try. +I want you as long as I can have you. And then----" + +"And then," Howard laughed or rather, pretended to laugh, "and then, +'Oh, dig me a grave both wide and deep, wide and deep.' How like +twenty-years-old that is." + +She seemed not to hear his jest and presently went on: "Do you remember +the evening before I left, down there at Mrs. Sands's?" + +"The night you proposed to me?" Howard said, pulling her ear. + +She smiled faintly and continued: "I thought it all out that night. I +intended to come back just as I did. I went deliberately. I----" + +Howard put his hand over her lips. + +"O, I am not going to tell anything,", said she, evading his fingers. +"Only this--that I understood you then, understood just why you +would never marry. Not so clearly as I understand it now, but still +I--understood. And you have been teaching me ever since, teaching me +manners, teaching me how to read and think and talk. And more than all, +you've taught me your way of looking at life." + +Howard held her away from him and studied her face, surprise in his +eyes. "Isn't it strange?" he said. + +"Here I've been seeing you day after day all this time, have had a +chance to know you better than I ever knew any one in my life, have had +you very near to me day and night. And just now, as I look at you, I see +the real you for the first time in two years." + +"I have been wondering when you would look at me again," said Alice with +a small, sly smile. + +"Why, you are a woman grown. Where is the little girl I knew, the little +girl who used to look up to me?" + +"Oh, she's gone these two years. She proposed to you and, when you +refused her, she--died." + +"Yes--we must be married," Howard went on. "Why not? It is more +convenient, let us say." + +Alice shook her head and put her cheek against his again and clasped his +fingers in hers. "No, my instinct is against it. Some day--perhaps. +But not now, not now. I want you. I want only you. We are together out +here--out beyond the pale. Inside, others would come in and--and surely +come between us. I want no others--none." + + + + + +VII. + +A LITTLE CANDLE GOES OUT. + + +Howard was now thirty years old. Park Row had long ceased talking of him +as a "coming man." While his style of writing was steadily improving, +he wrote with no fixed aim, wrote simply for the day, for the newspaper +which dies with the day of its date. Some of his acquaintances wondered +why a man of such ability should thus stand still. The less observant +spoke of him as an impressive example of the "journalistic blight." +Those who looked deeper saw the truth--a dangerous facility, a perilous +inertia, a fatal entanglement. Facility enabled him to earn a good +living with ease, working as he chose. Inertia prevented him from +seeking opportunities for advancement. Entanglement shut him off from +the men and women of his own kind who would have thrust opportunities +upon him and compelled him. + +Howard himself saw this clearly in his occasional moods of +self-criticism. But as he saw no remedy, he raged intermittently and +briefly, and straightway relapsed. Vanity supplied him with many +excuses and consolations. Was he not one of the best reporters in the +profession? Where was there another, where indeed in any profession were +there many of his age, making five thousand a year? Was he not always +improving his mind? Was he not more and more careful in his personal +habits? Was he not respected by all who knew him; looked upon as a +successful man; regarded by those with whom he came in daily contact as +a leader in the profession, a model for style, a marvel for facility and +versatility and for the quantity of good "copy" he could turn out in a +brief time? But with all the soothings of vanity he never could quite +hide from himself that his life was a failure up to that moment. + +"Why try to lie to myself?" he thought. "It's never a question of what +one has done but always of what one could have and should have done. +I am thirty and I have been marking time for at least four years. +Preparing by study and reading? Yes, but not preparing for anything." + +On the whole he was glad that Alice had refused to marry him. Her reason +was valid. But there was another which he thought she did not see. He +was deceived as to the depth of her insight because he did not watch her +closely. He had no suspicion how many, many times, in their moments +of demonstrativeness, she listened for those words which never came, +listened and turned away to hide from him the disappointment in her +eyes. + +He did not love her--and she knew it. She did not inspire ambition in +him--and she knew it. She simply kept him comfortable and contented. +She simply prevented his amatory instincts from gathering strength +vigorously to renew that search which men and women keep up incessantly +until they find what they seek. She knew this also but never permitted +herself to see it clearly. + +He was pleased with her but not proud of her. He was not exactly ashamed +of his relation with her but--well, he never relaxed his precautions for +keeping it conventionally concealed. He still had a room at his club +and occupied it occasionally. He laughed at himself, despised himself +in a--gentle, soothing way. But he excused himself to himself with +earnestness despite his sarcasms at his own expense. And for the most +of the time he was content--so well, so comfortably content that if his +mind had not been so nervously active he would have taken on the form +and look of settled middle-life. + +There was just the one saving quality--his mental alertness. All his +life he had had insatiable intellectual curiosity. It had kept him +from wasting his time at play when he was a boy. It had kept him from +plunging deeply into dissipation when youth was hot in his veins. It was +now keeping him from the sluggard's fate. + + * * * * * + +On the last day of January--six weeks after his thirtieth birthday--he +came home earlier than usual, as they were going to the theatre and were +to dine at seven. He found Alice in bed and the doctor sitting beside +her. + +"You'll have to get some one else to go with you, I'm afraid," she said +with good-humoured resignation, a trifle over-acted. "My cold is worse +and the doctor says I must stay in bed." + +"Nothing serious?" Howard asked anxiously, for her cheeks were flaming. + +"Oh, no. Just the cold. And I am taking care of myself." + +He accompanied the doctor to the door of the apartment. At the threshold +the doctor whispered: "Make some excuse and come to my office. I wish to +see you particularly." + +He grew pale. "Don't let her see," urged the doctor. He went back to +Alice, sick at heart. "I must go out and arrange for some one else to do +the play for me," he said. "I shall spend the evening with you." + +She protested, but faintly. He went to the doctor's office. + +"She must go south at once," he began, after looking at Howard steadily +and keenly. "Nothing can save her life. That may prolong it." + +Howard seemed not to understand. + +"She must go to-morrow or she'll be gone forever in ten days." + +"Impossible," Howard said in a dull, dazed tone. + +"At once, I tell you--at once." + +"Impossible," Howard repeated. He was saying to himself, "And only this +afternoon I wished I were free and wondered how I could free myself." He +laughed strangely. + +"Impossible," he said again. And again he laughed. The room swam around. +He stood up. "Impossible!" he said a fourth time, almost shouting it. +And he struck the doctor full in the face, reeled and fell headlong to +the floor. When he recovered consciousness he was lying on a lounge, the +doctor's assistant standing beside him. + +"I must go to her," he exclaimed and sat up. He saw the doctor a few +feet away, holding a cloth odorous of arnica to his cheek. Howard +remembered and began, "I beg your pardon,"--The doctor interrupted with: +"Not at all. I've had many queer experiences but never one like that." +But Howard had ceased to hear. He was staring vacantly at the floor, +repeating to himself, "And I wished to be free. And I am to be free." + +"You must go back to her. Take her south tomorrow. Asheville is the best +place." + +Howard was on his way to the door. "We shall go by the first train," he +said. + +"Pardon me for telling you so abruptly," said the doctor, following him. +"But I saw that you weren't--that is I couldn't help noticing that you +and she were--And usually the man in such cases--well, my sympathy is +for the woman." + +"Do you think a man voluntarily lives with a woman because he hates +her?" Howard asked, with an angry sneer. He bowed coldly and was gone. + +As he looked at Alice he saw that it was of no use to try to deceive +her. "We must go South in the morning," he almost whispered, taking her +hand and kissing it again and again, slowly and gently. + +The next day but one they were at Asheville and two weeks later Howard +could not hide from himself that she would soon be gone. + + * * * * * + +Her bed was drawn up to the open window and she Was propped with +pillows. A mild breeze was flooding the room with the odours of the pine +forests and the gardens. She looked out, dilated her nostrils and her +eyes. + +"Beautiful!" she murmured. "It is so easy to die here." + +She put out her hand and laid it in his. + +"I want you, my Alice." He was looking into her eyes and she into his. +"I need you. I can't do without you." + +She smiled with an expression of happiness. "Is it wrong," she asked, +"to take pleasure in another's pain? I see that you are in pain, that +you suffer. And, oh, it makes me happy, so happy." + +"Don't," he begged. "Please don't." + +"But listen," she went on. "Don't you see why? Because I--because I love +you. There," she was smiling again. "I promised myself I never, never +would say it first. And I've broken my word." + +"What do you mean?" + +"For nearly four years--all the years I've really lived--I have had only +one thought--my love for you. But I never would say it, never would say +'I love you,' because I knew that you did not love me." + +He was beginning to speak but she lifted her hand to his lips. Then she +put it back in his and pushed her fingers up his coat-sleeve until they +were hidden, resting upon his bare arm. + +"No, you did not." Her voice was low and the words came slowly. "But +since we came here, you have loved me. If I were to get well, were to go +back, you would not. Ah, if you knew, if you only knew how I have wanted +your love, how I have lain awake night after night, hour after hour, +whispering under my breath 'I love you. I love you. Why do you not love +me?'" + +Howard put his head down so that his face was hid from her in her lap. + +"After the doctor had talked to me a few minutes, had asked me a few +questions," she went on, "I knew. And I was not sorry. It was nearly +over, anyhow, dear. Did you know it? I often wondered if you did. Yes, I +saw many little signs. I wouldn't admit it to myself until this illness +came. Then I confessed it to myself. And I was not sorry we were to +part this way. But I did not expect"--and she drew a long +breath--"happiness!" + +"No, no," he protested, lifting his face and looking at her. She drank +in the expression of his eyes--the love, the longing, the misery--as if +it had been a draught of life. + +"Ah, you make me so happy, so happy. How much I owe to you. Four long, +long, beautiful years. How much! How much! And at last--love!" + +There was silence for several minutes. Then he spoke: "I loved you +from the first, I believe. Only I never appreciated you. I was +so self-absorbed. And you--you fed my vanity, never insisted upon +yourself." + +"But we have had happiness. And no one, no one, no one will ever be to +you what I have been." + +"I love you." Howard's voice had a passionate earnestness in it that +carried conviction. "The light goes out with you." + +"With this little candle? No, no, dear--_my_ dear. You will be a great +man. You will not forget; but you will go on and do the things that I'm +afraid I didn't help, maybe hindered, you in trying to do. And you will +keep a little room in your heart, a very little room. And I shall be in +there. And you'll open the door every once in a while and come in and +take me in your arms and kiss me. And I think--yes, I feel that--that I +shall know and thrill." + +Her voice sank lower and lower and then her eyes closed, and presently +he called the nurse. + +The next day he rose from his bed, just at the connecting door between +his room and hers, and looked in at her. The shades were drawn and only +a faint light crept into the room. He thought he saw her stir and went +nearer. + +"Why, they've made you very gay this morning," he laughed, "with the red +ribbons at your neck." + +There was no answer. He came still nearer. The red ribbons were long +streamers of blood. She was dead. + + + + + + +VIII. + +A STRUGGLE FOR SELF-CONTROL. + + +He left her at Asheville as she wished--"where I have been happiest and +where I wish you to think of me." On the train coming north he reviewed +his past and made his plans for the future. + +As to the past he had only one regret--that he had not learned to +appreciate Alice until too late. He felt that his failure to advance had +been due entirely to himself--to his inertia, his willingness to seize +any pretext for refraining from action. As to the future--work, work +with a purpose. His mind must be fully and actively occupied. There must +be no leisure, for leisure meant paralysis. + +At the Twenty-third Street ferry-house he got into a hansom and gave +the address of "the flat." He did not note where he was until the hansom +drew up at the curb. He leaned forward and looked at the house--at their +windows with the curtains which she had draped so gracefully, which she +and he had selected at Vantine's one morning. How often he had seen her +standing between those curtains, looking out for him, her blue-black +hair waving back from her forehead so beautifully and her face ready to +smile so soon as ever she should catch sight of him. + +He leaned back and closed his eyes. The blood was pounding through his +temples and his eyeballs seemed to be scalding under the lids. + +"Never again," he moaned. "How lonely it is." + +The cabman lifted the trap. "Here we are, sir." + +"Yes--in a moment." Where should he go? But what did it matter? "To a +hotel," he said. "The nearest." + +"The Imperial?" + +"That will do--yes--go there." + +He resolved never to return to "the flat." On the following day he sent +for the maid and arranged the breaking up. He gave her everything except +his personal belongings and a few of Alice's few possessions--those he +could keep, and those which he must destroy because he could not endure +the thought of any one having them. + +At the office all understood his mourning; but no one, not even +Kittredge, knew him well enough to intrude beyond gentler looks and +tones. Kittredge had written a successful novel and was going abroad for +two years of travel and writing. Howard took his rooms in the Royalton. +They dined together a few nights before he sailed. + +"And now," said Kittredge, "I'm my own master. Why, I can't begin to +fill the request for 'stuff.' I can go where I please, do as I +please. At last I shall work. For I don't call the drudgery done under +compulsion work." + +"Work!" Howard repeated the word several times absently. Then he leaned +forward and said with what was for him an approach to the confidential: +"What a mess I have been making of my life! What waste! What folly! I've +behaved like a child, an impulsive, irresponsible child. And now I must +get to work, really to work." + +"With your talents a year or so of work would free you." + +"Oh, I'm free." Howard hesitated and flushed. "Yes, I'm free," he +repeated bitterly. "We are all free except for the shackles we fasten +upon ourselves and can unlock for ourselves. I don't agree with you that +earning one's daily bread is drudgery." + +"Well, let's see you work--work for something definite. Why don't you +try for some higher place on the paper--correspondent at Washington or +London--no, not London, for that is a lounging job which would ruin even +an energetic man. Why not try for the editorial staff? They ought +to have somebody upstairs who takes an interest in something besides +politics." + +"But doesn't a man have to write what he doesn't believe? You know +how Segur is always laughing at the protection editorials he writes, +although he is a free-trader." + +"Oh, there must be many directions in which the paper is free to express +honest opinions." + +Howard began that very night. As soon as he reached his club where he +was living for a few days he sat down to the file of the _News-Record_ +and began to study its editorial style and method. He had learned a +great deal before three o'clock in the morning and had written a short +editorial on a subject he took from the news. In the morning he read his +article again and decided that with a few changes--adjectives cut out, +long sentences cut up, short sentences made shorter and the introduction +and the conclusion omitted--it would be worth handing in. With the +corrected article in his hand he knocked at the door of the editor's +room. + +It was a small, plainly furnished office--no carpet, three severe +chairs, a revolving book case with a battered and dusty bust of Lincoln +on it, a table strewn with newspaper cuttings. Newspapers from all +parts of the world were scattered about the floor. At the table sat the +editor, Mr. Malcolm, whom Howard had never before seen. + +He was short and slender, with thin white hair and a smooth, satirical +face, deeply wrinkled and unhealthily pale. He was dressed in black +but wore a string tie of a peculiarly lively shade of red. His most +conspicuous feature was his nose--long, narrow, pointed, sarcastic. + +"My name is Howard," began the candidate, all but stammering before Mr. +Malcolm's politely uninterested glance, "and I come from downstairs." + +"Oh--so you are Mr. Howard. I've heard of you often. Will you be +seated?" + +"Thank you--no. I've only brought in a little article I thought I'd +submit for your page. I'd like to write for it and, if you don't mind, +I'll bring in an article occasionally." + +"Glad to have it. We like new ideas; and a new pen, a new mind, ought to +produce them. If you don't see your articles in the paper, you'll know +what has happened to them. If you do, paste them on space slips and +send them up by the boy on Thursdays." Mr. Malcolm nodded and smiled and +dipped his pen in the ink-well. + +The editorial appeared just as Howard wrote it. He read and reread it, +admiring the large, handsome editorial type in which it was printed, and +deciding that it was worthy of the excellent place in the column which +Mr. Malcolm had given it. He wrote another that very day and sent it +up by the boy. He found it in his desk the next noon with "Too +abstract--never forget that you are writing for a newspaper" scrawled +across the last page in blue pencil. + +In the two following months Howard submitted thirty-five articles. +Three were published in the main as he wrote them, six were "cut" to +paragraphs, one appeared as a letter to the editor with "H" signed to +it. The others disappeared. It was not encouraging, but Howard kept on. +He knew that if he stopped marching steadily, even though hopelessly, +toward a definite goal, a heavy hand would be laid upon his shoulder to +drag him away and fling him down upon a grave. + +As it was, desperately though he fought to refrain from backward +glances, he was now and again taken off his guard. A few of her pencil +marks on the margin of a leaf in one of his books; a gesture, a little +mannerism of some woman passing him in the street--and he would be ready +to sink down with weariness and loneliness, like a tired traveller in a +vast desert. + +He completely lost self-control only once. It was a cold, wet May night +and everything had gone against him that day. He looked drearily round +his rooms as he came in. How stiff, how forbidding, how desert they +seemed! He threw himself into a big chair. + +"No friends," he thought, "no one that cares a rap whether I live or +die, suffer or am happy. Nothing to care for. Why do I go on? What's the +use if one has not an object--a human object?" + +And their life together came flooding back--her eyes, her kisses, +her attentions, her passionate love for him, so pervasive yet so +unobtrusive; the feeling of her smooth, round arm about his neck; her +way of pressing close up to him and locking her fingers in his; the +music of her voice, singing her heartsong to him yet never putting it +into words---- + +He stumbled over to the divan and stretched himself out and buried his +face in the cushions. "Come back!" he sobbed. "Come back to me, dear." +And then he cried, as a man cries--without tears, with sobs choking up +into his throat and issuing in moans. + +"Curious," he said aloud when the storm was over and he was sitting up, +ashamed before himself for his weakness, "who would have suspected me of +this?" + + + + + +IX. + +AMBITION AWAKENS. + + +Howard was now thirty-two. He was still trying for the editorial staff; +but in the last month only five of his articles had been printed to +twenty-three thrown away. A national campaign was coming on and the +_News-Record_ was taking a political stand that seemed to him sound and +right. For the first time he tried political editorials. + +The cause aroused his passion for justice, for democratic equality and +the abolition of privilege. He had something to say and he succeeded +in saying it vigorously, effectively, with clearness and moderation of +statement. How to avoid hysteria; how to set others on fire instead of +only making of himself a fiery spectacle; how to be earnest, yet +calm; how to be satirical yet sincere; how to be interesting, yet +direct--these were his objects, pursued with incessant toiling, +rewriting again and again, recasting of sentences, careful balancing of +words for exact shades of meaning. + +"I shall never learn to write," had been his complaint of himself +to himself for years. And in these days it seemed to him that he was +farther from a good style than ever. His standards had risen, were +rising; he feared that his power of accomplishment was failing. +Therefore his heart sank and his face paled when an office boy told him +that Mr. Malcolm wished to see him. + +"I suppose it's to tell me not to annoy him with any more of my +attempts," he thought. "Well, anyway, I've had the benefit of the work. +I'll try a novel next." + +"Take a seat," said Mr. Malcolm with an absent nod. "Just a moment, if +you please." + +On a chair beside him was the remnant of what had been a huge +up-piling of newspapers--the exchanges that had come in during the past +twenty-four hours. The Exchange Editor had been through them and Mr. +Malcolm was reading "to feel the pulse of the country" and also to make +sure that nothing of importance had been overlooked. + +On the floor were newspapers by the score, thrown about tumultuously. +Mr. Malcolm would seize a paper from the unread heap, whirl it open and +send his glance and his long pointed nose tearing down one column and up +another, and so from page to page. It took less than a minute for him +to finish and filing away great sixteen page dailies. A few seconds +sufficed for the smaller papers. Occasionally he took his long shears +and with a skilful twist cut out a piece from the middle of a page and +laid it and the shears upon the table with a single motion. + +"Now, Mr. Howard." Malcolm sent the last paper to increase the chaos on +the floor and faced about in his revolving chair. "How would you like to +come up here?" + +Howard looked at him in amazement. "You mean----" + +"We want you to join the editorial staff. Mr. Walker has married him a +rich wife and is going abroad to do literary work, which means that he +is going to do nothing. Will you come?" + +"It is what I have been working for." + +"And very hard you have worked." Mr. Malcolm's cold face relaxed into +a half-friendly, half-satirical smile. "After you'd been sending up +articles for a fortnight, I knew you'd make it. You went about it +systematically. An intelligent plan, persisted in, is hard to beat in +this world of laggards and hap-hazard strugglers." + +"And I was on the point of giving up--that is, giving up this particular +ambition," Howard confessed. + +"Yes, I saw it in your articles--a certain pessimism and despondency. +You show your feelings plainly, young man. It is an excellent +quality--but dangerous. A man ought to make his mind a machine working +evenly without regard to his feelings or physical condition. The night +my oldest child died--I was editor of a country newspaper--I wrote my +leaders as usual. I never had written better. You can be absolute master +inside, if you will. You can learn to use your feelings when they're +helpful and to shut them off when they hinder." + +"But don't you think that temperament----" + +"Temperament--that's one of the subtlest forms of self-excuse. However, +the place is yours. The salary is a hundred and twenty-five a week--an +advance of about twelve hundred a year, I believe, on your average +downstairs. Can you begin soon?" + +"Immediately," said Howard, "if the City Editor is satisfied." + +An office boy showed him to his room--a mere hole-in-the-wall with just +space for a table-desk, a small table, a case of shelves for books of +reference, and two chairs. The one window overlooked the lower end +of Manhattan Island--the forest of business buildings peaked with the +Titan-tenements of financial New York. Their big, white plumes of +smoke and steam were waving in the wind and reflecting in pale pink the +crimson of the setting sun. + +Howard had his first taste of the intoxication of triumph, his first +deep inspiration of ambition. He recalled his arrival in New York, his +timidity, his dread lest he should be unable to make a living--"Poor +boy," they used to say at home, "he will have to be supported. He is too +much of a dreamer." He remembered his explorations of those now familiar +streets--how acutely conscious he had been that they were paved with +stone, walled with stone, roofed with a stony sky, peopled with faces +and hearts of stone. How miserably insignificant he had felt! + +And all these years he had been almost content to be one of the crowd, +like them exerting himself barely enough to provide himself with the +essentials of existence. Like them, he had given no real thought to the +morrow. And now, with comparatively little labour, he had put himself +in the way to become a master, a director of the enormous concentrated +energies summed up in the magic word New York. + +The key to the situation was--work, incessant, self-improving, +self-developing. "And it is the key to happiness also," he thought. +"Work and sleep--the two periods of unconsciousness of self--are the two +periods of happiness." + +His aloofness freed him from the temptations of distraction. He knew no +women. He did not put himself in the way of meeting them. He kept away +from theatres. He sunk himself in a routine of labour which, viewed from +the outside, seemed dull and monotonous. Viewed from his stand-point of +acquisition, of achievement, it was just the reverse. + +The mind soon adapts itself to and enjoys any mental routine which +exercises it. The only difficulty is in forming the habit of the +routine. + +Howard was greatly helped by his natural bent toward editorial writing. +The idea of discussing important questions each day with a vast +multitude as an audience stirred his imagination and aroused his +instincts for helping on the great world-task of elevating the race. +This enthusiasm pleased and also amused his cynical chief. + +"You believe in things?" Malcolm said to him after they had become well +acquainted. "Well, it is an admirable quality--but dangerous. You will +need careful editing. Your best plan is to give yourself up to your +belief while you are writing--then to edit yourself in cold blood. +That is the secret of success, of great success in any line, business, +politics, a profession--enthusiasm, carefully revised and edited." + +"It is difficult to be cold blooded when one is in earnest." + +"True," Malcolm answered, "and there is the danger. My own enthusiasms +are confined to the important things--food, clothing and shelter. It +seems to me that the rest is largely a matter of taste, training and +time of life. But don't let me discourage you. I only suggest that you +may have to guard against believing so intensely that you produce the +impression of being an impracticable, a fanatic. Be cautious always; be +especially cautious when you are cocksure you're right. Unadulterated +truth always arouses suspicion in the unaccustomed public. It has the +alarming tastelessness of distilled water." + +Howard was acute enough to separate the wisdom from the cynicism of his +chief. He saw the lesson of moderation. "You have failed, my very able +chief," he said to himself, "because you have never believed intensely +enough to move you to act. You have attached too much importance to the +adulteration--the folly and the humbug. And here you are, still only a +critic, destructive but never constructive." + +At first his associates were much amused by his intensity. But as he +learned to temper and train his enthusiasm they grew to respect both his +ability and his character. Before a year had passed they were feeling +the influence of his force--his trained, informed mind, made vigorous by +principles and ideals. + +Malcolm had the keen appreciation of a broad mind for this honest, +intelligent energy. He used the editorial "blue-pencil" for alteration +and condensation with the hand of a master. He cut away Howard's +crudities, toned down and so increased his intensity, and pointed it +with the irony and satire necessary to make it carry far and penetrate +easily. + +Malcolm was at once giving Howard a reputation greater than he deserved +and training him to deserve it. + + * * * * * + +In the office next to Howard's sat Segur, a bachelor of forty-five who +took life as a good-humoured jest and amused his leisure with the New +Yorkers who devote a life of idleness to a nervous flight from boredom. +Howard interested Segur who resolved to try to draw him out of his +seclusion. + +"I'm having some people to dinner at the Waldorf on Thursday," he said, +looking in at the door. "Won't you join us?" + +"I'd be glad to," replied Howard, casting about for an excuse for +declining. "But I'm afraid I'd ruin your dinner. I haven't been out for +years. I've been too busy to make friends or, rather, acquaintances." + +"A great mistake. You ought to see more of people." + +"Why? Can they tell me anything that I can't learn from newspapers or +books more accurately and without wasting so much time? I'd like to know +the interesting people and to see them in their interesting moments. But +I can't afford to hunt for them through the wilderness of nonentities +and wait for them to become interesting." + +"But you get amusement, relaxation. Then too, it's first-hand study of +life." + +"I'm not sure of that. Yawning is not a very attractive kind of +relaxation, is it? And as for study of life, eight years of reporting +gave me more of that than I could assimilate. And it was study of +realities, not of pretenses. As I remember them, 'respectable' people +are all about the same, whether in their vices or in their virtues. They +are cut from a few familiar, 'old reliable' patterns. No, I don't think +there is much to be learned from respectability on dress parade." + +"You'll be amused on Thursday. You must come. I'm counting on you." + +Howard accepted--cordially as he could not refuse decently. Yet he had +a presentiment or a shyness or an impatience at the interruption of +his routine which reproached him for accepting with insistence and +persistence. + + + + + +X. + +THE ETERNAL MASCULINE. + + +It was the first week in November, and in those days "everybody" did not +stay in the country so late as now. There were many New Yorkers in +the crowd of out-of-town people at the Waldorf. Howard was attracted, +fascinated by the scene--carefully-groomed men and women, the air of +gaiety and ease, the flowers, the music, the lights, the perfumes. At a +glance it seemed a dream of life with evil and sorrow and pain banished. + +"No place for a working man," thought he, "at least not for my kind of +a working man. It appeals too sharply to the instincts for laziness and +luxury." + +He was late and stood in the entrance to the palm-garden, looking about +for Segur. Soon he saw him waving from a table near the wall under the +music-alcove. + +"The oysters are just coming," said Segur. "Sit over there between Mrs. +Carnarvon and Miss Trevor. They are cousins, Howard, so be cautious what +you say to one about the other. Oh, here is Mr. Berersford." + +The others knew each other well; Howard knew them only as he had seen +their names in the "fashionable intelligence" columns of the newspapers. +Mrs. Carnarvon was a small thin woman in a black velvet gown which made +her thinness obtrusive and attractive or the reverse according as one's +taste is toward or away from attenuation. Her eyes were a dull, greenish +grey, her skin brown and smooth and tough from much exposure in the +hunting field. Her cheeks were beginning to hang slightly, so that one +said: "She is pretty, but she will soon not be." Her mouth proclaimed +strong appetites--not unpleasantly since she was good-looking. + +Miss Trevor was perhaps ten years younger than her cousin, not far from +twenty-four. She had a critical, almost amused yet not unpleasant way +of looking out of unusually clear blue-green eyes. Her hair was of an +ordinary shade of dark brown, but fine and thick and admirably arranged +to set off her long, sensitive, high bred features. Her chin and mouth +expressed decision and strong emotions. + +There was a vacant chair between Segur and Berersford and it was +presently filled by a fat, middle-aged woman, neither blonde nor +brunette, with a large, serene face. Upon it was written a frank +confession that she had never in her life had an original thought +capable of creating a ripple of interest. She was Mrs. Sidney, rich, +of an "old" family--in the New York meaning of the word "old"--both by +marriage and by birth, much courted because of her position and because +she entertained a great deal both in town and at a large and hospitable +country house. + +The conversation was lively and amused, or seemed to amuse, all. It was +purely personal--about Kittie and Nellie and Jim and Peggie and Amy and +Bob; about the sayings and doings of a few dozen people who constituted +the intimates of these five persons. + +Mrs. Carnarvon turned to the silent Howard at last and began about the +weather. + +"Horrible in the city, isn't it?" + +"Well, perhaps it is," replied Howard. "But I fancied it delightful. You +see I have not lived anywhere but New York for so long that I am hardly +capable to judge." + +"Why everybody says we have the worst climate in the world." + +"Far be it from me to contradict everybody. But for me New York has the +ideal climate. Isn't it the best of any great city in the world? You +see, we have the air of the sea in our streets. And when the sun shines, +which it does more days in the year than in any other great city, the +effect is like champagne--or rather, like the effect champagne looks as +if it ought to have." + +"I hate champagne," said Mrs. Carnarvon. "Marian, you must not drink it; +you know you mustn't." This to Miss Trevor who was lifting the glass to +her lips. She drank a little of the champagne, then set the glass down +slowly. + +"What you said made me want to drink it," she said to Howard. "I was +glad to hear your lecture on the weather. I had never thought of it +before, but New York really has a fine climate. And only this afternoon +I let that stupid Englishman--Plymouth--you've met him? No?--Well, at +any rate, he was denouncing our climate and for the moment I forgot +about London." + +"Frightful there, isn't it, after October and until May?" + +"Yes, and the air is usually stale even in the late spring. When it's +warm, it's sticky. And when it's cold, it's raw." + +"You are a New Yorker?" + +"Yes," said Miss Trevor faintly, and for an instant showing surprise at +his ignorance. "That is, I spend part of the winter here--like all New +Yorkers." + +"All?" + +"Oh, all except those who don't count, or rather, who merely count." + +"How do you mean?" Howard was taking advantage of her looking into her +plate to smile with a suggestion of irony. She happened to glance up and +so caught him. + +"Oh," she said, smiling with frank irony at him, "I mean all those +people--the masses, I think they're called--the people who have to be +fussed over and reformed and who keep shops and--and all that." + +"The people who work, you mean?" + +"No, I mean the people you never meet about anywhere, the people who +read the newspapers and come to the basement door." + +"Oh, yes, I understand." Howard was laughing. "Well, that's one way of +looking at life. Of course it's not my way." + +"What is your way?" + +"Why, being one of those who count only in the census, I naturally take +a view rather different from yours. Now I should say that _your_ people +don't count. You see, I am most deeply interested in people who read +newspapers." + +"Oh, you write for the papers, like Jim Segur? What do you write?" + +"What they call editorials." + +"You are an editor?" + +"Yes and no. I am one of the editors who does not edit but is edited." + +"It must be interesting," said Miss Trevor, vaguely. + +"More interesting than you imagine. But then all work is that. In +fact work is the only permanently interesting thing in life. The rest +produces dissatisfaction and regret." + +"Oh, I'm not so very dissatisfied. Yet I don't work." + +"Are you quite sure? Think how hard you work at being fitted for gowns, +at going about to dinners and balls and the like, at chasing foxes and +anise seed bags and golf balls." + +"But that is not work. It is amusing myself." + +"Yes, you think so. But you forget that you are doing it in order that +all these people who don't count may read about it in the papers and so +get a little harmless relaxation." + +"But we don't do it to get into the papers." + +"Probably not. Neither did this--what is it here in my plate, a lamb +chop?--this lamb gambol about and keep itself in condition to form a +course at Segur's dinner. But after all, wasn't that what it was really +for? Then think how many people you support by your work." + +"You make me feel like a day-labourer." + +"Oh, you're a much harder worker than any day labourer. And the saddest +part of it to me is that you work altogether for others. You give, give +and get in return nothing but a few flattering glances, a few careless +pats on the back of your vanity. I should hate to work so hard for so +little." + +"But what would you do?" Miss Trevor was looking at him, interested and +amused. + +"Well, I'd work for myself. I'd insist on a return, on getting back +something equivalent or near it. I'd insist on having my mind improved, +or having my power or my reputation advanced." + +"I was only jesting when I said that about people not counting." + +"Altogether?" + +"No, not altogether. I don't care much about the masses. They seem to +me to be underbred, of a different sort. I hate doing things that are +useful and I hate people that do useful things--in a general way, I +mean." + +"That is doubtless due to defective education," said Howard, with a +smile that carried off the thrust as a jest. + +"Is that the way you'd describe a horror of contact with--well, with +unpleasant things?" Miss Trevor was serious. + +"But is it that? Isn't it just an unconscious affectation, taken up +simply because all the people about you think that way--if one can call +the process thinking? You don't think, do you, that it is a sign of +superiority to be narrow, to be ignorant, to be out of touch with the +great masses of one's fellow-beings, to play the part of a harlequin or +a ballet-girl on the stage of life? I understand how a stupid ass can +fritter away his one chance to live in saying and hearing and doing +silly things. But ought not an intelligent person try to enjoy life, try +to get something substantial out of it, try to possess himself of its +ideas and emotions? Why should one play the fool simply because those +about one are incapable of playing any other part?" + +"I'm surprised that you are here to-night. Still, I suppose you'll give +yourself absolution on the plea that one must dine somewhere." + +"But I'm not wasting my time. I'm learning. I'm observing a phase of +life. And I'm seeing the latest styles in women's gowns and--" + +"Is that important--styles, I mean?" + +"Do you suppose that my kind of people, the working classes, would spend +so much time and thought in making anything that was not important? +There is nothing more important." + +"Then you don't think we women are wasting time when we talk about dress +so much?" + +"On the contrary, it is an evidence of your superior sagacity. Women +talk trade, 'shop,' as soon as they get away from the men. They talk men +and dress--fish and nets." + +Berersford heard the word fish and interrupted. + +"Do you go South next month, Marian?" + +"Yes--about the fifteenth." Miss Trevor explained to Howard: "Bobby--Mr. +Berersford here--always fishes in Florida in January." + +The conversation again became general and personal. Howard knew none of +the people of whom they were talking and all that they said was of +the nature of gossip. But they talked in a sparkling way, using good +English, speaking in agreeable voices with a correct accent, and +indulging in a great deal of malicious humour. + +As they separated Mrs. Sidney, to whom Howard had not spoken during the +evening, said to Segur: "You must bring Mr. Howard on Sunday afternoon." + +"Will you drop Marian at the house for me?" Mrs. Carnarvon asked her. "I +want to go on to Edith's." + +Segur went with Mrs. Sidney and Marian to their carriage. "Who is Mr. +Howard?" Mrs. Sidney said, and Miss Trevor drew nearer to hear the +answer. + +"One of the editorial writers down on the paper and a very clever +one--none better. He works hard and is desperately serious and a regular +hermit." + +"I think he's very handsome--don't you, Marian?" + +"I found him interesting," said Miss Trevor. + +Howard thought a great deal about Miss Trevor that night, and she was +still in his head the next day. "This comes of never seeing women," he +said to himself. "The first girl I meet seems the most beautiful I ever +saw, and the most intellectual. And, when I think it over, what did she +say that was startling?" + +Nevertheless he went with Segur the next Sunday to Mrs. Sidney's great +house in the upper Avenue overlooking the Park. + +"Why do I come here?" he asked himself. "It is a sheer waste of time. +Mrs. Sidney can do me no good, or I her. It must be the hope of seeing +Miss Trevor." + +When the gaudy and be-powdered flunkey held back the heavy curtains of +the salon to announce him and Segur, he saw Miss Trevor on a low chair +absently staring into the fire. Yet when he had spoken to Mrs. Sidney +and turned toward her she at once stretched out her hand with a slight +smile. Some others came in and Howard was free to talk to her. He sat +looking at her steadily, admiring her almost perfect profile, delicate +yet strong. + +"And what have you been doing since I saw you?" Miss Trevor asked. + +"Writing little pieces about politics for the paper," replied Howard. + +"Politics? I detest it. It is all stealing and calling names, isn't it? +And something dreadful is always going to happen if somebody or other +isn't elected, or is elected, to something or other. And then, whether +he is or not, nothing happens. I should think the men who have been so +excited and angry and alarmed would feel very cheap. But they don't. And +the next time they carry on in just the same ridiculous way." + +"Politics is like everything else--interesting if you understand what it +is all about. But like everything else, you can't understand it without +a little study at first. It's a pity women don't take an interest. If +they did the men might become more reasonable and sane about it than +they are now. But you--what have you been doing?" + +"I--oh, industriously superintending the making of my new nets." Marian +laughed and Howard was flattered. "And also, well, riding in the Park +every morning. But I never do anything interesting. I simply drift." + +"That's so much simpler and more satisfactory than threshing and +splashing about as I do. It seems so fussy and foolish and futile. I +wish--that is, sometimes I wish--that I had learned to amuse myself in +some less violent and exhausting way." + +"Marian--I say, Marian," called Mrs. Sidney. "Has Teddy come down?" + +Miss Trevor coloured slightly as she answered: "No, he comes a week +Wednesday. He's still hunting." + +"Hunting," Howard repeated when Mrs. Sidney was again busy with the +others. "Now there is a kind of work that never bothers a man's brains +or sets him to worrying. I wish I knew how to amuse myself in some such +way." + +"You should go about more." + +"Go--where?" + +"To see people." + +"But I do see a great many people. I'm always seeing them--all day +long." + +"Yes--but that is in a serious way. I mean go where you will be +amused--to dinners for instance." + +"I don't dare. I can't work at work and also work at play. I must work +at one or the other all the time. I can do nothing without a definite +object. I can't be just a little interested in anything or anybody. +With me it is no interest at all or else absorption until interest is +exhausted." + +"Then if you were interested in a woman, let us say, you'd be absorbed +until you found out all there was, and then you'd--take to your heels." + +"But she might always be new. She might interest me more and more. +Anyhow I fancy that she would weary of me long before I wearied of her. +I think women usually weary first. Men are very monotonous. We are as +vain as women, if not vainer, without their capacity for concealing it. +And vanity makes one think he does not need to exert himself to please." + +"But why do people usually say that it is the men that are difficult to +hold?" + +"Because the men hold the women, not through the kind of interest we are +talking about, but through another kind--quite different. Women are +so lazy and so dependent--dependent upon men for homes, for money, for +escort even." + +Miss Trevor was flushing, as if the fire were too hot--at least she +moved a little farther away from it. "Your ideal woman would be a +shop-girl, I should say from what you've told me." + +"Perhaps--in the abstract. I really do think that if I were going to +marry, I should look about for a working-girl, a girl that supported +herself. How can a man be certain of the love of a woman who is +dependent upon him? I should be afraid she was only tolerating me as a +labour-saving device." + +Miss Trevor laughed. "There certainly is no vanity in that remark," she +said. "Now I can't imagine most of the men I know thinking that." + +"It's only theory with me. In practice doubtless I should be as +self-complacent as any other man." + +They left Mrs. Sidney's together and Howard walked down the Avenue with +her. It seemed a wonderful afternoon--the air dazzling, intoxicating. +He was filled with the joy of living and was glad this particular tall, +slender, distinguished-looking girl was there to make his enjoyment +perfect. They were gay with the delight of being young and in health and +attractive physically and mentally each to the other. They looked each +at the other a great deal, and more and more frankly. + +"Am I never to see you again?" he asked as he rang the bell for her. + +"I believe Mrs. Carnarvon is going to invite you to dine here Thursday +night." + +"Thank you," said Howard. + +Miss Trevor coloured. But she met his glance boldly and laughed. Howard +wondered why her laugh was defiant, almost reckless. + + * * * * * + +He saw Segur at the club after dinner that same night. "And how do you +like Miss Trevor?" Segur began as the whiskey and carbonic were set +before them. + +"A very attractive girl," said Howard. + +"Yes--so a good many men have thought in the last five years. She's +marrying Teddy Danvers in the spring, I believe. At any rate it's +generally looked on as settled. Teddy's a good deal of a 'chump.' +But he's a decent fellow--good-looking, good-natured, domestic in his +tastes, and nothing but money." + +Howard was smiling to himself. He understood Miss Trevor's sudden +consciousness of the nearness of the fire, her flush when Mrs. Sidney +asked about "Teddy," and the recklessness in her parting laugh. + +"Well, Teddy's in luck," he said aloud. + +"Not so sure of that. She's quite capable of leading him a dance if he +bores her. And bore her he will. But that is nothing new. This town is +full of it." + +"Full of what?" + +"Of weary women--weary wives. The men are hobby-riders. They have just +one interest and that usually small and dull--stocks or iron or real +estate or hunting or automobiles. Our women are not like the English +women--stupid, sodden. They are alive, acute. They wish to be +interested. Their husbands bore them. So--well, what is the natural +temptation to a lazy woman in search of an interest?" + +"It's like Paris--like France?" + +"Yes, something. Except that perhaps our women are more sentimental, not +fond of intrigue for its own sake--at least, not as a rule." + +"Doesn't interest them deeply enough, I suppose. It's the American blood +coming out--the passion for achievement. They want a man of whom they +can be proud, a man who is doing something interesting and doing it +well." + +"I doubt that," replied Segur shrugging his shoulders. "When a woman +loves a man, she wants to absorb him." + +Howard soon went away to his rooms for a long evening of undisturbed +thought about Teddy Danvers's fiancee--the first temptation that had +entered his loneliness since Alice died. + +In the few weeks of her illness and the few months immediately following +her death, he had been at his very best. He was able to see her as she +was and to appreciate her. He was living in the clear pure air of +the Valley of the Great Shadow where all things appear in their true +relations and true proportions. But only there was it possible for +the gap between him and Alice to close--that gap of which she was more +acutely conscious than he, and which she made wider far than it really +was by being too humble with him, too obviously on her knees before him. +Such superiority as she thought he possessed is not in human nature; but +neither is it in human nature to refuse worship, to refuse to pose upon +a pedestal if the opportunity presses. + +In the three years between her death and his meeting Marian, the eternal +masculine had been secretly gaining strength to resume its pursuit +of the eternal feminine. And the eternal feminine was certainly most +alluringly personified in this beautiful, graceful girl, at once +appreciative and worthy of appreciation. + +Perhaps she appealed most strongly to Howard in her vivid suggestion of +the open air--of health and strength and nature. He had been leading a +cloistered existence and his blood had grown sluggish. She gave him the +sensation that a prisoner gets when he catches a glimpse from his barred +window of the fields and the streams radiating the joy of life and +freedom. And Marian was of his own kind--like the women among whom he +had been brought up. She satisfied his idea of what a "lady" should be, +but at the same time she was none the less a woman to him--a woman to +love and to be loved; to give him sympathy, companionship; to inspire +him to overcome his weaknesses by striving to be worthy of her; to bring +into his life that feminine charm without which a man's life must be +cold and cheerless. + +He knew that he could not marry her, that he had no right to make love +to her, that it was unwise to go near her again. But he had no power to +resist the temptation. And even in those days he had small regard for +the means when the end was one upon which he had fixed his mind. "Why +not take what I can get?" he thought, as he dreamed of her. "She's +engaged--her future practically settled. Yes, I'll be as happy as she'll +let me." And he resumed his idealising. + +At his time of life idealisation is still not a difficult or a long +process. And in this case there was an ample physical basis for it--and +far more of a mental basis than young imagination demands. He took the +draught she so frankly offered him; he added a love potion of his own +concocting, and drank it off. + +He was in love. + + + + +XI. + +TRESPASSING. + + +For the first time since he had been in newspaper work, Howard came to +the office the next day in a long coat and a top hat. He left early and +went for a walk in the Avenue. But Miss Trevor was neither driving +nor walking. He repeated this excursion the next afternoon with better +success. At Fortieth Street he saw her and her cousin half a block ahead +of him. He walked slowly and examined her. She was satisfactory from +the aigrette in her hat to her heels--a long, narrow, graceful figure, +dressed with the expensive simplicity characteristic of the most +intelligent class of the women of New York and Paris. She walked as +if she were accustomed to walking. Mrs. Carnarvon had that slight +hesitation, almost stumble, which indicates the woman who usually drives +and never walks if she can avoid it. As they paused at the crowded +crossing of Forty-second Street he joined them. When Mrs. Carnarvon +found that he was "just out for the air" she left them, to go home--in +Forty-seventh Street, a few doors east of the Avenue. + +"Come back to tea with her," she said as she nodded to Howard. + +"We have at least an hour." Howard was looking at Miss Trevor with his +happiness dancing in his eyes. "Why shouldn't we go to the Park?" + +"I believe it's not customary," objected Miss Trevor in a tone that made +the walk in the Park a certainty. + +"I'm glad to hear that. I don't care to do customary things as a rule." + +"I see that you don't." + +"Do you say so because I show what I am thinking so plainly that you +can't help seeing it--and don't in the least mind?" + +"Why shouldn't you be glad to be alive and to be seeing me this fine +winter day?" + +"Why indeed!" Howard looked at her from head to foot and then into her +eyes. + +"We are not in the Park yet." Miss Trevor accompanied her hint with a +laugh and added: "I feel reckless to-day." + +"You mean you forget that there is any to-morrow. _I_ have shut out +to-morrow ever since I saw you." + +"And yesterday?" She noted that he coloured slightly, but continued to +look at her, his eyes sad. "But there is a to-morrow," she went on. + +"Yes--my work, my career is my to-morrow and yours is----" + +"Well?" + +"Your engagement, of course." + +Miss Trevor flushed, but Howard was smiling and she did not long resist +the contagion. + +"My to-morrow," he continued, "is far more menacing than yours. Yours +is just an ordinary, every-day, cut-and-dried affair. Mine is full +of doubts and uncertainties with the chances for failure and +disappointment. If I can turn my back on my to-morrow, surely you can +waive yours for the moment?" + +"But why are you so certain that I wish to?" + +"Instinct. I could not be so happy as I am with you if you were not +content to have me here." + +They spoke little until they were well within the Park. There they +turned down a by-path and took the walk skirting the lower lake. Miss +Trevor looked at Howard with a puzzled expression. + +"I never met any one like you," she said. "I have always felt so sure of +myself. You take me off my feet. I feel as if I did not know where I was +going and--didn't much care. And that's the worst of it." + +"No, the best of it. You are a star going comfortably through your +universe in a fixed orbit. You maintain your exact relations with your +brother and sister stars. You keep all your engagements, you never +wobble in your path--everything exact, mathematical. And up darts a +wild-haired, impetuous comet, a hurrying, bustling, irregular wanderer +coming from you don't know where, going you don't know whither. We pass +very near each to the other. The social astronomers may or may not note +a little variation in your movement--a very little, and soon over. They +probably will not note the insignificant meteor that darted close up to +you--close enough to get his poor face sadly scorched and his long hair +cruelly singed--and then hurried sadly away. And----" + +"And--what? Isn't there any more to the story?" Marian's eyes were +shining with a light which she was conscious had never been there +before. + +"And--and----" Howard stopped and faced her. His hands were thrust deep +in the pockets of his overcoat. He looked at her in a way that made the +colour fly from her face and then leap back again. "And--I love you." + +"Oh"--Marian said, hiding her face in her white muff. "Oh." + +"I don't wish to touch you," he went on, "I just wish to look at you--so +tall, so straight, so--so alive, and to love you and be happy." Then he +laughed and turned. "But you'll catch cold. Let us walk on." + +"So you are trying to make a career?" she asked after a few minutes' +silence. + +"Yes--trying--or, rather, I was. And shall again when you have gone your +way and I mine." + +Marian was amazed at herself. Every tradition, every instinct of her +life was being trampled by this unknown whom she had just met. And she +was assisting in the trampling. In fact it was difficult for her to +restrain herself from leading in the iconoclasm. She looked at him in +wonder and delighted terror. + +"Why do you look at me in that way?" he said, turning his head suddenly. + +"Because you are stronger than I--and I am afraid--yet I--well--I like +it." + +"It is not I that is stronger than you, nor you that are stronger than +I. It is a third that is stronger than both of us. I need not mention +the gentleman's name?" + +"It is not necessary. But I'd like to hear you pronounce it. At least I +did a moment ago." + +"I'll not risk repetition. I've been thinking of what might have been." + +"What?" Marian laughed a little, rather satirically. "A commonplace +engagement and a commonplace wedding and a commonplace honeymoon leading +into a land of commonplace disillusion and yawning--or worse?" + +"Not unlikely. But since we're only dreaming why not dream more to our +taste? Now as I look at your strong, clear, ambitious profile, I can +dream of a career made by two working as one, working cheerfully day +in and day out, fair and foul weather, working with the certainty of +success as the crown." + +"But failure might come." + +"It couldn't. We wouldn't work for fame or for riches or for any outside +thing. We would work to make ourselves wiser and better and more worthy +each of the other and both of our great love." + +Again they were walking in silence. + +"I am so sad," Marian said at last. "But I am so happy too. What has +come over me? But--you will work on, won't you? And you will accomplish +everything. Yes, I am sure you will." + +"Oh, I'll work--in my own way. And I'll get a good deal of what I want. +But not everything. You say you can't understand yourself. No more can I +understand myself. I thought my purpose fixed. I knew that I had nothing +to do with marrying and giving in marriage, so I kept away from danger. +And here, as miraculously as if a thunderbolt had dropped from this open +winter sky, here is--you." + +They were in the Avenue again--"the awakening," Howard said as the flood +of carriages rolled about them. + +"You will win," she repeated, when they were almost at Forty-seventh +Street. "You will be famous." + +"Probably not. The price for fame may be too big." + +"The price? But you are willing to work?" + +"Work--yes. But not to lie, not to cheat, not to exchange self-respect +for self-contempt--at least, I think, I hope not." + +"But why should that be necessary?" + +"It may not be if I am free--free to meet every situation as it arises, +with no responsibility for others resting upon me in the decision. If I +had a wife, how could I be free? I might be forced to sell myself--not +for fame but for a bare living. Suppose choice between freedom with +poverty and comfort with self-contempt were put squarely at me, and I a +married man. She would decide, wouldn't she?" + +"Yes, and if she were the right sort of a woman, decide instantly for +self-respect." + +"Of course--if I asked her. But do you imagine that when a man loves a +woman he lets her know?" + +"It would be a crime not to let her know." + +"It would be a greater crime to put her to the test--if she were a woman +brought up, say, as you have been." + +"How can you say that? How can you so overestimate the value of mere +incidentals?" + +"How can I? Because I have known poverty--have known what it was to +look want in the face. Because I have seen women, brought up as you have +been, crawling miserably about in the sloughs of poverty. Because I have +seen the weaknesses of human nature and know that they exist in me--yes, +and in you, for all your standing there so strong and arrogant and +self-reliant. It is easy to talk of misery when one does not understand +it. It is easy to be the martyr of an hour or a day. But to drag into a +sordid and squalid martyrdom the woman one loves--well, the man does not +live who would do it, if he knew what I know, had seen what I have seen. +No, love is a luxury of the rich and the poor and the steady-going. It +is not for my kind, not for me." + +They were pausing at Mrs. Carnarvon's door. + +"I shall not come in this afternoon," he said. "But to-morrow--if I +don't come in to-day, don't you think it will be all right for me to +come then?" + +"I shall expect you," she said. + +The talk of those who had come in for tea seemed artificial and flat. +She soon went up-stairs, eager to be alone. Mechanically she went to her +desk to write her customary daily letter to Danvers. She looked vacantly +at the pen and paper, and then she remembered why she was sitting there. + +"You are a traitor," she said to her reflection in the mirror over the +desk. "But you will pay for your treason. Has not one a right to that +for which she is willing to pay?" + + + + +XII. + +MAKING THE MOST OF A MONTH. + + +To be sure of a woman a man must be confident either of his own powers +or of her absolute frankness and honesty. It was self-assurance that +made Edward Danvers blindly confident of Marian. + +His father, a man with none but selfish uses for his fellow men, had +given him a pains-taking training as a vigilant guard for a great +fortune. His favourite maxim was, "Always look for motives." And he once +summed up his own character and idea of life by saying: "I often wake at +night and laugh as I think how many men are lying awake in their beds, +scheming to get something out of me for nothing." + +There could be but one result of such an education by such an educator. +Danvers was acutely suspicious, saved from cynicism and misanthropy +by his vanity only. He was the familiar combination of credulity and +incredulity, now trusting not at all and again trusting with an utter +incapacity to judge. Had he been far more attractive personally, he +might still have failed to find genuine affection. To be liked for one's +self alone or even chiefly is rarely the lot of any human being who has +a possession that is all but universally coveted--wealth or position or +power or beauty. + +Danvers and Marian had known each the other from childhood. And she +perhaps came nearer to liking him for himself than did any one else +of his acquaintance. She was used to his conceit, his selfishness, +his meanness and smallness in suspicion, his arrogance, his +narrow-mindedness. She knew his good qualities--his kindness of heart, +his shamed-face generosity, his honesty, the strong if limited sense +of justice which made him a good employer and a good landlord. They had +much in common--the same companions, the same idea of the agreeable and +the proper, the same passion for out-door life, especially for hunting. +He fell in love with her when she came back from two years in England +and France, and she thought that she was in love with him. She +undoubtedly was fond of him, proud of his handsome, athletic look and +bearing, proud of his skill and daring in the hunting field. + +One day--it was in the autumn a year before Howard met her--they were +"in at the death" together after a run across a stiff country that +included several dangerous jumps. "You're the only one that can keep +up with me," he said, admiring her glowing face and star-like eyes, +her graceful, assured seat on a hunter that no one else either cared or +dared to ride. + +"You mean you are the only one who can keep up with _me,_" she laughed, +preparing for what his face warned her was coming. + +"No I don't, Marian dear. I mean that we ought to go right on keeping up +with each other. You won't say no, will you?" + +Marian was liking him that day--he was looking his best. She +particularly liked his expression as he proposed to her. She had +intended to pretend to refuse him; instead her colour rose and she said: +"No--which means yes. Everybody expects it of us, Teddy. So I suppose we +mustn't disappoint them." + +The fact that "everybody" did expect it, the fact that he was the great +"catch" in their set, with his two hundred and fifty thousand a year, +his good looks and his good character--these were her real reasons, +with the first dominant. But she did not admit it to herself then. At +twenty-four even the mercenary instinct tricks itself out in a most +deceptive romantic disguise if there is the ghost of an opportunity. +Besides, there was no reason, and no sign of an approaching reason, for +the shadow of a suspicion that life with Teddy Danvers would not be full +of all that she and her friends regarded as happiness. + +But she would not marry immediately. She was tenacious of her freedom. +She was restless, dissatisfied with herself and not elated by her +prospects. She had an excellent mind, reasonable, appreciative, +ambitious. Until she "came out" she had spent much time among books; but +as she had had no capable director of her reading, she got from it +only a vague sense, that there was somewhere something in the way of +achievement which she might possibly like to attain if she knew what it +was or where to look for it. As she became settled in her place in the +routine of social life, as her horizon narrowed to the conventional +ideas of her set, this sense of possible and attractive achievement +became vaguer. But her restlessness did not diminish. + +"I never saw such an ungrateful girl," was Mrs. Carnarvon's comment +upon one of Marian's outbursts of almost peevish fretting. "What do you +want?" + +"That's just it," exclaimed Marian, half-laughing. "What _do_ I want? +I look all about me and I can't see it. Yet I know that there must be +something. I think I ought to have been a man. Sometimes I feel +like running away--away off somewhere. I feel as if I were getting +second-bests, paste substitutes for the real jewels. I feel as I did +when I was a child and demanded the moon. They gave me a little gilt +crescent and said: 'Here is a nice little moon for baby;' and it made me +furious." + +Mrs. Carnarvon looked irritated. "I don't understand it. You are getting +the best of everything. Of course you can't expect to be happy. I don't +suppose that any one is happy. But all the solid things of life are +yours, and you can and should be comfortable and contented." + +"That's just it," answered Marian indignantly. "I have always been +swaddled in cotton wool. I have never been allowed really to feel. I +think it is the spirit of revolt in me. Yes, I ought to have been a man. +I'm sure that then I could have made life a little less tiresome." + +It was this dissatisfaction that postponed the announcement of the +engagement from month to month until a year had slipped away. + +Instead of coming to New York, Danvers went off to Montana for a +mountain-lion hunt with two Englishmen who had been staying with him in +"The Valley." He would join Marian for the trip South, the engagement +would be announced, and the wedding would be in May--such was the +arrangement which Marian succeeded in making. It settled everything and +at the same time it gave her a month of freedom in New York. She hinted +enough of this programme to Howard to enable him to grasp its essential +points. + +"A month's holiday," was his comment. They were alone on the second seat +of George Browning's coach, driving through the Park. "If we were like +those people"--he was looking at a young man and young woman, side by +side upon a Park bench, blue with cold but absorbed in themselves and +obviously ecstatic. Marian glanced at them with slightly supercilious +amusement and became so interested that she turned her head to follow +them with her eyes after the coach had passed. + +"Is he kissing her?" asked Howard. + +"No--not yet. But I'm sure he will as soon as we have turned the +corner." She said nothing for a moment or two, her glance straight ahead +and upon vacancy, he admiring the curve of her cheek at the edge of its +effective framing of fur. + +"But we are not----" She spoke in a low tone, regretful, pensive, almost +sad. "We are not like them." + +"Oh, yes we are. But--we fancy we are not. We've sold our birthright, +our freedom, our independence for--for----" + +"Well--what?" + +"Baubles--childish toys--vanities--shadows. Doesn't it show what +ridiculous little creatures we human beings are that we regard the most +valueless things as of the highest value, and think least of the true +valuables. For, tell me, Lady-Whom-I-Love, what is most valuable in +the few minutes of this little journey among the stars on the good ship +Mother Earth?" + +"But you would not care always as you care now? It would not, could not, +last. If we--if we were like those people on the bench back there, we'd +go on and--and spoil it all." + +"Perhaps--who can say? But in some circumstances couldn't I make you +just as happy as--as some one else could?" + +"Not if you had made me infinitely happier at one time than even you +could hope to make me all the time. At least I think not. It would +always be--be racing against a record; we both would be, wouldn't we?" + +Howard looked at her with an expression which transfigured his face and +sent the colour flaming to her cheeks. "That being the case," he said, +"let us--let us make the record one that will not be forgotten--soon." + +During the month he saw her almost every day. She was most ingenious in +arranging these meetings. They were together afternoons and evenings. +They were often alone. Yet she was careful not to violate any +convention, always to keep, or seem to be keeping, one foot "on the +line." Howard threw himself into his infatuation with all his power of +concentration He practically took a month's holiday from the office. +He thought about her incessantly. He used all his skill with words in +making love to her. And she abandoned herself to an equal infatuation +with equal absorption. Neither of them spoke of the past or the future. +They lived in the present, talked of the present. + +One day she spoke of herself as an orphan. + +"I did not know that," he said. "But then what do I know about you in +relation to the rest of the world? To me you are an isolated act of +creation." + +"You must tell me about yourself." She was looking at him, surprised. +"Why, I know nothing at all about you." + +"Oh, yes, you do. You know all that there is to know--all that is +important." + +"What?" She was asking for the pleasure of hearing him say it. + +"That I love you--you--all of you--all of you, with all of me." + +Her eyes answered for her lips, which only said smilingly: "No, we +haven't time to get acquainted--at least not to-day." + + * * * * * + +She was to start for Florida at ten the next morning. Mrs. Carnarvon was +going away to the opera, giving them the last evening alone. Marian had +asked this of her point-blank. + +"You are an extraordinarily sensible as well as strong-willed girl, +Marian," Mrs. Carnarvon replied. + +"I can't find it in my heart to blame you for what you're doing. The +fact that I haven't even hinted a protest, but have lent myself to your +little plots, shows that that young man has hypnotized me also." + +"You needn't disturb yourself, as you know," Marian said gaily. "I'm not +hypnotized. I shall not see Mr. Howard again until--after it's all over. +Perhaps not then." + +He came to dinner and they were not alone until almost nine. She sat +near the open fire among the cushions heaped high upon the little sofa. +She had never been more beautiful, and apparently never in a happier +mood. They both laughed and talked as if it were the first instead of +the last day of their month. Neither spoke of the parting; each avoided +all subjects that pointed in direction of the one subject of which both +thought whenever their minds left the immediate present. As the little +clock on the mantle began to intimate in a faint, polite voice the +quarter before eleven, he said abruptly, almost brusquely: + +"I feel like a coward, giving you up in this way. Yes--giving you up; +for you have a traitor in your fortress who has offered me the keys, who +offers them to me now. But I do not trust you; and I can't trust myself. +The curse of luxury is on you, the curse of ambition on me. If we had +found each the other younger; if I had lived less alone, more in the +ordinary habit of dependence upon others; if you had been brought up +to live instead of to have all the machinery of living provided and +conducted for you--well, it might have been different." + +"You are wrong as to me, right as to yourself. But yours is not the +curse of ambition. It is the passion for freedom. It would be madness +for you, thinking as you do, even if you could--and you can't." + +He stood up and held out his hand. She did not rise or look at him. + +"Good night," she said at last, putting her hand in his. "Of course I +am thinking I shall see you tomorrow. One does not come out of such a +dream,"--she looked up at him smiling--"all in a moment." + +"Good night," he smiled back at her. "I shall not open 'the fiddler's +bill' until--until I have to." At the door he turned. She had risen and +was kneeling on the sofa, her elbow on its low arm, her chin upon her +hand, her eyes staring into the fire. He came toward her. + +"May I kiss you?" he said. + +"Yes." Her voice was expressionless. + +He bent over and just touched his lips to the back of her neck at the +edge of her hair. He thought that she trembled slightly, but her face +was set and she did not look toward him. He turned and left her. Half an +hour later she heard the bell ring--it was Mrs. Carnarvon. She wished to +see no one, so she fled through the rear door of the reception room and +up the great stairway to lock herself in her boudoir. She sank slowly +upon the lounge in front of the fire and closed her eyes. The fire died +out and the room grew cold. A warning chilliness made her rise to get +ready for bed. + +"No," she said aloud. "It isn't ambition and it isn't lack of love. +It's a queer sort of cowardice; but it's cowardice for all that. He's +a coward or he wouldn't have given up. But--I wonder--how am I going to +live without him? I need him--more than he needs me, I'm afraid." + +She was standing before her dressing table. On it was a picture of +Danvers--handsome, self-satisfied, healthy, unintellectual. She looked +at it, gave a little shiver, and with the end of her comb toppled it +over upon its face. + + + + + +XIII. + +RECKONING WITH DANVERS. + + +On that journey south Marian for the first time studied Danvers as a +husband in prospect. + +The morning after they left New York, their private car arrived at +Savannah. At dark the night before they were rushing through a snow +storm raging in a wintry landscape. Now they were looking out upon +spring from the open windows. As soon as the train stopped, all except +Marian and Danvers left the car to walk up and down the platform. +Danvers, standing behind Marian, looked around to make sure that none of +the servants was about, then rubbed his hand caressingly and familiarly +upon her cheek. + +"Did you miss me?" he asked. + +Marian could not prevent her head from shrinking from his touch. + +"There's nobody about," Danvers said, reassuringly. But he acted upon +the hint and, taking his hand away, came around and sat beside her. + +"Did you miss me?" he repeated, looking at her with an expression in his +frank, manly blue eyes that made her flush at the thought of "treason" +past and to come. + +"Did _you_ miss _me_?" she evaded. + +"I would have returned long ago if I had not been ashamed," he answered, +smiling. "I never thought that I should come not to care for as good +shooting as that. You almost cost me my life." + +"Yes?" Marian spoke absently. She was absorbed in her mental comparison +of the two men. + +"I got away from the others and was looking at your picture. They +started up a lion and he came straight at me from behind. If he hadn't +made a misstep in his hurry and loosened a stone, I guess he would have +got me. As it was, I got him." + +"You mean your gun got him." + +"Of course. You don't suppose I tackled him bare-handed." + +"It might have been fairer. I don't see how you can boast of having +killed a creature that never bothered you, that you had to go thousands +of miles out of your way to find, and that you attacked with a gun, +giving him no chance to escape." + +"What nonsense!" laughed Danvers. "I never expected to hear you say +anything like that. Who's been putting such stuff into your head?" + +Marian coloured. She did not like his tone. She resented the suggestion +of the truth that her speech was borrowed. It made her uncomfortable to +find herself thus unexpectedly on the dangerous ground. + +"I suppose it must have been that newspaper fellow Mrs. Carnarvon has +taken up. She talked about him for an hour after you left us to go to +bed last night." + +"Yes, it was--was Mr. Howard." Marian had recovered herself. "I want you +to meet him some time. You'll like him, I'm sure." + +"I doubt it. Mrs. Carnarvon seemed not to know much about him. I suppose +he's more or less of an adventurer." + +Marian wondered if this obvious dislike was the result of one of those +strange instincts that sometimes enable men to scent danger before any +sign of it appears. + +"Perhaps he is an adventurer," she replied. "I'm sure I don't know. Why +should one bother to find out about a passing acquaintance? It is enough +to know that he is amusing." + +"I'm not so sure of that. He might make off with the jewels when you had +your back turned." + +As soon as she had made her jesting denial of her real lover Marian was +ashamed of herself. And Danvers' remark, though a jest, cut her. "What +I said about a passing acquaintance was not just or true," she said +impulsively and too warmly. "Mr. Howard is not an adventurer. I admire +and like him very much indeed. I'm proud of his friendship." + +Danvers shrugged his shoulders and looked at her suspiciously. + +"You saw a good deal of this--this friend of yours?" he demanded, his +mouth straightening into a dictatorial line. + +At this Marian grew haughty and her eyes flashed: "Why do you ask?" she +inquired, her tone dangerously calm. + +"Because I have the right to know." He pointed to the diamond on her +third finger. + +"Oh--that is soon settled." Marian drew off the ring and held it out to +him. "Really, Teddy, I think you ought to have waited a little longer +before insisting so fiercely on your rights." + +"Don't be absurd, Marian." Danvers did not take the ring but fixed his +eyes upon her face and changed his tone to friendly remonstrance. "You +know the ring doesn't mean anything. It's your promise that counts. And +honestly don't you think your promise does give me the right to ask you +about your new friends when you speak of them, of one of them, in--in +such a way?" + +"I don't intend to deceive you," she said, turning the ring around +slowly on her finger. "I didn't know how to tell you. I suppose the only +way to speak is just to speak." + +"Do you think you are in love with this man, Marian?" + +She nodded, then after a long pause, said, "Yes, Teddy, I love him." + +"But I thought----" + +"And so did I, Teddy. But he came, and I--well I couldn't help it." + +As he did not speak, she looked at him. His face was haggard and white +and in his eyes which met hers frankly there was suffering. + +"It wasn't my fault, Teddy," Marian laid her hand on his arm, "at least, +not altogether. I might have kept away and I didn't." + +"Oh, I don't blame you. I blame him." + +"But it wasn't his fault. I--I--encouraged him." + +"Did he know that we were engaged?" + +"Yes," reluctantly. + +"The scoundrel! I suspected that he was rotten somewhere." + +"You are unjust to him. I have not told you properly." + +"Did he tell you that he cared for you?" + +"Yes--but he didn't try to get me to break my engagement." + +"So much the more a scoundrel, he. Tell me, Marian--come to your senses +and tell me--what in the devil did he hang about you for and make love +to you, if he didn't want to marry you? Would an honest man, a decent +man, do that?" + +Marian's face confessed assent. + +"I should think you would have seen what sort of a fellow he is. I +should think you would despise him." + +"Sometimes it seems to me that I ought to. But I always end by despising +myself--and--and--it makes no difference in the way I feel toward him." + +"I think I would do well to look him up and give him a horse-whipping. +But you'll get over him, Marian. I am astonished at your cousin. How +could she let this go on? But then, she's crazy about him too." + +Marian smiled miserably. "I've owned up and you ought to congratulate +yourself on so luckily getting rid of such an untrustworthy person as +I." + +"Getting rid of you?" Danvers looked at her defiantly. "Do you think I'm +going to let you go on and ruin yourself on an impulse? Not much! I hold +you to your promise. You'll come round all right after you've been away +from this fellow for a few days. You'll be amazed at yourself a week +from now." + +"You don't understand, Teddy." Marian wished him to see once for all +that, whatever might be the future for her and Howard, there was no +future for her and him. "Don't make it so hard for me to tell you." + +"I don't want to hear any more about it now, Marian. I can't stand it--I +hardly know what I'm saying--wait a few days--let's go on as we have +been--here they come." + +The others of the party came bustling into the car and the train +started. For the rest of the journey Danvers avoided her, keeping to the +smoking room and the game of poker there. Marian could neither read nor +watch the landscape. She did not know whether to be glad or sorry that +she had told him. She hated to think that she had inflicted pain and she +could not believe, in spite of what she had seen in his eyes, that his +feeling in the matter was more than jealousy and wounded vanity. + +"He doesn't really care for me," she thought. "It's his pride that is +hurt. He will flare out at me and break it off. I do hope he'll get +angry. It will make it so much easier for me." + +Late in the afternoon she took Mrs. Carnarvon into her confidence. "I've +told Teddy," she said. + +"I might have known!" exclaimed her cousin. "What on earth made you do +that?" + +"I don't know--perhaps shame." + +"Shame--trash! Your life is going to be a fine turmoil if you run to +Teddy with an account of every little mild flirtation you happen +to have. Of all the imbeciles, the most imbecile is the woman who +confesses." + + +"But how could I marry him when----" + +"When you don't love him?" + +"No--I might have done that. I like him. But, when I love another man." + +"It does make a difference. But you ought to be able to foresee that +you'll get over Howard in a few weeks----" + +"Precisely what Teddy said." + +"Did he? I'm surprised at his having so much sense. For, if you'll +forgive me, I don't think Teddy will ever set New York on fire--at +least, he's--well, he has the makings of an ideal husband. And has he +broken it off?" + +"No. He wouldn't have it." + +"Really? Well he _is_ in love. Most men in his position--able to get any +girl he wants--would have thrown up the whole business. Yes, he must be +awfully in love." + +"Do you think that?" Marian's voice spoke distress but she felt only +satisfaction. "Oh, I hope not--that is, I'd like to think he cared a +great deal and at the same time I don't want to hurt him." + +"Don't fret yourself about these two men. Just go on thinking as you +please. You'll be surprised how soon Howard will fade." Mrs. Carnarvon +smiled satirically at some thought--perhaps a memory. "You're a good +deal of a goose, my dear, but you are a great deal more of a woman. +That's why I feel sure that Teddy will win." + +With such an opportunity--with the field clear and the woman +half-remorseful over her treachery, half-indignant at the man who had +shown himself so weak and spiritless--a cleverer or a less vain man than +Danvers would have triumphed easily. And for the first week he did make +progress. He acted upon the theory that Marian had been hypnotized and +that the proper treatment was to ignore her delusion and to treat her +with assiduous but not annoying consideration. He did not pose as an +injured or jealous lover. He was the friend, always at her service, +always thinking out plans for her amusement. He made no reference to +their engagement or to Howard. + +Several people of their set were at the hotel and Marian was soon +drifting back into her accustomed modes of thought. The wider horizon +which she fancied Howard had shown her was growing dim and hazy. The +horizon which he had made her think narrow was beginning again to +seem the only one. This meant Danvers; but he was not acute enough to +understand her and to follow up his advantage. + +One morning as he was walking up and down under the palms, waiting for +Mrs. Carnarvon and Marian, Mrs. Fortescue called him. She was a cold, +rather handsome woman. In her eyes was the expression that always +betrays the wife or the mistress who loathes the man she lives with, +enduring him only because he gives her that which she most wants--money. +She had one fixed idea--to marry her daughter "well," that is, to money. + +"Can you join us to-day, Teddy?" she asked. "We need one more man." + +"I'm waiting for Mrs. Carnarvon and Marian," he explained. + +"Oh, of course." Mrs. Fortescue smiled. "What a nice girl she is--so +clever, so--so independent. I admired her immensely for deciding to +marry that poor, obscure young fellow. I like to see the young people +romantic." + +Danvers flushed angrily and pulled at his mustache. He tried to smile. +"We've teased her about it a good deal," he said, "but she denies it." + +"I suppose they aren't ready to announce the engagement yet," Mrs. +Fortescue suggested. "I suppose they are waiting until he betters +his position a little. It's never a good idea to have too long a time +between the announcement and the marriage." + +"Perhaps that is it." Danvers tried to look indifferent but his eyes +were sullen with jealousy. + +"I always rather thought that you and Marian were going to make a match +of it," continued Mrs. Fortescue. Just then her daughter came down the +walk. She was fashionably dressed in white and blue that brought out all +the loveliness of her golden hair and violet eyes and faintly-coloured, +smooth fair skin. Danvers had not seen her since she "came out," and was +dazzled by her radiance. + +They say that every man must be a little in love with every pretty +woman he sees. And Danvers at once gave Ellen Fortescue her due. She +sat silent beside her mother, looking the personification of innocence, +purity and poetry. Her mother continued subtly to poison Danvers against +Marian, to make him feel that she had not appreciated him, that she +had trifled with him, that she had not treated him as his dignity and +importance merited. When she and Mrs. Carnarvon appeared, he joined them +tardily, after having made an arrangement with the Fortescues for the +next day. + +That evening he danced several times with Ellen Fortescue and adopted +the familiar lover's tactics--he set about making Marian jealous. He +scored the customary success. When she went to bed she lay for several +hours looking out into the moonlight, raging against the Fortescues and +against Danvers. The mere fact that a man whom she regarded as hers was +permitting himself to show marked attention to another woman would have +been sufficient. But in addition, Marian was perfectly aware of the +material advantages of this particular man. She did not want to marry +him; at least she was of that mind at the moment. But she might change +her mind. Certainly, if there was to be any breaking off, she wished +it to be of her doing. She did not fancy the idea of him departing +joyfully. + +She was far too wise to show that she saw what was going on. She praised +Miss Fortescue to Danvers with apparent frankness and insisted on him +devoting more time to her. Danvers persisted in his scheme boldly for a +week and then, just as Marian was despairing and was casting about for +another plan of campaign, he gave in. They were sitting apart in the +shadow near one of the windows of the ball-room. He had been sullen all +the evening, almost rude. + +"How much longer are you going to keep me in suspense?" he burst out +angrily. + +"In suspense?" + +"You know what I mean. I think I've been very patient." + +"You mean our engagement?" Marian was looking at him, repelled by his +expression, his manner, the tone of his voice, his whole mood. + +"Yes--I want your decision." + +"I have not changed." + +"You still love that--that newspaper fellow?" + +"No, I don't mean that." Marian felt her irritation against Danvers +suddenly vanish and in its place a Sense of relief and of calmness. "I +mean toward you. It won't do, Teddy. We shall get on well as friends. +But I can't think of you in--in that way." + +Mrs. Fortescue had so swollen his vanity that he was astounded at +Marian's decision. He rapidly went over in his mind all the advantages +he offered as a husband, and then looked at her as if he thought her +beside herself. + +"Look here, Marian," he protested. "You can't mean it. Why, it's all +settled that we are to marry. It would be madness for you to break +it off. I can give you everything--everything. And he can't give you +anything." Then with fatal tactlessness: "He won't even give you the +little that he can, according to your own story." + +"Yes, it's madness, isn't it, Teddy, to refuse you--fascinating you, +who can give everything. But that's just it. You have too much. You +overwhelm me. I should feel like a cheat, taking so much and giving so +little." + +"Don't," he begged, his self-complacence and superiority all gone. +"Don't mind my blundering, please, dear. I want you. I can't say it. I +haven't any gift of words. But you've known me all my life and you know +that I love you. I've set my heart on it, Mary Ann,"--it was the name +he used to tease her with when they were children playing together--"You +won't go back on me now, will you?" + +"I wish I could do as you wish, Teddy." Marian was forgetful of +everything but the unhappiness she was causing this friend of so many, +many years and of so many, many memories. "But I can't--I can't." + +"Marry me, dear, anyhow. You will care afterward." Marian was silent and +Danvers hoped. "You know all about me. I'll not give you any surprises. +I shan't bother you. And I'll make you happy." + +"No," she said firmly. "You mustn't ask it. I'll tell you why. I have +thought of marrying you regardless of this. Only last night I thought of +it--finally, went over the whole thing. Listen, Teddy--if I were married +to you--and if he should come--and he would come sooner or later--if +he should come and say 'Come with me,'--I'd go--yes, I'm sure I'd go. +I can't explain why. But I know that nothing would stand in the +way--nothing." + +"You ought to be ashamed of yourself." Marian shrank from him. She was +horrified by the malignant fury that sparkled in his eyes and raged in +his voice. "That damned scoundrel is worthy of you and you of him. But +I'll get you yet. I never was crossed in anything in my life and I'll +not be beaten here." + +"And I thought you were my friend!" Marian was looking at him, pale, her +eyes wide with amazement. "Is it really you?" + +He laughed insolently. "Yes--you'll see. And he'll see. I'll crush him +as if he were an egg shell. And as for you--you perjurer--you liar!" + +He looked at her with coarse contempt, rose and stalked away. Marian sat +rigid. She was conscious of the insult. But even that humiliation was +not so strong in her mind as the astounding revelation of Danvers. She +remembered that even as his eyes blazed hatred at her, he looked at her, +at her neck, her bare arms, with the baffled desire of brute passion. +She did not fully understand the look, but she felt that it was a +degradation far greater than his insulting words. + +She slipped, almost skulked to her room, her eyes down, her face in +a burning flush, her scarf drawn tightly about her neck. As her door +closed behind her, she fell upon her bed and began to sob hysterically. +She started up with a scream to find her cousin standing beside her. + +"I'm so sorry. Forgive me." Mrs. Carnarvon's voice had lost its wonted +levity. "I saw that you were in trouble and followed. I knocked and +I thought I heard you answer. What is it, Marie? May I ask? Can I do +anything?" + +Marian drew her down to the bed and buried her face in her lap. "Oh, +I feel so unclean," she said. "It was--Teddy. Would you believe it, +Jessie, Teddy! I looked on him as a brother. And he showed me that he +was not my friend--that he didn't even love me--that he--oh, I shall +never forget the look in his eyes. He made me feel like a--like a +_thing_." + +Mrs. Carnarvon smothered a smile. "Of course Teddy's a brute," she said. +"I thought you knew. He's a domesticated brute, like most of the men and +some of the women. You'll have to get used to that." + +By refusing to fall in with her mood, Mrs. Carnarvon had gone far toward +curing it. Marian stopped sobbing and presently said: + +"Oh, I know all that. But I didn't expect it from Teddy--and toward me. +And--" she shuddered--"I was thinking, actually thinking of marrying +him. I wish never to see him again. And he pretended to be my friend!" + +"And he was, no doubt, until he got you on the brain in another way, in +the way he calls love. There isn't any love that has friendship in it." + +"We must go away at once." + +"Unless Teddy saves us the trouble by going first, as I suspect he +will." + +"Jessie, he hates me and--and--Mr. Howard." + +"So you talked to him about Howard again, did you?" Mrs. Carnarvon +was indignant. "You are old enough to know better, Marian. You carry +frankness entirely too far. There is such a thing as truth running +amuck." + +"He said he would crush Howard. And I believe he really meant it." + +"Teddy is a man who believes in revenges--or thinks he does. His father +taught him to keep accounts in grievances, and no doubt he has opened an +account with Howard. But don't be disturbed about it. His father would +have insisted on balancing the account. Teddy will just keep on hating, +but won't do anything. He's not underhanded." + +"He's everything that is vile and low." + +"You're quite mistaken, my dear. He's what they call a manly fellow--a +little too masculine perhaps, but----" + +A knock interrupted and Mrs. Carnarvon, answering it, took from the +bell-boy a note for Marian who read it, then handed it to her. Mrs. +Carnarvon read: "I apologise for the way I said what I did this evening, +not for what I said. Because you had forgotten yourself, had played the +traitor and the cheat was, perhaps, no excuse for my rudeness. You have +fallen under an evil influence. I hope no harm will come to you, for I +can't get over my feeling for you. But I have done my best and have not +been able to save you. I am going away early in the morning. + +"E. D." + +"Melodramatic, isn't it?" laughed Mrs. Carnarvon. "So he's off. How +furious Martha Fortescue and Ellen will be. But they'll go in pursuit, +and they'll get him. A man is never so susceptible as when he's +broken-hearted. Well, I must go. Good-night, dear. Don't mope and whine. +Take your punishment sensibly. You've learned something--if it's only +not to tell one man how much you love another." + +"I think I'll go abroad with Aunt Retta next month." + +"A good idea--you'll forget both these men. Good-night." + +"Good-night," answered Marian dolefully, expecting to resume her +thoughts of Danvers. But, instead, he straightway disappeared from +her mind and she could think only of Howard. She was free now. The one +barrier between him and her of which she had been really conscious was +gone. And her heart began to ache with longing for him. Why had he not +written? What was he doing? Did he really love her or was his passion +for her only a flash of a strong and swift imagination? + +No, he loved her--she could not doubt that. But she could not understand +his conduct. She felt that she ought to be very unhappy, yet she was +not. The longer she thought of him and the more she weighed his words +and looks, the stronger became her trust in him. "He loves me," she +said. "He will come when he can. It may be even harder for him than for +me." + +And so, explanation failing--for she rejected every explanation that +reflected upon him--she hid and excused him behind that familiar refuge +of the doubting, mystery. + + + + +XIV. + +THE NEWS-RECORD GETS A NEW EDITOR. + + +A few minutes after leaving Marian that last night at Mrs. Carnarvon's, +Howard was deep in a mood of self-contempt. He felt that he had faced +the crisis like a coward. He despised the weakness which enfeebled him +for effort to win her and at the same time made it impossible for him to +thrust her from his mind. + +In the working hours his will conquered with the aid of fixed habit and +he was able to concentrate upon his editorials. But in his rooms, and +especially after the lights were out, his imagination became master, +deprived him of sleep and occasionally lifted him to a height of hope +in order that it might dash him down the more cruelly upon the rocks of +fact. + +At last he was forced to face the situation--in his own evasive fashion. +It was impossible to go back. That loneliness which often threatened him +after Alice's death had become the permanent condition of his life. "I +will work for her," he said. "Until I have made a place for her I dare +not claim her. So much I will concede to my weakness. But when I have +won a position which reasonably assures the future, I shall claim +her--no matter what has happened in the meanwhile." + +He would have smiled at this wild resolution had he been in a less +distracted state of mind or had he been dealing with any other than a +matter of love. But in the circumstances it gave him heart and set him +to work with an energy and effectiveness which still further increased +Mr. Malcolm's esteem for him. + +"Will you dine with me at the Union Club on Wednesday?" Mr. Malcolm +asked one morning in mid-February. "Mr. Coulter and Mr. Stokely are +coming. I want you to know them better." + +Howard accepted and wondered that he took so little interest. +For Stokely and Coulter were the principal stockholders of the +_News-Record_, and with Malcolm formed the triumvirate which directed it +in all its departments. Mr. Malcolm held only a few shares of stock, +but received what was in the newspaper-world an immense salary--thirty +thousand a year. He was at once an able editor and an able diplomatist. +He knew how to make the plans of his two associates conform to +conditions of news and policy--when to let them use the paper, or, +rather, when to use the paper himself for their personal interests; when +and how to induce them to let the paper alone. Through a quarter of a +century of changing ownerships Malcolm had persisted, chiefly because +he had but one conviction--that the post of editor of the _News-Record_ +exactly suited him and must remain his at any sacrifice of personal +character. + +Howard had met Stokely and Coulter. He liked Stokely who was owner of a +few shares more than one-third; he disliked Coulter who owned just under +one-half. + +Stokely was a frank, coarse, dollar-hunter, cheerfully unscrupulous in a +large way, acute, caring not at all for principles of any kind, letting +the paper alone most of the time because he was astute enough to know +that in his ignorance of journalism he would surely injure it as a +property. + +Coulter was a hypocrite and a snob. Also he fancied he knew how to +conduct a newspaper. He was as unscrupulous as Stokely but tried to mask +it. + +When Stokely wished the _News-Record_ to advocate a "job," or steal, or +the election of some disreputable who would work in his interest, +he told Malcolm precisely what he wanted and left the details of the +stultification to his experienced adroitness. When Coulter wished +to "poison the fountain of publicity," as Malcolm called the paper's +departures from honesty and right, he approached the subject by stealth, +trying to convince Malcolm that the wrong was not really wrong, but was +right unfortunately disguised. + +He would take Malcolm into his confidence by slow and roundabout +steps, thus multiplying his difficulties in discharging his "duty." If +Coulter's son had not been married to Malcolm's daughter, it is probable +that not even his complete subserviency would have enabled him to keep +his place. + +"If you had told me frankly what you wanted in the first place, Mr. +Coulter," he said after an exasperating episode in which Coulter's +Pharisaic sensitiveness had resulted in Malcolm's having to "flop" the +paper both editorially and in its news columns twice in three days, "we +would not have made ourselves ridiculous and contemptible. The public +is an ass, but it is an ass with a memory at least three days long. Your +stealthiness has made the ass bray at us instead of with and for us. +And that is dangerous when you consider that running a newspaper is like +running a restaurant--you must please your customers every day afresh." + +Coulter was further difficult because of his anxieties about social +position for himself and his family. He was disturbed whenever the +_News-Record_ published an item that might offend any of the people +whose acquaintance he had gained with so much difficulty, and for +whose good will he was willing to sacrifice even considerable +money. Personally, but very privately, he edited the _News-Record's_ +"fashionable intelligence" columns on Sunday and made them an exhibit of +his own sycophancy and snobbishness which excited the amused disgust of +all who were in the secret. + +Malcolm liked Howard, admired him, in a way envied his fearlessness, his +earnestness for principles. For years he had had it in mind to retire +and write a history of the Civil War period which had been his own +period of greatest activity and most intimate acquaintance with the +behind-the-scenes of statecraft. Howard's energy, steady application, +enthusiasm for journalism and intelligence both as to editorials and as +to news made Malcolm look upon him as his natural successor. + +"I think Howard is the man we want," he said to his two associates when +he was arranging the dinner. "He has new ideas--just what the paper +needs. He is in touch with these recent developments. And above all he +has judgment. He knows what not to print, where and how to print what +ought to be printed. He is still young and is over-enthusiastic. He has +limitations, but he knows them and he is eager and capable to learn." + +It was a "shop" dinner, Howard doing most of the talking, led on by +Malcolm. The main point was the "new journalism," as it was called, and +how to adapt it to the _News-Record_ and the _News-Record_ to it. + +Malcolm kept the conversation closely to news and news-ideas, fearing +that, if editorial policies were brought in, Howard would make "breaks." +He soon saw that his associates were much impressed with Howard, with +his judgment, with his knowledge of the details of every important +newspaper in the city, with his analysis of the good and bad points in +each. + +"I'll drop you at your corner," said he to Howard at the end of the +dinner. As they drove up the Avenue he began: "How would you like to be +the editor of the _News-Record_? My place, I mean." + +"I don't understand," Howard answered, bewildered. + +"I am going to retire at once," Malcolm went on. "I've been at it nearly +fifty years--ever since I was a boy of eighteen and I've been in charge +there almost a quarter of a century. I think I've earned a few years of +leisure to work for my own amusement. I'm pretty sure they'll want you +to take my place. Would you like it?" + +"I'm not fit for it," Howard said, and he meant it. "I'm only an +apprentice. I'm always making blunders--but I needn't tell you about +that." + +"You can't say that you are not fit until you have tried. Besides, the +question is not, are _you_ fit? but, is there any one more fit than you? +I confess I don't see any one so well equipped, so certain to give the +paper all of the best that there is in him." + +"Of course I'd like to try. I can only fail." + +"Oh, you won't fail. But you may quarrel with Stokely and +Coulter--especially Coulter. In fact, I'm sure you'll quarrel with +them. But if you make yourself valuable enough, you'll probably win out. +Only----" + +Malcolm hesitated, then went on: + +"I stopped giving advice years ago. But I'll venture a suggestion. +Whenever your principles run counter to the policy of the paper, it +would be wise to think the matter over carefully before making an issue. +Usually there is truth on both sides, much that can be said fairly +and honestly for either side. Often devotion to principle is a mere +prejudice. Often the crowd, the mob, can be better controlled to right +ends by conceding or seeming to concede a principle for the time. Don't +strike a mortal blow at your own usefulness to good causes by making +yourself a hasty martyr to some fancied vital principle that will seem +of no consequence the next morning but one after the election." + +"I know, Mr. Malcolm, judgment is all but impossible. And I have been +trying to learn what you have been teaching me with your blue pencil, +what you now put into words. But there is something in me--an instinct, +perhaps--that forces me on in spite of myself. I've learned to curb and +guide it to a certain extent, but as long as I am I, I shall never learn +to control it. Every man must work out his own salvation along his own +lines. And with my limitations of judgment, it would be fatal to me, I +feel, to study the art of compromise. Where another, broader, stronger, +more master of himself and of others, would succeed by compromising, I +should fail miserably. I should be lost, compassless, rudderless. I have +often envied you your calmness, your ability to see not only to-morrow +but the day after. But, if I ever try to imitate you, I shall make a sad +mess of my career." + +As he ended Howard looked uneasily at the old editor, expecting to see +that caustic smile with which he preceded and accompanied his sarcasms +at "sentimental bosh." But instead, Malcolm's face was melancholy; and +his voice was sad and weary as he answered the young man who was just +starting where he had started so many years ago: + +"No doubt you are right. I'm not intending to try to dissuade you +from--from the best there is in you. All I mean is that caution, +self-examination, self-doubt, calm consideration of the other +side--these are as necessary to success as energy and resolute action. +All I suggest is that its splendour does not redeem a splendid folly. +Its folly remains its essential characteristic." + +Three weeks later Howard became editor-in-chief of the _News-Record_. +His salary was fifteen thousand a year; and Stokely and Coulter, acting +upon Malcolm's advice, gave him a "free hand" for one year. They agreed +not to interfere during that time unless the circulation or the profits +showed a decrease at the end of a quarter. + +The next morning Howard, in the Madison Avenue car on his way to the +office, read among the "Incidents in Society:" + +Mrs. George Alexander Provost and her niece, Miss Marion Trevor, sailed +in the _Campania_ yesterday. They will return in July for the Newport +season. + + + + + +XV. + +YELLOW JOURNALISM. + + +While several of the New York dailies were circulating from two to three +hundred thousand copies, the _News-Record_--the best-written, the most +complete, and, where the interests of the owners did not interfere, the +most accurate--circulated less than one hundred thousand. The Sunday +edition had a circulation of one hundred and fifty thousand where two +other newspapers had almost half a million. + +The theory of the _News-Record_ staff was that their journal was too +"respectable," too intelligent, to be widely read; that the "yellow +journals" grovelled, "appealed to the mob," drew their vast crowds by +the methods of the fakir and the freak. They professed pride in the +_News-Record's_ smaller circulation as proof of its freedom from +vulgarity and debasement. They looked down upon the journalists of the +popular newspapers and posed as the aristocracy of the profession. + +Howard did not assent to these self-complacent excuses. He was +democratic and modern, and the aristocratic pose appealed only to his +sense of humour and his suspicions. He believed that the success of +the "yellow journals" with the most intelligent, alert and progressive +public in the world must be based upon solid reasons of desert, must be +in spite of, not because of, their follies and exhibitions of bad taste. +He resolved upon a radical departure, a revolution from the policy of +satisfying petty vanity and tradition within the office to a policy of +satisfying the demands of the public. + +He gave Segur temporary charge of the editorial page, and, taking a desk +in the news-room, centred his attention upon news and the news-staff. +But he was careful not to agitate and antagonise those whose cooeperation +was necessary to success. He made only one change in the management; he +retired old Bowring on a pension and appointed to the city editorship +one of the young reporters--Frank Cumnock. + +He chose Cumnock for this position, in many respects the most important +on the staff of a New York daily, because he wrote well, was a judge of +good writing, had a minute knowledge of New York and its neighbourhood +and, finally and chiefly, because he had a "news-sense," keener than +that of any other man on the paper. + +For instance, there was the murder of old Thayer, the rich miser in East +Sixteenth Street. It was the sensation in all the newspapers for two +weeks. Then they dropped it as an unsolvable mystery. Cumnock persuaded +Mr. Bowring to let him keep on. After five days' work he heard of a +deaf and dumb woman who sat every afternoon at a back window of her flat +overlooking the back windows of Thayer's house. He had a trying struggle +with her infirmity and stupidity, but finally was rewarded. On the +afternoon of the murder, in its very hour (which the police had been +able to discover), she had seen a man and woman in the bathroom of the +Thayer house. Both were agitated and the man washed his hands again +and again, carefully rinsing the bowl afterward. From her description +Cumnock got upon the track of Thayer's niece and her husband, found the +proof of their guilt, had them watched until the _News-Record_ came out +with the "beat," then turned them over to the police. + +Also, Cumnock was keen at taking hints of good news-items concealed in +obscure paragraphs. The Morris Prison scandal was an example of this. He +found in the New England edition of _The World_ a six-line item giving +an astonishing death rate for the Morris Prison. He asked the City +Editor to assign him to go there; and within a week the press of the +entire country was discussing the _News-Record's_ exposure of the +barbarities of torture and starvation practised by Warden Johnson and +his keepers. + +"We are going to print the news, all the news and nothing but the news," +Howard said to Cumnock. "They've put you here because, so they tell me, +you know news no matter how thoroughly it is concealed or disguised. +And I assure you that no one shall interfere with you. No favours to +anybody; no use of the news-columns for revenge or exploitation. The +only questions a news-item need raise in your mind are: Is it true? +Is it interesting? Is it printable in a newspaper that will publish +anything which a healthy-minded grown-person wishes to read?" + +"Is that 'straight'?" asked Cumnock. "No favourites? No suppressions? No +exploitations?" + +"'Straight'--'dead straight'! And if I were you I'd make this +particularly clear to the Wall Street and political men. If +anybody"--with stress upon the anybody--"comes to you about this, send +him to me." + +Howard was uneasy about the managing editor, Mr. King. But he soon found +that his fears were groundless. Mr. King was without petty vanity, and +cordially and sincerely welcomed his control. + +"We look too dull," King began when Howard asked him if he had any +changes to suggest. "We need more and bigger headlines, and we need +pictures." + +"That is it!" Howard was delighted to find that King and he were in +perfect accord. "But we must not have pictures unless we can have the +best. Just at present we can't increase expenses by any great amount. +What do you say to trying what we can do with all the news, larger +headlines and plenty of leads?" + +"I'm sure we can do better with our class of readers by livening up the +appearance of our headlines than we could with second-rate pictures." + +"I hope," Howard said earnestly, "that we won't have to use that +phrase--'our class of readers'--much longer. Our paper should interest +every man and woman able to read. It seems to me that a newspaper's +audience should be like that of a good play--the orchestra chairs full +and the last seat in the gallery taken. I suppose you know we're not an +'organ' any longer?" + +"No, I didn't." Mr. King looked surprised. "Do you mean to say that +we're free to print the news?" + +"Free as freedom. In our news columns we're neither Democrat nor +Republican nor Mugwump nor Reform. We have no Wall Street or social +connections. We are going to print a newspaper--all the news and nothing +but the news." + +Mr. King drummed on his desk softly with the tips of his outstretched +fingers. "Hum--hum," he said. "This _is_ news. Well--the circulation'll +go up. And that's all I'm interested in." + +Howard went about his plans quietly. He avoided every appearance of +exerting authority, disturbed not a wheel in the great machine. He made +his changes so subtly that those who received the suggestions often came +to him a few days afterward, proposing as their own the very plans he +had hinted. He was thus cautious partly because of his experience of +the vanity of men, their sensitiveness to criticism, their instinctive +opposition to improvement from without; partly from his knowledge of the +hysteria which raged in the offices of the "yellow journals." He wished +to avoid an epidemic of that hysteria--the mad rush for sensation +and novelty; the strife of opposing ambitions; the plotting and +counter-plotting of rival heads of departments; the chaos out of which +the craziest ideas often emerged triumphant, making the pages of the +paper look like a series of disordered dreams. + +He was indifferent to the semblance of authority, to the shadows for +which small men are forever struggling. What he wanted, all he wanted, +was--results. + +The first opposition came from the night editor, who for twenty-six +years, his weekly "night off" and his two weeks' vacation in summer +excepted, had "made up" the paper--that is to say, had defined, with the +advice and consent of the managing editor, the position and order of +the various news items. This night editor, Mr. Vroom, was a strenuous +conservative. He believed that an editor's duty was done when he had +intelligently arranged his paper so that the news was placed before the +reader in the order of its importance. Big headlines, attempts at effect +with varying sizes of large type and varying column-widths he held to +be crowd-catching devices, vulgar and debasing. He had no sympathy with +Howard's theory that the first object of a newspaper published in a +democratic republic is to catch the crowd, to interest it, to compel it +to read, and so to lead it to think. + +"We're on the way to scuffling in the gutter with the 'yellow journals' +for the pennies of the mob," he was saying sarcastically to Mr. King, +one afternoon just as Howard joined them. + +Howard laughed. "Not on the way to the gutter, Mr. Vroom. Actually in +the gutter, actually scuffling." + +"Well, I'm frank to say that I don't like it. A newspaper ought to +appeal to the intelligent." + +"To intelligence, yes; to the intelligent, no. At least in my opinion, +that is the right theory. We want people to read us because we're +intelligent enough to know how to please them, not because they're +intelligent enough to overcome the difficulties we put in their way. But +let's go out to dinner this evening and talk it over." + +They dined together at Mouquin's every night for a week. At the end of +that time Vroom, still sarcastic and grumbling, was a convert. And a +great accession Howard found him. He had sound judgment as to the value +of news-items--what demanded first page, the "show-window," because +it would interest everybody; what was worth a line on an inside page +because it would interest only a few thousands. He was the most skillful +of the _News-Record's_ many good writers of headlines, a master of that, +for the newspaper, art of arts--condensed and interesting statement, +alluring the glancing reader to read on. Also he had an eye for effects +with type. "You make every page a picture," Howard said to him. "It is +wonderful how you balance your headlines, emphasising the important +news yet saving the minor items from obscurity. I should like to see the +paper you would make if you had the right sort of illustrations to put +in." + +Vroom was amazed at himself. He who had opposed any "head" which broke +the column rule was now so far degenerated into a "yellow journalist" +that, when Howard spoke of illustrations, he actually longed to test his +skill at distributing them effectively. + + * * * * * + +Two months of hard work, tedious, because necessarily so indirect, +produced a newspaper which was "on the right lines," as Howard +understood right lines. And he felt that the time had come to make the +necessary radical changes in the editorial page. + +The _News-Record_ had long posed as independent because it supported now +one political party and now the other, or divided its support. But this +superficial independence was in reality subservience to the financial +interests of the two principal owners. They made their newspaper assail +Republican or Democratic corruption and misgovernment in city, state +or nation, according as their personal interests lay. They used the +editorial page and, to even better advantage, the news-columns, in +revenging themselves for too heavy levies of blackmail upon their +corrupt interests or in securing unjust legislation and privileges. + +Obedient and cynical Mr. Malcolm had made the editorial page corrupt and +brilliant--never so effective as when assailing a good cause. The +great misfortune of good causes is that they attract so many fatal +friends--the superciliously conscientious; the well-meaning but +feeble-minded and blundering; the most offensive because least deceptive +kinds of hypocrites. Mr. Malcolm, as acute as he was intellectually +unscrupulous, well understood how to weaken or to ruin a just cause +through these supporters. Sometimes he stood afar off, showering the +poisoned arrows of raillery and satire. Again he was the plain-spoken +friend of the cause and warned its honest supporters against these "fool +friends" whom he pretended to regard as its leaders. Again he played the +part of a blind enthusiast and praised folly as wisdom and urged it on +to more damaging activities. + +"We abhor humbug here," he used to say; and perhaps he did in a measure +excuse himself to his conscience with the phrase. But in fact his +editorial page was usually a succession of humbugs, of brilliant +hypocrisies and cheats perpetrated under the guise of exposing humbug. + +Just as Howard was ready to reverse Malcolm's editorial programme, New +York was seized with one of its "periodic spasms of virtue." The city +government was, as usual, in the hands of the two bosses who owned the +two political machines. One was taking the responsibility and the larger +share of the spoils; the other was maintaining him in power and getting +the smaller but a satisfactory share. The alliance between the police +and criminal vice had become so open and aggressive under this bi-boss +patronage that the people were aroused and indignant. But as they had +no capable leaders and no way of selecting leaders, there arose a +self-constituted leadership of uptown Phariseeism and sentimentality, +planning the "purification" of the city. + +Every man of sense knowing human nature and the conditions of city life +knew that this plan was foredoomed to ridiculous failure, and that the +event would be a popular revulsion against "reform." + +"Why not speak the truth about these vice-hunters?" Howard was +discussing the situation with three of his editorial writers--Segur, +Huntington and Montgomery. + +"It's mighty dangerous," Montgomery objected. "You will be sticking +knives into a sacred Anglo-Saxon hypocrisy." + +"Yes, we'll have all the good people about our ears," said Segur. +"We'll be denounced as a defender of depravity, a foe of purity. They'll +thunder away at us from every pulpit. The other newspapers will take it +up, especially those that expect to sell millions of papers containing +accounts of the 'exposure' of the dives and dens." + +"That's good. I hope we shall," said Howard cheerfully. "It will +advertise us tremendously." + +The three were better pleased than they would have admitted to +themselves by the seeming certainty of Howard's impending undoing. + +"No, gentlemen," Howard said, as they were about to go to their rooms +for the day's work. "There's no danger in attacking any hypocrisy. Don't +attack beliefs that are universal or nearly universal--at least not +openly. But don't be afraid of a hypocrisy because it is universal. +People know that they are hypocrites in respect of it. They may not have +the courage publicly to applaud you. But they'll be privately delighted +and will admire your courage. We'll try to be discreet and we'll be +careful to be truthful. And we'll begin by making these gentlemen show +themselves up." + +The next morning the _News-Record_ published a double-leaded editorial. +It described the importance of improving political and social conditions +in New York; it went on to note the distinguished names on the committee +for the destruction of vice; it closed with the announcement that on the +following day the _News-Record_ would publish the views of these eminent +reformers upon conditions and remedies. + +The next day he printed the interviews--a collection of curiosities in +utopianism, cant, ignorant fanaticism, provincialism, hypocrisy. These +appeared strictly as news; for the cardinal principle of Howard's theory +of a newspaper was that it had no right to intrude its own views into +its news-columns. On the editorial page he riddled the interviews. By +adroit quotations, by contrasting one with another, he showed, or rather +made the so-called reformers themselves show, that where they were +sincere they were in the main silly, and where they were plausible +they were in the main insincere; that every man of them had his own pet +scheme for the salvation of wicked New York; and that they could not +possibly accomplish anything more valuable than leading the people on +the familiar, aimless, demoralizing excursion through the slums. + +On the following day he frankly laughed at them as a lot of +impracticables who either did not know the patent facts of city life or +refused to admit those facts. And he turned his attention to the real +problem, a respectable administration for the city--a practical end +which could easily be accomplished by practical action. From day to day +he kept this up, publishing a splendid series of articles, humorous, +witty, satirical, eloquent, bold, with a dominant strain of sincerity +and plain common sense. As his associates had predicted, a storm +gathered and burst in fury about the _News-Record_. It was denounced +by "leading citizens," including many of the clergy. Its "esteemed" +contemporaries published and endorsed and amplified the abuse. And its +circulation went up at the rate of five thousand a day. + +When the storm was at its height, when the whole town seemed to be +agreeing with the angry reformers but was quietly laughing at their +folly and hypocrisy, Howard threw his bomb. On a Saturday morning he +gave half of his first page with big but severely impartial headlines to +an analysis of the members of the vice committee--a broadside of facts +often hinted but never before verified and published. First came those +who owned property and sub-let it for vicious purposes, the property +and purpose specified in detail; then those who were directors in +corporations which had got corrupt privileges from the local boss, the +privileges being carefully specified, and also the amounts of which they +had robbed the city. Last came those who were directors in corporations +which had bought from the State-boss injustices and licenses to rob, the +specifications given in damning detail. + +His leading editorial was entitled "Why We Don't Have Decent +Government." It was powerful in its simplicity, its merciless raillery +and irony; and only at the very end did it contain passion. There, in a +few eloquent sentences he arraigned these professed reformers who were +growing rich through the boss-system, who were trafficking with the +bosses and were now engaged in wrecking the hopes of honesty and +decency. On that day the _News-Record's_ circulation went up thirty +thousand. The town rang with its "exposure" and the attention of the +whole country was arrested. It was one of the historic "beats" of New +York journalism. The reputation of the _News-Record_ for fearlessness +and truth-telling and news-enterprise was established. At abound it had +become the most conspicuous and one of the most powerful journals in New +York. + + + + + +XVI. + +MR. STOKELY IS TACTLESS. + + +Howard, riding in the Park one morning late in the spring, came upon +Mrs. Carnarvon. She gave him no chance to evade her, but joined him and +accommodated her horse's pace to his. + +"And are you still on the _News-Record?_" she said. "I hope not." + +"Why?" Howard was smiling, glad to get an outside view of what he had +been doing. + +"Because it's become so sensational. It used to be such a nice paper. +And now--gracious, what headlines! What attacks on the very best people +in the town!" + +"Dreadful, isn't it?" laughed Howard. "We've become so depraved that we +are actually telling the truth about somebodies instead of only about +nobodies." + +"I might have known that you would sympathise with that sort of thing." +Mrs. Carnarvon was teasing, yet reproachful. "You always were an +anarchist." + +"Is it anarchistic to be no respecter of persons and to put big +headlines over big items and little headlines over little items?" + +"Oh, you know what I mean. You are encouraging the unruly classes." + +"Dear me! And we thought we were fighting the unruly class. We thought +that it was our friends--or rather, your friends--the franchise grabbers +and legislature-buyers who won't obey the laws unless the laws happen +to suit their convenience. They're the only unruly class I know anything +about. I've heard of another kind but I've never been able to find it. +And I never hear much about it except when a lot of big rascals are +making off weighted down with plunder. They always shout back over +their shoulders: 'Don't raise a disturbance or you'll arouse the unruly +classes.'" + +Mrs. Carnarvon was laughing. "You put it well," she said, "and I'm not +clever enough to answer you. But they all tell me the _News-Record_ +has become a dangerous paper, that it's attacking everybody who has +anything." + +"Anything he has stolen, yes. But that's all." + +"You can't get me to sympathise with you. I like well-dressed, +well-mannered people who speak good English." + +"So do I. That's why I'm doing all in my power to improve the conditions +for making more and more people of the sort one likes to talk to and +dine with." + +"Why, I thought you sympathised with the lower classes." + +"Not a bit of it. Who has been maligning me to you? I abhor the lower +classes--so much so that I wish to see them abolished." + +"Well, you'll have to blame Marian for misleading me." + +"Miss Trevor? How is she?" Mrs. Carnarvon was looking closely at him, +and he was not sure that he succeeded in showing nothing more than +friendly interest. + +"Haven't you heard from her? She's in England, visiting in Lancashire. +You know her cousin married Lord Cranmore." + +"I saw in the papers several months ago that she was going abroad. I +haven't heard a word since." + +Mrs. Carnarvon started to say something, but changed her mind. + +"When is she coming home?" + +"Not until July. You must come to see us at Newport." + +"Nothing could please me better--if I can get away." + +"I'll send you an invitation, although you have treated me very badly of +late. But I suppose you are busy." + +"Busy? Isn't a galley slave always busy?" + +"Are you still writing editorials?" + +"Yes--and on the fallen _News-Record_. In fact----" + +"Well--what?" + +Howard laughed. "Don't faint," he said. "I'll leave you at once if you +wish me to, and I'll never give it away that you once knew me. I'm the +editor--the responsible devil for the depravity." + +"How interesting!" Mrs. Carnarvon was evidently not disturbed. Then the +American adoration of success came out. "I'm so glad you're getting on. +I always knew you would. Really, you must come to dinner. I'll invite +some of the people you've been attacking. They'll like to look at you, +and you will be amused by them. And I don't in the least mind your +giving it to them if they bait you, as I did this morning. Will you +come?" + +"If I may leave by ten o'clock. I go down town every night." + +"Why, when do you sleep?" + +"Not much, these days. Life's too interesting to permit of much sleep. +I'll make up when it slackens a bit." + +As he was turning his horse, she said: "Marian's address is Claridge's, +Brooke Street, Mayfair. If she isn't there, they forward her mail." + +Howard was puzzled. "What made her give me that address?" he thought. +"I know she didn't like my seeing so much of Marian. And here she is +practically inviting me to write to her." He could not understand it. +"If I were not a 'yellow' editor and if Marian were not engaged to one +of the richest men in New York, I'd say that this lady was encouraging +me." He smiled. "Not yet--not just yet." And he cheerfully urged his +horse into a canter. + +Mrs. Carnarvon's opinion of the _News-Record_ and its recent +performances fairly represented that of the fashionable and the very +rich. They read it, as they never did before, because it interested +them. They could not deny that what it said was true; that is, they +could not deny it to their own minds, although they did vigorously deny +it publicly. Those who were attacked directly or indirectly, or expected +to be attacked, denounced the paper as an "outrage," a "disgrace to the +city," a "specimen of the journalism of the gutter." Many who were not +in sympathy with the men or the methods assailed thought that its +course was "inexpedient," "tended to increase discontent among the lower +classes," "weakened the influence of the better classes." Only a few +of the "triumphant classes" saw the real value and benefit of the +_News-Record's_ frank attacks upon greed and hypocrisy, saw that these +attacks were not dangerous or demagogical because they were just and +were combined with a careful avoidance of encouragement to the lazy, the +envious, the incompetent and the ignorant. + +Fortunately for Howard's peace, that eminent New York "multi," Samuel +Jocelyn, for whom Coulter had the highest respect, was of this last +class. When Howard began, Coulter was at Aiken where Jocelyn had a +cottage. He had never been able to make headway with Jocelyn, and Mrs. +Jocelyn deigned to give him and Mrs. Coulter only the coldest of cold +nods. Just as Coulter had become so agitated by Howard's radical course +that he was preparing to go to New York to remonstrate with him, Jocelyn +called. + +"I came to thank you for what you are doing with your paper," he said +cordially. "It seems to me that all intelligent men who are not blind to +their own ultimate interests ought to stand by you. I can't tell you +how much I admire your frankness and honesty. And you draw the line just +right. You attack plunder, you defend property. Will your wife and you +dine with us this evening?" + +Coulter postponed his trip to New York. + +On the last day of the first three months the circulation of the +_News-Record_ was 147,253--an increase of 42,150 over what it was on the +day Howard took charge; its advertising had increased twelve per cent; +its net profits for the quarter were seventy-five thousand dollars as +against fifty-seven thousand for the preceding quarter. + +"Very good indeed," was Stokely's comment. + +"Another quarter like this," said Howard, "and I'm going to ask you to +let me increase expenses a thousand dollars a week to illustrate the +paper." + +"We'll talk that over with Coulter. Personally I like this +'yellow-journalism'--when it's done intelligently. I always told Coulter +we'd have to come to it. It's only common sense to make a paper easy +reading. Then, too, we can have a great deal more influence--in fact, +we have already. I'm getting what I want up at Albany this winter much +cheaper." + +Howard winced. "He made me feel like a blackmailer," he said to himself +when Stokely had gone. "And I suppose these fellows do look on me as a +new Malcolm with up-to-date tricks. Well, they will see, they will see." + +He tried to go on with his work, but Stokely's cynical words +persistently interrupted him. Why had he not squarely challenged Stokely +then and there? Why had he only winced where a year ago he would have +demanded an explanation? + +He hated to confess it to himself, he made every effort to smother it, +but the thought still stared him in the face--"I am not so strong in my +ideals of personal character as I was a year ago." + +The fact that his present course was profitable gave him, he felt, more +pleasure than the fact that it was right. If the alternative of wealth +and power with self-abasement or poverty, obscurity with self-respect +were put to him now, what would he decide? Would he give up his +prospects, his hopes of Marian and of an easy career? He was afraid to +answer. He contented himself with one of his habitual evasions--"I will +settle that when the time comes. No, Stokely's remark did not make a +crisis. If the crisis ever does come, surely I will act like a man. I'll +be securer then, more necessary to this pair of plunderers, able to make +better terms for myself. In practical life, it is necessary to sacrifice +something in order to succeed." + +But Stokely's words and his own silence and the real reasons for his +changing ideals and for his cowardice continued to annoy him. + +Every day he came down town planning for a better newspaper the next +morning than they had ever made before. And his vigour, his enthusiasm +permeated the entire office. He went from one news department to +another, suggesting, asking for suggestions, praising, criticising +judiciously and with the greatest consideration for vanity. He talked +with the reporters, urging them on by showing keen interest in them +and their work, and intimate knowledge of what they were doing. And he +dictated every day telegrams to correspondents, thanking them for any +conspicuously good stories they had telegraphed in, adding something to +the compensation of those who were paid by space and made little. + +If his work had not been his amusement the long hours, the constant +application, would have broken him down. But he had no interests outside +the office and he got his mental recreation by shifting his mind from +one department to another. + +In June his salary was increased to twenty-five thousand a year and +his last lingering feeling of financial insecurity disappeared. For +the first time in his life he felt strong enough to undertake a serious +responsibility, to give hostages to fortune without fear of being unable +to keep faith. He learned from Mrs. Carnarvon that Marian was +returning on the _Oceanic_ on the ninth of July, and he accepted a +Saturday-to-Monday invitation to Newport for the twelfth of July. It was +from Segur that he got the news that Danvers was in Japan and was not +returning until the autumn. + +On the ninth of July, from the window of his office, he saw the +_Oceanic_ steam up the bay and up the river to her pier. He sent down a +request that the ship-news reporter be sent up as soon as he returned. +"Is it a good story?" he asked when the reporter, Blackwell, entered. +"Was there anybody on board?" + +"A lot of swell people," the young man answered; "all the women got up +in the latest Paris gowns." + +"Did you notice whether Mrs. Provost came?" + +"Came? Well, rather, with two French maids chattering and chasing after +her. And there was a tall girl with her, a stunner, a girl she called +'Marian, my dear.'" + +Howard stopped him with "Thank you. Don't write anything about them." + +"It was the best thing I saw--the funniest." + +"Well--don't use the names." + +Young Blackwell turned to go. "Oh, I see--friends of yours," he smiled. +"Very well. I'll keep 'em out." + +Howard flushed and called him back. "Go ahead," he said. "Write just +what you were going to. Of course you wouldn't write anything that was +not fair and truthful. We don't 'play favourites' here. Forget what I +said." + +And so it came to pass that Mrs. Provost, half pleased, half indignant, +said to Miss Trevor as they sat in the drawing room of the Pullman on +the way to Newport the next day: "Just look at this, Marian dear, in +the horrid _News-Record_. And it used to be such a nice paper with that +slimy Coulter bowing and scraping to everybody." + +"This" was Mrs. Provost and her dogs and her maids and her asides +to "Marian dear," described with accuracy and a keen sense of the +ludicrous. + +"It's too dreadful," she continued. "There is no such thing as privacy +in this country. The newspapers are making us," with a slight accent on +the pronoun, "as common and public as tenement-house people." + +"Yes," Miss Trevor answered absently. "But why read the newspapers? I +never could get interested in them, though I've tried." + + + + + +XVII. + +A WOMAN AND A WARNING. + + +On the evening of Howard's arrival at Newport, Mrs. Carnarvon was having +a few people in to dine. He had just time to dress and so saw no one +until he descended to the reception room. + +"You are to take in Marian," said his hostess, going with him to +where Miss Trevor was sitting, her back to the door and her attention +apparently absorbed by the man facing her. + +"Here's Mr. Howard, Marian," Mrs. Carnarvon interrupted. "Come with me, +Willie. Your lady is over here and we're going in directly." + +Marian saw that Howard was looking at her in the straight, frank fashion +she remembered and liked so well. "I've come for you," he said. + +"Yes, you are to take me in," she evaded, her look even lamer than her +words. + +"You know what I mean." He was smiling, his heart in his eyes, as if the +dozen people were not about them. + +"I see you have not changed," she laughed, answering his look in kind. + +"Changed? I'm revolutionized. I was blind and now I see. I was paralyzed +and behold, I walk. I was weak and lo, I am strong--strong enough for +two, if necessary." + +"Now, hasn't it occurred to you that I might possibly have something to +say about my own fate?" + +"You? Why, you had everything to say. I reasoned it all out with you. +You simply can't add anything to the case I made you make out for +yourself when I talked it over with you. I made you protest very +vigorously." + +"Well, what did I say--that is, what did you make me say?" + +"You said you were engaged--pledged to another--that you could not draw +back without dishonour. And I answered that no engagement could bind you +to become the wife of a man you did not love; that no moral code could +hold you to such a sin; that no code of honour could command you to +permit a man to degrade himself and you. Then you pleaded that you were +not sure you liked my kind of a life, that you feared you wanted wealth +and a great establishment and social leadership and--and all that." + +"Did I?" Marian said with exaggerated astonishment. + +"You did indeed. You were perfectly open with me. You let me see +all that part of you which we try to keep concealed and fancy we +are concealing--all that one really feels and wishes and thinks as +distinguished from what one fancies he ought to feel and wish and +think." + +"I wonder that you cared, after a glance behind that curtain." + +"Oh, but I like what is behind that curtain best of all. The very human +things are there. They make me feel so at home." + +Dinner was announced and it was not until the second course that he had +a chance to resume. Then he began as if there had been no interval: + +"You said--" + +Marian laughed and looked at him--a flash of her luminous blue-green +eyes--and was looking away again with her usual expression. "You needn't +tell me the rest. It doesn't matter what I said. I've had you with me +wherever I went. You never doubted my--my caring, did you?" + +"No. I couldn't doubt you. If you were the sort of woman a man could +doubt, you wouldn't be the sort of woman I could love. And you know it +isn't vanity that makes me sure. I often wonder how you happened to care +for such a--but I must not attack any one whom you like so well. No, I +knew you cared by the same instinct that makes you know that I care for +you." + +"But why did you come?" + +"Because I have won a position for myself, have enough to enable us to +live without eternally fretting over money-matters. I feel that I +have the right to come. And then I could not be interested to live on, +without you; and I'm willing to face, willing to have you face, whatever +may come to us through me. I know that you and I together----" + +"Not now--don't--please." Marian was pale and she was obviously under a +great strain. "You see, you knew all about this. But I didn't until you +looked at me when Jessie brought you. It makes me--happy--I am so happy. +But I must--I can't control myself here." She leaned over as if her +napkin had slipped to the floor. "I love you," she murmured. + +It was Howard's turn to struggle for self-control. "I understand," he +said, "why you wished me not to go on. You never said those words to me +before--and----" + +"Oh, yes I have--many and many a time." + +"With your eyes, but not with your voice--at least not so that I could +hear. And--well, it is not easy to look calm and only friendly when +every nerve in one's body is vibrating like a violin string under +the bow. Yes, let us talk of something else. I've never been acutely +conscious of the presence of others when I've been with you. To-night +I'm in great danger of forgetting them altogether." + +"That would be so like you." Marian laughed, then raised her voice a +little and went on. "Yes, your little restaurant in the Rue Louis le +Grand was gone. There was a dressmaker in its place--Raudinitz. She made +this. How do you like it?" + +"It has the air of--of belonging to you." + +Marian looked amused. Howard shrugged his shoulders. "All roads lead to +Rome," he said. + + * * * * * + +Carnarvon hung about until the women went to bed, so Howard and Marian +had no opportunity to be alone. As soon as he saw his last chance +vanish, he went to his own room, to the solitude of its balcony in the +shadow of the projecting facade with the moonlight flooding the rocks +and the sea. + +As he sat smoking, the recession came, the reaction from weeks of +nervous tension. And with the ebb of the tide entered that Visitor who +alone has the privilege of the innermost chamber where lives the man +himself, unmasked of all vanity and show and pretense. The visit was not +unexpected; for at every such crisis every one is certain of a call from +this Visitor, this merciless critic, plain and rude of speech, rare and +reluctant in praise, so mocking in our moments of elation, so cruelly +frank about our follies and self-excuses when he comes in our moments of +depression. + +"So you are going to marry?" the Visitor said abruptly. "I thought you +had made up your mind on that subject long ago." + +"Love changes a man's point of view," Howard replied, timid and +apologetic before this quiet, relentless other-self. + +"But it doesn't change the facts of life, does it? It doesn't change +character, does it?" + +"I think so. For instance, it has changed me. It has made a man of me. +It has been the inspiration of the past year, strengthening me, making +me ambitious, energetic. Have I not thought of her all the time, worked +for her?" + +"You have been uncommonly persistent--as you always are when you +are thwarted." The Visitor wore a satirical smile. "But a spurt of +inspiration is one thing. A wife--responsibility--fetters----" + +"Not when one loves." + +"That depends upon the kind of love--and the kind of woman--and the kind +of man." + +"Could there be any higher kind of love than ours?" + +"Most romantic, most high-minded--quite idyllic." The Visitor's tone +was gently mocking. "And I don't deny that you may go on loving each the +other. But--how does she fit in with your scheme of life? What does +she really know of or care about your ambitions? Why, you had so little +confidence in her that you didn't dare to think of marrying her until +you had an income which you once would have thought wealth--an income +which, by the way, already begins to seem small to you." + +"No, it wasn't lack of confidence in her," protested Howard. "It was +lack of confidence in myself." + +"True, that did have something to do with it, I grant you. And that +reminds me--what has become of all your cowardice about responsibility?" + +"Oh, I'm changed there." + +"Are you sure? Are you not deceived by this sudden and maybe momentary +streak of good luck in your affairs? You have fixed your ambition +high--very high. You wish to make an honest and a useful and a +distinguished career. You know you have weaknesses. I needn't remind +you--need I--that you have had to fight those weaknesses? How could +you have won thus far if you had been responsible for others instead of +being alone, and certain that the consequences would fall upon yourself +only? I want to see you continue to win. I don't want to see you dragged +down by extravagance, by love for this woman, by ambition of the kind +her friends approve. I don't want to see you--You were silent when +Stokely insulted you!" + +"Love--such love as mine--and for such a woman--and with such love in +return--drag down? Impossible!" + +"Not so--not exactly so, though I must say you are plausible. But don't +forget that you and she are not starting out to make a career. Don't +forget that she is already fixed--her tastes, habits, friendships, +associations, ideals already formed. Don't forget that your love is the +only bond between you--and that it may drag you toward her mode of +life instead of drawing her towards yours. Don't forget that your own +associations and temptations are becoming more and more difficult. I +repeat, you cringed--yes, cringed--when Stokely insulted you. Why?" + +Howard was silent. + +"And," the Visitor went on relentlessly, "let me remind you that not +only did you give her up without a struggle a few months ago but also +she gave you up without a word." + +"But what could she have said?" + +"I don't know, I'm sure. I'm not familiar with ways feminine. But I +know--we know--that, if there had not been some reservation in her love, +some hesitation about you--unconscious, perhaps, but powerful enough to +make her yield--she would not have let you go as she did." + +"But she did not realise, as I did not, how much our love meant to us." + +"Perhaps--that sounds well. All I ask is, will she help you? Are you +really so much stronger than you were only four months ago? Or are you +stimulated by success? Suppose that days of disaster, of peril, come? +What then?" + +"But they will not. I have won a position. I can always command a large +salary--perhaps not quite so much but still a large salary." + +"Perhaps--if you don't trouble yourself about principles. But how would +it be if you would do nothing, write nothing, except what you think is +honest? Would you ask her to face it? Tell me, tell yourself honestly, +have you the right to assume a responsibility you may not be able to +bear, to invite temptations you may not be able to resist?" + +There was a long silence. At last Howard stood up and flung his cigar +into the sea. His face was drawn and his eyes burned. + +"God in heaven!" he cried, "am I not human? May I not have companionship +and sympathy and love? Must I be alone and friendless and loveless +always? That is not life; that is not just. I will not; I will not. I +love her--love her--love her. With the best that there is in me, I love +her. Am I such a coward that I cannot face even my own weaknesses?" + + + + + +XVIII. + +HOWARD EXPLAINS HIS MACHINE. + + +In August Marian and Mrs. Carnarvon came to the Waldorf for two days. +Howard had offered to show them how a newspaper is made; and Mrs. +Carnarvon, finding herself bored by too many days of the same few people +every day, herself proposed the trip. The three dined in the open air on +Sherry's piazza and at eleven o'clock drove down the Avenue, to the east +at Washington Square, and through the Bowery. + +"I never saw it before," said Marian, "and I must say I shall not care +if I never see it again. Why do people make so much fuss about slums, I +wonder?" + +"Oh, they're so queer, so like another world," suggested Mrs. Carnarvon. +"It gives you such a delightful sensation of sadness. It's just like a +not-too-melancholy play, only better because it's real. Then, too, it +makes one feel so much more comfortable and clean and contented in one's +own surroundings." + +"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Jessie." Marian spoke in mock +indignation. "The next thing we know you'll sink to being a patron of +the poor and go about enjoying yourself at making them self-conscious +and envious." + +"They're not at all sad down this way," said Howard, "except in the +usual inescapable human ways. When they're not hit too hard, they bear +up wonderfully. You see, living on the verge of ruin and tumbling over +every few weeks get one used to it. It ceases to give the sensation of +event." + +Their automobile had turned into Park Row and so reached the +_News-Record_ building in Printing House Square. Howard took the +two women to the elevator and they shot upward in a car crowded with +telegraph messengers, each carrying one or more envelopes, some of them +bearing in bold black type the words: "News!--Rush!" + +"I suppose that is the news for the paper?" Mrs. Carnarvon asked. + +"A little of it. Our special cable and special news from towns to which +we have no direct wire and also the _Associated Press_ reports come this +way. But we don't use much _Associated Press_ matter, as it is the same +for all the papers." + +"What do you do with it?" + +"Throw it away. A New York newspaper throws away every night enough to +fill two papers and often enough to fill five or six." + +"Isn't that very wasteful?" + +"Yes, but it's necessary. Every editor has his own idea of what to print +and what not to print and how much space each news event calls for. It +is there that editors show their judgment or lack of it. To print the +things the people wish to read in the quantities the people like and in +the form the most people can most easily understand--that is success as +an editor." + +"No doubt," said Marian, thinking of the low view all her friends +took of Howard's newspaper, "if you were making a newspaper to please +yourself, you would make a very different one." + +"Oh, no," laughed Howard, "I print what I myself like; that is, what I +like to find in a newspaper. We print human news made by human beings +and interesting to human beings. And we don't pretend to be anything +more than human. We try never to think of our own idea of what the +people ought to read, but always to get at what the people themselves +think they ought to read. We are journalists, not news-censors." + +"I must say newspapers do not interest me." Marian confessed it a little +diffidently. + +"You are probably not interested," Howard answered, "because you don't +care for news. It is a queer passion--the passion for news. The public +has it in a way. But to see it in its delirium you must come here." + +"This seems quiet enough." Marian looked about Howard's upstairs office. +It was silent, and from the windows one could see New York and its +rivers and harbour, vast, vague, mysterious, animated yet quiet. + +"Oh, I rarely come here--a few hours a week," Howard replied. "On this +floor the editorial writers work." He opened a door leading to a private +hall. There were five small rooms. In each sat a coatless man, smoking +and writing. One was Segur, and Howard called to him. + +"Are you too busy to look after Mrs. Carnarvon and Miss Trevor for a few +minutes? I must go downstairs." + +Segur gave some "copy" to a boy who handed him a bundle of proofs and +rushed away down a narrow staircase. Howard descended in the elevator, +and Segur, who had put on his coat, sat talking to the two women as he +looked through the proofs, glancing at each narrow strip, then letting +it drop to the floor. + +"You don't mind my working?" he asked. "I have to look at these things +to see if there is any news that calls for editional attention. If I +find anything and can think an editorial thought about it, I write it; +and if Howard is in the humour, perhaps the public is permitted to read +it." + +"Is he severe?" asked Mrs. Carnarvon. + +"The 'worst ever,'" laughed Segur. "He is very positive and likes only +a certain style and won't have anything that doesn't exactly fit his +ideas. He's easy to get along with but difficult to work for." + +"I imagine his positiveness is the secret of his success." Marian knew +that Segur was half in jest and was fond of Howard. But she couldn't +endure hearing him criticised. + +"No. I think he succeeds because he works, pushes straight on, never +stops to repair blunders but never makes the same kind of a blunder the +second time." + +Segur's eye caught an item that suggested an editorial paragraph. He +sat at Howard's desk, thought a moment, scrawled half a dozen lines in +a large ragged hand on a sheet of ruled yellow paper, and pressed +an electric button. The boy came, handed him another thick bundle of +proofs, took the "copy" and withdrew. Just then Howard returned. + +"We'll go down to the news-room," he said. + +The windows of the great news-room were thrown wide. Scores of electric +lights made it bright. At the various desks or in the aisles were +perhaps fifty men, most of them young, none of them beyond middle age. +They were in every kind of clothing from the most fashionable summer +attire to an old pair of cheap and stained duck trousers, collarless +negligee shirt open all the way down the front and suspenders hanging +about the hips. + +Some were writing long-hand; others were pounding away at the +typewriter; others were talking in undertones to "typists" taking +dictation to the machine; others were reading "copy" and altering it +with huge blue pencils which made apparently unreadable smears wherever +they touched the paper. In and out skurried a dozen office-boys, +responding to calls from various desks, bringing bundles of proofs, +thrusting copy into boxes which instantly and noisily shot up through +the ceiling. + +It was a scene of confusion and furious activity. The face of each +individual was calm and his motions by themselves were not excited. But +taking all together and adding the tense, strained expression underneath +the calm--the expression of the professional gambler--there was a total +of active energy that was oppressive. + +"We had a fire below us one night," said Howard. "We are two hundred +feet from the street and there were no fire escapes. We all thought it +was good-bye. It was nearly half an hour before we found out that the +smoke booming up the stairways and into this room had no danger behind +it." + +"Gracious!" Mrs. Carnarvon shuddered and looked uneasily about. + +"It's perfectly safe," Howard reassured her. "We've arranged things +better since then. Besides, that fire demonstrated that the building was +fireproof." + +"And what happened?" asked Miss Trevor. + +"Why, just what you see now. The Managing Editor, Mr. King over +there--I'll introduce him to you presently--went up to a group of men +standing at one of the windows. They were pretending indifference as +they looked down at the crowd which was shouting and tossing its arms +in a way that more than suggested pity for us poor devils up here. Well, +King said: 'Boys, boys, this isn't getting out a paper.' Every one went +back to his work and--and that was all." + +They went on to the room behind the newsroom. As Howard opened its heavy +door a sound, almost a roar, of clicking instruments and typewriters +burst out. Here again were scores of desks with men seated at them, +every man with a typewriter and a telegraph instrument before him. + +"These are our direct wires," Howard explained. "Our correspondents in +all the big cities, east, west, north and south and in London, are at +the other end of these wires. Let me show you." + +Howard spoke to the operator nearest them. "Whom have you got?" + +"I'm taking three thousand words from Kansas City," he replied. +"Washington is on the next wire." + +"Ask Mr. Simpson how the President is to-night," Howard said to the +Washington operator. + +His instrument clicked a few times and was silent. Almost immediately +the receiver began to click and, as the operator dashed the message off +on his typewriter the two women read over his shoulder: "Just came from +White House. He is no better, probably a little worse because weaker. +Simpson." + +"And can you hear just as quickly from London?" Marian asked. + +"Almost. I'll try. There is always a little delay in transmission from +the land systems to the cable system; and messages have to be telephoned +between our office in Trafalgar Square and the cable office down in the +city. Let's see, it's five o'clock in the morning in London now. They've +been having it hot there. I'll ask about the weather." + +Howard dictated to the man at the London wire: "Roberts, London. How is +the weather? Howard." + +In less than ten minutes the cable-man handed Howard a typewritten slip +reading: "_News-Record_, New York, Howard: Thermometer 97 our office +now. Promises hottest day yet. Roberts." + +"I never before realised how we have destroyed distance," said Mrs. +Carnarvon. + +"I don't think any one but a newspaper editor completely realises it," +Howard answered. "As one sits here night after night, sending messages +far and wide and receiving immediate answers, he loses all sense of +space. The whole world seems to be in his anteroom." + +"I begin to see fascination in this life of yours." Marian's face showed +interest to enthusiasm. "This atmosphere tightens one's nerves. It seems +to me that in the next moment I shall hear of some thrilling happening." + +"It's listening for the first rumour of the 'about to happen' that makes +newspaper-men so old and yet so young, so worn and yet so eager. Every +night, every moment of every night, we are expecting it, hoping for +some astounding news which it will test our resources to the utmost to +present adequately." + +From the news-room they went up to the composing room--a vast hall of +confusion, filled with strange-looking machines and half-dressed men and +boys. Some were hurrying about with galleys of type, with large metal +frames; some were wheeling tables here and there; scores of men and a +few women were seated at the machines. These responded to touches upon +their key-boards by going through uncanny internal agitations. Then out +from a mysterious somewhere would come a small thin strip of almost hot +metal, the width of a newspaper column and marked along one edge with +letters printed backwards. + +Up through the floor of this room burst boxes filled with "copy." Boys +snatched the scrawled, ragged-looking sheets and tossed them upon a +desk. A man seated there cut them into little strips, hanging each strip +upon a hook. A line of men filed rapidly past these hooks, snatching +each man a single strip and darting away to a machine. + +"It is getting late," said Howard. "The final rush for the first edition +is on. They are setting the last 'copy.'" + +"But," Mrs. Carnarvon asked, "how do they ever get the different parts +of the different news-items together straight?" + +"The man who is cutting copy there--don't you see him make little marks +on each piece? Those marks tell them just where their 'take,' as they +call it, belongs." + +They went over to the part of the great room where there were many +tables, on each a metal frame about the size of a page of the newspaper. +Some of the frames were filled with type, others were partly empty. And +men were lifting into them the galleys of type under the direction of +the Night Editor and his staff. As soon as a frame was filled two men +began to even the ends of the columns and then to screw up an inside +framework which held the type firmly in place. Then a man laid a great +sheet of what looked like blotting-paper upon the page of type and +pounded it down with a mallet and scraped it with a stiff brush. + +"That is the matrix," said Howard. "See him putting it on the elevator." +They looked down the shaft. "It has dropped to the sub-basement," said +Howard, "two hundred and fifty feet below us. They are already bending +it into a casting-box of the shape of the cylinders on the presses; +metal will be poured in and when it is cool, you will have the metal +form, the metal impression of the page. It will be fastened upon the +press to print from." + +They walked back through the room which was now in almost lunatic +confusion--forms being locked; galleys being lifted in; editors, +compositors, boys, rushing to and fro in a fury of activity. Again the +phenomenon of the news-room, the individual faces calm but their tense +expressions and their swift motions making an impression of almost +irrational excitement. + +"Why such haste?" asked Marian. + +"Because the paper must be put to press. It must contain the very latest +news and it must also catch the mails; and the mail-trains do not wait." + +They descended in the main elevator to the ground floor and then went +down a dark and winding staircase until they faced an iron door. Howard +pushed it open and they entered the press-room. Its temperature was +blood-heat, its air heavy and nauseating with the odours of ink, moist +paper and oil, its lights dim. They were in a gallery and below them on +all sides were the huge presses, silent, motionless, waiting. + +Suddenly a small army of men leaped upon the mighty machines, scrambled +over them, then sprang back. With a tremendous roar that shook the +entire building the presses began to revolve, to hurl out great heaps of +newspapers. + +"Those presses eat six hundred thousand pounds of paper and four tons +of ink a week," Howard shouted. "They can throw out two hundred thousand +complete papers an hour--papers that are cut, folded, pasted, and ready +to send away. Let us go before you are stifled. This air is horrible." + +They returned in the elevator to his lofty office. Even there a slight +vibration from the press-room could be felt. But it was calm and still, +a fit place from which to view the panorama of sleeping city and drowsy +harbour tranquil in the moonlight. + +"Look." Howard was leaning over the railing just outside his window. + +They looked straight down three hundred feet to the street made bright +by electric lights. Scores of wagons loaded with newspapers were rushing +away from the several newspaper buildings. The shouts, the clash of +hoofs and heavy tires on the granite blocks, the whirr of automobiles, +were borne faintly upward. + +"It is the race to the railway stations to catch the mail-trains," +Howard explained. "The first editions go to the country. These wagons +are hurrying in order that tens of thousands of people hundreds of miles +away, at Boston, Philadelphia, Washington and scores on scores of +towns between and beyond, may find the New York newspapers on their +breakfast-tables." + +The office-boy came with a bundle of papers, warm, moist, the ink +brilliant. + +"And now for the inquest," said Howard. + +"The inquest?" Marian looked at him inquiringly. + +"Yes--viewing the corpse. It was to give birth to this that there +was all that intensity and fury--that and a thousand times more. For, +remember, this paper is the work of perhaps twenty thousand brains, in +every part of the world, throughout civilisation and far into the depths +of barbarism. Look at these date lines--cities and towns everywhere in +our own country, Canada, Mexico, Central America, South America. You'll +find most of the capitals of Europe represented; and Africa, north, +south and central, east and west coast. Here's India and here the heart +of Siberia. + +"There is China and there Japan and there Australia. Think of these +scores of newspaper correspondents telegraphing news of the doings of +their fellow beings--not what they did last month or last year, but what +they did a few hours ago--some of it what they were doing while we were +dining up at Sherry's. Then think of the thousands on thousands of these +newspaper-men, eager, watchful agents of publicity, who were on duty but +had nothing to report to-day. And----" + +Howard shrugged his shoulders and tossed the paper from him. + +"There it lies," he said, "a corpse. Already a corpse, its life ended +before it was fairly born. There it is, dead and done for--writ in +water, and by anonymous hands. Who knows who did it? Who cares?" + +He caught Marian's eyes, looking wonder and reproach. + +"I don't like to hear you say that," she said, forgetting Mrs. +Carnarvon. "Other men--yes, the little men who work for the cheap +rewards. But not you, who work for the sake of work. This night's +experience has thrilled me. I understand your profession now. I see what +it means to us all, to civilisation, what a splendid force for good, +for enlightenment, for uplifting it is. I can see a great flood of light +radiating from this building, pouring into the dark places, driving +away ignorance. And the thunder of those presses seems to me to fill +the world with some mighty command--what is it?--oh, yes--I can hear it +distinctly. It is, 'Let there be light!'" + +Mrs. Carnarvon's back was toward them and she was looking out at the +harbour. Howard put his hands upon Marian's shoulders and they looked +each the other straight in the eyes. + +"Lovers and comrades," he said, "always. And how strong we +are--together!" + + + + + +XIX. + +"I MUST BE RICH." + + +"While I don't feel dependent upon the owners of the _News-Record_, +still I am not exactly independent of them either. And if I left them it +would only be to become dependent in the same way upon somebody else. A +man who makes his living by the advocacy of principles should be wholly +free. If he isn't, the principles are sure sooner or later to become +incidental to the living, instead of the living being incidental to the +principles." + +"But you see--perhaps I ought to have told you before--that is, there +may be"--Marian was stammering and blushing. + +"What's the matter? Don't frighten me by looking so--so criminal," +Howard laughed. + +It was late in August. Marian was visiting Mrs. Brandon at +Irvington-on-the-Hudson and she and Howard were driving. + +"I never told you. But the fact is"--she hesitated again. + +"Is it about your other engagement? You never told me about that--how +you broke it off. I don't want you to tell me unless you wish to. You +know I never meddle in past matters. I'm simply trying to help you out." + +"Instead, you're making it worse. I'd rather not tell you that if----" + +"We'll never speak of it again. And now, what is it that is troubling +you?" + +"I have been trying to tell you--I wish you wouldn't look at me--I've +got a small income--it's really very small." + +"I'm glad to hear it." + +"I was afraid you wouldn't like it. It isn't very big--only about +eight thousand a year--some years not so much. But then, if anything +happened--we could be--we could live." + +Howard smiled as he looked at her--but not with his eyes. + +"I'm glad," he said. "It makes me feel safer in several ways. And I'm +especially glad that it is not larger than mine. I know it's stupid, as +so many of our instincts are; but I should not like to marry a woman who +had a larger income than I could earn. I think it is the only remnant +I have of the 'lord and master' idea that makes so many men ridiculous. +But we need not let that bother us. Fate has made us about equal in this +respect, so unimportant yet so important; and we are each independent of +the other. Each will always know that love is the only bond that holds +us together." + +They decided that they would live at the rate of about fifteen thousand +a year and would put by the rest of their income. She was to undertake +the entire management of their home, he transferring his share by check +each month. + +"And so," she said, "we shall never have to discuss money matters." + +"We couldn't," laughed Howard. "I don't know anything about them and +could not take part in a discussion." + +As they were to be married in November, they planned to take an +apartment when Marian came back to town--in late September. She was to +attend to the furnishing and all was to be in readiness by the time they +were married. Howard was to get a six weeks' vacation and, as soon as +they returned, they were to go to housekeeping. + +Her visit to the _News-Record_ office had made a change in her. +Until she met Howard, she had known only the world-that-idles and +the world-that-drudges. Howard brought her the first real news of the +world-that-works. Of course she knew that there was such a world, but +she had confused it with the world-that-drudges. She liked to hear +Howard talk about his world, but she thought that his enthusiasm blinded +him to the truth of its drudgery; and she often caught herself half +regretting that he had to work. + +But that vast machine for the swift collecting and distributing of the +news of the world had opened her eyes, had made her see her lover and, +through him, his life, in a different aspect. She had accepted the +supercilious, thoughtless opinion of those about her that the newspaper +is a mere purveyor of inaccurate gossip. And while Howard had tried to +show her his profession as it was, he had only succeeded in convincing +her that he himself had an exalted view of it; a view which she thought +creditable to him but wide of the disagreeable truth. + +On that trip down-town she had seen "the press" with the flaws reduced +and the merits looming. She had looked into those all-seeing eyes +that watch the councils of statesmen and the movements of nations and +peoples, yet also note the swing of a murderous knife in an alley of the +slums. She had heard that stentorian voice of Publicity, arousing the +people of the earth to apprehend, to reflect, to progress. + +She had been proud of Howard for his appearance, for what he said and +the way he said it. Now she was proud of him for the part he was taking +in this wonderful world-that-works. And she would not have confessed to +him how insignificant she felt, how weak and worthless. + +She thought she was impatient for the time to come when she could learn +how to help him in his work, could begin to feel that she too had a +real share in it. With what seemed to her most creditable energy and +self-sacrifice she tried again to interest herself in newspapers. But +the trivial parts bored her; the chronicles of crime repelled her; and +the politics and most of the other serious articles were beyond the +range of her knowledge or of her interest. "I shall wait until we are +married," she said, "then he will teach me." And she did not suspect how +significant, how ominous her postponement was. + +She asked him if he would not teach her and he replied: "Why, certainly, +if you are interested. But I don't intend to trouble you with the +details of my profession. I want you to lead your own life--to do what +interests you." + +She did not stop to analyse her feeling of relief at this release, and +went on to protest: "But I want your life to be my life. I want there to +be only one life--our life." + +"And there shall be--each contributing his share, at least I'll try to +contribute mine. But you have your own individuality, dear; and a very +strong one it is. And I don't want you to change." + +At the time he was deep in his plans for illustrating the _News-Record_. +Early in that fall's campaign they had secured the best cartoonist +in America. Cartoons are rarely the work of one man but are got up by +consultations. Howard spent never less than an hour each day with +the cartoonist, Wickham, wrestling with the problem of the next day's +picture. For he insisted upon having a striking cartoon each day, and +gave it the most conspicuous place in the paper--the top-centre of the +first page. + +"If a cartoon is worth printing at all," he said, "it is worth printing +large and conspicuous. And to be worth printing it must be like an ideal +editorial--one point sharply and swiftly made and so clear that the most +careless glance-of-the-eye is enough." + +Wickham had made a series of cartoons on the campaign, humorous and +satirical, which had the distinction of being reproduced on lantern +slides for use in all parts of the town. It was an admirable beginning +of the new policy of illustration. Howard had been making a careful +study of all the illustrators in the country, not overlooking those +toiling in obscurity on the big western dailies. He had selected a staff +of twenty; as soon as Coulter and Stokely assented, he engaged them by +telegraph. Five were developed artists, the rest beginners with talent. +He gave all of his attention for two weeks to organising this staff. +He infected it with his enthusiasm. He impressed upon it his ideas of +newspaper illustration--the dash and energy of the French illustrators +adapted to American public taste. He insisted upon the artists studying +the French illustrated papers and applying what they learned. It was +not until the first Sunday in December that he felt ready to submit the +results of these labours to the public. + +Again he scored over the "contemporaries" of the _News-Record_. +They printed many more illustrations than it did. It had only one +illustration on a page, but there was one on every page and a good one. +All the subjects were well chosen--either action or character--and as +many good looking women as possible. + +"Never publish a commonplace face," he said. "There is no such thing in +life as an uninteresting face. Always find the element of interest and +bring it out." + +The result of this policy, interpreted by a carefully trained and +enthusiastic staff, was what the out-of-town press was soon praising as +"a revelation in newspaper-illustration." Howard himself was surprised. +He had mentally insured against a long period of disappointment. + +"This shows," he remarked to King and Vroom, "how much more competent +men are than we usually think--if they get a chance, if they are pointed +in the right direction and are left free." + +"He certainly knows his business." Vroom was looking after Howard +admiringly. "I never saw anybody who so well understood when to lead and +when to let alone. What results he does get!" + +"A pity to waste such talents on this thankless business," said King. +"If he'd gone into real business, he would have a salary of a hundred +thousand a year, would be rich and secure for life. Why, a business +man could and would make a whole career on the ideas he has in a single +week. As it is----" + +King shrugged his shoulders and Vroom finished the sentence for him: +"Coulter and Stokely could kick him out to-morrow and the _News-Record_ +would go straight on living upon his ideas for ten years at least." + +Howard needed no one to make this truth clear to him to the full. Often, +as he thought of his expanding tastes, his expanding expenditures and +his expanding plans both for his private life and for his career, he +felt an awful sinking at the heart and a sense of fundamental weakness. + +"I am building upon sand," he said to himself. "In business, in the law, +in almost any other career to-day's work would be to-morrow's capital. +As it is, I am ever more and more a slave. To be free I ought to be poor +or rich. And I cannot endure the thought of poverty again. I must be +rich." + +The idea allured him to a degree that made him ashamed of himself. +Sometimes, when he was talking to Marian or writing editorials, all in +the strain of high principle and contempt for sordidness, he would flush +at the thought that he was in reality a good deal of a hypocrite. "I'm +expressing the ideals I ought to have, the ideals I used to have, not +the ideals I have." + +But the clearer this discrepancy became to him and the wider the gap +between what he ought to think and what he really did think, the more +strenuously he protested to himself against himself, and the more +fiercely he denounced in public the very poison he was himself taking. + +"I am living in a tainted atmosphere," he said to Marian. "We all are. I +fight against the taint but how can I hope to avoid the consequences if +I persist in breathing it, in absorbing it at every pore of my body?" + +"I don't understand you." Marian was used to his moods of self-criticism +and did not attach much importance to them. + +He thought a moment. "Oh, nothing," he said. "What's the use of +discussing what can't be helped?" How could he tell her that the +greatest factor in his enervating environment was herself; that the +strongest chains which held him in it were the chains which bound him +to her? Indeed, was he not indulging in cowardly self-excuse in thinking +that this was true? Had not his success, rather than his love, made +ambition unfettered by principle the mainspring of his life? + + + + + +XX. + +ILLUSION. + + +"How shall we be married?" Howard asked her in the late Autumn. + +"I know it will not be in a church with ushers and bridesmaids and a +crowd gaping at us. I suppose there is a public side to marriage since +the state makes one enter into a formal contract. But that can be done +privately. I should as soon think of driving down the Avenue with my +arms about your neck as of a public wedding." + +"Thank you," he laughed. "I was afraid--well, women are usually so +fond of--but you're not usual. Let us see. The minister is absolutely +necessary, I suppose. Would one feel married if there were not a +minister?" + +"I don't know--I feel--" + +She hesitated and blushed but looked straight at him with that +expression in her eyes which always made him think of their love as +their religion. + +"Feel--go on. I want to hear that very, very much." + +"I feel as if I were just as much married to you now as I ever could +be." + +"And that is how I have felt ever since the day, when I hardly knew you, +when you suddenly came into my life--my real, inner life where no one +had been before--and sat down and at once made it look as if it were +your home. And the place that had been lonely was lonely no more, and +has not been since." + +She put her hand in his and he saw that there were tears in her eyes. + +"What is it?" he asked. + +"Only that--that I am so happy. It--it frightens me. It seems so like a +dream." + +"It's going to be a long, long dream, isn't it?" He lifted her hand and +kissed it, then put it down in her lap again gently as if he feared a +sudden movement might awaken them. "Perhaps it had better be at Mrs. +Carnarvon's house--some morning just before luncheon and we could go +quietly away afterward." + +"Yes--and--tell me," she said, "wouldn't it be better for us not to +go far away--and not to stay long? It seems to me that I most want to +begin--begin our life together just as it will be." + +"Are you afraid you wouldn't know what to do with me if I were idling +about all day long?" + +"Not exactly that. But I'd rather not take a vacation until we had +earned it together." + +"What a beautiful idea! I'll see what I can do." + +They postponed the wedding until Howard had the "art-department" of the +_News-Record_ well established. It was on a bright winter day in the +second week of January that they stood up together and were married by +the Mayor whom Howard had helped to elect. Only Mr. and Mrs. Carnarvon +and Marian's brother were there. Then the six sat down to luncheon, and +at three o'clock Howard and his wife started for Lakewood. + +When they arrived a victoria was waiting. As soon as they were seated, +Howard said "Home." The coachman touched his hat and the horses set +out at a swift trot. The sun was setting and the dry, still air was +saturated with the perfume of the snow-draped pines. Within five minutes +the carriage was at a pretty little cottage with wide, glass-enclosed +porches. They entered the hall. In the rooms on either side open fires +were blazing an ecstatic welcome. + +"How do you like 'home'?" asked Howard. + +"I don't quite understand." + +"You remember your plan of beginning at once. Well--this is the +compromise. Stokely has let me have his house here for a month--we may +keep it two if we like it. There is a telephone. The office isn't two +hours away by rail. The newspapers are here early. We can combine work +and play." + +The manservant had left the room, a sort of library-reception room. +Marian was seated in a big chair drawn near the fire. She had thrown +back her wraps and was slowly drawing off her gloves. Howard stood at +the side of the fire, leaning against the mantel and looking down at +her. + +"Before you definitely decide to stay--" he paused. + +"Yes," she said, her colour heightening as she slowly lifted her eyes to +his, "yes--why this solemn tone?" + +"If ever--in the days that come--one never knows what may happen--if +ever you should find that you had changed toward me----" + +"Yes?" + +"I ask you--don't promise--I never want you to promise me anything--I +want you always--at every moment--to be perfectly free. So I just ask +that you will let me see it. Then we can talk about it frankly, and we +can decide what is best to do." + +"But--suppose--you see I might still not wish to wound you--" she +suggested, half teasing, half in earnest. + +"It seems to me now that it is impossible that we can ever change. It +seems to me--" he sat on the wide arm of her chair, and leaned over +until his head touched hers, "that if you were to change it would break +my heart. But if you were to change and were to hide it from me, I +should find it out some day and----" + +"And what----" + +"It would be worse--a broken heart, a horror of myself, a--a contempt +for you." + +"Whatever comes, I'll be myself or try to be. Is that what you mean?" + +"Exactly." + +"And if you change?" + +"But I shall not!" + +"Why do you say that so positively?" + +"Because--well, there are some things that we wish to believe and half +believe, and some things that we believe that we believe, and somethings +that we _know_. I _know_ about you--about my love for you." + +"It is strange in a way, isn't it?" Marian was gently drawing her +fingers through his. "This is all so different from what I used to think +love would be. I used to picture to myself a man, something like you in +appearance, only taller and fair, who would be my master, who would make +me do what he wished. I think a woman always dreams of a lover who will +be strong enough to be her ruler. And here----" + +"So I am not the strong man that you look up to and tremble before? We +shall see." + +"Don't laugh at me. I mean that instead I have a man who makes me rule +myself. You make me feel strong, not weak, and proud, not humble. You +make me respect myself so." + +"The democracy of love--freedom, equality, fraternity. Don't you like +it?" + +"Madame is served." It was the servant holding back one of the +portieres, his face expressionless, his eyes down. + + * * * * * + +Happiness evades description or analysis. We can only say that +it reaches its highest point when a man and a woman, intelligent, +appreciative, sympathetic, endowed with youth, health and freedom, are +devoting their energies solely and determinedly to verifying each a +preconceived idea of the other. + +"And what do you think of it by this time?" + +Marian asked the question in the pause after a twenty minutes' canter +over a straightaway stretch through the pines. + +"Of what?" Howard inquired. "I mean of what phase of it. Of you?" + +"Well,--yes, of me--after a week." + +"As I expected, only more so--more than I could have imagined. And you, +what do you think?" + +"It's very different from what I expected. It seemed to me beforehand +that you, even you, would 'get on my nerves' just a little at times. I +didn't expect you to appreciate--to feel my moods and to avoid doing--or +is it that you simply cannot do--anything jarring. You have amazing +instincts or else--" Marian looked at him and smiled mischievously, "or +else you have been well educated. Oh, I don't mind--not in the least. +No matter what the cause, I'm glad--glad--glad that you have been taught +how to treat a woman." + +"I see you are determined to destroy me," Howard was in jest, yet in +earnest. "I am not used to being flattered. I have never had but one +critic, and I have trained him to be severe and uncharitable. Now if you +set me up on a high altar and wave the censers and cry 'glory, glory, +glory,' I'll lose my head. You have a terrible responsibility. I trust +you and I believe everything you say." + +"I'll begin my duties as critic as soon as we go back to--to earth. But +at present I'm going to be selfish. You see it makes me happier to blind +myself to your faults." + +They rode in silence for a few moments and then she said: + +"I wish I had your feeling about--about democracy. I see your point of +view but I can't take it. I know that you are right but I'm afraid my +education is too strong for me. I don't believe in the people as you do. +It's beautiful when you say it. I like to hear you. And I would not +wish you to feel as I do. I'd hate it if you did. It would be stooping, +grovelling for you to make distinctions among people. But----" + +"Oh, but I do make distinctions among people--so much so that I have +never had a friend in my life until you came. I have been on intimate +terms with many, but no one except you has been on intimate terms with +me. Oh, yes, I'm one of the most exclusive persons in the world." + +"That sounds like autocracy, doesn't it?" laughed Marian. "But you know +I don't mean that. You think all the others are just as good as you are, +only in different ways, whereas I feel that they're not. You don't mind +vulgarity and underbreeding because you are perfectly indifferent to +people so long as they don't try to jump the fence about your own little +private enclosure." + +"Oh, I believe in letting other people alone, and I insist upon being +let alone myself. You see you make the whole world revolve about social +distinctions. The fact is, isn't it, that social distinctions are mere +trifles--" + +"You oughtn't to waste time arguing with a prejudice. I admit that what +I believe and feel is unreasonable. But I can't change an instinct. +To me some people are better than others and are entitled to more, and +ought to be looked up to and respected." + +Howard had an answer on the tip of his tongue. His passion for high +principle seemed to have been rekindled for the time by his love and in +this tranquillising environment. He felt strongly tempted to reason with +her unreasonableness, thus practically boasted as a virtue. It seemed so +unworthy, this streak of snobbery, so senseless in an American at most +three generations away from manual labour. But he had made up his mind +long ago to trust to new surroundings, new interests to create in her a +spirit more in sympathy with his career. + +"She is too intelligent, too high-minded," he often reassured himself, +"to cling to this stupidity of class-feeling. She has heard nothing but +class-distinction all her life. Now that she is away from those people, +with their petty routine of petty ideas, she will begin to see things as +they are." + +So he suppressed the argument and, instead, said in a tone of mock-pity: +"Poor fallen queen--to marry beneath her. How she must have fought +against the idea of such a plebeian partner." + +"Plebeian--you?" Marian looked at him proudly. "Why, one has only to see +you to know." + +"Yes, plebeian. I shall conceal it no longer. My ancestors were plain, +ordinary, common, untitled Americans." + +"Why, so were mine," she laughed. + +"Don't! You distress me. I should never have married you had I known +that." + +"I _am_ absurd, am I not?" Marian said gaily. "But let me have my craze +for well-mannered people and I'll leave you your craze for the--the +masses." + +They began to canter. Howard was smiling in spite of his irritation; +for it always irritated him to have her refuse to see his point in this +matter--his distinction between a person as a friend and a person as a +sociological unit. + +He worked for an hour or two every morning and sometimes in the evening, +Marian not far from his desk, so seated that when she turned the page +of her book she could lift her eyes and look at him. She read the papers +diligently every day for the first week. At the outset she thought she +was interested. But she knew so little about newspaper details that she +soon had to confess to herself that she was in fact interested in Howard +as her husband and lover, and that his career interested her only in a +broad, general way. What he talked about, that she understood and +liked and was able to discuss. But the newspapers and the news direct +suggested nothing to her, bored her. + +"Just read that," he would say, pointing to an item. She would read it +and wonder what he meant. + +"It seems to me," she would think, "that it wouldn't in the least matter +if that had not been printed." Then she would ask evasively but with an +assumption of interest, "What are you going to do about it?" + +And he would explain the meaning between the lines; the hinted facts +that ought to be brought out; the possibilities of getting a piece of +news that would attract wide attention. And she would see it, sometimes +clearly, usually vaguely; and she would admire him, but resume her +unconquerable indifference to news. + +She was soon looking at the paper only to read what he wrote; and she +often thought how much more interesting he was as a talker than as +a writer. "I'll start right when we get to town," she was constantly +promising herself. "It must, must, must be _our_ work." + +Howard was, as she had told him, acutely sensitive to her moods. He did +not formulate it to himself but simply obeyed an instinct which defined +for him the limits of her interest. Before they had been at Lakewood +a month, he was working alone without any expectation of sympathy or +interest from her and without the slightest sense of loss in not getting +it. Why should he miss that which he had never had, had never counted +upon getting? He had always been mentally alone, most alone in the +plans and actions bearing directly upon his own career. He was perfectly +content to have her as the companion of his leisure. + +Possibly, if he had been insistent, or if they had been in real sympathy +instead of in only surface sympathy in most respects, she might +have become interested in his work, might have impelled him to right +development. But her distaste and inertia and his habit of debating and +deciding questions as to the paper in his own mind, the fear of boring +her, the dread of intruding upon her rights to her own individual tastes +and feelings, restrained him without his having a sense of restraint. + +When, after two months, they went up to town to stay, their course +of life was settled, though Marian was protesting that it was not and +Howard was unconscious of there having been any settlement, or anything +to settle. + + + + +XXI. + +WAVERING. + +Their home was an apartment at Twenty-ninth Street and Madison +Avenue--just large enough for two with its eleven rooms, all bearing the +stamp of Marian's individuality. She had a keen sense of the beautiful +and she had given her thought and most of her time between the early +autumn and the wedding to making an attractive home. He had not seen her +work until they came together in the late afternoon of a day in the last +week of February. + +"You--everywhere you," he said, as they inspected room after room. "I +don't see how I could add anything to that. It is beautiful--the things +you have brought together, I mean, the furniture, curtains, carpets, +pictures, all beautiful in themselves, but--" + +He was looking at her in that way which made her feel his great love for +her even more deeply than when he put his arms about her and kissed +her. "It reminds me of what I so often think about you. Nature gave you +beauty but you make it wonderful because _you_ shine through it, give it +the force, the expression of your individuality. Other women have noses, +eyes, chins, mouths as beautiful as yours. But only you produce such +effects with the materials. I don't express it very well but--you +understand?" + +"Yes, I understand." She was leaning against him, her head resting upon +his shoulder. "And you like your home?" + +"We shall be happy here. I feel it in the air. This is a temple of the +three great gods--Freedom, Love and Happiness. And--we'll keep the fires +on the altars blazing, won't we?" + +His hours were most irregular. Sometimes he was off to work early in the +morning. Again he would not rise until noon. Sometimes he did not go +to the office after dinner, and again he came hurriedly to dinner, not +having the time to dress, and left immediately afterward to be gone +until two, three or even four in the morning. At first Marian tried to +follow his irregularities; but she was soon compelled to give up. As +he most often breakfasted about ten o'clock, she arranged to breakfast +regularly at that hour. If he was not yet up, she waited about the house +until she had seen him, listened while he talked of those "everlasting +newspapers," praised his work a great deal, criticised it little and +that gently. She made few and feeble struggles to interest herself in +newspapers as newspapers. But he did not encourage her; other interests, +domestic and social, clamoured for her time; and the idea of being +directly useful to him in his work faded from her mind. + +If she had loved him more sympathetically, if she had not been so +super-sensitive to his passion for complete freedom, she would have +resented what in another kind of man would have seemed frank neglect +of her. But she thought she understood him and was deceived by his +self-deceiving conviction that his work was her service and that the +highest proof of his devotion to her was devotion to "our" career. Thus +there was no bitterness or reproach of him, rarely much intensity, in +her regret that they were together so little. + +"Good morning, stranger!" she said, as he came into the dining room one +day in early June. + +He kissed her hand and then the "topknot" as he called the point into +which her hair was gathered at the crown of her head. "It has been four +days since I saw you," he said. And he sat opposite her looking at her +with an expression of sadness which she had not seen since the first +days of their acquaintance. + +"I have missed you--you know," she was trying to look cheerful, "but I +understand--" + +"Yes," he interrupted. "You understand what I intend, understand that I +mean my life to be for _us_. But sometimes--this morning--I think I am +mistaken. It seems to me that I am letting this--" he threw his hand +contemptuously toward the heap of morning newspapers beside him, "this +trash comes between us. You are my real career, not these, and under the +pretense of working for us I am spending my whole life, my one life, +my one chance to help to make us happy, upon these." And he pushed the +bundle of papers off the table. + +"Something has depressed you." She was leaning her elbow upon the table +and her chin upon her hand and was looking at him wistfully. "I wouldn't +have you any different. You must follow the law of your nature. You must +work at your ideal of being useful and influential in the world. You +would not be satisfied to take my hand and trudge off with me through +Arcadia to pick flowers and weave them into crowns for me. Nor should +I," she laughed, "or I try to think I shouldn't." + +"Let us go abroad for two months," he said. "I am tired, so tired. I am +so weary of all these others, men and things." + +"Can you spare the time?" + +"I"--he corrected himself--"we have earned a vacation. It will be for +me the first real vacation since I left Yale--thirteen years ago. I am +growing narrow and stale. Let us get away and forget. Shall we?" + +"The sooner the better--if this is not a passing mood. What has +depressed you?" she persisted. + +"What seems to be a piece of very good luck." He laughed almost +sneeringly. "They have given me a share in the paper, twenty thousand in +stock--which means a fixed income of five thousand a year so long as +the paper pays what it does now--twenty-five per cent. And they offer me +twenty thousand more at par to be paid for within two years. We are in a +fair way to be rich." + +"They don't want to lose you, evidently," she said. "But why does this +make you sad? We are independent now--absolutely independent, both of +us." + +"Yes--we are rich. Together we have more than thirty-five thousand a +year. But it is not what I wanted. I wanted to be free. Can a man be +free who is rich, and rich in the way we are? Will my mind be open? +Shall I dare to act and speak the truth? Or will our property, our +environment, speak for me?" + +"I can't imagine you a slave to mere dollars." + +"Can't you? Well, I am afraid--I'm really afraid. I have always said +that if I wished to--enslave a people I would make them prosperous, +would give them property, make them dependent upon their dollars. Then +the fear of losing their dollars, their investments, would make them +endure any oppression. Freedom's battles were never fought by men with +full stomachs and full purses." + +"But rich men have given up everything for freedom--Washington was a +rich man." + +"Ah, but how many Washingtons has the world produced? I see the time +coming when I shall have to choose. I see it and--I dread it." + +She rose and stood behind him leaning over with her arms about his neck +and her check against his. + +"You are brave. You are strong," she whispered. "You will meet that +crisis if it comes and I have no fear, Mr. Valiant-for-Truth, as to how +the battle will go." + +He was glad that he did not have to face her eyes just then. "We will +go abroad next Wednesday week," he whispered, "and we'll be happy in +France--in Switzerland--in Holland--I want to see the park at the Hague +again; and the tall trees with their straight big trunks green with +moss; and the boughs meeting over the canals and making the clear water +so black; and the snow-white swans sailing statelily about." + + * * * * * + +With the Atlantic between him and his work, he was able to suspend the +habit of so many years. You would have fancied them just married, at +whatever stage of their wanderings you might have met them. They were +always laughing and talking--an endless flow of high spirits, absorption +each in the other. They rose when they pleased, went to bed when it +suited them. They had a manservant and a maid with them to relieve them +of all the details. They travelled only in the afternoons, and then not +far. If they missed one train, they cheerfully waited for another. + +"I think we are achieving my ideal of vacation," he said. + +"What is that--perfect idleness? We certainly are idle. I shouldn't have +believed you could be so idle." + +"Perfect idleness--yes. But more than that. I aimed far higher. My ideal +was perfect irresponsibility. We have become like the wind that bloweth +where it listeth." + +And again, she said: "Let me see, what day is this?" + +"I think it is Thursday or Friday," he replied. "But it may be Sunday. +I can assure you that it is afternoon, late afternoon, and I think we +ought to dress for dinner soon. After dinner, if you still care to know, +and will remind me, I'll try to find out the day. But I'm sure we shall +have forgotten before to-morrow." + +Howard got an extension of his leave of absence and they roamed about +England in August, reaching New York on the first day of September. +Marian went on to Mrs. Carnarvon at Newport and Howard took rooms at the +Waldorf. She stayed away a full week, then came to town, opened their +apartment, and surprised him with a formal invitation to dinner. + +He came like a guest and they went through all the formalities of +meeting for the first time, of increasing intimacy--condensing a +complete courtship into one evening. + +"I thought you had had enough of me for the time," he said, as they sat +in the wide window-seat, he tracing with his forefinger the line of the +straps over her bare shoulders. + +"And I thought that I would give you a chance to forget how nice I am +and so give you the pleasure of learning all over again. But it was so +lonely and miserable up there. 'Who can come after the king?'" + +"Sometimes I think I ought to stir about more--meet the men who lead +in the city. But it seems such a waste of time when I can come and call +upon you." + +"But might it not be better in the long run if you did meet these men? +Mightn't it make your getting on quicker and easier?" + +"Perhaps--if I were a gregarious animal, but I'm not. I'm shy and +solitary and hard to get acquainted with. And it takes time to make +friends. Besides, in making friends you also make enemies, and one enemy +can do you more harm than all your friends can do you good. Then too, +friends take up too much time. We have so little time and--we can spend +it to so much better advantage--can't we?" + +Marian pushed herself closer against him and presently said dreamily: +"So much happiness, such utter happiness which no one, nothing can take +away. I wonder when and how the first storm will come?" + +"It needn't come at all--not for a long, long time. And when it does--we +can weather it, don't you think?" + + * * * * * + +During the next two months they were together more than they had been in +the spring. He imposed day office hours upon himself and did no work in +the evenings except the correcting of editorial proofs which he had sent +to him at the house, at the theatre, or at whatever restaurant they were +dining. And at midnight he called up the office on the telephone +and talked with Mr. King or Mr. Vroom about the news in hand and the +programme for presenting it in the next morning's paper. + +But as "people"--meaning Marian's friends--returned to town, they fell +into the former routine. It was in part his doing, in part hers. He was +now thirty-seven years old and his mind, always of a serious cast, was +intolerant of trifles and triflers. + +Marian's range of interests was shallower but much wider than his. Her +beauty, her cleverness, her tact caused her to be sought. She invited +many to their house and accepted more and more invitations. At first she +never went without him. But he was sometimes compelled by his work to +send her alone. He rarely went except for her sake--because he thought +going about amused her. And he was glad and relieved when she began to +go without him, instead of spending the evenings in solitude. + +"There is no reason why you should punish yourself and punish me because +you had the ill luck to marry a working-man," he said. "It cannot be +agreeable to sit here all by yourself evening after evening. And it +depresses me when I am at the office at night to think of you as lonely. +It makes me happier in my work--my pleasure, you know--to think of you +enjoying yourself." + +"But aren't you afraid that some one will steal me?" she asked, +laughingly. + +"Not I." He was smiling proudly at her. "If you could be stolen, if you +could be happier anywhere than with me, you have only to let me into the +plot." + +"There are some women who would not like that." + +"And there are men who wouldn't feel as I do. But you and I, we belong +to a class all by ourselves, don't we?" + +Apparently they were as devoted each to the other as ever. But each now +sought a separate happiness--he perforce in his work, she perforce in +the only way left open to her. When they were together, which meant +several hours every day and usually one whole day in the week, they +were at once seemingly absorbed each in the other with all the rest as +background. But none the less, they were leading separate lives, with +separate interests, separate tastes, separate modes of thinking. The +"bourgeois" life which they had planned--both standing behind the +counter and both adding up the results of the day's business after they +had put up the shutters, two as one in all the interests of life--became +a dead and forgotten dream. + + + + + +XXII. + +THE SHENSTONE EPISODE. + + +On the way to or from the opera or a party, she would peep in on him, +watching the back of his head as he bent over his desk or read away at +some dull-looking book, wishing that he would feel her presence and turn +with that smile which was always hers from him, yet fearing to make a +sound and compel his attention. + +"At times I think," she said one day when he caught her in his arms on a +sudden impulse and kissed her, "that the reason you don't try to rule me +is because you don't care enough." + +"That's precisely it." He was smoothing her eyebrows with his +forefinger. "I don't care enough about ruling. I don't care enough for +the sort of love that responds to 'must.'" + +"But a woman likes to have 'must' said to her sometimes." + +"Does she? Do you? Well--I'll say 'must' to you. You must love me freely +and voluntarily, or not at all. You must do as you please." + +"But don't you see that that drives me from you often, keeps us apart in +many ways. Now if you compelled me to think as you do, to like what you +like--" + +"But I couldn't. Then you would no longer be _you_. And I like you so +well just as you are that I would not change an idea in your head." + +Marian sighed and went away to her dinner party. She felt that she was +in danger. "Not of falling in love with some other man," she thought, +"for that's impossible. But if a man were to come along who invited me +to be interested in his work, to keep him at whatever he was doing, I'd +accept and that would lead on and on--where?" + +She soon had an opportunity to answer that question. Howard went away +to Washington to assist the party leaders in putting through a difficult +tariff-reform bill which all the protected interests were fighting. He +expected to be gone a week; but week after week passed and he was still +at the capital, directing the paper by telegraph and sending Marian +hurried notes postponing his return. She was going about daily, early +and late, her life vacant, her mind restlessly seeking occupation, +interest. + +After he had been gone three weeks she found herself at dinner at Mrs. +Provost's next to a tall, fair-haired athletic young man of about her +own age. Something in his expression--perhaps the amused way in which he +studied the faces of the others--attracted her to him. She glanced over +at his card. It read "Mr. Shenstone." + +"It doesn't add much to your information, does it?" he smiled, as he +caught her glance rising from the card. + +"Nothing," she confessed candidly. "I never heard of you before." + +"And yet I've been splashing about, trying to attract attention to +myself, for twelve years." + +"Perhaps not in this particular pond." + +"No, that is true." + +"I was wondering what you do--lawyer, doctor, journalist, business man +or what. + +"And what did you conclude?" + +"I concluded that you did nothing." + +"You are right. But I try--I paint." + +"Portraits?" + +"Yes." + +"That explains your way of looking at people. Only, you'll get no +customers if you paint them as you see them." + +"I only see what they see when they look in the mirror." + +"Yes, but you see it impartial--or rather, I should say, cynically." + +"Thank you." + +"For what?" + +"For calling me cynical. The two keenest pleasures a man can attain are +for a woman to call him a cynic and for a woman to call him a devil with +the women." + +"Are you a 'devil with the women'?" + +"Not I--not any more than I am a cynic. But let us talk about you--I +am about exhausted as a topic of conversation. Why do you look so +discontented?" + +"Because I have nothing to occupy my mind." + +"No children?" + +"None--and no dogs." + +"No husband?" + +"Husbands are busy." + +"So you are the typical American woman--the American instinct for doing, +the universal woman's instinct for sunshine and laziness; the husband +absorbed in his business or profession with his domestic life as an +incident; the wife--like you." + +"That is right, and wrong--nearer right than wrong, a little unjust to +the husband." + +"Oh, it's probably your fault that you are not absorbed in his business +or profession. It ought to be as much yours as his. What does he do?" + +"He edits a newspaper." + +"Oh, he's _the_ Mr. Howard. A very interesting, a very remarkable man." + +Marian was delighted by this appreciation. She talked with Shenstone +again after dinner and was pleased that he was to be in the same box +with her at the opera the next night. He had spent much of his time on +the other side of the Atlantic. He was unusually well educated for an +artist's, and his mind was not developed in one direction only. Like +Marian, his point of view was artistic and emotional. Like her he had a +reverence for tradition, a deference to caste--the latter not offensive +for the same reason that hers was not, because good birth and good +breeding made him of the "high caste" and not a cringer with his eyes +craned upward. It seemed in him, as in her, a sort of self-respect. + +Marian showed a candid liking for his society and he was quick to take +advantage of it. For a month they saw more and more each of the other, +she discreet without deliberation and he discreet with deliberation. +He talked to her of his work, of his ambition. He showed her himself +without egotism. He made an impression upon her so distinct and so +favourable that she admitted to herself that he was the most fascinating +man--except one--whom she had ever met. + +When Howard at last returned, defeated by corruption within his +own party and for the time disgusted with politics, she at once had +Shenstone at the house to dine. "What do you think of Mr. Shenstone?" +she asked when they were alone. + +"No wonder you're enthusiastic about him. As he talked to me, I could +hardly keep from laughing. It was your own views, almost your own words. +He has the look of a great man. I think he will 'arrive,' as they say in +the Bowery." + +Howard went out of his way to be agreeable to Shenstone, often inviting +him to the house and giving him a commission to paint Marian. For the +rest of the winter Shenstone was constantly in Marian's company; so +constantly that they were gossiped about, and all the women who were +unpleasantly discussed "for cause" conspired to throw them together as +much as possible. + +One evening in the very end of the winter, Howard called to Marian from +his dressing room: "Why, lady, Shenstone's gone, hasn't he? I've just +read a note from him." + +There was a pause before Marian answered in a constrained voice: "Yes, +he sailed to-day." + +Howard was tying his bow. He paused at the curious tone, then smiled +mysteriously to himself. He put on his waistcoat and coat and knocked on +the half-open door. "May I come in?" he asked. + +"Yes--I'm waiting for dinner to be announced." + +She was sitting before the fire, very beautiful in her evening gown. She +seemed not to observe that he had entered but stared on into the flames. +He stood beside her, looking down at her with the half mocking, half +tender smile. Presently he sat upon the arm of her chair and took one of +her hands. "Poor, friendless, beautiful lady," he said softly. + +She glanced up quickly, her cheeks flaming but her eyes clear and frank. +"Why do you say that?" she asked in the tone of one who knows why. + +"Other women will not be her friends because they are jealous of her, +and as for the men--how can a man be really a friend to a woman, a +fascinating, sympathetic woman?" + +Marian hid her face against the lapel of his coat. "He told me," she +whispered, "and then he went away." + +"He always does tell her. But----" + +"But--what?" + +"She doesn't always send him away. Poor fellow! Still, he went into it +with his eyes open." + +"He was very nice. He told it in a roundabout way. And I wasn't a bit +afraid that he'd--he'd--you know. But I got to thinking about how I'd +feel if he did--did touch me. And it made me--nervous." + +There was a long pause, then she went on: "I wonder how you'd feel about +touching another woman?" + +"I? Dear me, I wonder! I never thought. You see I'm such a domestic, +unattractive creature----" + +"Don't laugh at me, please," she pleaded. + +"I'm not laughing. Underneath, I'm thinking--thinking what I would do if +I met you and lost you. It's very black on the Atlantic for one pair of +eyes to-night." + +"And the worst of it is," she said, "that my vanity is flattered and I'm +not really sorry for him." + +"Rather proud of her conquest, is she?" + +"Yes, it pleased me to have him care." + +"She likes to think that he'll carry his broken heart to the grave, does +she?" + +"Yes. Isn't it shameful?" + +"Shameful? Shameless. I have always held that even the best woman dearly +loves to ruin a man. It's such a triumph. And the more she loves him, +the more she'd like to ruin him--that is, if ruin came solely through +love for her and didn't involve her." + +"But I would not want to ruin you." + +"If that seemed to be the supreme test of my love for you--are you sure? +I'm not. There's Thomas, knocking to announce dinner." + +The Shenstone incident was apparently closed. Marian, a most attractive +woman of thirty, absorbed in a social life that demanded all her +physical and mental energy as well as all of her time, did not long +vividly remember him. But he had given her a standard by which she +unconsciously measured her husband. She contrasted the life he had +promised her, the life Shenstone reminded her of, with the life that +was--so material, so suspiciously physical when it professed to be +loving, so suspiciously chill when it professed to be friendly. She +thrust aside these thoughts as disloyal and false. But they persisted in +returning. + +If she had been less appreciative of Howard's intellect, less fascinated +by the charm of his personality, she would soon have become one of the +"misunderstood" women in search of "consolation." Instead, she turned +her mind in the direction natural to her character--social ambition. + + + + + +XXIII. + +EXPANDING AND CONTRACTING. + + +In such a city as New York, to be deliberately careful about money is +the only way to keep within one's income, whether it be vast or small. +There are temptations to buy at the end of every glance of the eye. +The merchants are crafty in producing new and insidious allurements, in +creating new and expensive tastes. But these might be resisted were it +not that the habits of all one's associates are constantly and all but +irresistibly stimulating the faculty of imitation. + +Neither Howard nor Marian had been brought up to be watchful about +money. Both had been accustomed to having their wants supplied. And +now that they had a household and a growing income, it was a matter +of course that their expenditures should steadily expand. Before three +years had passed they were spending more than double the sum which +at the outset they had fixed upon as their limit. A merely decent and +self-respecting return of the hospitalities they accepted, a carriage +and pair and two saddle horses and the servants to look after +them--these items accounted for the increase. They looked upon this as +really necessary expenditure and soon would have found that curtailment +involved genuine deprivation. From the very beginning each step in +expansion made the next logical and inevitable, made the plea of +necessity seem valid. + +An aunt of Marian's died, leaving her a "small" house--worth perhaps a +quarter of a million--near the Avenue in Sixty-fifth Street, and eighty +thousand in cash. About the same time Stokely told Howard of a fine +speculative opportunity in certain copper properties. Howard hesitated. +He knew that the way of speculation was the way of bondage for his +newspaper and for him. But this particular adventure seemed harmless and +he yielded. The money was invested and within a few months was producing +an income of fifteen thousand a year which promised to be steady. +Howard's ownership of stock in the paper increased; and as the profits +advanced swiftly with its swift growth in its illustrated form, his own +income was nearly fifty thousand a year. They were growing very rich. +There was no longer the slightest anxiety as to money in his mind. + +"You know the great dread I had in marrying," he said to her one day, +"was lest I should make myself and you dependents, should some day +sacrifice my freedom to my fear of losing--happiness." + +"Yes, and very foolish you were, not to have more confidence in yourself +and in me." + +"Perhaps. But what I am thinking is that you have brought me luck. I am +free, beyond anybody's reach. I could quit the paper to-morrow and we +should hardly have to change our style of living even if I did not get +something else to do." + +"Style of living--" in that phrase lay the key to the change that was +swiftly going on in Howard's mind and mental attitude. It is not easy +for a man with environment wholly in his favour to keep his point +of view correct, to keep his horizon wide and clear, his sense of +proportion just. It is next to impossible for him to do so when his +environment opposes. + +The man who looks out from misery and squalor upon misery and squalor +is, if he thinks at all, naturally an anarchist. To him the established +order shows only injustice and persistence of injustice. The man who +looks out from luxury and ease and well-being upon luxury and ease and +well-being is forced by the very limitations of the human mind to an +over-reverence for the established order. He is unreasonably suspicious +of anything that threatens change. "When I'm comfortable all's well in +the world; change might bring discomfort to me." And he flatters himself +that he is a "conservative." + +Howard had had a long training at the correct standpoint and in right +thinking. But the influences were there, were at work, were destroying +his devotion to a social and political ideal wholly alien to the life +he was now living under the leading of his wife. He did not blame her, +indeed he could not justly have blamed her, for his falling away from +what he knew were correct principles for him. While she had brought him +into this environment, while at first it was in large part for her that +he gave so much time and thought to the accumulation of wealth, soon +love of luxury, dependence upon a train of servants, fondness for the +great extravagances to which New York tempts the rich and those living +near the rich, became stronger in him than it was in her. And through +the inevitable reaction of environment upon the man, the central point +in his valuation of men and women tended to shift from the fundamentals, +mind and character, to the surface qualities--dress and style and +manners and refinement, and even dress. + +This process of demoralisation was well advanced when they moved from +the apartment. After four years of "expansion" there, they had begun +to feel cramped; and a year after Marian inherited the house Howard had +progressed to the mental, the moral, the financial state where it seemed +natural, logical, practically necessary that they should set up a real +New York "establishment." + +"Isn't this just the house for us?" she said. "I hate huge, big houses. +Like you, I think the taste of the occupants should be everywhere. Now +this house is just big enough. You don't know how wonderful it would +be." + +"Oh, yes, I do," he laughed, "and you must try it." He was as +enthusiastic as she. + +In the late autumn the house was ready; and there was not a more +artistic interior in New York. It was not so much the result of great +expense as of intelligence and taste. It was an expression of an +individuality--a revelation of a woman's beautiful mind, inspired by +love. + +"At last I have something to interest, to occupy me," she said. "This is +our very own, through and through our own. It will be such a pleasure to +me to keep it always like this." + +"You--degenerated into a household drudge," he mocked. "Why, you used to +laugh at me when I held up a wife who was a good housekeeper as one of +my ideals." + +"Did I?" she answered. "Well, as you would say, see what I've come to +through living with--a member of the working-classes." + +Howard's own particular part of this house included a library with a +small study next to it. In the study was a most attractive table with +plenty of room to spread about books and papers, a huge divan in the +corner and a fire-place near by. He found himself doing more and more of +his work at home. There were not so many interruptions as at the office, +the beauty of the surroundings, the consciousness that "she" was not far +away--all combined to keep him at home and to enable him to do more and +better work there. + +He was justly and greatly proud of her achievement; and where he used to +be more regretful than he admitted even to himself when they had guests, +he was now glad to see others about, admiring her taste, appreciating +her skill as a hostess and giving him opportunities to look at her from +an ever new point of view. + +Of course these guests were almost all "_their_ kind of +people"--amiable, well mannered persons who thought and acted in that +most conventional of moulds, the mould of "good society." They +fitted into the surroundings, they did their part toward making those +surroundings luxurious--a "wallow of self-complacent content." And this +environment soon suited and fitted him exactly. + +But to her he was still The Democrat. She loved him in the way and to +the degree which her character, as the years had developed it, permitted +her to love. And this love, or rather admiring respect, was wholly based +upon her ideal of him, her belief in the honesty and intensity of his +convictions. While she did not share them, she had breadth enough to +admire them and to regard them as high removed above her own ideas to +which for herself she held tenaciously, instinct and association and +"tradition" triumphing over reason. + +Howard retained his ideal of her, never examining her closely, never +seeing or suspecting what a pale love she gave him and how shrivelled +had become the part of her nature which she and he both assumed was most +strongly developed. He knew how she idealised him and did not dare to +undeceive her. Therefore he practised toward her a hypocrisy that grew +steadily more disgraceful, yet grew so gradually that there was no +single moment at which he could conveniently halt and "straighten the +record." At first he was often and heartily ashamed of himself; but by +degrees this feeling deadened into cynical insensibility and he was +only ashamed to let her see him as he really was. She had kept her +self-respect. She esteemed self-respect at the exalted valuation he had +formerly put upon it. What if she should find him out? + + * * * * * + +When the famous "coal conspiracy" was formed, three of the men +conspicuous in it were among their intimates--that is, their families +were often at his house and he and Marian were often at theirs. Yet he +had never made a more relentless attack. Nor did he, either in the news +columns or on the editorial page, conceal the connection of his three +friends with the conspiracy. + +"Mrs. Mercer was here this morning," Marian said as they were waiting +for the butler to announce dinner. She was flushed and embarrassed. + +Howard laughed. "And did she tell you what a dreadful husband you had?" + +"Oh, she didn't blame you at all. She said they all knew how perfectly +upright you were. Only, she said you did not understand and were doing +Mr. Mercer a great injustice." + +"Well, what do you think?" + +"Why--I can't believe--is it possible, dear--I was just reading one of +your editorials. Can Mr. Mercer be in such a scheme? The way she told +it to me, he and the others were really doing a lot of people a +valuable service, putting their property on a paying basis, enabling the +railroads to meet their expenses and to keep thousands and thousands of +men employed." + +"Poor Mercer!" Howard said ironically. "Poor misunderstood +philanthropist! What a pity that that sort of benevolence has to be +carried on by bribing judges and prosecutors and legislatures, by making +the poor shiver and freeze, by subtracting from the pleasures and +adding to the anxieties of millions. One would almost say that such +a philanthropy had better not be undertaken. It is so likely to be +misunderstood by the 'unruly classes.'" + +"Oh, I knew you were right. I told her you must be right, that you never +wrote until you knew." + +"And what was the result?" + +"Well, we are making some very bitter enemies." + +"I doubt it. I suspect that before long they'll come wheedling about in +the hope that I'll let up on them or be a little easier next time." + +"I'm sure I do not care what they do," said Marian, drawing herself up. +"All I care for is--you, and to see you do your duty at whatever cost +or regardless of cost--" she was leaning over the back of his chair with +her arms about his neck and her lips very near to his ear--"you are my +love without fear and without reproach." + +"Listen, dear." He took her hand and drew her arms more closely about +his neck. "Suppose that the lines were drawn--as they may be any day. +Suppose that we had to choose, with all these friends of yours, with our +position, yes, even the place I have won in my profession, my place as +editor--all that we now have on the one side; and on the other side a +thankless, unprofitable, apparently useless standing up for the right. +Wouldn't you miss your friends?" + +"_All_ our friends? And who will be on the other side?" + +"Almost no one that we know--that you would care to call upon or go +about with or have here at the house. Nobody with any great amount of +wealth or social position. Those other people who are in town when it is +said 'Nobody is in town now!'" + +She did not answer. + +"Where would you be?" he repeated. + +"Oh, I wasn't thinking of that." She came around and sat on his +knee. "Where? Why, there's only one 'where' in all this world for +me--'wheresoever thou goest.'" + +And so the half-formed impulse to begin to straighten himself out with +her was smothered by her. + +Both were silent through dinner. She was thinking how honest, how +fearless he was, how he loved her, how eagerly she would follow him, +how blessed she was in the love of such a man. And he--he was regretting +that his "pose" had carried him so far; he was wishing that he had not +been so bitter in his attacks upon his and his wife's friends, the coal +conspirators. When he had definitely cast in his lot with "the shearers" +why persist in making his hypocrisy more abominable by protesting more +loudly than ever in behalf of "the sheep?" Above all, why had he let +his habit of voluble denunciation lead him into this hypocrisy with the +woman he loved? + +He admitted to himself that "causes" had ceased to interest him except +as they might contribute to the advancement of his power. Power!--that +was his ambition now. First he had wished to have an independent income +in order to be free. When he had achieved that, it was at the sacrifice +of his mental freedom. And now, with the clearness of self-knowledge +which only men of great ability have, he knew that the one cause for +which he would make sacrifices was--himself. + +"Of what are you thinking so gloomily?" she interrupted. + +"Oh--I--let me see--well, I was thinking what a fraud I am; and that I +wished I could dupe myself as completely as I can dupe--" + +"Me?" she laughed. "Oh, we're all frauds--shocking frauds. I wouldn't +have you see me as I really am for anything." + +Although her remark was a commonplace, of small meaning, as he knew, +he got comfort out of it, so desperately was he casting about for some +consolation. + +"That's true, my dear," he said. "And I wish that you liked the kind of +a fraud I am as well as I like the kind of a fraud you are." + + + + + +XXIV. + +"MR. VALIANT-FOR-TRUTH." + + +Stokely came rushing into his office the next morning. "Good God, old +man," he exclaimed, "What's the meaning of this attack on the coal +roads?" + +Howard flushed with resentment, not at what Stokely said, but at his +tone. + +"Now, don't get on your high horse. I don't think you understand." +Stokely's tone had moderated. "Don't you know that the Delaware Valley +road is in this?" + +Howard started. He had just invested two hundred thousand dollars in +that stock on Stokely's advice "No, I didn't know it." He recovered +himself. "And furthermore I don't give a damn." He struck his desk +angrily. His simulation of incorruptible indignation for the moment half +deceived himself. + +"Why, man, if this infernal roast is kept up, you'll lose a hundred +thousand. Then there are my interests. I'm up to my neck in this deal." + +"My advice to you is to get out of it. I'm sorry, but you know as well +as I do that the thing is infamous." + +"Infamous--nonsense! It will double our dividends and the consumers +won't feel it." + +"Let us not discuss it, Stokely. There--don't say anything you'll +regret." + +"But--" + +"Now, Stokely--don't argue it with me." + +Stokely put on his hat, stood up and looked at Howard with sullen +admiration. "You will drive away the last friend you've got on earth, if +you keep this up. Good morning." + +Howard sent a smile of cynical amusement after him, then stared +thoughtfully into the mass of papers on his desk for five, ten, fifteen +minutes. When his plan was formed he touched the electric button. + +"Please tell Mr. King I'd like to see him," he said to the answering +boy. + +Mr. King entered with a bundle of legal documents. "I suppose it's the +injunction you want to discuss," he said. "We've got the papers all +ready. It's simply great. Those fellows will be in a corner and will +have to give up. They can't get away from us. The price of coal will +drop half a dollar within a week, I'll bet." + +"I'm afraid you are over sanguine," Howard said. "I've just been going +over the matter with my lawyer. But leave the papers with me. And--about +the news--be careful what you say. We've been going a little strong. I +think a little less personal matter would be advisable." + +Mr. King was amazed and looked it. He slowly pulled himself together to +say, "All right, Mr. Howard. I think I understand." He laid the papers +down and departed. Outside the door he laughed softly to himself. +"Somebody's been cutting his comb, I guess," he murmured. "Well, I +didn't think he'd last. New York always gets 'em when they're worth +while." + +As the door closed behind King, Howard drew out the lowest and deepest +drawer of his desk. It was half-filled with long-undisturbed pamphlets +and newspaper cuttings. He tossed in the injunction papers. A cloud of +dust flew up and settled thickly upon them. He shut the drawer. + +He went to the window and looked out over the city--that seductive, +that overwhelming expression of wealth and power. "What was it my father +wrote me when I told him I was going to New York?" and he recalled +almost the exact words--"New York that lures young men from the towns +and the farms, and prostitutes them, teaches them to sell themselves +with unblushing cheeks for a fee, for an office, for riches, for power." +He shrugged his shoulders, smiled, drew himself up, returned to his desk +and was soon absorbed in his work. + +The next morning the _News-Record's_ double-leaded "leader" on the +Coal Trust was a discharge of heavy artillery. But it was artillery +in retreat. And in the succeeding days, the retreat continued--not +precipitate but orderly, masterly. + + * * * * * + +Ten days after their talk on the "coal conspiracy" Marian greeted him +late in the afternoon with "Oh, such a row with Mrs. Mercer!" + +"Mrs. Mercer! Why, what was she angry about?" + +"She wasn't--at least, not at first. It was I. I went to see her and she +asked me to thank you for stopping that fight on the coal conspiracy." + +"That was tactful of her," Howard said, turning away to hide his +nervousness. + +"And I told her that you had not stopped, that you wouldn't stop until +you had broken it up. And she smiled in a superior way and said I was +quite mistaken, that I didn't read the paper, I haven't read it for +several days, but I knew _you_, dear, and I remembered what you had +said. And so we just had it. We were polite but furious when I went. I +shall never go near her again." + +"But, unfortunately, we have stopped. We had to do it. We could +accomplish nothing." + +"Oh, it doesn't matter. What angered me was her insinuation." + +"That was irritating. But, tell me, what if it had been true?" Howard's +voice was strained and he was looking at her eagerly, with fever in his +eyes. + +"But it couldn't be. It isn't worth while imagining. You could not be +a coward and a traitor." So complete was her confidence in him that +suspicion of him was impossible. + +"Would you sit in judgment on me?" + +"Not if I could help it." + +"But you can--you could help it." His manner was agitated, and he spoke +almost fiercely. "I am free," he went on, and as she watched his +eyes she understood why men feared him. "I do what I will. I am not +accountable to you, not even to you. I have never asked you to approve +of me, to approve what I do, to love me. You are free also, free to +love, free to withdraw your love. I follow the law of my own being. You +must take me as you find me or not at all." + +She tried to stop him but could not. His words poured on. He leaned +forward and took her hand and his eyes were brilliant and piercing. "I +love you," he said. "Ah, how I love you--not because you love me, not +because you are an angel, not because you are a superior being. No, not +for any reason in all this wide world but because you are you. Do what +you will and I shall love you. Whether I had to look up among the stars +or down in the mire to find you, I would look just as steadily, just as +proudly." + +He drew along breath and his hand trembled. "If I were a traitor, then, +if you loved me, you would say, 'What! Is he to be found among traitors? +How I love treason!' If I were a coward, liar, thief, a sum of all the +vices, then, if you ever had loved me you would love me still. I want +no love with mental reservations, no love with ifs and buts and +provided-thats. I want love, free and fearless, that adapts itself to +changing human nature as the colour of the sea adapts itself to the +colour of the sky; love that does not have to be cajoled and persuaded +lest it be not there when I most need it. I want the love that loves." + +"You know you have it." She had been compelled by his mood and was +herself in a fever. She looked at him with the expression which used to +make his nerves vibrate. "You know that no human being ever was more to +another than I to you. But you can't expect me to be just the same +as you are. I love _you_--not the false, base creature you picture. I +admire the way you love, but I could not love in that way. Thank God, my +love, my dear--I shall never be put to that test. For my love for you is +my--my all." + +"We are very serious about a mere supposition." + +Howard was laughing, but not naturally. "We take each the other far too +seriously. I'm sorry you idealise me so. Who knows--you might find me +out some day--and then--well, don't blame me." + +Marian said no more, but late that evening she put her hands on his +shoulders and said: "You're not hiding something from me--something we +ought to bear together?" + +"Not I." Howard smiled down into her eyes and kissed her. + +His mood of reaction, of hysteria had passed. He was thinking how +little in reality she had had to do with his outburst. He had not been +addressing her at all, except as she seemed to him for the moment the +embodiment of his self-respect--or rather, of an "absurd," "extremely +youthful" ideal of self-respect which he had "outgrown." + + + + +XXV. + +THE PROMISED LAND. + + +A woman with a powerful personality may absorb in herself a man of +strong and resolute ambition, may compel him to make her his career, to +feel that to get and to keep her is all that he asks from destiny. But +Marian was not such a woman. + +She had come into Howard's life at just the time and in just the way to +arouse his latent passion for power and to give it a sufficient initial +impetus. It was love for her that set him to lifting himself from among +those who work through themselves alone to the potent few who work +chiefly by directing the labour of others. + +Once in this class, once having tasted the joy of power, Howard was +lost to her. She was unable to restrain or direct, or even clearly to +understand. She became an incident in his life. As riches came with +power, they pushed him to one side in her life. Living in separate parts +of a large house, leading separate lives, rarely meeting except when +others were present--following the typical life of New Yorkers of +fortune and fashion--they gradually grew to know little and see little +and think little each of the other. + +There was no abruptness in the transition. Every day had contributed its +little toward widening the gap. There was no coolness, no consciousness +of separation; simply the slow formation of the habit of complete +independence each of the other. + +His ambitions absorbed his thought and his time. To them he found her +very useful. The social side--forming and keeping up friendly relations +with the families whose heads were men of influence--was a vital part of +his plan. But he used her just as he used every and any one else whom +he found capable of contributing to his advancement; and, as she never +insisted upon herself, never sought to influence or even to inquire into +his course of action, she did not find him out. + +She was in a vague way an unhappy woman. A discontent, a feeling that +her life was incomplete, perpetually teased her. He was distinctly +unhappy, often gloomy, at times morose. In her rare analytic moods she +attributed their failure to prolong the happiness of their courtship to +the hard work which kept him from her, kept them from enjoying the great +love which she assumed they felt each for the other. She would not and +could not see that that love had long disappeared, leaving a mask of +forms, of phrases and of impulses of passion to conceal its departure. +And to this view he outwardly assented, when she suggested it; but he +knew that she was deceiving herself as to him, and wondered if she were +not deceiving herself as to her own feelings. + +Up to the time of the "Coal Conspiracy" and his attempt to put himself +straight with her, the idea of his love for her and of her oneness with +him had at least a hold upon his imagination. He then saw how far apart +they had drifted; and he dismissed from his mind even the pretense +that love played any part in his life. After that definite break with +principle and self-respect for the sake of his coal holdings, his +Wall Street friends and his newspaper career, the development of his +character continued along strictly logical lines with accelerating +speed. And it was accompanied by an ever franker, more cynical +acceptance of the change. + +He could not deceive himself, nor can any man with the clearness of +judgment necessary to great achievement--although many "successful" men, +for obvious reasons of self-interest, diligently encourage the popular +theory of warped conscience. He was well aware that he had shifted from +the ideal of use _to_ his fellow-beings to the ideal of use _of_ his +fellow-beings, from the ideal of character to the ideal of reputation. +And he knew that the two ideals can not be combined and that he not +only was not attempting to combine them but had no desire so to do. He +despised his former ideals; but also he despised himself for despising +them. + +His quarrel with himself was that he seemed to himself a rather vulgar +sort of hypocrite. This was highly disagreeable to him, as his whole +nature tended to make him wish to be himself, to make him shrink from +the part of the truckler and the sycophant which he was playing so +haughtily and so artistically. At times it exasperated him that he could +not regard his change of front as a deliberate sale for value received, +and not as the weak and cowardly surrender which he saw that it really +was. + + * * * * * + +On the day after Howard's forty-fourth birthday Coulter fell dead at the +entrance to the Union Club. When Stokely heard of it he went direct to +the _News-Record_ office. + +"I happen to know something about Coulter's will," he said to Howard. +"The _News-Record_ stock is to be sold and you and I are to have the +first chance to take it at three hundred and fifty--which is certainly +cheap enough." + +"Why did he arrange to dispose of the most valuable part of his estate?" + +"Well, we had an agreement about it. Then, too, Coulter had no faith in +newspapers as a permanent investment. You know there are only the widow, +the girl and that worthless boy. Heavens, what an ass that boy is! +Coulter has tied up his estate until the youngest grandchild comes of +age. He hopes that there will be a son among the grandchildren who will +realise his dream." + +"Dream?" Howard smiled. "I didn't know that Coulter ever indulged in +dreams." + +"Yes, he had the rich man's mania--the craze for founding a family. So +everything is to be put into real estate and long-term bonds. And for +years New York is to be reminded of Samuel Coulter by some incapable +who'll use his name and his money to advertise nature's contempt for +family pride in her distributions of brains. I think even a fine tomb is +a wiser memorial." + +"Well, how much of the stock shall you take?" Howard asked. + +"Not a share," Stokely replied dejectedly. "Coulter couldn't have died +at a worse time for me. I'm tied in every direction and shall be for a +year at least. So you've got a chance to become controlling owner." + +"I?" Howard laughed. "Where could I get a million and a half?" + +"How much could you take in cash?" + +"Well--let me see--perhaps--five hundred thousand." + +"You can borrow the million with the stock as collateral." + +"But how could I pay?" + +"Why, your dividends at our present rate would be more than two hundred +thousand a year. Your interest charge would be under seventy-five +thousand. Perhaps I can arrange it so that it won't be more than fifty +thousand. You can let the balance go on reducing the loan. Then I may +be able to put you onto a few good things. At any rate you can't lose +anything. Your stock would bring five hundred even at forced sale. It's +your chance, old man. I want to see you take it." + +"I'll think it over. I have no head for figures." + +"Let me manage it for you." Stokely rose to go. Howard began thanking +him, but he cut him off with: + +"You owe me no thanks. You've made money for me--big money. I owe you +my help. Besides, I don't want any outsider in here. Let me know when +you're ready." He nodded and was gone. + +"What a chance!" Howard repeated again and again. + +He was looking out over New York. + +Twenty years before he had faced it, asking of it nothing but a living +and his freedom. For twenty years he had fought. Year by year, even +when he seemed to be standing still or going backward, he had steadily +gained, making each step won a vantage-ground for forward attack. And +now--victory. Power, wealth, fame, all his! + +Yet a deep melancholy came over him. And he fell to despising himself +for the kind of exultation that filled him, its selfishness, its +sordidness, the absence of all high enthusiasm. Why was he denied the +happiness of self-deception? Why could he not forget the means, blot it +out, now that the end was attained? + +His mind went out, not to Marian, but to that other--the one sleeping +under the many, many layers of autumn leaves at Asheville. And he heard +a voice saying so faintly, so timidly: "I lay awake night after night +listening to your breathing, and whispering under my breath, 'I love +you, I love you. Why can't you love me?'" And then--he flung down the +cover of his desk and rushed away home. + +"Why did I think of Alice?" he asked himself. And the answer +came--because in those days, in the days of his youth, he had had +beliefs, high principles; he had been incapable of this slavery to +appearances, to vain show, incapable of this passion for reputation +regardless of character. His weaknesses were then weaknesses only, and +not, as now, the laws of his being controlling his every act. + +He smiled cynically at the self of such a few years ago--yet he could +not meet those honest, fearless eyes that looked out at him from the +mirror of memory. + +He was triumphant, but self-respect had gone and not all the thick +swathings of vanity covered him from the stabs of self-contempt. + +"When I am really free, when the paper is paid for and I can do as +I please, why not try to be a man again? Why not? It would cost me +nothing." + +But a man is the sum of _all_ his past. + + + + + +XXVI. + +IN POSSESSION. + + +Stokely arranged the loan, and within six months Howard was controlling +owner of the _News-Record._ There was a debt of a million and a quarter +attached to his ownership, but he saw how that would be wiped out. Once +more he threw himself into his work with the energy of a boy. He had +to give much of his time to the business department--to the details of +circulation and advertising. He felt that the profits of the paper +could be greatly increased by improving its facilities for reaching +the advertiser and the public. He had never been satisfied with the +circulation methods; but theretofore his ignorance of business and +his position as mere salaried editor had acted in restraint upon his +interference with the "ground floor." + +As he had suspected, the business office was afflicted with the twin +diseases--routine and imitativeness. It followed an old system, devised +in days of small circulation and grudgingly improved, not by thought +on the part of those who circulated the paper, but by compulsion on +the part of the public. No attempts were made to originate schemes for +advertising the paper. The only methods were wooden variations upon +placards in the street cars and the elevated stations, and cards hung +up at the news-stands. As forgetting advertising business, they thought +they showed enterprise by a little canvassing among the conspicuous +merchants in Greater New York. + +Howard had charts made showing the circulation by districts. With these +as a basis he ordered an elaborate campaign to "push" the paper in the +districts where it was circulated least and to increase its hold where +it was strong. "We do not reach one-third of the people who would like +to take our paper," he told Jowett, the business manager. "Let us have +an army of agents and let us take up our territory by districts." + +The Sunday edition was the largest source of revenue, both because it +carried a great deal more advertising at much higher rates than did the +week-day editions, and because it sold at a price which yielded a profit +on the paper itself, while the price of the weekday editions did not. +News constituted less than one-fourth of its contents. The rest was +"feature articles," as interesting a week late to a man in Seattle as on +the day of publication within a mile of the office. + +"We get out the very best magazine in the market," said Howard to +Jowett. "Are we pushing it in the east, in the west, in the south? Look +at the charts. + +"We have a Sunday circulation of five hundred in Oregon, of one thousand +in Texas, of six hundred in Georgia, of two thousand in Maine. Why not +ten times as much in each of those states? Why not ten times as much as +we now have near New York?" + +There was no reason except failure to "push" the paper. That reason +Howard proceeded to remove. But these enterprises involved large +expenditures, perhaps might mean postponement of the payment of the +debt. Receipts must be increased and the most promising way was an +increase in the advertising business. + +Howard noted on the chart nineteen cities and large towns near New York +in each of which the daily circulation of the _News-Record_ was equal +to that of any paper published there and far exceeded the combined +circulations of all the home dailies on Sunday. This suggested a system +of local advertising pages, and for its working out he engaged one of +the most capable newspaper advertising men in the city. Within three +months the idea had "caught on" and, instead of sending useless columns +of New York "want-ads" and the like to places where they could not be +useful, the _News-Record_ was presenting to its readers in twelve cities +and towns the advertisements of their local merchants. + +A year of this work, with Howard giving many hours of each day +personally to tiresome details, brought the natural results. The profits +of the _News-Record_ had risen to five hundred and forty thousand, of +which Howard's share was nearly three hundred thousand. The next year +the profits were seven hundred and fifty thousand, and Howard had +reduced his debt to eight hundred thousand. + +"We shall be free and clear in less than three years," he said to +Marian. + +"If we have luck," she added. + +"No--if we work--and we shall. Luck is a stone which envy flings at +success." + +"Then you don't think you have been lucky?" + +"Indeed I do not." + +"Not even," she smiled, drawing herself up. + +"Not even--" he said with a faint, sad answering smile. "If you only +knew how hard I worked preparing myself to be able to get you when you +came; if you only, only knew how life made me pay, pay, pay; if you only +knew--" + +"Go on," she said, coming closer to him. + +He sighed--not for the reason of sentiment which she fancied, though he +put his arms around her. "How willingly I paid," he evaded. + +He went to his desk and she stood looking at him. There was still +the charm of youth, even freshness, in her beauty--and she was not +unconscious of the fact. + +And he--he was handsome, distinguished looking and certainly did not +suggest age or the approach of age; but in his hair, so grey at the +temples, in the stern, rather haughty lines of his features, in the +weariness of his eyes, there was not a vestige of youth. "How he has +worked for me and for his ideals," she thought, sadly yet proudly. "Ah, +he is indeed a great man, and _my_ husband!" And she bent over him +and kissed him on an impulse to a kind of tenderness which was now so +strange to her that it made her feel shy. + +"And what a radical you'll be," she laughed, after a moment's silence. +"What a radical, what a democrat!" + +"When?" He was flushing a little and avoided her eyes. + +"When you're free--really the proprietor--able to express your own +views, all your own views. We shall become outcasts." + +"I wonder," he replied slowly, "does a rich man own his property or does +it own him?" + +For an instant he had an impulse of his old longing for sympathy, for +companionship. She was now thirty-six and, save for an expression of +experience, of self-control, seemed hardly so much as thirty. But with +the years, with the habit of self-restraint, with instinctive rather +than conscious realisation of his indifference toward her, had come a +chill perceptible at the surface and permeating her entire character. In +her own way she had become as self-absorbed, as ambitious as he. + +He looked at her, felt this chill, sighed, smiled at himself. Yes, he +was alone--and he preferred to be alone. + + + + + +XXVII. + +THE HARVEST. + + +Through all his scheming and shifting Howard had kept the _News-Record_ +in the main an "organ of the people." Coulter and Stokely had on many +occasions tried to persuade him to change, but he had stood out. He did +not confess to them that his real reason was not his alleged principles +but his cold judgment that the increases in circulation which produced +increases in advertising patronage were dependent upon the paper's +reputation of fearless democracy. + +In the fourth year of his ownership he felt that the time had come for +the change, that he could safely slip over to the other side--the +side of wealth and power, the winning side, the side with offices +and privileges to distribute. His debt was so far reduced that he had +nothing to fear from it. A presidential campaign was coming on and was +causing unusual confusion, a general shift of party lines. And he had +put the _News-Record_ in such a position that it could move in any +direction without shock to its readers. + +The "great battle" was on--the battle he had in his younger days looked +forward to and longed for--the battle against Privilege and for +a "restoration of government by the people." The candidates were +nominated, the platforms put forward and the issue squarely joined. + +The same issue had been involved in previous campaigns; but the +statement of the case by the party opposed to "government of, by and for +plutocracy" had been fantastic, extreme, entangled with social, economic +and political lunacies. And Howard had strengthened the _News-Record_ by +refusing to permit it to "go crazy." Now, however, there was in honesty +no reason for refusing support to the advocates of his professed +principles. + +But the _News-Record_ was silent. Howard and Marian went away to their +cottage at Newport, and he left rigid instructions that no political +editorials were to be published except those which he might send. There +he got typhoid fever and was at the point of death for two weeks. + +Marian gave herself to nursing him, stayed close beside him, read books +and the newspapers to him throughout his convalescence. They were +more intimate than they had been for years. A feeling bearing a remote +resemblance to the love he had once had for her arose out of his +weakness and dependence and his seclusion from the instruments and +objects of his ambition. And she swept aside the barriers she had +erected between herself and him and returned, as nearly as one may, to +the love and interest of their early days together. + +In the first week of September came Stokely with Senator Hereford, the +chairman of the "Plutocracy" campaign committee. + +"I shall not annoy you with evasions," said Hereford, "as Mr. Stokely +assures me that I may speak freely to you, that you personally are with +us. The fact is, our campaign is in a bad way, especially in New York +State, and there especially in New York City." + +"You surprise me," said Howard. "All my information has come from the +newspapers which my wife reads me. I had gathered that the victory was +all but won." + +"We encourage that impression. You know how many weak-kneed fellows +there are who like to be on the winning side. We've been pouring out the +money and stand ready to pour it out like water. But these damned reform +ballot-laws make it hard for us to control the vote. We buy, but we fear +that the goods will not be delivered. Feeling is high against us. Even +our farmers and shopkeepers are acting queerly. And the other fellows +have at last put up a safe man on a conservative platform." + +Howard turned his face away. There was still the memory, the now +quickened memory, of his former self to make him wince at being included +in such an "us." + +"You can't afford to keep silent any longer," Hereford continued. +"You've done the cause a world of good by your silence thus far. You +have the reputation of being the leading popular organ, and your keeping +quiet has meant thousands of votes for us. But the time has come to +attack. And you must attack if we are to carry New York. You can turn +the tide in the state, and--well, we have a very high regard for your +genius for making your points clearly and interestingly. We need your +ideas for our editors and speakers as much as we need your influence." + +"I cannot discuss it to-day," Howard answered after a moment's silence. +"It would be a grave step for the _News-Record_ to take. I am not well, +as you see. To-morrow or next day I'll decide. You'll see my answer in +the paper, I think." He closed his eyes with significant weariness. + +Hereford looked at him uneasily. Just outside the door Stokely +whispered, "Don't be alarmed. You've got him. He's with us, I tell you." + +"I must make sure," whispered Hereford. "I wish to speak to him alone +for a moment." + +"I beg your pardon, Mr. Howard," he said as he re-entered the room. "I +forgot an important part of my mission. Our candidate authorized me to +say to you on his behalf that he felt sure you would see your duty; that +he esteemed your character and judgment too highly to have any doubts; +and that he intends to show his appreciation of the conscientious, +independent vote which is rallying to his support; in the event of his +election, he feels that he could not do so in a more satisfactory manner +than by offering you either a place in his cabinet or an ambassadorship +as you may prefer." + +As soon as Howard saw Hereford returning, he knew the reason. He had +never before been offered a bribe; but he could not mistake the meaning +of Hereford's bold yet frightened expression. He kept his eyes averted +during the delivery of the long, rambling sentence. At the end, he +looked at Hereford frankly and said in his most gracious manner: + +"Thank him for me, will you? And express my appreciation of so high a +compliment from such a man." + +Hereford looked relieved, delighted. "I'm glad to have met you, Mr. +Howard, and to have had so satisfactory an interview." + +Again outside the door, he muttered gleefully: "Yes, we've him. +Otherwise he would have had his servants kick me down stairs. Gad, no +wonder ---- is on his way to the Presidency, I had a sneaking fear that +this fellow might be sincere. But _he_ saw through him without ever +having seen him. I suppose two men of that stripe instinctively +understand each other." + + * * * * * + +That was on a Sunday afternoon. On the following Wednesday, as Marian +came into Howard's sitting-room with the newspapers, she laughed: "I've +been reading such a speech from your candidate, you radical! I must +say I liked to read it. It was so like you, your very phrases in many +places, the things you used to talk to me before you gave me up as +hopeless. Just listen." + +And she read him the oration--a reproduction of the Howard she first +saw, the Howard she admired and loved and had never lost. "Isn't it +superb?" she asked at the end. "You must have written it for him. Don't +you like it?" + +"Very able," was Howard's only comment. + +Marian continued to read the paper, glancing from column to column, +giving him the substance of the news. Soon she reached the editorial +page. He was stealthily watching her face. He saw her glance through a +few lines of the leader, start, read on, look in a terrified way at him, +and then skip abruptly to the next page. + +"Read me the leader, won't you?" he asked. + +"My voice is tired," she pleaded. "I'll read it after awhile." + +"Please," he insisted. "I'm especially anxious to hear it." + +"I think," she almost stammered, "that somebody has taken advantage +of your illness. I didn't want to tell you until I'd had a chance to +think." + +"Please read it." His tone was abrupt. She had never heard that tone +before. + +She read. It was an assertion of that which her Howard most disbelieved, +most protested against; a defense of the public corruption she had heard +him denounce so often; an attack upon the ideas, the principles, the +elements she had so often heard him eulogize. It was as adroit as it was +detestable, as plausible as it was unprincipled. + +When she had done, there was a long silence which he broke. "What do you +think of it?" + +"Only a wretch, an enemy of yours could have written it. Who can it have +been?" Her eyes were ablaze and her voice trembled with anger. + +"I wrote it," he said. + +He did not dare to look at her for a few seconds. Then, with a flimsy +mask of pretended calmness only the more clearly revealing self-contempt +and cowardice, he faced her amazed eyes, her pale cheeks, her parted +lips--and dropped his gaze to the floor. + +"You?" she whispered. "You?" + +"Yes, I." + +She sat so still that he reached over and touched her hand. It was cold. +She shivered and drew it away. They were silent for a long time--several +minutes. She was looking at his face. It was old and sad and +feeble--pitiful, contemptible. She had never seen those lines of +weakness about his mouth before. She had never before noted that his +features had lost the expression of exalted character, the light of free +and independent manhood which made her look again the first time she saw +him. When had the man she loved departed? When had the new man come? How +long had she been giving herself to a stranger--and _such_ a stranger? + +"Yes--I," he repeated. "I have come over to your side." He laughed and +she shivered again. "Well--what do you think?" + +"Think?--I?--Oh, I think----" + +She burst into tears, flung herself down at his feet and buried her head +in his lap. + +"I think nothing," she sobbed, "except that I--I love you." + +He fell to smoothing her hair, slowly, gently, patronisingly. His face +was composed and he was looking down at her trembling head and agitated +shoulders with an absent-minded smile. How easily this once +dreaded crisis had passed! How he had overestimated her! How he had +underestimated himself! + +His glance and his thoughts soon fastened upon the copy of his newspaper +which she had thrown aside--_his_ newspaper indeed, his creation and his +creature, the epitome of his intellect and character, of his strength +and his weakness. Half a million circulation daily, three quarters of a +million on Sunday--how mighty as a direct influence upon the people! Its +clearness and vigour, its intelligence, its truth-like sophistry--how +mighty as an indirect influence upon the minds of other editors and of +public men! "Power--Success," he repeated to himself in an exaltation of +vanity and arrogance. + +Marian lifted her head and, turning, put it against his knee. She +reached out for his hand. He began to speak at once in a low persuasive +voice: + +"Trust me, dear, can't you? You do not--have not been reading the paper +until recently. You are not interested in politics. There have been many +changes in the few last years. And I too have changed. I am no longer +without responsibilities. They have sobered me, have given me +an appreciation of property, stability, conservatism. Youth is +enthusiastic, theoretical. I have--" + +"Ah, but I do trust you," she interrupted eagerly, fearful lest his +explanations would make it the more difficult for her to convince +herself of what she felt she must believe if life were to go on. "And +you--I don't want you to excite yourself. You must be quiet--must get +well." + +Each avoided meeting the other's eyes as she arranged the pillows for +him before leaving him alone to rest. + +The longer she juggled with her discovery the less appalling it seemed. +His line of action fitted too closely to her own ambitions of social +distinction, social leadership. If he had been her lover, the shock +would have killed love and set up contempt in its stead. But he was +not her lover, had not been for years; and to find that her husband was +doing a husband's duty, was winning position and power for himself and +therefore for his wife--that was a disclosure with mitigating aspects at +least. Besides, might she not be in part mistaken? Surely any course so +satisfactory in its results could not be wholly wrong, might perhaps be +the right in an unexpected, unaccustomed form. + + + + + +XXVIII. + +SUCCESS. + + +French had made a portrait of the new American ambassador to the Court +of St. James and it was shown at the spring exhibition of the Royal +Academy. The ambassador and his wife wished to see how it had been +hung, but they did not wish to be seen. So they chose an early hour of +a chill, rainy May morning to drive in a hansom from their place in Park +Lane to Burlington House. + +They found the portrait in Room VI, on the line, in a corner, but where +it had the benefit of such light as there was. When they entered no one +was there; but, as they were standing close to the picture, admiring +the energy and simplicity of the strokes of the master's brush, a crowd +swept in and enclosed them. + +"Let us go," Howard said in a low tone. + +Just then a man, almost at his shoulder because of the pressure of those +behind, said: "Wonderful, isn't it? I've never seen a better example of +his work. He had a subject that suited him perfectly." + +"No, let us stay," Marian whispered in reply to her husband. "They can't +see our faces and I'd like to hear." + +"Yes, it is superb," came the answer to the man behind them in a voice +unmistakably American. "Now, tell me, Saverhill, what sort of a person +would you say the ambassador is from that picture? You don't know him?" + +"Never heard of him until I read of his appointment," replied the first +voice. + +"I've heard of him often enough," came in the American voice. "But I've +never seen him." + +"You know him now," resumed the Englishman, "inside as well as out. +French always paints what he sees and always sees what he's painting." + +"Well, what is it?" + +"Let us go," whispered Marian. But Howard did not heed her. + +"I see--a fallen man. He was evidently a real man once; but he sold +himself." + +"Yes? Where does it show?" + +"He's got a good mind, this fellow-countryman of yours. There are the +eyes of a thinker and a doer. Nothing could have kept him down. His face +is almost as relentless as Kitchener's and fully as aggressive, except +that it shows intellect, and Kitchener's doesn't. Now note the corners +of his eyes, Marshall, and his mouth and nostrils and chin, and you'll +see why he sold himself, and the--the consequences." + +Howard and Marian, fascinated, compelled, looked where the unknown +requested. + +"I think I see what you mean," came in Marshall's voice, laughingly. +"But go on." + +"Ah, there it all is--hypocrisy, vanity, lack of principle, and, +plainest of all, weakness. It's a common enough type among your +successful men. The man himself is the fixed market price for a certain +kind of success. But, according to French, this ambassador of yours +seems to know what he has paid; and the knowledge doesn't make him more +content with his bargain. He has more brains than vanity; therefore he's +an unhappy hypocrite instead of a happy self-deceiver." + +Howard and Marian shrunk together with their heads close in the effort +to make sure of concealing their faces. She was suffering for herself, +but more acutely for him. She knew, as if she were looking into his +mind, his frightful humiliation. "Hereafter," she thought, "whenever any +one looks at him he will feel the thought behind the look." + +"How nearly did I come to him?" asked Saverhill. + +Howard started and Marian caught the rail for support. + +"A centre-shot," replied Marshall, "if the people who know him and have +talked to me about him tell the truth." + +"Oh, they're 'on to' him, as you say, over there, are they?" + +"No, not everybody. Only his friends and the few who are on the inside. +There's an ugly story going about privately as to how he got the +ambassadorship. They say he was bought with it. But--he's admired and +envied even by a good many who know or suspect that he's only an article +of commerce. He's got the cash and he's got position; and his paper +gives him tremendous power. Then too, as you say, all about him there +are men like himself. The only punishment he's likely to get is the +penalty of having to live with himself." + +"A good, round price if French is not mistaken," replied Saverhill. + +The two men passed on. Howard and Marian looked guiltily about, then +slipped away in the opposite direction. He helped her into the waiting +hansom. As they were driven homeward she cast a stealthy side-glance at +him. + +"Yes," she thought, "the portrait is a portrait of his face; and his +face is a portrait of himself." + +He caught her glance in the little mirror in the side of the +hansom--caught it and read it. And he began to hate her, this instrument +to his punishment, this constant remembrancer of his downfall. + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Great God Success, by +John Graham (David Graham Phillips) + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREAT GOD SUCCESS *** + +***** This file should be named 7989.txt or 7989.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/9/8/7989/ + +Produced by Eric Eldred, William Craig, Charles Franks and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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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: The Great God Success + +Author: John Graham (David Graham Phillips) + + +Release Date: April, 2005 [EBook #7989] +This file was first posted on June 10, 2003 +Last Updated: November 18, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREAT GOD SUCCESS *** + + + + +Text file produced by Eric Eldred, William Craig, 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> + THE GREAT GOD SUCCESS + </h1> + <h3> + A NOVEL + </h3> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By John Graham (David Graham Phillips) + </h2> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h5> + The Gregg Press / Ridgewood, N.J. + </h5> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>THE GREAT GOD SUCCESS</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> I. — THE CANDIDATE FROM YALE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> II. — THE CITY EDITOR RECONSIDERS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> III. — A PARK ROW CELEBRITY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> IV. — IN THE EDGE OF BOHEMIA. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> V. — ALICE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> VI. — IN A BOHEMIAN QUICKSAND. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> VII. — A LITTLE CANDLE GOES OUT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> VIII. — A STRUGGLE FOR SELF-CONTROL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> IX. — AMBITION AWAKENS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> X. — THE ETERNAL MASCULINE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> XI. — TRESPASSING. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> XII. — MAKING THE MOST OF A MONTH. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> XIII. — RECKONING WITH DANVERS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> XIV. — THE NEWS-RECORD GETS A NEW EDITOR. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> XV. — YELLOW JOURNALISM. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> XVI. — MR. STOKELY IS TACTLESS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> XVII. — A WOMAN AND A WARNING. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> XVIII. — HOWARD EXPLAINS HIS MACHINE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> XIX. — “I MUST BE RICH.” </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> XX. — ILLUSION. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> XXI. — WAVERING. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> XXII. — THE SHENSTONE EPISODE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> XXIII. — EXPANDING AND CONTRACTING. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> XXIV. — “MR. VALIANT-FOR-TRUTH.” </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> XXV. — THE PROMISED LAND. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> XXVI. — IN POSSESSION. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> XXVII. — THE HARVEST. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> XXVIII. — SUCCESS. </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> + THE GREAT GOD SUCCESS + </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. — THE CANDIDATE FROM YALE. + </h2> + <p> + “O your college paper, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I never wrote even a letter to the editor.” + </p> + <p> + “Took prizes for essays?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I never wrote if I could help it.” + </p> + <p> + “But you like to write?” + </p> + <p> + “I’d like to learn to write.” + </p> + <p> + “You say you are two months out of college—what college?” + </p> + <p> + “Yale.” + </p> + <p> + “Hum—I thought Yale men went into something commercial; law or + banking or railroads. ‘Leave hope of fortune behind, ye who enter here’ is + over the door of this profession.” + </p> + <p> + “I haven’t the money-making instinct.” + </p> + <p> + “We pay fifteen dollars a week at the start.” + </p> + <p> + “Couldn’t you make it twenty?” + </p> + <p> + The Managing Editor of the <i>News-Record</i> turned slowly in his chair + until his broad chest was full-front toward the young candidate for the + staff. He lowered his florid face slowly until his double chin swelled out + over his low “stick-up” collar. Then he gradually raised his eyelids until + his amused blue eyes were looking over the tops of his glasses, straight + into Howard’s eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” he asked. “Why should we?” + </p> + <p> + Howard’s grey eyes showed embarrassment and he flushed to the line of his + black hair which was so smoothly parted in the middle. “Well—you see—the + fact is—I need twenty a week. My expenses are arranged on that + scale. I’m not clever at money matters. I’m afraid I’d get in a mess with + only fifteen.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear young man,” said Mr. King, “I started here at fifteen dollars a + week. And I had a wife; and the first baby was coming.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but your wife was an energetic woman. She stood right beside you and + worked too. Now I have only myself.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. King raised his eyebrows and became a rosier red. He was evidently + preparing to rebuke this audacious intrusion into his private affairs by a + stranger whose card had been handed to him not ten minutes before. But + Howard’s tone and manner were simple and sincere. And they happened to + bring into Mr. King’s mind a rush of memories of his youth and his wife. + She had married him on faith. They had come to New York fifteen years + before, he to get a place as reporter on the <i>News-Record</i>, she to + start a boarding-house; he doubting and trembling, she with courage and + confidence for two. He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and + opened the book of memory at the place where the leaves most easily fell + apart: + </p> + <p> + He is coming home at one in the morning, worn out, sick at heart from the + day’s buffetings. As he puts his key into the latch, the door opens. There + stands a handsome girl; her face is flushed; her eyes are bright; her lips + are held up for him to kiss; she shows no trace of a day that began hours + before his and has been a succession of exasperations and humiliations + against which her sensitive nature, trained in the home of her father, a + distinguished up-the-state Judge, gives her no protection, “Victory,” she + whispers, her arms about his neck and her head upon his coat collar. + “Victory! We are seventy-two cents ahead on the week, and everything paid + up!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. King opened his eyes—they had been closed less than five + seconds. “Well, let it be twenty—though just why I’m sure I don’t + know. And we’ll give you a four weeks’ trial. When will you begin?” + </p> + <p> + “Now,” answered the young man, glancing about the room. “And I shall try + to show that I appreciate your consideration, whether I deserve it or + not.” + </p> + <p> + It was a large bare room, low of ceiling. Across one end were five windows + overlooking from a great height the tempest that rages about the City Hall + day and night with few lulls and no pauses. Mr. King’s roll-top desk was + at the first window. Under each of the other windows was a broad flat + table desk—for copy-readers. At the farthest of these sat the City + Editor—thin, precise-looking, with yellow skin, hollow cheeks, + ragged grey-brown moustache, ragged scant grey-brown hair and dark brown + eyes. He looked nervously tired and, because brown was his prevailing + shade, dusty. He rose as Mr. King came with young Howard. + </p> + <p> + “Here, Mr. Bowring, is a young man from Yale. He wishes you to teach him + how to write. Mr. Howard, Mr. Bowring. I hope you gentlemen will get on + comfortably together.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. King went back to his desk. Mr. Bowring and Howard looked each at the + other. Mr. Bowring smiled, with good-humour, without cordiality. “Let me + see, where shall we put you?” And his glance wandered along the rows of + sloping table-desks—those nearer the windows lighted by daylight; + those farther away, by electric lamps. Even on that cool, breezy August + afternoon the sunlight and fresh air did not penetrate far into the room. + </p> + <p> + “Do you see the young man with the beautiful fair moustache,” said Mr. + Bowring, “toiling away in his shirt-sleeves—there?” + </p> + <p> + “Near the railing at the entrance?” + </p> + <p> + “Precisely. I think I will put you next him.” Mr. Bowring touched a button + on his desk and presently an office boy—a mop of auburn curls, a + pert face and gangling legs in knickerbockers—hurried up with a + “Yes, Sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Please tell Mr. Kittredge that I would like to speak to him and—please + scrape your feet along the floor as little as possible.” + </p> + <p> + The boy smiled, walking away less as if he were trying to terrorize park + pedestrians by a rush on roller skates. Kittredge and Howard were made + acquainted and went toward their desks together. “A few moments—if + you will excuse me—and I’m done,” said Kittredge motioning Howard + into the adjoining chair as he sat and at once bent over his work. + </p> + <p> + Howard watched him with interest, admiration and envy. The reporter was + perhaps twenty-five years old—fair of hair, fair of skin, + goodlooking in a pretty way. His expression was keen and experienced yet + too self-complacent to be highly intelligent. He was rapidly covering + sheet after sheet of soft white paper with bold, loose hand-writing. + Howard noticed that at the end of each sentence he made a little cross + with a circle about it, and that he began each paragraph with a paragraph + sign. Presently he scrawled a big double cross in the centre of the sheet + under the last line of writing and gathered up his sheets in the numbered + order. “Done, thank God,” he said. “And I hope they won’t butcher it.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you send it to be put in type?” asked Howard. + </p> + <p> + “No,” Kittredge answered with a faint smile. “I hand it in to Mr. Bowring—the + City Editor, you know. And when the copyreaders come at six, it will be + turned over to one of them. He reads it, cuts it down if necessary, and + writes headlines for it. Then it goes upstairs to the composing room—see + the box, the little dumb-waiter, over there in the wall?—well, it + goes up by that to the floor above where they set the type and make up the + forms.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m a complete ignoramus,” said Howard, “I hope you’ll not mind my trying + to find out things. I hope I shall not bore you.” + </p> + <p> + “Glad to help you, I’m sure. I had to go through this two years ago when I + came here from Princeton.” + </p> + <p> + Kittredge “turned in” his copy and returned to his seat beside Howard. + </p> + <p> + “What were you writing about, if I may ask?” inquired Howard. + </p> + <p> + “About some snakes that came this morning in a ‘tramp’ from South America. + One of them, a boa constrictor, got loose and coiled around a windlass. + The cook was passing and it caught him. He fainted with fright and the + beast squeezed him to death. It’s a fine story—lots of amusing and + dramatic details. I wrote it for a column and I think they won’t cut it. I + hope not, anyhow. I need the money.” + </p> + <p> + “You are paid by the column?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I’m on space—what they call a space writer. If a man is of any + account here they gradually raise him to twenty-five dollars a week and + then put him on space. That means that he will make anywhere from forty to + a hundred a week, or perhaps more at times. The average for the best is + about eighty.” + </p> + <p> + “Eighty dollars a week,” thought Howard. “Fifty-two times eighty is + forty-one hundred and sixty. Four thousand a year, counting out two weeks + for vacation.” To Howard it seemed wealth at the limit of imagination. If + he could make so much as that!—he who had grave doubts whether, no + matter how hard he worked, he would ever wrench a living from the world. + </p> + <p> + Just then a seedy young man with red hair and a red beard came through the + gate in the railing, nodded to Kittredge and went to a desk well up toward + the daylight end of the room. + </p> + <p> + “That’s the best of ‘em all,” said Kittredge in a low tone. “His name is + Sewell. He’s a Harvard man—Harvard and Heidelberg. But drink! Ye + gods, how he does drink! His wife died last Christmas—practically + starvation. Sewell disappeared—frightful bust. A month afterward + they found him under an assumed name over on Blackwell’s Island, doing + three months for disorderly conduct. He wrote a Christmas carol while his + wife was dying. It began “Merrily over the Snow” and went on about light + hearts and youth and joy and all that—you know, the usual thing. + When he got the money, she didn’t need it or anything else in her nice + quiet grave over in Long Island City. So he ‘blew in’ the money on a + wake.” + </p> + <p> + Sewell was coming toward them. Kittredge called out: “Was it a good story, + Sam?” + </p> + <p> + “Simply great! You ought to have seen the room. Only the bed and the + cook-stove and a few dishes on a shelf—everything else gone to the + pawnshop. The man must have killed the children first. They lay side by + side on the bed, each with its hands folded on its chest—suppose the + mother did that; and each little throat was cut from ear to ear—suppose + the father did that. Then he dipped his paint brush in the blood and + daubed on the wall in big scrawling letters: ‘There is no God!’ Then he + took his wife in his arms, stabbed her to the heart and cut his own + throat. And there they lay, his arms about her, his cheek against hers, + dead. It was murder as a fine art. Gad, I wish I could write.” + </p> + <p> + Kittredge introduced Howard—“a Yale man—just came on the + paper.” + </p> + <p> + “Entering the profession? Well, they say of the other professions that + there is always room at the top. Journalism is just the reverse. The room + is all at the bottom—easy to enter, hard to achieve, impossible to + leave. It is all bottom, no top.” Sewell nodded, smiled attractively in + spite of his swollen face and his unsightly teeth, and went back to his + work. + </p> + <p> + “He’s sober,” said Kittredge when he was out of hearing, “so his story is + pretty sure to be the talk of Park Row tomorrow.” + </p> + <p> + Howard was astonished at the cheerful, businesslike point of view of these + two educated and apparently civilised young men as to the tragedies of + life. He had shuddered at Kittredge’s story of the man squeezed to death + by the snake. Sewell’s story, so graphically outlined, filled him with + horror, made it a struggle for him to conceal his feelings. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you must see a lot of frightful things,” he suggested. + </p> + <p> + “That’s our business. You soon get used to it, just as a doctor does. You + learn to look at life from the purely professional standpoint. Of course + you must feel in order to write. But you must not feel so keenly that you + can’t write. You have to remember always that you’re not there to cheer or + sympathise or have emotions, but only to report, to record. You tell what + your eyes see. You’ll soon get so that you can and will make good stories + out of your own calamaties.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that a portrait of the editor?” asked Howard, pointing to a grimed + oil-painting, the only relief to the stretch of cracked and streaked white + wall except a few ragged maps. + </p> + <p> + “That—oh, that is old man Stone—the ‘great condenser.’ He’s + there for a double purpose, as an example of what a journalist should be + and as a warning of what a journalist comes to. After twenty years of fine + work at crowding more news in good English into one column than any other + editor could get in bad English into four columns, he was discharged for + drunkenness. Soon afterwards he walked off the end of a dock one night in + a fog. At least it was said that there was a fog and that he was drunk. I + have my doubts.” + </p> + <p> + “Cheerful! I have not been in the profession an hour but I have already + learned something very valuable.” + </p> + <p> + “What’s that?” asked Kittredge, “that it’s a good profession to get out + of?” + </p> + <p> + “No. But that bad habits will not help a man to a career in journalism any + more than in any other profession.” + </p> + <p> + “Career?” smiled Kittredge, resenting Howard’s good-humoured irony and + putting on a supercilious look that brought out more strongly the + insignificance of his face. “Journalism is not a career. It is either a + school or a cemetery. A man may use it as a stepping-stone to something + else. But if he sticks to it, he finds himself an old man, dead and done + for to all intents and purposes years before he’s buried.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if it doesn’t attract a great many men who have a little talent + and fancy that they have much. I wonder if it does not disappoint their + vanity rather than their merit.” + </p> + <p> + “That sounds well,” replied Kittredge, “and there’s some truth in it. But, + believe me, journalism is the dragon that demands the annual sacrifice of + youth. It will have only youth. Why am I here? Why are you here? Because + we are young, have a fresh, a new point of view. As soon as we get a + little older, we shall be stale and, though still young in years, we must + step aside for young fellows with new ideas and a new point of view.” + </p> + <p> + “But why should not one have always new ideas, always a new point of view? + Why should one expect to escape the penalties of stagnation in journalism + when one can’t escape them in any other profession?” + </p> + <p> + “But who has new ideas all the time? The average successful man has at + most one idea and makes a whole career out of it. Then there are the + temptations.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + Kittredge flushed slightly and answered in a more serious tone: + </p> + <p> + “We must work while others amuse themselves or sleep. We must sleep while + others are at work. That throws us out of touch with the whole world of + respectability and regularity. When we get done at night, wrought up by + the afternoon and evening of this gambling with our brains and nerves as + the stake, what is open to us?” + </p> + <p> + “That is true,” said Howard. “There are the all-night saloons and—the + like.” + </p> + <p> + “And if we wish society, what society is open to us? What sort of young + women are waiting to entertain us at one, two, three o’clock in the + morning? Why, I have not made a call in a year. And I have not seen a + respectable girl of my acquaintance in at least that time, except once or + twice when I happened to have assignments that took me near Fifth Avenue + in the afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Kittredge, Mr. Bowring wishes to speak to you,” an office boy said + and Kittredge rose. As he went, he put his hand on Howard’s shoulder and + said: “No, I am getting out of it as fast as ever I can. I’m writing + books.” + </p> + <p> + “Kittredge,” thought Howard, “I wonder, is this Henry Jennings Kittredge, + whose stories are on all the news stands?” He saw an envelope on the floor + at his feet. The address was “Henry Jennings Kittredge, Esq.” + </p> + <p> + When Kittredge came back for his coat, Howard said in a tone of frank + admiration: “Why, I didn’t know you were the Kittredge that everybody is + talking about. You certainly have no cause for complaint.” + </p> + <p> + Kittredge shrugged his shoulders. “At fifteen cents a copy, I have to sell + ten thousand copies before I get enough to live on for four months. And + you’d be surprised how much reputation and how little money a man can make + out of a book. Don’t be distressed because they keep you here with nothing + to do but wonder how you’ll have the courage to face the cashier on pay + day. It’s the system. Your chance will come.” + </p> + <p> + It was three days before Howard had a chance. On a Sunday afternoon the + Assistant City Editor who was in charge of the City Desk for the day sent + him up to the Park to write a descriptive story of the crowds. “Try to get + a new point of view,” he said, “and let yourself loose. There’s usually + plenty of room in Monday’s paper.” + </p> + <p> + Howard wandered through the Central Park for two hours, struggling for the + “new point of view” of the crowds he saw there—these monotonous + millions, he thought, lazily drinking at a vast trough of country air in + the heart of the city. He planned an article carefully as he dined alone + at the Casino. He went down to the office early and wrote diligently—about + two thousand words. When he had finished, the Night City Editor told him + that he might go as there would be nothing more that night. + </p> + <p> + He was in the street at seven the next morning. As he walked along with a + News-Record, bought at the first news-stand, he searched every page: + first, the larger “heads”—such a long story would call for a “big + head;” then the smaller “heads”—they may have been crowded and have + had to cut it down; then the single-line “heads”—surely they found a + “stickful” or so worth printing. + </p> + <p> + At last he found it. A dozen items in the smallest type, agate, were + grouped under the general heading “City Jottings” at the end of an inside + column of an inside page. The first of these City Jottings was two lines + in length: + </p> + <p> + “The millions were in the Central Park yesterday, lazily drinking at that + vast trough of country air in the heart of the city.” + </p> + <p> + As he entered the office Howard looked appealingly and apologetically at + the boy on guard at the railing and braced himself to receive the sneering + frown of the City Editor and to bear the covert smiles of his fellow + reporters. But he soon saw that no one had observed his mighty spring for + a foothold and his ludicrous miss and fall. + </p> + <p> + “Had anything in yet?” Kittredge inquired casually, late in the afternoon. + </p> + <p> + “I wrote a column and a half yesterday and I found two lines among the + City Jottings,” replied Howard, reddening but laughing. + </p> + <p> + “The first story I wrote was cut to three lines but they got a libel suit + on it.” + </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 CITY EDITOR RECONSIDERS. + </h2> + <p> + At the end of six weeks, the City Editor called Howard up to the desk and + asked him to seat himself. He talked in a low tone so that the Assistant + City Editor, reading the newspapers at a nearby desk, could not hear. + </p> + <p> + “We like you, Mr. Howard.” Mr. Bowring spoke slowly and with a carefulness + in selecting words that indicated embarrassment. “And we have been + impressed by your earnestness. But we greatly fear that you are not fitted + for this profession. You write well enough, but you do not seem to get the + newspaper—the news—idea. So we feel that in justice to you and + to ourselves we ought to let you know where you stand. If you wish, we + shall be glad to have you remain with us two weeks longer. Meanwhile you + can be looking about you. I am certain that you will succeed somewhere, in + some line, sooner or later. But I think that the newspaper profession is a + waste of your time.” + </p> + <p> + Howard had expected this. Failure after failure, his articles thrown away + or rewritten by the copyreaders, had prepared him for the blow. Yet it + crushed him for the moment. His voice was not steady as he replied: + </p> + <p> + “No doubt you are right. Thank you for taking the trouble to study my case + and tell me so soon.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t hesitate to stay on for the two weeks,” Mr. Bowring continued. “We + can make you useful to us. And you can look about to much better advantage + than if you were out of a place.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll stay the two weeks,” Howard said, “unless I find something sooner.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be more discouraged than you can help,” said Mr. Bowring. “You may + be very grateful before long for finding out so early what many of us—I + myself, I fear—find out after years and—when it is too late.” + </p> + <p> + Always that note of despair; always that pointing to the motto over the + door of the profession: “Abandon hope, ye who enter here.” What was the + explanation? Were these men right? Was he wrong in thinking that + journalism offered the most splendid of careers—the development of + the mind and the character; the sharpening of all the faculties; the + service of truth and right and human betterment, in daily combat with + injustice and error and falsehood; the arousing and stimulating of the + drowsy minds of the masses of mankind? + </p> + <p> + Howard looked about at the men who held on where he was slipping. “Can it + be,” he thought, “that I cannot survive in a profession where the poorest + are so poor in intellect and equipment? Why am I so dull that I cannot + catch the trick?” + </p> + <p> + He set himself to study newspapers, reading them line by line, noting the + modes of presenting facts, the arrangement of headlines, the order in + which the editors put the several hundred items before the eyes of the + reader—what they displayed on each page and why; how they + apportioned the space. With the energy of unconquerable resolution he + applied himself to solving for himself the puzzle of the press—the + science and art of catching the eye and holding the attention of the + hurrying, impatient public. + </p> + <p> + He learned much. He began to develop the news-instinct, that subtle + instant realisation of what is interesting and what is not interesting to + the public mind. But the time was short; a sense of impending calamity and + the lack of self-confidence natural to inexperience made it impossible for + him effectively to use his new knowledge in the few small opportunities + which Mr. Bowring gave him. With only six days of his two weeks left, he + had succeeded in getting into the paper not a single item of a length + greater than two sticks. He slept little; he despaired not at all; but he + was heart-sick and, as he lay in his bed in the little hall-room of the + furnished-room house, he often envied women the relief of tears. What he + endured will be appreciated only by those who have been bred in sheltered + homes; who have abruptly and alone struck out for themselves in the ocean + of a great city without a single lesson in swimming; who have felt + themselves seized from below and dragged downward toward the deep-lying + feeding-grounds of Poverty and Failure. + </p> + <p> + “Buck up, old man,” said Kittredge to whom he told his bad news after + several days of hesitation and after Kittredge had shown him that he + strongly suspected it. “Don’t mind old Bowring. You’re sure to get on, + and, if you insist upon the folly, in this profession. I’ll give you a + note to Montgomery—he’s City Editor over at the <i>World</i>-shop—and + he’ll take you on. In some ways you will do better there. You’ll rise + faster, get a wider experience, make more money. In fact, this shop has + only one advantage. It does give a man peace of mind. It’s more like a + club than an office. But in a sense that is a drawback. I’ll give you a + note to-night. You will be at work over there to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I’ll wait a few days,” said Howard, his tone corresponding to the + look in his eyes and the compression of his resolute mouth. + </p> + <p> + The next day but one Mr. Bowring called him up to the City Desk and gave + him a newspaper-clipping which read: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Bald Peak, September 29—Willie Dent, the three-year-old baby + of John Dent, a farmer living two miles from here, strayed away + into the mountains yesterday and has not been seen since. His + dog, a cur, went with him. Several hundred men are out searching. + It has been storming, and the mountains are full of bears + and wild cats.” + </pre> + <p> + “Yes, I saw this in the <i>Herald</i>,” said Howard. + </p> + <p> + “Will you take the train that leaves at eleven tonight and get us the + story—if it is not a ‘fake,’ as I strongly suspect. Telegraph your + story if there is not time for you to get back here by nine to-morrow + night.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course it’s a fake, or at least a wild exaggeration,” thought Howard + as he turned away. “If Bowring had not been all but sure there was nothing + in it, he would never have given it to me.” + </p> + <p> + He was not well, his sleepless nights having begun to tell even upon his + powerful constitution. The rest of that afternoon and all of a night + without sleep in the Pullman he was in a depth of despond. He had been in + the habit of getting much comfort out of an observation his father had + made to him just before he died: “Remember that ninety per cent of these + fourteen hundred million human beings are uncertain where to-morrow’s food + is to come from. Be prudent but never be afraid.” But just then he could + get no consolation out of this maxim of grim cheer. He seemed to himself + incompetent and useless, a predestined failure. “What is to become of me?” + he kept repeating, his heart like lead and his mind fumbling about in a + confused darkness. + </p> + <p> + At Bald Peak he was somewhat revived by the cold mountain air of the early + morning. As he alighted upon the station platform he spoke to the + baggage-master standing in front of the steps. + </p> + <p> + “Was the little boy of a man named Dent lost in the mountains near here?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—three days ago,” replied the baggage-man. + </p> + <p> + “Have they found him yet?” + </p> + <p> + “No—nor never will alive—that’s my opinion.” + </p> + <p> + Howard asked for the nearest livery-stable and within twenty minutes was + on his way to Dent’s farm. His driver knew all about the lost child. Two + hundred men were still searching. “And Mrs. Dent, she’s been sittin’ by + the window, list’nin’ day and night. She won’t speak nor eat and she ain’t + shed a tear. It was her only child. The men come in sayin’ it ain’t no use + to hunt any more, an’ they look at her an’ out they goes ag’in.” + </p> + <p> + Soon the driver pointed to a cottage near the road. The gate was open; the + grass and the flower-beds were trampled into a morass. The door was thrown + wide and several women were standing about the threshold. At the window + within view of the road and the mountains sat the mother—a young + woman with large brown eyes, and clear-cut features, refined, beautified, + exalted by suffering. Her look was that of one listening for a faint, far + away sound upon which hangs the turn of the balances to joy or to despair. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + That morning two of the searchers went to the northeast into the dense and + tangled swamp woods between Bald Peak and Cloudy Peak—the wildest + wilderness in the mountains. The light barely penetrates the foliage on + the brightest days. The ground is rough, sometimes precipitous, closely + covered with bushes and tangled creepers. + </p> + <p> + The two explorers, almost lost themselves, came at last to the edge of a + swamp surrounded by cedars. They half-crawled, half-climbed through the + low trees and festooning creepers to the edge of a clear bit of open, firm + ground. + </p> + <p> + In the middle was a cedar tree. Under it, seated upon the ground, was the + lost boy. His bare, brown legs, torn and bleeding, were stretched straight + in front of him. His bare feet were bruised and cut. His gingham dress was + torn and wet and stained. His small hands were smears of dirt and blood. + He was playing with a tin can. He had put a stone into it and was making a + great rattling. The dog was running to and fro, apparently enjoying the + noise. The little boy’s face was tear-stained and his eyes were swollen. + But he was not crying just then and laughter lurked in his thin, + fever-flushed face. + </p> + <p> + As the men came into view, the dog began to bark angrily, but the boy + looked a solemn welcome. + </p> + <p> + “Want mamma,” he said. “I’se hungry.” + </p> + <p> + One of the men picked him up—the gingham dress was saturated. + </p> + <p> + “You’re hungry?” asked the man, his voice choking. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. An’ I’se so wet. It wained and wained.” Then the child began to sob. + “It was dark,” he whispered, “an’ cold. I want my mamma.” + </p> + <p> + It was an hour’s tedious journey back to Dent’s by the shortest route. At + the top of the hill those near the cottage saw the boy in the arms of the + man who had found him. They shouted and the mother sprang out of the house + and came running, stumbling down the path to the gate. She caught at the + gate-post and stood there, laughing, screaming, sobbing. + </p> + <p> + “Baby! Baby!” she called. + </p> + <p> + The little boy turned his head and stretched out his thin, blood-stained + arms. She ran toward him and snatched him from the young farmer. + </p> + <p> + “Hungry, mamma,” he sobbed, hiding his face on her shoulder. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Howard wrote his story on the train, going down to New York. It was a + straightforward chronicle of just what he had seen and heard. He began at + the beginning—the little mountain home, the family of three, the + disappearance of the child. He described the perils of the mountains, the + storm, the search, the wait, the listening mother, scene by scene, ending + with mother and child together again and the dog racing around them, with + wagging tail and hanging tongue. He wrote swiftly, making no changes, + without a trace of his usual self-consciousness in composition. When he + had done he went into the restaurant car and dined almost gaily. He felt + that he had failed again. How could he hope to tell such a story? But he + was not despondent. He was still under the spell of that intense human + drama with its climax of joy. His own concerns seemed secondary, of no + consequence. + </p> + <p> + He reached the office at half-past nine, handed in his “copy” and went + away. He was in bed at half-past ten and was at once asleep. At eleven the + next morning a knocking awakened him from a sound sleep that had restored + and refreshed him. “A messenger from the office,” was called through the + door in answer to his inquiry. He took the note from the boy and tore it + open: + </p> + <p> + “My dear Mr. Howard: Thank you for the splendid story you gave us last + night. It is one of the best, if not the best, we have had the pleasure of + publishing in years. Your salary has been raised to twenty-five dollars a + week. + </p> + <p> + “Congratulations. You have ‘caught on’ at last. I’m glad to take back what + I said the other day. + </p> + <h3> + “HENRY C. BOWRING.” + </h3> + <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. — A PARK ROW CELEBRITY. + </h2> + <p> + Kittredge was the first to congratulate him when he reached the office. + “Everybody is talking about your story,” he said. “I must say I was + surprised when I read it. I had begun to fear that you would never catch + the trick—for, with most of us writing is only a trick. But now I + see that you are a born writer. Your future is in your own hands.” + </p> + <p> + “You think I can learn to write?” + </p> + <p> + “That is the sane way to put it. Yes, I know that you can. If you’ll only + not be satisfied with the results that come easy, you will make a + reputation. Not a mere Park Row reputation, but the real thing.” + </p> + <p> + Howard got flattery enough in the next few days to turn a stronger head + than was his at twenty-two. But a few partial failures within a fortnight + sobered him and steadied him. His natural good sense made him take himself + in hand. He saw that his success had been to a great extent a happy + accident; that to repeat it, to improve upon it he must study life, study + the art of expression. He must keep his senses open to impression. He must + work at style, enlarge his vocabulary, learn the use of words, the effect + of varying combinations of words both as to sound and as to meaning. “I + must learn to write for the people,” he thought, “and that means to write + the most difficult of all styles.” + </p> + <p> + He was, then and always, one of those who like others and are liked by + them, yet never seek company and so are left to themselves. As he had no + money to spare and a deep aversion to debt, he was not tempted into + joining in the time-wasting dissipations that were now open to him. He + worked hard at his profession and, when he left the office, usually went + direct to his rooms to read until far into the morning. He was often busy + sixteen hours out of the twenty-four. His day at reporting was long—from + noon until midnight, and frequently until three in the morning. But the + work was far different from the grind which is the lot of the young men + striving in other professions or in business. It was the most fascinating + work imaginable for an intelligent, thirsty mind—the study of human + nature under stress of the great emotions. + </p> + <p> + His mode of thought and his style made Mr. Bowring and Mr. King give him + much of this particular kind of reporting. So he was always observing + love, hate, jealousy, revenge, greed. He saw these passions in action in + the lives of people of all kinds and conditions. And he saw little else. + The reporter is a historian. And history is, as Gibbon says, for the most + part “a record of the crimes, follies and misfortunes of mankind.” + </p> + <p> + For many a man this has been a ruinous, one-sided development. Howard was + saved by his extremely intelligent, sympathetic point of view. He saw the + whole of each character, each conflict that he was sent to study. If the + point of the story was the good side of human nature—some act of + generosity or self-sacrifice—he did not exaggerate it into godlike + heroism but adjusted it in its proper prospective by bringing out its + human quality and its human surroundings. If the main point was violence + or sordidness or baseness, he saw the characteristics which relieved and + partially redeemed it. His news-reports were accounts of the doings not of + angels or devils but of human beings, accounts written from a thoroughly + human standpoint. + </p> + <p> + Here lay the cause of his success. In all his better stories—for he + often wrote poor ones—there was the atmosphere of sincerity, of + realism, the marks of an acute observer, without prejudice and with a + justifiable leaning toward a belief in the fundamental worth of humanity. + Where others were cynical he was just. Where others were sentimental, he + had sincere, healthful sentiment. Where others were hysterical, he calmly + and accurately described, permitting the tragedy to reveal itself instead + of burying it beneath high-heaped adjectives. Simplicity of style was his + aim and he was never more delighted by any compliment than by one from the + chief political reporter. + </p> + <p> + “That story of yours this morning,” said this reporter whose lack as a + writer was more than compensated by his ability to get intimately + acquainted with public men, “reads as if a child might have written it. I + don’t see how you get such effects without any style at all. You just let + your story tell itself.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you see,” replied Howard, “I am writing for the masses, and fine + writing would be wasted upon them.” + </p> + <p> + “You’re right,” said Jackman, “we don’t need literature on this paper—long + words, high-sounding phrases and all that sort of thing. What we want is + just plain, simple English that goes straight to the point.” + </p> + <p> + “Like Shakespeare’s and Bunyan’s,” suggested Kittredge with a grin. + </p> + <p> + “Shakespeare? Fudge!” scoffed Jackman. “Why he couldn’t have made a living + as a space-writer on a New York newspaper.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don’t think he would have staid long in Park Row,” replied + Kittredge with a subtlety of meaning that escaped Jackman. + </p> + <p> + A few days before New Year’s the Managing Editor looked up and smiled as + Howard was passing his desk. + </p> + <p> + “How goes it?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, not so badly,” Howard answered, “but I am a good deal depressed at + times.” + </p> + <p> + “Depressed? Nonsense! You’ve got everything—youth, health and + freedom. And by the way, you are going on space the first of the year. Our + rule is a year on salary before space. But we felt that it was about time + to strengthen the rule by making an exception.” + </p> + <p> + Howard stammered thanks and went away. This piece of news, dropped + apparently so carelessly by Mr. King, meant a revolution in fortune for + him. It was the transition from close calculation on twenty-five dollars a + week to wealth beyond his most fanciful dreams of six months ago. Not + having the money-getting instinct and being one of those who compare their + work with the best instead of with the inferior, Howard never felt that he + was “entitled to a living.” He had a lively sense of gratitude for the + money return for his services which prudence presently taught him to + conceal. + </p> + <p> + “Space” meant to him eighty dollars a week at least—circumstances of + ease. So vast a sum did it seem that he began to consider the problem of + investment. “I have been not badly off on twenty-five dollars a week,” he + thought. “With, well, say forty dollars a week I shall be able to satisfy + all my wants. I can save at least forty a week and that will mean an + independence with a small income by the time I am thirty-four.” + </p> + <p> + But—a year after he was put “on space” he was still just about even + with his debts. He seemed to himself to be living no better and it was + only by careful counting-up that he could see how that dream of + independence had eluded him. A more extensive wardrobe, a little better + food, a more comfortable suite of rooms, an occasional dinner to some + friends, loans to broken-down reporters, and the mysteriously vanished two + thousand dollars was accounted for. + </p> + <p> + Howard tried to retrench, devised small ingenious schemes for saving + money, lectured himself severely and frequently for thus trifling away his + chance to be a free man. But all in vain. He remained poor; and, whenever + he gave the matter thought, which was not often, gloomy forebodings as to + the future oppressed him. “I shall find myself old,” he thought, “with + nothing accomplished, with nothing laid by. I shall be an old drudge.” He + understood the pessimistic tone of his profession. All about him were men + like himself—leading this gambler’s life of feverish excitement and + evanescent achievement, earning comfortable incomes and saving nothing, + looking forward to the inevitable time of failing freshness and shattered + nerves and declining income. + </p> + <p> + He spasmodically tried to write stories for the magazines, contrived plots + for novels and plays, wrote first chapters, first scenes of first acts. + But the exactions of newspaper life, the impossibility of continuous + effort at any one piece of work and his natural inertia—he was inert + but neither idle nor lazy—combined to make futile his efforts to + emancipate himself from hand-to-mouth journalism. + </p> + <p> + He had been four years a reporter and was almost twenty-six years old. He + was known throughout his profession in New York, although he had never + signed an article. One remarkable “human interest” story after another had + forced the knowledge of his abilities upon the reporters and editors of + other newspapers. And he was spoken of as one of the best and in some + respects the best “all round reporter” in the city. This meant that he was + capable to any emergency—that, whatever the subject, he could write + an accurate, graphic, consecutive and sustained story and could get it + into the editor’s hands quickly. + </p> + <p> + Indeed he possessed facility to the perilous degree. What others achieved + only after long toil, he achieved without effort. This was due chiefly to + the fact that he never relaxed but was at all times the journalist, + reading voraciously newspapers, magazines and the best books, and using + what he read; observing constantly and ever trying to see something that + would make “good copy”; turning over phrases in his mind to test the value + of words both as to sound and as to meaning. He was an incessantly active + man. His great weakness was the common weakness—failure to + concentrate. In Park Row they regarded him as a brilliant success. + Brilliant he was. But a success he was not. He knew that he was a + brilliant failure—and not very brilliant. + </p> + <p> + “Why is it?” he asked himself again and again in periods of reaction from + the nervous strain of some exciting experience. “Shall I never seize any + of these chances that are always thrusting themselves at me? Shall I + always act like a Neapolitan beggar? Will the stimulus to ambition never + come?” + </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. — IN THE EDGE OF BOHEMIA. + </h2> + <p> + Howard lived in Washington Square, South. He had gone to a “furnished-room + house” there because it was cheap. He staid because he was comfortable and + was without a motive for moving. + </p> + <p> + It was the centre of the most varied life in New York. To the north lay + fashion and wealth, to the east and west, respectability and moderate + means; to the south, poverty and squalor, vice and crime. All could be + seen and heard from the windows of his sitting room. In the evenings + toward spring he looked out upon a panorama of the human race such as is + presented by no other city in the world and by no other part of that city. + Within view were Americans of all kinds, French and Germans, Italians and + Austrians, Spaniards and Moors, Scandinavians and negroes, born New + Yorkers and born citizens of most of the capitals of civilisation and + semi-barbarism. There were actresses, dancers, shop girls, cocottes; + touts, thieves, confidence-men, mission workers; artists and students from + the musty University building, tramps and drunkards from the + “barrel-houses” and “stale-beer shops;” and, across the square to the + north, representatives of New York’s oldest and most noted families. To + the west were apartment houses whence stiff, prim bookkeepers, + floor-walkers, clerks and small shop-keepers issued with their families on + Sundays, bound for church. There were other apartment houses—the + most of them to the south—whence in the midnight hours came slattern + servants and reckless looking girls in loose wrappers and high-heeled + slippers, pitcher in hand, bound for the nearest saloon. + </p> + <p> + After dusk from early spring until late fall a multitude of interesting + sounds mingled with the roar of the elevated trains to the west and south + and the rumble of carriages in “the Avenue” to the north. Howard, reading + or writing at his window on his leisure days, heard the young men and + young women laughing and shouting and making love under the trees where + the Washington Arch glistened in the twilight. Later came the songs—“I + want you, my honey, yes I do,” or “Lu, Lu, how I love my Lu!”, or some + other of the current concert-hall jingles. Many figures could be seen + flitting about in the shadows. Usually these figures were in pairs; + usually one was in white; usually at her waist-line there was a black belt + that continued on until it was lost in the other and darker figure. + </p> + <p> + Scraps of a score of languages—curses, jests, terms of endearment—would + float up to him. Then came the hours of comparative silence, with the city + breathing softly and regularly, with the moon hanging low and the pale + arch rising above the dark trees like a giant ghost. There would be an + occasional drunken shout or shriek; a riotous roar of song from some + staggering reveller making company for himself on the journey home; the + heavy step of the policeman. Or perhaps the only sound to disturb the + city’s sleep would be that soft tread, timid as a mouse’s, stealthy as a + jackal’s—the tread of a lonely woman with draggled silk skirt and + painted cheeks and eyes burning into the darkness, and a heart as bitter + and as sad as no money, no home, no friends, no hope can make it. + </p> + <p> + Once he threw a silver dollar from his window to the sidewalk well in + front of her. She did not see it flash downward but she heard it ring upon + the walk. She rushed forward and twice kicked it away from her in her + frenzy to get it. When her bare hand—or was it a claw?—at last + closed upon it, she gave a low scream, looked slyly and fearfully about, + then ran as if death were at her heels. + </p> + <p> + Soon after Howard was put “on space” he took the best suite of rooms in + the house. It was a strange company which Mrs. Sands had gathered under + her roof. Except Howard there was no one, not even Mrs. Sands herself, who + did not have so much past that there was little left for future. Indeed, + perhaps none of these storm-tossed or wrecked human craft had had more of + a past than Mrs. Sands. There was no mistaking the significance of those + deep furrows filled with powder and plastered with paint, those few hairs + tinted and frizzed. But like all persons with real pasts Mrs. Sands and + her lodgers kept the veil tightly drawn. They confessed to no yesterdays + and they did not dare think of to-morrow. They were incuriously awaiting + the impulse which was sure to come, sure to thrust them on downward. + </p> + <p> + A new lodger at Mrs. Sand’s usually took the best rooms that were to be + had. Then, sometimes slowly, sometimes swiftly, came the retreat upward + until a cubby-hole under the eaves was reached. Finally came precipitate + and baggageless departure, often with a week or two of lodging unpaid. The + next pause, if pause there was, would be still nearer the river-bed or the + Morgue. + </p> + <p> + One morning when he had been living in Washington Square, South, about—three + years, Howard was dressing hurriedly, the door of his sitting-room + accidentally ajar. Through the crack he saw some one stooping over the + serving tray which he had himself put outside his door when he had + finished breakfast. He looked more closely. It was “the clergyman” from up + under the eaves—an unfrocked priest, thin to emaciation, misery + written upon his face even more deeply than weakness. He hastily bundled + the bones of two chops and a bit of bread into a stained and torn + handkerchief, and sprang away up the stairs toward his little hole at the + roof. + </p> + <p> + Howard was in a hurry and so put off for the time action upon the natural + impulse. When he came back at midnight, there was soon a knock at his + door. He opened it and invited in the man at the threshold—a tall, + strongly built, erect German, with a dissipated handsome face, heavily + scarred from university duels. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me for disturbing you,” said the German. His speech, his tone, his + manner, left no doubt as to his breeding though they raised the gravest + doubts as to his being willing to give a true account of why he had become + a tenant in that lodging house. + </p> + <p> + “Will you have a cigarette and some whiskey?” inquired Howard. + </p> + <p> + The German’s glance lit and lingered upon the bottle of Scotch on the + table. “Concentrated, double-distilled friendship,” said he as he poured + out his drink. + </p> + <p> + “But a friend that drives all others away,” smiled Howard. + </p> + <p> + “I have found it of a very jealous disposition,” replied the German with a + careless shrug of the shoulders and a lifting of the eyebrows. “But at + least this friend has the grace to stay after it has driven the others + away.” + </p> + <p> + “To stay until the last piece of silver is gone.” + </p> + <p> + “But what more does one expect of a friend? Besides, we are overlooking + one friend—the one who helped our clerical fellow-lodger of the + attic out of his troubles to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “His luck has turned?” + </p> + <p> + “Permanently. He shot himself this afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + “And only this morning I made up my mind to try to help him,” said Howard + regretfully. + </p> + <p> + “You could not have hoped to succeed so well. His case needed something + more than temporary expedient. But, to come to the point, I had a slight + acquaintance with him. He left a note for me—mailed it just before + he shot himself. In it he asked that I insert a personal in the Herald. + Unfortunately I have not the money. I thought that you as a journalist + might be able to suggest something.” + </p> + <p> + The German held out a slip of cheap writing paper on which was written: + “Helen—when you see this it will be over—L.” + </p> + <p> + “A good story,” was Howard’s first thought, his news-instinct alert. And + then he remembered that it was not for him to tell. “I will attend to this + for you to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said the German, helping himself to the whiskey. “Have you + seen the new lodgers?” + </p> + <p> + “Those in the room behind me? Yes. I saw them at the front door as I came + in.” + </p> + <p> + “They’re a queer pair—the youngest I’ve seen in this house. I’ve + been wondering what tempest wrecked them on this forlorn coast so early in + the voyage.” + </p> + <p> + “Why wrecked?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear sir, we are all—except you—wrecks here, all + unseaworthy at least.” + </p> + <p> + “One of them was quite pretty, I thought,” said Howard, “the slender one + with the black hair.” + </p> + <p> + “They are not mates. The other girl is of a different sort. She’s more + used to this kind of life, at least to poverty. I fancy Miss Black-Hair + looks on it as a lark. But she’ll find out the truth by the time she has + mounted another story.” + </p> + <p> + “Here, to go up means to go down,” Howard said, weary of the conversation + and wishing that the German would leave. + </p> + <p> + “They say that they’re sisters,” the German went on, again helping himself + to the whiskey; “They say they have run away from home because of a + stepmother and that they are going to earn their own living. But they + won’t. They spend the nights racing about with a gang of the young + wretches of this neighbourhood. They won’t be able to stand getting up + early for work. And then——” + </p> + <p> + The German blew out a huge cloud of cigarette smoke, shrugged his + shoulders and added: “Miss Black-Hair may get on up town presently. But I + doubt it. The Tenderloin rarely recruits from down here.” + </p> + <p> + The bottle was empty and the German bowed himself out. As the night was + hot, Howard opened the door a few moments afterward. At the other end of + the short hall light was streaming through the open door of the room the + two girls had taken. Before he could turn, there was a shadow and “Miss + Black-Hair” was standing in her doorway: + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she began, “I thought——” + </p> + <p> + Howard paused, looking at her. She was above the medium height—tall + for a woman—and slender. Her loose wrapper, a little open at her + round throat, clung to her, attracting attention to all the lines of her + form. Her hair was indeed black, jet black, waving back from her forehead + in a line of curving and beautiful irregularity. Her skin was clear and + dark. There were deep circles under her eyes, making them look unnaturally + large, pathetically weary. In repose her face was childish and sadly + serious. When she smiled she looked older and pert, but no happier. + </p> + <p> + “I thought,” she continued with the pert, self-confident smile, “that you + were my sister Nellie. I’m waiting for her.” + </p> + <p> + “You’re in early tonight,” said Howard, the circles under her eyes + reminding him of what the German had told him. + </p> + <p> + “I haven’t slept much for a week,” the girl replied, “I’m nearly dead. But + I won’t go to bed till Nellie comes.” + </p> + <p> + Howard was about to turn when she went on: “We agreed always to stay + together. She broke it tonight. My fellow got too fresh, so I came home. + She said she’d come too. That was an hour ago and she isn’t here yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t she rather young to be out alone at this time?” + </p> + <p> + Howard could hardly have told why he continued the conversation. He + certainly would not, had she been less beautiful or less lonely and + childish. At his remark about her sister’s youth she laughed with an + expression of cunning at once amusing and pitiful. + </p> + <p> + “She’s a year older than me,” she said, “and I guess I can take care of + myself. Still she hasn’t much sense. She’ll get into trouble yet. She + doesn’t understand how to manage the boys when they’re too fresh.” + </p> + <p> + “But you do, I suppose?” suggested Howard. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed I do,” with a quick nod of her small graceful head, “I know what + I’m about. <i>My</i> mother taught <i>me</i> a few things.” + </p> + <p> + “Didn’t she teach your sister also?” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Black-Hair” dropped her eyes and flushed a little, looking like a + child caught in a lie. “Of course,” she said after a pause. + </p> + <p> + “How long have you been without your mother?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve been away from home four months. But I saw her in the street + yesterday. She didn’t see me though.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you’ve got a step-father?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I haven’t. Nellie told that to Mrs. Sands. But it’s not so. You know + Nellie’s not my sister?” + </p> + <p> + “I fancied not from what you said a moment ago.” + </p> + <p> + “No, she used to be nurse girl in our family. We just say we’re sisters. I + wish she’d come. I’m tired of standing. Won’t you come in?” + </p> + <p> + She went into her room, her manner a frank and simple invitation. Howard + hesitated, then went just inside the door and half sat, half leaned upon + the high roll of the lounge. The room was cheaply furnished, the lounge + and a closed folding bed almost filling it. Upon the mantel, the bureau + and the little table were a few odds and ends that stamped it a woman’s + room. A street gown of thin pale-blue cloth was thrown over a rocking + chair. As the girl leaned back in this chair with her face framed in the + pale-blue of the gown, she looked tired and sad and beautiful and very + young. + </p> + <p> + “If Nellie doesn’t look out, I’ll go away and live alone,” she said, and + the accompanying unconscious look of loneliness touched Howard. + </p> + <p> + “You might go back home.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t know my home or you wouldn’t say that. You don’t know my + father.” She had got upon the subject of herself, and, once in that road + she kept it with no thought of turning out. “He can’t treat me as he + treats mother. Why, he goes away and stays for days. Then he comes home + and quarrels with her all the time. They never both sit through a meal. + One or the other flares up and leaves. He generally whipped me when he got + very mad—just for spite.” + </p> + <p> + “But there’s your mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. She doesn’t like my going away. But I can’t stand it. Papa wouldn’t + let me go anywhere or let anybody come to see me. He says everybody’s bad. + I guess he’s about right. Only he doesn’t include himself.” + </p> + <p> + “You seem to have a poor opinion of people.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you can’t blame me.” She put on her wise look of experience and + craft. “I’ve been away, living with Nellie for four months and I’ve seen + no good to speak of. A girl doesn’t get a fair chance.” + </p> + <p> + “But you’ve got work?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes. We both stayed down in a restaurant, Nellie’s got a place as + waiter. That’s the best she could do. The man said I was good-looking and + would catch trade. So he made me cashier. I get six dollars a week to + Nellie’s three. But it’s a bad place. The men are always slipping notes in + my hand when they give me their checks. Then the boss, he’s always + bothering around.” + </p> + <p> + “But you don’t have to work hard?” + </p> + <p> + “From nine till four. We get our lunch free. I pay three dollars on the + room and Nellie pays one.” + </p> + <p> + If Howard had not seen many such problems in economics before, he would + have been astonished at any one even hoping to be able to get two meals a + day, clothing and carfare out of two or three dollars a week. As it was, + he only wondered how long a girl who had been used at least to comfort + would endure this. “It’s easy for the other girl,” he thought, “because + she’s used to it. But this one—” and he decided that the “trouble” + would begin as soon as her clothing was worn out. + </p> + <p> + He noticed that she was pulling at the third finger of her right hand + where she would have worn rings if she had had any. “You’ve had to pawn + your rings?” he ventured. + </p> + <p> + She looked at him startled. “Did Nellie tell you?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he replied, “I saw that you were missing your rings and suspected + the rest.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; that’s so. I’ve pawned all my jewelry except a bracelet. Nellie + can’t get along on her three dollars. She eats too much.” + </p> + <p> + “I should think you’d rather be at home.” + </p> + <p> + “As I told you before,” she said impatiently, “anything’s better than + home. Besides, I’m pretty well off. I go where I please, stay out as late + as I please and have all the company I want. At home I’d have to be in bed + at ten o’clock.” + </p> + <p> + There was a sound at the front door down in the darkness. The girl started + from the chair, listened, then exclaimed: “There she comes now. And it’s + two o’clock!” + </p> + <p> + Howard took the hint, smiled and said: “Well, good-night. I’ll see you + again.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-night,” the girl answered absently. + </p> + <p> + From his room Howard heard Nellie coming up the stairs. “You’re a nice + one!” came in “Miss Black-Hair’s” indignant voice, “Where have you been? + Where did you and Jack go?” + </p> + <p> + The answer came in a sob—“Oh, Alice, you’ll never forgive me!” + </p> + <p> + Their door closed upon the two girls but Howard could still hear Nellie’s + voice tearful, pleading. There was the sound of some one falling heavily + upon the lounge, then sobs and cries of “Oh! Oh!” As Howard went into his + bedroom, he could hear the voices still more plainly through the thin + wall. He caught the words only once. “Miss Black-Hair,” her voice shaking + with anger, exclaimed: “Nellie Baker, you are a wicked girl, I shall go + away.” + </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. — ALICE. + </h2> + <p> + Several nights later Howard came upon Alice at the front door, where a + young man was detaining her in a lingering good-bye. Another night as he + was passing her room he saw her stretched upon the floor, her head + supported by her elbows and an open book in front of her. She looked so + childlike that Howard paused and said: “What is it—a fairy story?” + </p> + <p> + “No, it’s a love story,” she replied, just glancing at him with a faint + smile and showing that she did not wish to be interrupted. The same night + as he was going to bed he heard the angry voices of the two girls. A week + later, toward the end of July, he found Alice sitting on the front stoop, + when he came from dinner. She was obviously in the depths of the “blues.” + Her eyes, the droop of the corners of her mouth, even the colour of her + skin indicated anxiety and depression. She looked so forlorn that he said + gently: “Wouldn’t you like to walk in the Square?” + </p> + <p> + She rose at once. “Yes, I guess so.” They crossed to the green. She was + wearing the pale-blue gown and it fitted her well. Neither in the gown nor + in the big hat with its coquettish flowers nodding over the brim was there + much of fashion. But there was a certain distinction in her walk and her + manner of wearing her clothes; and to a pretty face and a graceful form + was added the charm of youth, magnetic youth. + </p> + <p> + “Do you want to walk?” she asked, lassitude in her voice. + </p> + <p> + “No, let us sit,” he said, and they went to a bench near the arch. It was + twilight. The children were still romping and shouting. Many fat elderly + women—mothers and grandmothers—were solemnly marching about, + talking in fat, elderly voices. + </p> + <p> + “You have the blues?” asked Howard, thinking it might make her feel better + to talk of her troubles. “If I were your doctor, I should prescribe a + series of good cries.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t cry,” said the girl. “Sometimes I wish I could. Nellie cries and + gets over things. I feel awful inside and sick and my eyes burn. But I + can’t cry.” + </p> + <p> + “You’re too young for that.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, in some ways I’m young; again, I’m not. I hate everybody this + evening.” + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter? Has Nellie deserted you?” + </p> + <p> + “She? Not much. I had to tell her to go”—this with a joyless little + laugh—“she quit work and wouldn’t behave herself. So now I’m going + on alone.” + </p> + <p> + “And you won’t go home?” + </p> + <p> + “Never in the world,” she said with almost fierce energy; then some + thought made her laugh in the same way as before. Howard decided that she + had not told him everything about her home life, even though she had + rattled on as if there were nothing to conceal. He sat watching her, she + looking straight before her, her small bare hands clasped in her lap. He + was pitying her keenly—this child, at once stunted and abnormally + developed, this stray from one of the classes that keeps their women + sheltered; and here she was adrift, without any of those resources of + experience which assist the girls of the tenements. + </p> + <p> + Her features were small, sensitive, regular. Her eyes were brown with + lines of reddish gold raying from the pupils. Her chin and mouth were firm + enough, yet suggested weakness through the passions. Her clear skin had + the glow of youth and health upon its smooth surface. She was certainly + beautiful and she certainly had magnetism. + </p> + <p> + “What do you think is going to become of you?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” she said, after a deep sigh. “A girl doesn’t have a fair + chance. I don’t seem to be able to have any fun without getting into + trouble. I don’t know what to think. It’s all so black. I wish I was + dead.” + </p> + <p> + Her dreary tone put the deepest pathos into her words. Howard had seen + despondency in youth before—had felt it himself. But there had + always been a certain lightness in it. Here was a mere child who evidently + thought, and thought with reason, that there was no hope for her; and her + despair was not a passing cloud or storm, but a settled conviction. + </p> + <p> + “There doesn’t seem to be any chance for a young girl,” she repeated as if + that phrase summed up all that was weighing upon her. And Howard feared + that she, was right. Even the readiest of all commodities, advice, failed + him. “What can she do?” he thought. “If she has no home, worth speaking + of”—then he went on aloud: + </p> + <p> + “Haven’t you friends?” + </p> + <p> + She laughed again with that slight moving of the lips and with eyes + mirthless. “Who wants me for a friend? Nobody’d think I was respectable. + And I guess I’m not so very. There’s Nellie and her—friends. Oh, the + girls join in with the men to drag other girls down. But I won’t do that. + I don’t care what becomes of me—except that.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” he asked, curious for her explanation of this aversion. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know why,” she replied. “There doesn’t seem to be any good + reason. I’ve thought I would several times. And then—well, I just + couldn’t.” + </p> + <p> + Howard turned the subject and tried to draw her out of this mood. They sat + there for several hours and became well acquainted. He found that she had + an intelligent way of looking at things, that she observed closely, and + that she appreciated and understood far more than he had expected. + </p> + <p> + It was the beginning of a series of evenings spent together. He took her + with him on many of his assignments and they often dined together at “Le + Chat Noir” or the “Restaurant de Paris,” or “The Manhattan” over in Second + Avenue. Late in June she bought a new gown—a pale-grey with ribbons + and hat to match. Howard was amused at the anxious expression in her + gold-brown eyes as she waited for his opinion. And when he said: “Well, + well, I never saw you look so pretty,” she looked much prettier with a + slight colour rising to tint the usual pallor of her cheeks. + </p> + <p> + One Sunday he came home in the afternoon and found her helping the maid at + straightening his rooms. As he lay on the lounge smoking he watched her + lazily. She handled his books with a great deal of awe. She opened one of + them and sat on the floor in the childlike way she often had. She read + several sentences aloud. It was a tangle of technical words on the subject + of political economy. + </p> + <p> + “What do you have such stupid things around for?” she said, smiling and + rising. She began to arrange the books and papers on the table. He was + looking at her but thinking of something else when he became conscious + that she had got suddenly white to the lips. He jumped to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter?” he asked, “are you going to faint?” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes were shining as with fever out of a ghostly face. Her lips + trembled as she answered: “Oh it’s nothing. I do this often.” She went + slowly into the back room where the maid was. In a few minutes she + returned, apparently as usual. She flitted about uneasily, taking up now + one thing, now another in a purposeless, nervous way. + </p> + <p> + “I never was in here before,” she said. “You’ve got lots of pretty things. + Whose picture is this?” + </p> + <p> + “That? Oh, my sister-in-law out in Chicago.” + </p> + <p> + Howard did not then understand why she became so gay, why her eyes danced + with happiness, why as soon as she went into the hall she began to sing + and kept it up in her own room, quieting down only to burst forth again. + He did not even especially note the swift change, the, for her, + extraordinary mood of high spirits. It was about this time that their + relations began to change. + </p> + <p> + Howard had thought of her, or had thought that he thought of her, only as + a lonely and desolate child, to be taught so far as he was capable of + teaching and she of learning. He was conscious of her extreme youth and of + the impassable gulf of thought and taste between them. He did not take her + feelings into account at all. It never occurred to him that this part of + friend and patron which he was playing was not safe for him, not just and + right toward her. + </p> + <p> + One night he took her to a ball at the Terrace Garden—a respectable, + amusing affair “under the auspices of the + Young-German-American-Shooting-Society.” The next day a reporter for the + <i>Sun</i> whom he knew slightly said to him with a grin he did not like: + “Mighty pretty little girl you’re taking about with you, Howard. Where’d + you pick her up?” + </p> + <p> + Howard reddened, angry with himself for reddening, angry with the <i>Sun</i> + man for his impudence, ashamed that he had put himself and Alice in such a + position. But the incident brought the matter of his relation with her + sharply and clearly before his mind and conscience. + </p> + <p> + “This must stop,” he said to himself; “it must stop at once. It is unjust + to her. And it is dragging me into an entanglement.” + </p> + <p> + But the mischief had been done. She loved him. And with the confidence of + youth and inexperience, she was disregarding all the obstacles, was giving + herself up to the dream that he would presently love her in return, with + the end as in the story books. Indeed love stories became her constant + companions. Where she once read them for amusement, she now read them as a + Christian reads his Bible—for instruction, inspiration, faith, hope + and courage. + </p> + <p> + One evening in July—it was in the week of Independence Day—Howard’s + windows and door were thrown wide to get the full benefit of whatever stir + there might be in the air. He was sprawled upon the lounge, the table + drawn close and upon it a lamp shedding a dim light through the room but + enough near by to let him read. He had dropped his book and was thinking + whether a stroll in the Square in the moonlight would repay the trouble of + moving. There were steps in the hall and then, peeping round the + door-frame was the face of his young neighbour. + </p> + <p> + “Hello,” he said, “I thought you were out somewhere. Come in.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I’m going to bed,” she answered, nevertheless gradually edging into + the room. She was wearing a loose wrapper of flowered silk, somewhat worn + and never very fine. Her black hair hung in a long thick braid to her + waist and she looked even younger than usual. + </p> + <p> + “Where have you been all evening?” asked Howard. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’ve been up to see a friend. She lives in Harlem, and she wants me + to come and live with her.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you going?” Howard inquired, noting that he was interested and not + pleased. “The house wouldn’t seem natural without you.” + </p> + <p> + She gave him a quick, gratified glance and, advancing further into the + room, sat upon the arm of the big rocking-chair. “She gave me a good + talking to,” she went on with a smile. “She told me I ought not to live + alone at my age. She said I ought to live with her and meet some friends + of hers. She said maybe I’d find a nice fellow to marry.” + </p> + <p> + Howard thought over this as he smoked and at last said in an + ostentatiously judicial tone: “Well, I think she’s right. I don’t see what + else there is to do. You can’t live on down here alone always. What’s + become of Nellie?” + </p> + <p> + “Nellie’s got to be a bad girl,” said Alice with a blush and a dropping of + the eyes. “She’s in Fourteenth Street every night. She says she doesn’t + care what happens to her. I saw her last night and she wanted me to come + with her. She says it’s of no use for me to put on airs. She says I’ve got + no friends and I might as well join her sooner as later.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” Howard was keeping his eyes carefully away from hers. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I sha’n’t go with her. As long as a girl has got anything at all to + live for, she doesn’t want that. Besides I’d rather go to the East River.” + </p> + <p> + “Drowning’s a serious matter,” said Howard with a smile and with banter in + his tone. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is,” said the girl seriously, “I’ve thought of it. And I don’t + believe I could.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you’d better go with your friend and get married.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want to get married,” she replied, shaking her head slowly from + side to side. + </p> + <p> + “That’s what all the girls say,” laughed Howard. “But of course you will. + It’s the only thing to do.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why don’t you get married?” asked Alice, tracing one of the flowers + in her wrapper with her slim, brown forefinger. + </p> + <p> + “I couldn’t if I would and I wouldn’t if I could.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you could get a nice girl to marry you, I’m sure,” she said, the + colour rising faintly toward her long, downcast lashes. + </p> + <p> + “But who would get the money? It takes money to keep a nice girl.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, not much,” said Alice earnestly, yet with a queer hesitation in her + voice. “You oughtn’t to marry those extravagant girls. I’ve read about + them and I think they don’t make very good wives, real wives to save money + and—and care.” + </p> + <p> + “You seem to know a good deal about these things for your age,” said + Howard, much amused and showing it. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t care,” she persisted, “you ought to get married.” + </p> + <p> + Howard felt that this was the time to clear the girl’s mind of any + “notions” she might have got. He would be very clever, very adroit. He + would not let her suspect that he had any idea of her thoughts. Indeed he + was not perfectly certain that he had. But he would gently and frankly + tell her the truth. + </p> + <p> + “I shall never get married,” he said, sitting up and talking as one who is + discussing a case which he understands thoroughly yet has no personal + interest in. “I haven’t the money and I haven’t the desire. I am what they + would call a confirmed bachelor. I wouldn’t marry any girl who had not + been brought up as I have been. We should be unhappy together unsuited + each to the other. She would soon hate me. Besides, I wish to be free. I + care more for freedom than I ever shall for any human being. As I am now, + so I shall always be, a wandering fellow without ties. It is not a + pleasant prospect for old age. But I have made up my mind to it and I + shall never marry.” + </p> + <p> + The girl’s hands had dropped limp into her lap; her face was down so that + he could barely see the burning blush which overspread it. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t mean that,” she said in a voice that was queer and choked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, I do, little girl,” he answered, intending to smile when she + should look up. + </p> + <p> + When she did lift her eyes, his smile could not come. For her face was + grey and her lips bloodless and from her eyes looked despair. Howard + glanced away instantly. With rude hand he had suddenly toppled into the + dust this child’s dream-castle of love and happiness which he had himself + helped her build. He felt like a criminal. But partly from a sense of + duty, chiefly from the cowardice of self-preservation, he made no effort + to lighten her suffering. + </p> + <p> + “I should only prolong it,” he thought, “only make matters worse. + To-morrow—perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + If she had been worldly wise, even if she had not been so completely + absorbed in her worship of him that her woman-instincts were dormant, she + would herself have found hope. But she had not a suspicion that these + strong words of apparent finality were spoken to give himself courage, to + keep him from obeying the impulse to respond to the appeal of her youth to + his, her aloneness to his, her passion to his. She believed him literally. + </p> + <p> + There was a long silence. He heard her move, heard a suppressed cry and + glanced toward her again. She was darting from the room. A second later + her door crashed. He started up and after her, hesitated, returned to his + book—but not to his reading. + </p> + <p> + Toward noon the next day, he passed her room on his way out. The door was + wide open; none of her belongings was in sight; the maid was sweeping + energetically. She paused when she saw him. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Alice left this morning,” she said, “and the room’s been let to + another party.” + </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. — IN A BOHEMIAN QUICKSAND. + </h2> + <p> + Howard could have got her new address; and for many weeks habit, at first + steadily, afterward intermittently, teased him to look her up. He was + amazed at her hold upon him. At times the longing for her was so intense + that he almost suspected himself of being in love with her. + </p> + <p> + “I escaped from that none too soon,” he congratulated himself. “It wasn’t + nearly so one-sided as I thought.” + </p> + <p> + He had never been gregarious. Thus far he had not had a single intimate + friend, man or woman. He knew many people and knew them well. They liked + him and some of them sought his friendship. These were often puzzled + because it was easy to get acquainted with him, impossible to know him + intimately. + </p> + <p> + The explanation of this combination of openness and reserve, friendliness + and unapproachableness, was that his boyhood and youth had been spent + wholly among books. That life had trained him not to look to others for + amusement, sympathy or counsel, but to depend upon himself. As his + temperament was open and good-natured and sympathetic, he was as free from + enemies and enmities as he was from friends and friendships. + </p> + <p> + Women there had been—several women, a succession of idealizations + which had dispersed in the strong light of his common sense. He had never + disturbed himself about morals in what he regarded as the limited sense. + He always insisted that he was free; and he was careful only of his + personal pride and of taking no advantage of another. What he had said to + Alice about marriage was true—as to his intentions, at least. A poor + woman, he felt, he could not marry; a rich woman, he felt, he would not + marry. And he cared nothing about marriage because he was never lonely, + never leaned or wished to lean upon another, abhorred the idea of any one + leaning upon him; because he regarded freedom as the very corner-stone of + his scheme of life. + </p> + <p> + The nearest he had come to companionship was with Alice. With the other + women whom he had known in various degrees from warmth to white-heat, + there had been interruptions, no such constant freedom of access, no such + intermingling of daily life. Her he had seen at all hours and in all + circumstances. She never disturbed him but was ready to talk when he + wished to listen, listened eagerly when he talked, and was silent and + beautiful and restful to look at when he wished to indulge in the + dissipation of mental laziness. + </p> + <p> + As she loved him, she showed him only the best that there was in her and + showed it in the most attractive of all lights. + </p> + <p> + While he was still wavering or fancying that he was wavering, the Managing + Editor sent him to “do” a great strike-riot in the coal regions of + Pennsylvania. He was there for three weeks, active day and night, + interested in the new phases of life—the mines and the miners, the + display of fierce passions, the excitement, the peril. + </p> + <p> + When he returned to New York, Alice had ceased to tempt him. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + One midnight in the early spring he was in his sitting room, reading and a + little bored. There came a knock at the door. He hoped that it was some + one bringing something interesting or coming to propose a search for + something interesting. “Come in,” he said with welcome in his voice. The + door opened. It was Alice. + </p> + <p> + She was dressed much as she had been the first time he talked with her—a + loose, clinging wrapper open at the throat. There was a change in her face—a + change for the better but also for the worse. She looked more intelligent, + more of a woman. There was more sparkle in her eyes and in her smile. But—Howard + saw instantly the price she had paid. As the German had suggested, she had + “got on up town.” + </p> + <p> + She was pulling at the long broad blue ribbons of her negligee. Her hands + were whiter and her pink finger nails had had careful attention. She + smiled, enjoying his astonishment. “I have come back,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Howard came forward and took her hand. “I’m glad, very glad to see you. + For a minute I thought I was dreaming.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she went on, “I’m in my old room. I came this afternoon. I must + have been asleep, for I didn’t hear you come in.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope it isn’t bad luck that has flung you back here.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no. I’ve been doing very well. I’ve been saving up to come. And when + I had enough to last me through the summer, I—I came.” + </p> + <p> + “You’ve been at work?” + </p> + <p> + She dropped her eyes and flushed. And her fingers played more nervously + with her ribbons. + </p> + <p> + “You needn’t treat me as a child any longer,” she said at last in a low + voice; “I’m eighteen now and—well, I’m not a child.” + </p> + <p> + Again there was a long pause. Howard, watching her downcast face, saw her + steadying her expression to meet his eyes. When she looked, it was + straight at him—appeal but also defiance. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t ask anything of you,” she said, “we are both free. And I wanted + to see you. I was sick of all those others—up there. I’ve never had—had—this + out of my mind. And I’ve come. And I can see you sometimes. I won’t be in + the way.” + </p> + <p> + Howard went over to the window and stared out into the lights and shadows + of the leafy Square. When he turned again she had lighted and was smoking + one of his cigarettes. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said smiling down at her, “Why not? Put on a street gown and + we’ll go out and get supper and talk it over.” + </p> + <p> + She sprang up, her face alight. She was almost running toward the door. + Midway she stopped, turned and came slowly back. She put one of her arms + upon his shoulder—a slender, cool, smooth, white arm with the lace + of the wide sleeve slipping away from it. She turned her face up until her + mouth, like a rosebud, was very near his lips. There was appeal in her + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I’m very, very glad to see you,” Howard said as he kissed her. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + And so Howard’s life was determined for the next four years. + </p> + <p> + He worked well at his profession. He read a great deal. He wrote fiction + and essays in desultory fashion and got a few things printed in the + magazines. He led a life that was a model of regularity. But he knew the + truth—that Alice had ended his career. + </p> + <p> + He was content. Ambition had always been vague with him and now his habit + of following the line of least resistance had drifted him into this + mill-pond. Sometimes, he would give himself up to bitter self-reproach, + disgusted that he should be so satisfied, so non-resisting in a lot in + every way the reverse of that which he had marked out for himself. If he + had been chained he might, probably would, have broken away. But Alice + never attempted to control him. His will was her law. She was especially + shrewd about money matters, so often the source of disputes and + estrangements. Two months after she reappeared, she proposed that they + take an apartment together. + </p> + <p> + “I saw one to-day in West Twelfth Street at seventy dollars a month,” she + said, “and I’m sure I could manage it so that you would be much better off + than you are now.” + </p> + <p> + He viewed this plan with suspicion. It definitely committed him to a mode + of life which he had always regarded as degrading both to the man and the + woman and as certain of a calamitous ending. So he made excuses for delay, + fully intending never to yield. But although Alice did not speak of her + plan again, he found himself more and more attracted by it, caught himself + speculating about various apartments he happened to see as he went about + the streets. She must have been conscious of what was going on in his + mind; for when, a month after she had spoken, he said abruptly: “Where was + that apartment you saw?” she went straight on discussing the details as if + there had been no interval. She was ready to act. + </p> + <p> + The apartment was taken in her name—Mrs. Cammack, the “Mrs.” being + necessary to account for him. They selected the furniture together, he as + interested as she and very pleased to find that she had the same good + taste in those matters that she had in dress. She took all the troubles + and annoyances upon herself. When she invited him to assist in the + arrangement, it was in matters that amused him and at times when she was + sure he had nothing else to do. It is not strange that he got a wholly + false idea of the difficulties of setting up an establishment. + </p> + <p> + After a month of selecting and discussing, of pleasure in the new + experience, pleasure in Alice’s enthusiasm and excitement and happiness, + he found himself master of five attractive and comfortable rooms, his + clothing, his books, all his belongings properly arranged. The door was + opened for him by a cleanlooking coloured maid, with a tiny white cap on + her head. + </p> + <p> + As he looked around and then at the beautiful face with the wistful, + gold-brown eyes so anxiously following his wandering glance, he was very + near to loving her. Indeed, he was like a husband who has left out that + period of passionate love which extends into married life until it gives + place to boredom, or to dislike, or to some such sympathetic affection as + he felt for Alice. “It is just this that holds me,” he thought, in his + infrequent moods of dissatisfaction. “If we quarrelled or if there were + any deep feeling on my side, I should not be in this mess. I should be”—Well, + where would he be? “Probably worse off,” he usually added. + </p> + <p> + Certainly he could not have been freer, for she never questioned him; and, + if she was ever uneasy or jealous when he came in late—for him—without + telling her where he had been, she never showed it. She had no friends, + and he often wondered how she passed the time when he was not with her. + Whenever he inquired he got the same answer: She had been busying herself + with their home; she had been planning to save money or to make him more + comfortable; she had been reading to improve her mind and to enable + herself to start him talking on subjects that interested him. + </p> + <p> + No matter how unexpectedly he looked in upon her life or her mind, he + found—himself. + </p> + <p> + One day she said to him—it was after two years of this life: + “Something is worrying you. Is it about me? You look at me so queerly at + times.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he answered. “It is about you. Tell me, Miss Black-Hair, do you + never think of getting old?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” she smiled. “I shall wait until I am twenty-five before I begin to + think of that.” + </p> + <p> + “But don’t you see that this sort of thing must stop sometime? It is + unjust to you. When I think of it, I reproach myself for permitting us to + get into it.” + </p> + <p> + “I am happy,” she said, looking straight at him, terror in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “But you have no friends?” + </p> + <p> + “Who has? And what do I want with friends?” + </p> + <p> + “But don’t you see, I can’t introduce you to anybody. I can’t talk about + you to the people I know. I am always having to explain you away, always + having to act as if I were ashamed of this, my real life. At times I am + Anglo-Saxon enough to be really ashamed of it. And I ought to be and am + ashamed of myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t let’s talk about it. You and I understand. Why should we bother + about the rest of the world?” + </p> + <p> + “No, we <i>must</i> talk about it. I have been going over it carefully. We + must—must be married.” + </p> + <p> + He laid his hand upon hers. She blushed deeply and lowered her head. A + tear dropped upon the front of her gown and hung glittering in the meshes + of the white lace. She crept into his arms and buried her face upon his + shoulder and sobbed. He had never seen her even look like tears before. + </p> + <p> + “We must be married,” he repeated, patting her on the shoulder. + </p> + <p> + She shook her head in negation. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said firmly, mentally noting that this was the very first time + he had ever caught her in a pretense. + </p> + <p> + “No.” Her tone was as firm as his. She lifted her head and put her cheek + against his. “It makes me very proud that you ask it. But—I—I + do not——” + </p> + <p> + “Do not—what?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not want—I will not—risk losing you.” + </p> + <p> + “But you won’t lose me. You will have me more than ever.” + </p> + <p> + “Some men—yes. But not you.” + </p> + <p> + “And why not I, O Wisdom?” + </p> + <p> + “Because—because—do you think I have watched you all this + time, without learning something about you? The way to keep you is to + leave you free. I do not want your name. I do not want your friends I do + not want to be respectable. I want—just you.” + </p> + <p> + “But are we not as good as married now?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—that’s it. And I want it to keep on. I never cared for anybody + until I saw you. I shall never care for anybody else. I never shall try. I + want you as long as I can have you. And then——” + </p> + <p> + “And then,” Howard laughed or rather, pretended to laugh, “and then, ‘Oh, + dig me a grave both wide and deep, wide and deep.’ How like + twenty-years-old that is.” + </p> + <p> + She seemed not to hear his jest and presently went on: “Do you remember + the evening before I left, down there at Mrs. Sands’s?” + </p> + <p> + “The night you proposed to me?” Howard said, pulling her ear. + </p> + <p> + She smiled faintly and continued: “I thought it all out that night. I + intended to come back just as I did. I went deliberately. I——” + </p> + <p> + Howard put his hand over her lips. + </p> + <p> + “O, I am not going to tell anything,”, said she, evading his fingers. + “Only this—that I understood you then, understood just why you would + never marry. Not so clearly as I understand it now, but still I—understood. + And you have been teaching me ever since, teaching me manners, teaching me + how to read and think and talk. And more than all, you’ve taught me your + way of looking at life.” + </p> + <p> + Howard held her away from him and studied her face, surprise in his eyes. + “Isn’t it strange?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Here I’ve been seeing you day after day all this time, have had a chance + to know you better than I ever knew any one in my life, have had you very + near to me day and night. And just now, as I look at you, I see the real + you for the first time in two years.” + </p> + <p> + “I have been wondering when you would look at me again,” said Alice with a + small, sly smile. + </p> + <p> + “Why, you are a woman grown. Where is the little girl I knew, the little + girl who used to look up to me?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, she’s gone these two years. She proposed to you and, when you refused + her, she—died.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—we must be married,” Howard went on. “Why not? It is more + convenient, let us say.” + </p> + <p> + Alice shook her head and put her cheek against his again and clasped his + fingers in hers. “No, my instinct is against it. Some day—perhaps. + But not now, not now. I want you. I want only you. We are together out + here—out beyond the pale. Inside, others would come in and—and + surely come between us. I want no others—none.” + </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. — A LITTLE CANDLE GOES OUT. + </h2> + <p> + Howard was now thirty years old. Park Row had long ceased talking of him + as a “coming man.” While his style of writing was steadily improving, he + wrote with no fixed aim, wrote simply for the day, for the newspaper which + dies with the day of its date. Some of his acquaintances wondered why a + man of such ability should thus stand still. The less observant spoke of + him as an impressive example of the “journalistic blight.” Those who + looked deeper saw the truth—a dangerous facility, a perilous + inertia, a fatal entanglement. Facility enabled him to earn a good living + with ease, working as he chose. Inertia prevented him from seeking + opportunities for advancement. Entanglement shut him off from the men and + women of his own kind who would have thrust opportunities upon him and + compelled him. + </p> + <p> + Howard himself saw this clearly in his occasional moods of self-criticism. + But as he saw no remedy, he raged intermittently and briefly, and + straightway relapsed. Vanity supplied him with many excuses and + consolations. Was he not one of the best reporters in the profession? + Where was there another, where indeed in any profession were there many of + his age, making five thousand a year? Was he not always improving his + mind? Was he not more and more careful in his personal habits? Was he not + respected by all who knew him; looked upon as a successful man; regarded + by those with whom he came in daily contact as a leader in the profession, + a model for style, a marvel for facility and versatility and for the + quantity of good “copy” he could turn out in a brief time? But with all + the soothings of vanity he never could quite hide from himself that his + life was a failure up to that moment. + </p> + <p> + “Why try to lie to myself?” he thought. “It’s never a question of what one + has done but always of what one could have and should have done. I am + thirty and I have been marking time for at least four years. Preparing by + study and reading? Yes, but not preparing for anything.” + </p> + <p> + On the whole he was glad that Alice had refused to marry him. Her reason + was valid. But there was another which he thought she did not see. He was + deceived as to the depth of her insight because he did not watch her + closely. He had no suspicion how many, many times, in their moments of + demonstrativeness, she listened for those words which never came, listened + and turned away to hide from him the disappointment in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + He did not love her—and she knew it. She did not inspire ambition in + him—and she knew it. She simply kept him comfortable and contented. + She simply prevented his amatory instincts from gathering strength + vigorously to renew that search which men and women keep up incessantly + until they find what they seek. She knew this also but never permitted + herself to see it clearly. + </p> + <p> + He was pleased with her but not proud of her. He was not exactly ashamed + of his relation with her but—well, he never relaxed his precautions + for keeping it conventionally concealed. He still had a room at his club + and occupied it occasionally. He laughed at himself, despised himself in a—gentle, + soothing way. But he excused himself to himself with earnestness despite + his sarcasms at his own expense. And for the most of the time he was + content—so well, so comfortably content that if his mind had not + been so nervously active he would have taken on the form and look of + settled middle-life. + </p> + <p> + There was just the one saving quality—his mental alertness. All his + life he had had insatiable intellectual curiosity. It had kept him from + wasting his time at play when he was a boy. It had kept him from plunging + deeply into dissipation when youth was hot in his veins. It was now + keeping him from the sluggard’s fate. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + On the last day of January—six weeks after his thirtieth birthday—he + came home earlier than usual, as they were going to the theatre and were + to dine at seven. He found Alice in bed and the doctor sitting beside her. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll have to get some one else to go with you, I’m afraid,” she said + with good-humoured resignation, a trifle over-acted. “My cold is worse and + the doctor says I must stay in bed.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing serious?” Howard asked anxiously, for her cheeks were flaming. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no. Just the cold. And I am taking care of myself.” + </p> + <p> + He accompanied the doctor to the door of the apartment. At the threshold + the doctor whispered: “Make some excuse and come to my office. I wish to + see you particularly.” + </p> + <p> + He grew pale. “Don’t let her see,” urged the doctor. He went back to + Alice, sick at heart. “I must go out and arrange for some one else to do + the play for me,” he said. “I shall spend the evening with you.” + </p> + <p> + She protested, but faintly. He went to the doctor’s office. + </p> + <p> + “She must go south at once,” he began, after looking at Howard steadily + and keenly. “Nothing can save her life. That may prolong it.” + </p> + <p> + Howard seemed not to understand. + </p> + <p> + “She must go to-morrow or she’ll be gone forever in ten days.” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible,” Howard said in a dull, dazed tone. + </p> + <p> + “At once, I tell you—at once.” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible,” Howard repeated. He was saying to himself, “And only this + afternoon I wished I were free and wondered how I could free myself.” He + laughed strangely. + </p> + <p> + “Impossible,” he said again. And again he laughed. The room swam around. + He stood up. “Impossible!” he said a fourth time, almost shouting it. And + he struck the doctor full in the face, reeled and fell headlong to the + floor. When he recovered consciousness he was lying on a lounge, the + doctor’s assistant standing beside him. + </p> + <p> + “I must go to her,” he exclaimed and sat up. He saw the doctor a few feet + away, holding a cloth odorous of arnica to his cheek. Howard remembered + and began, “I beg your pardon,”—The doctor interrupted with: “Not at + all. I’ve had many queer experiences but never one like that.” But Howard + had ceased to hear. He was staring vacantly at the floor, repeating to + himself, “And I wished to be free. And I am to be free.” + </p> + <p> + “You must go back to her. Take her south tomorrow. Asheville is the best + place.” + </p> + <p> + Howard was on his way to the door. “We shall go by the first train,” he + said. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me for telling you so abruptly,” said the doctor, following him. + “But I saw that you weren’t—that is I couldn’t help noticing that + you and she were—And usually the man in such cases—well, my + sympathy is for the woman.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think a man voluntarily lives with a woman because he hates her?” + Howard asked, with an angry sneer. He bowed coldly and was gone. + </p> + <p> + As he looked at Alice he saw that it was of no use to try to deceive her. + “We must go South in the morning,” he almost whispered, taking her hand + and kissing it again and again, slowly and gently. + </p> + <p> + The next day but one they were at Asheville and two weeks later Howard + could not hide from himself that she would soon be gone. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Her bed was drawn up to the open window and she Was propped with pillows. + A mild breeze was flooding the room with the odours of the pine forests + and the gardens. She looked out, dilated her nostrils and her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Beautiful!” she murmured. “It is so easy to die here.” + </p> + <p> + She put out her hand and laid it in his. + </p> + <p> + “I want you, my Alice.” He was looking into her eyes and she into his. “I + need you. I can’t do without you.” + </p> + <p> + She smiled with an expression of happiness. “Is it wrong,” she asked, “to + take pleasure in another’s pain? I see that you are in pain, that you + suffer. And, oh, it makes me happy, so happy.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t,” he begged. “Please don’t.” + </p> + <p> + “But listen,” she went on. “Don’t you see why? Because I—because I + love you. There,” she was smiling again. “I promised myself I never, never + would say it first. And I’ve broken my word.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “For nearly four years—all the years I’ve really lived—I have + had only one thought—my love for you. But I never would say it, + never would say ‘I love you,’ because I knew that you did not love me.” + </p> + <p> + He was beginning to speak but she lifted her hand to his lips. Then she + put it back in his and pushed her fingers up his coat-sleeve until they + were hidden, resting upon his bare arm. + </p> + <p> + “No, you did not.” Her voice was low and the words came slowly. “But since + we came here, you have loved me. If I were to get well, were to go back, + you would not. Ah, if you knew, if you only knew how I have wanted your + love, how I have lain awake night after night, hour after hour, whispering + under my breath ‘I love you. I love you. Why do you not love me?’” + </p> + <p> + Howard put his head down so that his face was hid from her in her lap. + </p> + <p> + “After the doctor had talked to me a few minutes, had asked me a few + questions,” she went on, “I knew. And I was not sorry. It was nearly over, + anyhow, dear. Did you know it? I often wondered if you did. Yes, I saw + many little signs. I wouldn’t admit it to myself until this illness came. + Then I confessed it to myself. And I was not sorry we were to part this + way. But I did not expect”—and she drew a long breath—“happiness!” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” he protested, lifting his face and looking at her. She drank in + the expression of his eyes—the love, the longing, the misery—as + if it had been a draught of life. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you make me so happy, so happy. How much I owe to you. Four long, + long, beautiful years. How much! How much! And at last—love!” + </p> + <p> + There was silence for several minutes. Then he spoke: “I loved you from + the first, I believe. Only I never appreciated you. I was so + self-absorbed. And you—you fed my vanity, never insisted upon + yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “But we have had happiness. And no one, no one, no one will ever be to you + what I have been.” + </p> + <p> + “I love you.” Howard’s voice had a passionate earnestness in it that + carried conviction. “The light goes out with you.” + </p> + <p> + “With this little candle? No, no, dear—<i>my</i> dear. You will be a + great man. You will not forget; but you will go on and do the things that + I’m afraid I didn’t help, maybe hindered, you in trying to do. And you + will keep a little room in your heart, a very little room. And I shall be + in there. And you’ll open the door every once in a while and come in and + take me in your arms and kiss me. And I think—yes, I feel that—that + I shall know and thrill.” + </p> + <p> + Her voice sank lower and lower and then her eyes closed, and presently he + called the nurse. + </p> + <p> + The next day he rose from his bed, just at the connecting door between his + room and hers, and looked in at her. The shades were drawn and only a + faint light crept into the room. He thought he saw her stir and went + nearer. + </p> + <p> + “Why, they’ve made you very gay this morning,” he laughed, “with the red + ribbons at your neck.” + </p> + <p> + There was no answer. He came still nearer. The red ribbons were long + streamers of blood. She was dead. + </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. — A STRUGGLE FOR SELF-CONTROL. + </h2> + <p> + He left her at Asheville as she wished—“where I have been happiest + and where I wish you to think of me.” On the train coming north he + reviewed his past and made his plans for the future. + </p> + <p> + As to the past he had only one regret—that he had not learned to + appreciate Alice until too late. He felt that his failure to advance had + been due entirely to himself—to his inertia, his willingness to + seize any pretext for refraining from action. As to the future—work, + work with a purpose. His mind must be fully and actively occupied. There + must be no leisure, for leisure meant paralysis. + </p> + <p> + At the Twenty-third Street ferry-house he got into a hansom and gave the + address of “the flat.” He did not note where he was until the hansom drew + up at the curb. He leaned forward and looked at the house—at their + windows with the curtains which she had draped so gracefully, which she + and he had selected at Vantine’s one morning. How often he had seen her + standing between those curtains, looking out for him, her blue-black hair + waving back from her forehead so beautifully and her face ready to smile + so soon as ever she should catch sight of him. + </p> + <p> + He leaned back and closed his eyes. The blood was pounding through his + temples and his eyeballs seemed to be scalding under the lids. + </p> + <p> + “Never again,” he moaned. “How lonely it is.” + </p> + <p> + The cabman lifted the trap. “Here we are, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—in a moment.” Where should he go? But what did it matter? “To a + hotel,” he said. “The nearest.” + </p> + <p> + “The Imperial?” + </p> + <p> + “That will do—yes—go there.” + </p> + <p> + He resolved never to return to “the flat.” On the following day he sent + for the maid and arranged the breaking up. He gave her everything except + his personal belongings and a few of Alice’s few possessions—those + he could keep, and those which he must destroy because he could not endure + the thought of any one having them. + </p> + <p> + At the office all understood his mourning; but no one, not even Kittredge, + knew him well enough to intrude beyond gentler looks and tones. Kittredge + had written a successful novel and was going abroad for two years of + travel and writing. Howard took his rooms in the Royalton. They dined + together a few nights before he sailed. + </p> + <p> + “And now,” said Kittredge, “I’m my own master. Why, I can’t begin to fill + the request for ‘stuff.’ I can go where I please, do as I please. At last + I shall work. For I don’t call the drudgery done under compulsion work.” + </p> + <p> + “Work!” Howard repeated the word several times absently. Then he leaned + forward and said with what was for him an approach to the confidential: + “What a mess I have been making of my life! What waste! What folly! I’ve + behaved like a child, an impulsive, irresponsible child. And now I must + get to work, really to work.” + </p> + <p> + “With your talents a year or so of work would free you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’m free.” Howard hesitated and flushed. “Yes, I’m free,” he repeated + bitterly. “We are all free except for the shackles we fasten upon + ourselves and can unlock for ourselves. I don’t agree with you that + earning one’s daily bread is drudgery.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, let’s see you work—work for something definite. Why don’t you + try for some higher place on the paper—correspondent at Washington + or London—no, not London, for that is a lounging job which would + ruin even an energetic man. Why not try for the editorial staff? They + ought to have somebody upstairs who takes an interest in something besides + politics.” + </p> + <p> + “But doesn’t a man have to write what he doesn’t believe? You know how + Segur is always laughing at the protection editorials he writes, although + he is a free-trader.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, there must be many directions in which the paper is free to express + honest opinions.” + </p> + <p> + Howard began that very night. As soon as he reached his club where he was + living for a few days he sat down to the file of the <i>News-Record</i> + and began to study its editorial style and method. He had learned a great + deal before three o’clock in the morning and had written a short editorial + on a subject he took from the news. In the morning he read his article + again and decided that with a few changes—adjectives cut out, long + sentences cut up, short sentences made shorter and the introduction and + the conclusion omitted—it would be worth handing in. With the + corrected article in his hand he knocked at the door of the editor’s room. + </p> + <p> + It was a small, plainly furnished office—no carpet, three severe + chairs, a revolving book case with a battered and dusty bust of Lincoln on + it, a table strewn with newspaper cuttings. Newspapers from all parts of + the world were scattered about the floor. At the table sat the editor, Mr. + Malcolm, whom Howard had never before seen. + </p> + <p> + He was short and slender, with thin white hair and a smooth, satirical + face, deeply wrinkled and unhealthily pale. He was dressed in black but + wore a string tie of a peculiarly lively shade of red. His most + conspicuous feature was his nose—long, narrow, pointed, sarcastic. + </p> + <p> + “My name is Howard,” began the candidate, all but stammering before Mr. + Malcolm’s politely uninterested glance, “and I come from downstairs.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh—so you are Mr. Howard. I’ve heard of you often. Will you be + seated?” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you—no. I’ve only brought in a little article I thought I’d + submit for your page. I’d like to write for it and, if you don’t mind, + I’ll bring in an article occasionally.” + </p> + <p> + “Glad to have it. We like new ideas; and a new pen, a new mind, ought to + produce them. If you don’t see your articles in the paper, you’ll know + what has happened to them. If you do, paste them on space slips and send + them up by the boy on Thursdays.” Mr. Malcolm nodded and smiled and dipped + his pen in the ink-well. + </p> + <p> + The editorial appeared just as Howard wrote it. He read and reread it, + admiring the large, handsome editorial type in which it was printed, and + deciding that it was worthy of the excellent place in the column which Mr. + Malcolm had given it. He wrote another that very day and sent it up by the + boy. He found it in his desk the next noon with “Too abstract—never + forget that you are writing for a newspaper” scrawled across the last page + in blue pencil. + </p> + <p> + In the two following months Howard submitted thirty-five articles. Three + were published in the main as he wrote them, six were “cut” to paragraphs, + one appeared as a letter to the editor with “H” signed to it. The others + disappeared. It was not encouraging, but Howard kept on. He knew that if + he stopped marching steadily, even though hopelessly, toward a definite + goal, a heavy hand would be laid upon his shoulder to drag him away and + fling him down upon a grave. + </p> + <p> + As it was, desperately though he fought to refrain from backward glances, + he was now and again taken off his guard. A few of her pencil marks on the + margin of a leaf in one of his books; a gesture, a little mannerism of + some woman passing him in the street—and he would be ready to sink + down with weariness and loneliness, like a tired traveller in a vast + desert. + </p> + <p> + He completely lost self-control only once. It was a cold, wet May night + and everything had gone against him that day. He looked drearily round his + rooms as he came in. How stiff, how forbidding, how desert they seemed! He + threw himself into a big chair. + </p> + <p> + “No friends,” he thought, “no one that cares a rap whether I live or die, + suffer or am happy. Nothing to care for. Why do I go on? What’s the use if + one has not an object—a human object?” + </p> + <p> + And their life together came flooding back—her eyes, her kisses, her + attentions, her passionate love for him, so pervasive yet so unobtrusive; + the feeling of her smooth, round arm about his neck; her way of pressing + close up to him and locking her fingers in his; the music of her voice, + singing her heartsong to him yet never putting it into words—— + </p> + <p> + He stumbled over to the divan and stretched himself out and buried his + face in the cushions. “Come back!” he sobbed. “Come back to me, dear.” And + then he cried, as a man cries—without tears, with sobs choking up + into his throat and issuing in moans. + </p> + <p> + “Curious,” he said aloud when the storm was over and he was sitting up, + ashamed before himself for his weakness, “who would have suspected me of + this?” + </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. — AMBITION AWAKENS. + </h2> + <p> + Howard was now thirty-two. He was still trying for the editorial staff; + but in the last month only five of his articles had been printed to + twenty-three thrown away. A national campaign was coming on and the <i>News-Record</i> + was taking a political stand that seemed to him sound and right. For the + first time he tried political editorials. + </p> + <p> + The cause aroused his passion for justice, for democratic equality and the + abolition of privilege. He had something to say and he succeeded in saying + it vigorously, effectively, with clearness and moderation of statement. + How to avoid hysteria; how to set others on fire instead of only making of + himself a fiery spectacle; how to be earnest, yet calm; how to be + satirical yet sincere; how to be interesting, yet direct—these were + his objects, pursued with incessant toiling, rewriting again and again, + recasting of sentences, careful balancing of words for exact shades of + meaning. + </p> + <p> + “I shall never learn to write,” had been his complaint of himself to + himself for years. And in these days it seemed to him that he was farther + from a good style than ever. His standards had risen, were rising; he + feared that his power of accomplishment was failing. Therefore his heart + sank and his face paled when an office boy told him that Mr. Malcolm + wished to see him. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it’s to tell me not to annoy him with any more of my attempts,” + he thought. “Well, anyway, I’ve had the benefit of the work. I’ll try a + novel next.” + </p> + <p> + “Take a seat,” said Mr. Malcolm with an absent nod. “Just a moment, if you + please.” + </p> + <p> + On a chair beside him was the remnant of what had been a huge up-piling of + newspapers—the exchanges that had come in during the past + twenty-four hours. The Exchange Editor had been through them and Mr. + Malcolm was reading “to feel the pulse of the country” and also to make + sure that nothing of importance had been overlooked. + </p> + <p> + On the floor were newspapers by the score, thrown about tumultuously. Mr. + Malcolm would seize a paper from the unread heap, whirl it open and send + his glance and his long pointed nose tearing down one column and up + another, and so from page to page. It took less than a minute for him to + finish and filing away great sixteen page dailies. A few seconds sufficed + for the smaller papers. Occasionally he took his long shears and with a + skilful twist cut out a piece from the middle of a page and laid it and + the shears upon the table with a single motion. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Mr. Howard.” Malcolm sent the last paper to increase the chaos on + the floor and faced about in his revolving chair. “How would you like to + come up here?” + </p> + <p> + Howard looked at him in amazement. “You mean——” + </p> + <p> + “We want you to join the editorial staff. Mr. Walker has married him a + rich wife and is going abroad to do literary work, which means that he is + going to do nothing. Will you come?” + </p> + <p> + “It is what I have been working for.” + </p> + <p> + “And very hard you have worked.” Mr. Malcolm’s cold face relaxed into a + half-friendly, half-satirical smile. “After you’d been sending up articles + for a fortnight, I knew you’d make it. You went about it systematically. + An intelligent plan, persisted in, is hard to beat in this world of + laggards and hap-hazard strugglers.” + </p> + <p> + “And I was on the point of giving up—that is, giving up this + particular ambition,” Howard confessed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I saw it in your articles—a certain pessimism and despondency. + You show your feelings plainly, young man. It is an excellent quality—but + dangerous. A man ought to make his mind a machine working evenly without + regard to his feelings or physical condition. The night my oldest child + died—I was editor of a country newspaper—I wrote my leaders as + usual. I never had written better. You can be absolute master inside, if + you will. You can learn to use your feelings when they’re helpful and to + shut them off when they hinder.” + </p> + <p> + “But don’t you think that temperament——” + </p> + <p> + “Temperament—that’s one of the subtlest forms of self-excuse. + However, the place is yours. The salary is a hundred and twenty-five a + week—an advance of about twelve hundred a year, I believe, on your + average downstairs. Can you begin soon?” + </p> + <p> + “Immediately,” said Howard, “if the City Editor is satisfied.” + </p> + <p> + An office boy showed him to his room—a mere hole-in-the-wall with + just space for a table-desk, a small table, a case of shelves for books of + reference, and two chairs. The one window overlooked the lower end of + Manhattan Island—the forest of business buildings peaked with the + Titan-tenements of financial New York. Their big, white plumes of smoke + and steam were waving in the wind and reflecting in pale pink the crimson + of the setting sun. + </p> + <p> + Howard had his first taste of the intoxication of triumph, his first deep + inspiration of ambition. He recalled his arrival in New York, his + timidity, his dread lest he should be unable to make a living—“Poor + boy,” they used to say at home, “he will have to be supported. He is too + much of a dreamer.” He remembered his explorations of those now familiar + streets—how acutely conscious he had been that they were paved with + stone, walled with stone, roofed with a stony sky, peopled with faces and + hearts of stone. How miserably insignificant he had felt! + </p> + <p> + And all these years he had been almost content to be one of the crowd, + like them exerting himself barely enough to provide himself with the + essentials of existence. Like them, he had given no real thought to the + morrow. And now, with comparatively little labour, he had put himself in + the way to become a master, a director of the enormous concentrated + energies summed up in the magic word New York. + </p> + <p> + The key to the situation was—work, incessant, self-improving, + self-developing. “And it is the key to happiness also,” he thought. “Work + and sleep—the two periods of unconsciousness of self—are the + two periods of happiness.” + </p> + <p> + His aloofness freed him from the temptations of distraction. He knew no + women. He did not put himself in the way of meeting them. He kept away + from theatres. He sunk himself in a routine of labour which, viewed from + the outside, seemed dull and monotonous. Viewed from his stand-point of + acquisition, of achievement, it was just the reverse. + </p> + <p> + The mind soon adapts itself to and enjoys any mental routine which + exercises it. The only difficulty is in forming the habit of the routine. + </p> + <p> + Howard was greatly helped by his natural bent toward editorial writing. + The idea of discussing important questions each day with a vast multitude + as an audience stirred his imagination and aroused his instincts for + helping on the great world-task of elevating the race. This enthusiasm + pleased and also amused his cynical chief. + </p> + <p> + “You believe in things?” Malcolm said to him after they had become well + acquainted. “Well, it is an admirable quality—but dangerous. You + will need careful editing. Your best plan is to give yourself up to your + belief while you are writing—then to edit yourself in cold blood. + That is the secret of success, of great success in any line, business, + politics, a profession—enthusiasm, carefully revised and edited.” + </p> + <p> + “It is difficult to be cold blooded when one is in earnest.” + </p> + <p> + “True,” Malcolm answered, “and there is the danger. My own enthusiasms are + confined to the important things—food, clothing and shelter. It + seems to me that the rest is largely a matter of taste, training and time + of life. But don’t let me discourage you. I only suggest that you may have + to guard against believing so intensely that you produce the impression of + being an impracticable, a fanatic. Be cautious always; be especially + cautious when you are cocksure you’re right. Unadulterated truth always + arouses suspicion in the unaccustomed public. It has the alarming + tastelessness of distilled water.” + </p> + <p> + Howard was acute enough to separate the wisdom from the cynicism of his + chief. He saw the lesson of moderation. “You have failed, my very able + chief,” he said to himself, “because you have never believed intensely + enough to move you to act. You have attached too much importance to the + adulteration—the folly and the humbug. And here you are, still only + a critic, destructive but never constructive.” + </p> + <p> + At first his associates were much amused by his intensity. But as he + learned to temper and train his enthusiasm they grew to respect both his + ability and his character. Before a year had passed they were feeling the + influence of his force—his trained, informed mind, made vigorous by + principles and ideals. + </p> + <p> + Malcolm had the keen appreciation of a broad mind for this honest, + intelligent energy. He used the editorial “blue-pencil” for alteration and + condensation with the hand of a master. He cut away Howard’s crudities, + toned down and so increased his intensity, and pointed it with the irony + and satire necessary to make it carry far and penetrate easily. + </p> + <p> + Malcolm was at once giving Howard a reputation greater than he deserved + and training him to deserve it. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + In the office next to Howard’s sat Segur, a bachelor of forty-five who + took life as a good-humoured jest and amused his leisure with the New + Yorkers who devote a life of idleness to a nervous flight from boredom. + Howard interested Segur who resolved to try to draw him out of his + seclusion. + </p> + <p> + “I’m having some people to dinner at the Waldorf on Thursday,” he said, + looking in at the door. “Won’t you join us?” + </p> + <p> + “I’d be glad to,” replied Howard, casting about for an excuse for + declining. “But I’m afraid I’d ruin your dinner. I haven’t been out for + years. I’ve been too busy to make friends or, rather, acquaintances.” + </p> + <p> + “A great mistake. You ought to see more of people.” + </p> + <p> + “Why? Can they tell me anything that I can’t learn from newspapers or + books more accurately and without wasting so much time? I’d like to know + the interesting people and to see them in their interesting moments. But I + can’t afford to hunt for them through the wilderness of nonentities and + wait for them to become interesting.” + </p> + <p> + “But you get amusement, relaxation. Then too, it’s first-hand study of + life.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not sure of that. Yawning is not a very attractive kind of + relaxation, is it? And as for study of life, eight years of reporting gave + me more of that than I could assimilate. And it was study of realities, + not of pretenses. As I remember them, ‘respectable’ people are all about + the same, whether in their vices or in their virtues. They are cut from a + few familiar, ‘old reliable’ patterns. No, I don’t think there is much to + be learned from respectability on dress parade.” + </p> + <p> + “You’ll be amused on Thursday. You must come. I’m counting on you.” + </p> + <p> + Howard accepted—cordially as he could not refuse decently. Yet he + had a presentiment or a shyness or an impatience at the interruption of + his routine which reproached him for accepting with insistence and + persistence. + </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 ETERNAL MASCULINE. + </h2> + <p> + It was the first week in November, and in those days “everybody” did not + stay in the country so late as now. There were many New Yorkers in the + crowd of out-of-town people at the Waldorf. Howard was attracted, + fascinated by the scene—carefully-groomed men and women, the air of + gaiety and ease, the flowers, the music, the lights, the perfumes. At a + glance it seemed a dream of life with evil and sorrow and pain banished. + </p> + <p> + “No place for a working man,” thought he, “at least not for my kind of a + working man. It appeals too sharply to the instincts for laziness and + luxury.” + </p> + <p> + He was late and stood in the entrance to the palm-garden, looking about + for Segur. Soon he saw him waving from a table near the wall under the + music-alcove. + </p> + <p> + “The oysters are just coming,” said Segur. “Sit over there between Mrs. + Carnarvon and Miss Trevor. They are cousins, Howard, so be cautious what + you say to one about the other. Oh, here is Mr. Berersford.” + </p> + <p> + The others knew each other well; Howard knew them only as he had seen + their names in the “fashionable intelligence” columns of the newspapers. + Mrs. Carnarvon was a small thin woman in a black velvet gown which made + her thinness obtrusive and attractive or the reverse according as one’s + taste is toward or away from attenuation. Her eyes were a dull, greenish + grey, her skin brown and smooth and tough from much exposure in the + hunting field. Her cheeks were beginning to hang slightly, so that one + said: “She is pretty, but she will soon not be.” Her mouth proclaimed + strong appetites—not unpleasantly since she was good-looking. + </p> + <p> + Miss Trevor was perhaps ten years younger than her cousin, not far from + twenty-four. She had a critical, almost amused yet not unpleasant way of + looking out of unusually clear blue-green eyes. Her hair was of an + ordinary shade of dark brown, but fine and thick and admirably arranged to + set off her long, sensitive, high bred features. Her chin and mouth + expressed decision and strong emotions. + </p> + <p> + There was a vacant chair between Segur and Berersford and it was presently + filled by a fat, middle-aged woman, neither blonde nor brunette, with a + large, serene face. Upon it was written a frank confession that she had + never in her life had an original thought capable of creating a ripple of + interest. She was Mrs. Sidney, rich, of an “old” family—in the New + York meaning of the word “old”—both by marriage and by birth, much + courted because of her position and because she entertained a great deal + both in town and at a large and hospitable country house. + </p> + <p> + The conversation was lively and amused, or seemed to amuse, all. It was + purely personal—about Kittie and Nellie and Jim and Peggie and Amy + and Bob; about the sayings and doings of a few dozen people who + constituted the intimates of these five persons. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Carnarvon turned to the silent Howard at last and began about the + weather. + </p> + <p> + “Horrible in the city, isn’t it?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, perhaps it is,” replied Howard. “But I fancied it delightful. You + see I have not lived anywhere but New York for so long that I am hardly + capable to judge.” + </p> + <p> + “Why everybody says we have the worst climate in the world.” + </p> + <p> + “Far be it from me to contradict everybody. But for me New York has the + ideal climate. Isn’t it the best of any great city in the world? You see, + we have the air of the sea in our streets. And when the sun shines, which + it does more days in the year than in any other great city, the effect is + like champagne—or rather, like the effect champagne looks as if it + ought to have.” + </p> + <p> + “I hate champagne,” said Mrs. Carnarvon. “Marian, you must not drink it; + you know you mustn’t.” This to Miss Trevor who was lifting the glass to + her lips. She drank a little of the champagne, then set the glass down + slowly. + </p> + <p> + “What you said made me want to drink it,” she said to Howard. “I was glad + to hear your lecture on the weather. I had never thought of it before, but + New York really has a fine climate. And only this afternoon I let that + stupid Englishman—Plymouth—you’ve met him? No?—Well, at + any rate, he was denouncing our climate and for the moment I forgot about + London.” + </p> + <p> + “Frightful there, isn’t it, after October and until May?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and the air is usually stale even in the late spring. When it’s + warm, it’s sticky. And when it’s cold, it’s raw.” + </p> + <p> + “You are a New Yorker?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Miss Trevor faintly, and for an instant showing surprise at + his ignorance. “That is, I spend part of the winter here—like all + New Yorkers.” + </p> + <p> + “All?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, all except those who don’t count, or rather, who merely count.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you mean?” Howard was taking advantage of her looking into her + plate to smile with a suggestion of irony. She happened to glance up and + so caught him. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she said, smiling with frank irony at him, “I mean all those people—the + masses, I think they’re called—the people who have to be fussed over + and reformed and who keep shops and—and all that.” + </p> + <p> + “The people who work, you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I mean the people you never meet about anywhere, the people who read + the newspapers and come to the basement door.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, I understand.” Howard was laughing. “Well, that’s one way of + looking at life. Of course it’s not my way.” + </p> + <p> + “What is your way?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, being one of those who count only in the census, I naturally take a + view rather different from yours. Now I should say that <i>your</i> people + don’t count. You see, I am most deeply interested in people who read + newspapers.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you write for the papers, like Jim Segur? What do you write?” + </p> + <p> + “What they call editorials.” + </p> + <p> + “You are an editor?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes and no. I am one of the editors who does not edit but is edited.” + </p> + <p> + “It must be interesting,” said Miss Trevor, vaguely. + </p> + <p> + “More interesting than you imagine. But then all work is that. In fact + work is the only permanently interesting thing in life. The rest produces + dissatisfaction and regret.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’m not so very dissatisfied. Yet I don’t work.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you quite sure? Think how hard you work at being fitted for gowns, at + going about to dinners and balls and the like, at chasing foxes and anise + seed bags and golf balls.” + </p> + <p> + “But that is not work. It is amusing myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you think so. But you forget that you are doing it in order that all + these people who don’t count may read about it in the papers and so get a + little harmless relaxation.” + </p> + <p> + “But we don’t do it to get into the papers.” + </p> + <p> + “Probably not. Neither did this—what is it here in my plate, a lamb + chop?—this lamb gambol about and keep itself in condition to form a + course at Segur’s dinner. But after all, wasn’t that what it was really + for? Then think how many people you support by your work.” + </p> + <p> + “You make me feel like a day-labourer.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you’re a much harder worker than any day labourer. And the saddest + part of it to me is that you work altogether for others. You give, give + and get in return nothing but a few flattering glances, a few careless + pats on the back of your vanity. I should hate to work so hard for so + little.” + </p> + <p> + “But what would you do?” Miss Trevor was looking at him, interested and + amused. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’d work for myself. I’d insist on a return, on getting back + something equivalent or near it. I’d insist on having my mind improved, or + having my power or my reputation advanced.” + </p> + <p> + “I was only jesting when I said that about people not counting.” + </p> + <p> + “Altogether?” + </p> + <p> + “No, not altogether. I don’t care much about the masses. They seem to me + to be underbred, of a different sort. I hate doing things that are useful + and I hate people that do useful things—in a general way, I mean.” + </p> + <p> + “That is doubtless due to defective education,” said Howard, with a smile + that carried off the thrust as a jest. + </p> + <p> + “Is that the way you’d describe a horror of contact with—well, with + unpleasant things?” Miss Trevor was serious. + </p> + <p> + “But is it that? Isn’t it just an unconscious affectation, taken up simply + because all the people about you think that way—if one can call the + process thinking? You don’t think, do you, that it is a sign of + superiority to be narrow, to be ignorant, to be out of touch with the + great masses of one’s fellow-beings, to play the part of a harlequin or a + ballet-girl on the stage of life? I understand how a stupid ass can + fritter away his one chance to live in saying and hearing and doing silly + things. But ought not an intelligent person try to enjoy life, try to get + something substantial out of it, try to possess himself of its ideas and + emotions? Why should one play the fool simply because those about one are + incapable of playing any other part?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m surprised that you are here to-night. Still, I suppose you’ll give + yourself absolution on the plea that one must dine somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “But I’m not wasting my time. I’m learning. I’m observing a phase of life. + And I’m seeing the latest styles in women’s gowns and—” + </p> + <p> + “Is that important—styles, I mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you suppose that my kind of people, the working classes, would spend + so much time and thought in making anything that was not important? There + is nothing more important.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you don’t think we women are wasting time when we talk about dress + so much?” + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary, it is an evidence of your superior sagacity. Women talk + trade, ‘shop,’ as soon as they get away from the men. They talk men and + dress—fish and nets.” + </p> + <p> + Berersford heard the word fish and interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “Do you go South next month, Marian?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—about the fifteenth.” Miss Trevor explained to Howard: “Bobby—Mr. + Berersford here—always fishes in Florida in January.” + </p> + <p> + The conversation again became general and personal. Howard knew none of + the people of whom they were talking and all that they said was of the + nature of gossip. But they talked in a sparkling way, using good English, + speaking in agreeable voices with a correct accent, and indulging in a + great deal of malicious humour. + </p> + <p> + As they separated Mrs. Sidney, to whom Howard had not spoken during the + evening, said to Segur: “You must bring Mr. Howard on Sunday afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you drop Marian at the house for me?” Mrs. Carnarvon asked her. “I + want to go on to Edith’s.” + </p> + <p> + Segur went with Mrs. Sidney and Marian to their carriage. “Who is Mr. + Howard?” Mrs. Sidney said, and Miss Trevor drew nearer to hear the answer. + </p> + <p> + “One of the editorial writers down on the paper and a very clever one—none + better. He works hard and is desperately serious and a regular hermit.” + </p> + <p> + “I think he’s very handsome—don’t you, Marian?” + </p> + <p> + “I found him interesting,” said Miss Trevor. + </p> + <p> + Howard thought a great deal about Miss Trevor that night, and she was + still in his head the next day. “This comes of never seeing women,” he + said to himself. “The first girl I meet seems the most beautiful I ever + saw, and the most intellectual. And, when I think it over, what did she + say that was startling?” + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless he went with Segur the next Sunday to Mrs. Sidney’s great + house in the upper Avenue overlooking the Park. + </p> + <p> + “Why do I come here?” he asked himself. “It is a sheer waste of time. Mrs. + Sidney can do me no good, or I her. It must be the hope of seeing Miss + Trevor.” + </p> + <p> + When the gaudy and be-powdered flunkey held back the heavy curtains of the + salon to announce him and Segur, he saw Miss Trevor on a low chair + absently staring into the fire. Yet when he had spoken to Mrs. Sidney and + turned toward her she at once stretched out her hand with a slight smile. + Some others came in and Howard was free to talk to her. He sat looking at + her steadily, admiring her almost perfect profile, delicate yet strong. + </p> + <p> + “And what have you been doing since I saw you?” Miss Trevor asked. + </p> + <p> + “Writing little pieces about politics for the paper,” replied Howard. + </p> + <p> + “Politics? I detest it. It is all stealing and calling names, isn’t it? + And something dreadful is always going to happen if somebody or other + isn’t elected, or is elected, to something or other. And then, whether he + is or not, nothing happens. I should think the men who have been so + excited and angry and alarmed would feel very cheap. But they don’t. And + the next time they carry on in just the same ridiculous way.” + </p> + <p> + “Politics is like everything else—interesting if you understand what + it is all about. But like everything else, you can’t understand it without + a little study at first. It’s a pity women don’t take an interest. If they + did the men might become more reasonable and sane about it than they are + now. But you—what have you been doing?” + </p> + <p> + “I—oh, industriously superintending the making of my new nets.” + Marian laughed and Howard was flattered. “And also, well, riding in the + Park every morning. But I never do anything interesting. I simply drift.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s so much simpler and more satisfactory than threshing and splashing + about as I do. It seems so fussy and foolish and futile. I wish—that + is, sometimes I wish—that I had learned to amuse myself in some less + violent and exhausting way.” + </p> + <p> + “Marian—I say, Marian,” called Mrs. Sidney. “Has Teddy come down?” + </p> + <p> + Miss Trevor coloured slightly as she answered: “No, he comes a week + Wednesday. He’s still hunting.” + </p> + <p> + “Hunting,” Howard repeated when Mrs. Sidney was again busy with the + others. “Now there is a kind of work that never bothers a man’s brains or + sets him to worrying. I wish I knew how to amuse myself in some such way.” + </p> + <p> + “You should go about more.” + </p> + <p> + “Go—where?” + </p> + <p> + “To see people.” + </p> + <p> + “But I do see a great many people. I’m always seeing them—all day + long.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—but that is in a serious way. I mean go where you will be + amused—to dinners for instance.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t dare. I can’t work at work and also work at play. I must work at + one or the other all the time. I can do nothing without a definite object. + I can’t be just a little interested in anything or anybody. With me it is + no interest at all or else absorption until interest is exhausted.” + </p> + <p> + “Then if you were interested in a woman, let us say, you’d be absorbed + until you found out all there was, and then you’d—take to your + heels.” + </p> + <p> + “But she might always be new. She might interest me more and more. Anyhow + I fancy that she would weary of me long before I wearied of her. I think + women usually weary first. Men are very monotonous. We are as vain as + women, if not vainer, without their capacity for concealing it. And vanity + makes one think he does not need to exert himself to please.” + </p> + <p> + “But why do people usually say that it is the men that are difficult to + hold?” + </p> + <p> + “Because the men hold the women, not through the kind of interest we are + talking about, but through another kind—quite different. Women are + so lazy and so dependent—dependent upon men for homes, for money, + for escort even.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Trevor was flushing, as if the fire were too hot—at least she + moved a little farther away from it. “Your ideal woman would be a + shop-girl, I should say from what you’ve told me.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps—in the abstract. I really do think that if I were going to + marry, I should look about for a working-girl, a girl that supported + herself. How can a man be certain of the love of a woman who is dependent + upon him? I should be afraid she was only tolerating me as a labour-saving + device.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Trevor laughed. “There certainly is no vanity in that remark,” she + said. “Now I can’t imagine most of the men I know thinking that.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s only theory with me. In practice doubtless I should be as + self-complacent as any other man.” + </p> + <p> + They left Mrs. Sidney’s together and Howard walked down the Avenue with + her. It seemed a wonderful afternoon—the air dazzling, intoxicating. + He was filled with the joy of living and was glad this particular tall, + slender, distinguished-looking girl was there to make his enjoyment + perfect. They were gay with the delight of being young and in health and + attractive physically and mentally each to the other. They looked each at + the other a great deal, and more and more frankly. + </p> + <p> + “Am I never to see you again?” he asked as he rang the bell for her. + </p> + <p> + “I believe Mrs. Carnarvon is going to invite you to dine here Thursday + night.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Howard. + </p> + <p> + Miss Trevor coloured. But she met his glance boldly and laughed. Howard + wondered why her laugh was defiant, almost reckless. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + He saw Segur at the club after dinner that same night. “And how do you + like Miss Trevor?” Segur began as the whiskey and carbonic were set before + them. + </p> + <p> + “A very attractive girl,” said Howard. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—so a good many men have thought in the last five years. She’s + marrying Teddy Danvers in the spring, I believe. At any rate it’s + generally looked on as settled. Teddy’s a good deal of a ‘chump.’ But he’s + a decent fellow—good-looking, good-natured, domestic in his tastes, + and nothing but money.” + </p> + <p> + Howard was smiling to himself. He understood Miss Trevor’s sudden + consciousness of the nearness of the fire, her flush when Mrs. Sidney + asked about “Teddy,” and the recklessness in her parting laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Teddy’s in luck,” he said aloud. + </p> + <p> + “Not so sure of that. She’s quite capable of leading him a dance if he + bores her. And bore her he will. But that is nothing new. This town is + full of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Full of what?” + </p> + <p> + “Of weary women—weary wives. The men are hobby-riders. They have + just one interest and that usually small and dull—stocks or iron or + real estate or hunting or automobiles. Our women are not like the English + women—stupid, sodden. They are alive, acute. They wish to be + interested. Their husbands bore them. So—well, what is the natural + temptation to a lazy woman in search of an interest?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s like Paris—like France?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, something. Except that perhaps our women are more sentimental, not + fond of intrigue for its own sake—at least, not as a rule.” + </p> + <p> + “Doesn’t interest them deeply enough, I suppose. It’s the American blood + coming out—the passion for achievement. They want a man of whom they + can be proud, a man who is doing something interesting and doing it well.” + </p> + <p> + “I doubt that,” replied Segur shrugging his shoulders. “When a woman loves + a man, she wants to absorb him.” + </p> + <p> + Howard soon went away to his rooms for a long evening of undisturbed + thought about Teddy Danvers’s fiancée—the first temptation that had + entered his loneliness since Alice died. + </p> + <p> + In the few weeks of her illness and the few months immediately following + her death, he had been at his very best. He was able to see her as she was + and to appreciate her. He was living in the clear pure air of the Valley + of the Great Shadow where all things appear in their true relations and + true proportions. But only there was it possible for the gap between him + and Alice to close—that gap of which she was more acutely conscious + than he, and which she made wider far than it really was by being too + humble with him, too obviously on her knees before him. Such superiority + as she thought he possessed is not in human nature; but neither is it in + human nature to refuse worship, to refuse to pose upon a pedestal if the + opportunity presses. + </p> + <p> + In the three years between her death and his meeting Marian, the eternal + masculine had been secretly gaining strength to resume its pursuit of the + eternal feminine. And the eternal feminine was certainly most alluringly + personified in this beautiful, graceful girl, at once appreciative and + worthy of appreciation. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps she appealed most strongly to Howard in her vivid suggestion of + the open air—of health and strength and nature. He had been leading + a cloistered existence and his blood had grown sluggish. She gave him the + sensation that a prisoner gets when he catches a glimpse from his barred + window of the fields and the streams radiating the joy of life and + freedom. And Marian was of his own kind—like the women among whom he + had been brought up. She satisfied his idea of what a “lady” should be, + but at the same time she was none the less a woman to him—a woman to + love and to be loved; to give him sympathy, companionship; to inspire him + to overcome his weaknesses by striving to be worthy of her; to bring into + his life that feminine charm without which a man’s life must be cold and + cheerless. + </p> + <p> + He knew that he could not marry her, that he had no right to make love to + her, that it was unwise to go near her again. But he had no power to + resist the temptation. And even in those days he had small regard for the + means when the end was one upon which he had fixed his mind. “Why not take + what I can get?” he thought, as he dreamed of her. “She’s engaged—her + future practically settled. Yes, I’ll be as happy as she’ll let me.” And + he resumed his idealising. + </p> + <p> + At his time of life idealisation is still not a difficult or a long + process. And in this case there was an ample physical basis for it—and + far more of a mental basis than young imagination demands. He took the + draught she so frankly offered him; he added a love potion of his own + concocting, and drank it off. + </p> + <p> + He was in love. + </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. — TRESPASSING. + </h2> + <p> + For the first time since he had been in newspaper work, Howard came to the + office the next day in a long coat and a top hat. He left early and went + for a walk in the Avenue. But Miss Trevor was neither driving nor walking. + He repeated this excursion the next afternoon with better success. At + Fortieth Street he saw her and her cousin half a block ahead of him. He + walked slowly and examined her. She was satisfactory from the aigrette in + her hat to her heels—a long, narrow, graceful figure, dressed with + the expensive simplicity characteristic of the most intelligent class of + the women of New York and Paris. She walked as if she were accustomed to + walking. Mrs. Carnarvon had that slight hesitation, almost stumble, which + indicates the woman who usually drives and never walks if she can avoid + it. As they paused at the crowded crossing of Forty-second Street he + joined them. When Mrs. Carnarvon found that he was “just out for the air” + she left them, to go home—in Forty-seventh Street, a few doors east + of the Avenue. + </p> + <p> + “Come back to tea with her,” she said as she nodded to Howard. + </p> + <p> + “We have at least an hour.” Howard was looking at Miss Trevor with his + happiness dancing in his eyes. “Why shouldn’t we go to the Park?” + </p> + <p> + “I believe it’s not customary,” objected Miss Trevor in a tone that made + the walk in the Park a certainty. + </p> + <p> + “I’m glad to hear that. I don’t care to do customary things as a rule.” + </p> + <p> + “I see that you don’t.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you say so because I show what I am thinking so plainly that you can’t + help seeing it—and don’t in the least mind?” + </p> + <p> + “Why shouldn’t you be glad to be alive and to be seeing me this fine + winter day?” + </p> + <p> + “Why indeed!” Howard looked at her from head to foot and then into her + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “We are not in the Park yet.” Miss Trevor accompanied her hint with a + laugh and added: “I feel reckless to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean you forget that there is any to-morrow. <i>I</i> have shut out + to-morrow ever since I saw you.” + </p> + <p> + “And yesterday?” She noted that he coloured slightly, but continued to + look at her, his eyes sad. “But there is a to-morrow,” she went on. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—my work, my career is my to-morrow and yours is——” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Your engagement, of course.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Trevor flushed, but Howard was smiling and she did not long resist + the contagion. + </p> + <p> + “My to-morrow,” he continued, “is far more menacing than yours. Yours is + just an ordinary, every-day, cut-and-dried affair. Mine is full of doubts + and uncertainties with the chances for failure and disappointment. If I + can turn my back on my to-morrow, surely you can waive yours for the + moment?” + </p> + <p> + “But why are you so certain that I wish to?” + </p> + <p> + “Instinct. I could not be so happy as I am with you if you were not + content to have me here.” + </p> + <p> + They spoke little until they were well within the Park. There they turned + down a by-path and took the walk skirting the lower lake. Miss Trevor + looked at Howard with a puzzled expression. + </p> + <p> + “I never met any one like you,” she said. “I have always felt so sure of + myself. You take me off my feet. I feel as if I did not know where I was + going and—didn’t much care. And that’s the worst of it.” + </p> + <p> + “No, the best of it. You are a star going comfortably through your + universe in a fixed orbit. You maintain your exact relations with your + brother and sister stars. You keep all your engagements, you never wobble + in your path—everything exact, mathematical. And up darts a + wild-haired, impetuous comet, a hurrying, bustling, irregular wanderer + coming from you don’t know where, going you don’t know whither. We pass + very near each to the other. The social astronomers may or may not note a + little variation in your movement—a very little, and soon over. They + probably will not note the insignificant meteor that darted close up to + you—close enough to get his poor face sadly scorched and his long + hair cruelly singed—and then hurried sadly away. And——” + </p> + <p> + “And—what? Isn’t there any more to the story?” Marian’s eyes were + shining with a light which she was conscious had never been there before. + </p> + <p> + “And—and——” Howard stopped and faced her. His hands were + thrust deep in the pockets of his overcoat. He looked at her in a way that + made the colour fly from her face and then leap back again. “And—I + love you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh”—Marian said, hiding her face in her white muff. “Oh.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t wish to touch you,” he went on, “I just wish to look at you—so + tall, so straight, so—so alive, and to love you and be happy.” Then + he laughed and turned. “But you’ll catch cold. Let us walk on.” + </p> + <p> + “So you are trying to make a career?” she asked after a few minutes’ + silence. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—trying—or, rather, I was. And shall again when you have + gone your way and I mine.” + </p> + <p> + Marian was amazed at herself. Every tradition, every instinct of her life + was being trampled by this unknown whom she had just met. And she was + assisting in the trampling. In fact it was difficult for her to restrain + herself from leading in the iconoclasm. She looked at him in wonder and + delighted terror. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you look at me in that way?” he said, turning his head suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “Because you are stronger than I—and I am afraid—yet I—well—I + like it.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not I that is stronger than you, nor you that are stronger than I. + It is a third that is stronger than both of us. I need not mention the + gentleman’s name?” + </p> + <p> + “It is not necessary. But I’d like to hear you pronounce it. At least I + did a moment ago.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll not risk repetition. I’ve been thinking of what might have been.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” Marian laughed a little, rather satirically. “A commonplace + engagement and a commonplace wedding and a commonplace honeymoon leading + into a land of commonplace disillusion and yawning—or worse?” + </p> + <p> + “Not unlikely. But since we’re only dreaming why not dream more to our + taste? Now as I look at your strong, clear, ambitious profile, I can dream + of a career made by two working as one, working cheerfully day in and day + out, fair and foul weather, working with the certainty of success as the + crown.” + </p> + <p> + “But failure might come.” + </p> + <p> + “It couldn’t. We wouldn’t work for fame or for riches or for any outside + thing. We would work to make ourselves wiser and better and more worthy + each of the other and both of our great love.” + </p> + <p> + Again they were walking in silence. + </p> + <p> + “I am so sad,” Marian said at last. “But I am so happy too. What has come + over me? But—you will work on, won’t you? And you will accomplish + everything. Yes, I am sure you will.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’ll work—in my own way. And I’ll get a good deal of what I + want. But not everything. You say you can’t understand yourself. No more + can I understand myself. I thought my purpose fixed. I knew that I had + nothing to do with marrying and giving in marriage, so I kept away from + danger. And here, as miraculously as if a thunderbolt had dropped from + this open winter sky, here is—you.” + </p> + <p> + They were in the Avenue again—“the awakening,” Howard said as the + flood of carriages rolled about them. + </p> + <p> + “You will win,” she repeated, when they were almost at Forty-seventh + Street. “You will be famous.” + </p> + <p> + “Probably not. The price for fame may be too big.” + </p> + <p> + “The price? But you are willing to work?” + </p> + <p> + “Work—yes. But not to lie, not to cheat, not to exchange + self-respect for self-contempt—at least, I think, I hope not.” + </p> + <p> + “But why should that be necessary?” + </p> + <p> + “It may not be if I am free—free to meet every situation as it + arises, with no responsibility for others resting upon me in the decision. + If I had a wife, how could I be free? I might be forced to sell myself—not + for fame but for a bare living. Suppose choice between freedom with + poverty and comfort with self-contempt were put squarely at me, and I a + married man. She would decide, wouldn’t she?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and if she were the right sort of a woman, decide instantly for + self-respect.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course—if I asked her. But do you imagine that when a man loves + a woman he lets her know?” + </p> + <p> + “It would be a crime not to let her know.” + </p> + <p> + “It would be a greater crime to put her to the test—if she were a + woman brought up, say, as you have been.” + </p> + <p> + “How can you say that? How can you so overestimate the value of mere + incidentals?” + </p> + <p> + “How can I? Because I have known poverty—have known what it was to + look want in the face. Because I have seen women, brought up as you have + been, crawling miserably about in the sloughs of poverty. Because I have + seen the weaknesses of human nature and know that they exist in me—yes, + and in you, for all your standing there so strong and arrogant and + self-reliant. It is easy to talk of misery when one does not understand + it. It is easy to be the martyr of an hour or a day. But to drag into a + sordid and squalid martyrdom the woman one loves—well, the man does + not live who would do it, if he knew what I know, had seen what I have + seen. No, love is a luxury of the rich and the poor and the steady-going. + It is not for my kind, not for me.” + </p> + <p> + They were pausing at Mrs. Carnarvon’s door. + </p> + <p> + “I shall not come in this afternoon,” he said. “But to-morrow—if I + don’t come in to-day, don’t you think it will be all right for me to come + then?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall expect you,” she said. + </p> + <p> + The talk of those who had come in for tea seemed artificial and flat. She + soon went up-stairs, eager to be alone. Mechanically she went to her desk + to write her customary daily letter to Danvers. She looked vacantly at the + pen and paper, and then she remembered why she was sitting there. + </p> + <p> + “You are a traitor,” she said to her reflection in the mirror over the + desk. “But you will pay for your treason. Has not one a right to that for + which she is willing to pay?” + </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. — MAKING THE MOST OF A MONTH. + </h2> + <p> + To be sure of a woman a man must be confident either of his own powers or + of her absolute frankness and honesty. It was self-assurance that made + Edward Danvers blindly confident of Marian. + </p> + <p> + His father, a man with none but selfish uses for his fellow men, had given + him a pains-taking training as a vigilant guard for a great fortune. His + favourite maxim was, “Always look for motives.” And he once summed up his + own character and idea of life by saying: “I often wake at night and laugh + as I think how many men are lying awake in their beds, scheming to get + something out of me for nothing.” + </p> + <p> + There could be but one result of such an education by such an educator. + Danvers was acutely suspicious, saved from cynicism and misanthropy by his + vanity only. He was the familiar combination of credulity and incredulity, + now trusting not at all and again trusting with an utter incapacity to + judge. Had he been far more attractive personally, he might still have + failed to find genuine affection. To be liked for one’s self alone or even + chiefly is rarely the lot of any human being who has a possession that is + all but universally coveted—wealth or position or power or beauty. + </p> + <p> + Danvers and Marian had known each the other from childhood. And she + perhaps came nearer to liking him for himself than did any one else of his + acquaintance. She was used to his conceit, his selfishness, his meanness + and smallness in suspicion, his arrogance, his narrow-mindedness. She knew + his good qualities—his kindness of heart, his shamed-face + generosity, his honesty, the strong if limited sense of justice which made + him a good employer and a good landlord. They had much in common—the + same companions, the same idea of the agreeable and the proper, the same + passion for out-door life, especially for hunting. He fell in love with + her when she came back from two years in England and France, and she + thought that she was in love with him. She undoubtedly was fond of him, + proud of his handsome, athletic look and bearing, proud of his skill and + daring in the hunting field. + </p> + <p> + One day—it was in the autumn a year before Howard met her—they + were “in at the death” together after a run across a stiff country that + included several dangerous jumps. “You’re the only one that can keep up + with me,” he said, admiring her glowing face and star-like eyes, her + graceful, assured seat on a hunter that no one else either cared or dared + to ride. + </p> + <p> + “You mean you are the only one who can keep up with <i>me,</i>” she + laughed, preparing for what his face warned her was coming. + </p> + <p> + “No I don’t, Marian dear. I mean that we ought to go right on keeping up + with each other. You won’t say no, will you?” + </p> + <p> + Marian was liking him that day—he was looking his best. She + particularly liked his expression as he proposed to her. She had intended + to pretend to refuse him; instead her colour rose and she said: “No—which + means yes. Everybody expects it of us, Teddy. So I suppose we mustn’t + disappoint them.” + </p> + <p> + The fact that “everybody” did expect it, the fact that he was the great + “catch” in their set, with his two hundred and fifty thousand a year, his + good looks and his good character—these were her real reasons, with + the first dominant. But she did not admit it to herself then. At + twenty-four even the mercenary instinct tricks itself out in a most + deceptive romantic disguise if there is the ghost of an opportunity. + Besides, there was no reason, and no sign of an approaching reason, for + the shadow of a suspicion that life with Teddy Danvers would not be full + of all that she and her friends regarded as happiness. + </p> + <p> + But she would not marry immediately. She was tenacious of her freedom. She + was restless, dissatisfied with herself and not elated by her prospects. + She had an excellent mind, reasonable, appreciative, ambitious. Until she + “came out” she had spent much time among books; but as she had had no + capable director of her reading, she got from it only a vague sense, that + there was somewhere something in the way of achievement which she might + possibly like to attain if she knew what it was or where to look for it. + As she became settled in her place in the routine of social life, as her + horizon narrowed to the conventional ideas of her set, this sense of + possible and attractive achievement became vaguer. But her restlessness + did not diminish. + </p> + <p> + “I never saw such an ungrateful girl,” was Mrs. Carnarvon’s comment upon + one of Marian’s outbursts of almost peevish fretting. “What do you want?” + </p> + <p> + “That’s just it,” exclaimed Marian, half-laughing. “What <i>do</i> I want? + I look all about me and I can’t see it. Yet I know that there must be + something. I think I ought to have been a man. Sometimes I feel like + running away—away off somewhere. I feel as if I were getting + second-bests, paste substitutes for the real jewels. I feel as I did when + I was a child and demanded the moon. They gave me a little gilt crescent + and said: ‘Here is a nice little moon for baby;’ and it made me furious.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Carnarvon looked irritated. “I don’t understand it. You are getting + the best of everything. Of course you can’t expect to be happy. I don’t + suppose that any one is happy. But all the solid things of life are yours, + and you can and should be comfortable and contented.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s just it,” answered Marian indignantly. “I have always been + swaddled in cotton wool. I have never been allowed really to feel. I think + it is the spirit of revolt in me. Yes, I ought to have been a man. I’m + sure that then I could have made life a little less tiresome.” + </p> + <p> + It was this dissatisfaction that postponed the announcement of the + engagement from month to month until a year had slipped away. + </p> + <p> + Instead of coming to New York, Danvers went off to Montana for a + mountain-lion hunt with two Englishmen who had been staying with him in + “The Valley.” He would join Marian for the trip South, the engagement + would be announced, and the wedding would be in May—such was the + arrangement which Marian succeeded in making. It settled everything and at + the same time it gave her a month of freedom in New York. She hinted + enough of this programme to Howard to enable him to grasp its essential + points. + </p> + <p> + “A month’s holiday,” was his comment. They were alone on the second seat + of George Browning’s coach, driving through the Park. “If we were like + those people”—he was looking at a young man and young woman, side by + side upon a Park bench, blue with cold but absorbed in themselves and + obviously ecstatic. Marian glanced at them with slightly supercilious + amusement and became so interested that she turned her head to follow them + with her eyes after the coach had passed. + </p> + <p> + “Is he kissing her?” asked Howard. + </p> + <p> + “No—not yet. But I’m sure he will as soon as we have turned the + corner.” She said nothing for a moment or two, her glance straight ahead + and upon vacancy, he admiring the curve of her cheek at the edge of its + effective framing of fur. + </p> + <p> + “But we are not——” She spoke in a low tone, regretful, + pensive, almost sad. “We are not like them.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes we are. But—we fancy we are not. We’ve sold our birthright, + our freedom, our independence for—for——” + </p> + <p> + “Well—what?” + </p> + <p> + “Baubles—childish toys—vanities—shadows. Doesn’t it show + what ridiculous little creatures we human beings are that we regard the + most valueless things as of the highest value, and think least of the true + valuables. For, tell me, Lady-Whom-I-Love, what is most valuable in the + few minutes of this little journey among the stars on the good ship Mother + Earth?” + </p> + <p> + “But you would not care always as you care now? It would not, could not, + last. If we—if we were like those people on the bench back there, + we’d go on and—and spoil it all.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps—who can say? But in some circumstances couldn’t I make you + just as happy as—as some one else could?” + </p> + <p> + “Not if you had made me infinitely happier at one time than even you could + hope to make me all the time. At least I think not. It would always be—be + racing against a record; we both would be, wouldn’t we?” + </p> + <p> + Howard looked at her with an expression which transfigured his face and + sent the colour flaming to her cheeks. “That being the case,” he said, + “let us—let us make the record one that will not be forgotten—soon.” + </p> + <p> + During the month he saw her almost every day. She was most ingenious in + arranging these meetings. They were together afternoons and evenings. They + were often alone. Yet she was careful not to violate any convention, + always to keep, or seem to be keeping, one foot “on the line.” Howard + threw himself into his infatuation with all his power of concentration He + practically took a month’s holiday from the office. He thought about her + incessantly. He used all his skill with words in making love to her. And + she abandoned herself to an equal infatuation with equal absorption. + Neither of them spoke of the past or the future. They lived in the + present, talked of the present. + </p> + <p> + One day she spoke of herself as an orphan. + </p> + <p> + “I did not know that,” he said. “But then what do I know about you in + relation to the rest of the world? To me you are an isolated act of + creation.” + </p> + <p> + “You must tell me about yourself.” She was looking at him, surprised. + “Why, I know nothing at all about you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, you do. You know all that there is to know—all that is + important.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” She was asking for the pleasure of hearing him say it. + </p> + <p> + “That I love you—you—all of you—all of you, with all of + me.” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes answered for her lips, which only said smilingly: “No, we haven’t + time to get acquainted—at least not to-day.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + She was to start for Florida at ten the next morning. Mrs. Carnarvon was + going away to the opera, giving them the last evening alone. Marian had + asked this of her point-blank. + </p> + <p> + “You are an extraordinarily sensible as well as strong-willed girl, + Marian,” Mrs. Carnarvon replied. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t find it in my heart to blame you for what you’re doing. The fact + that I haven’t even hinted a protest, but have lent myself to your little + plots, shows that that young man has hypnotized me also.” + </p> + <p> + “You needn’t disturb yourself, as you know,” Marian said gaily. “I’m not + hypnotized. I shall not see Mr. Howard again until—after it’s all + over. Perhaps not then.” + </p> + <p> + He came to dinner and they were not alone until almost nine. She sat near + the open fire among the cushions heaped high upon the little sofa. She had + never been more beautiful, and apparently never in a happier mood. They + both laughed and talked as if it were the first instead of the last day of + their month. Neither spoke of the parting; each avoided all subjects that + pointed in direction of the one subject of which both thought whenever + their minds left the immediate present. As the little clock on the mantle + began to intimate in a faint, polite voice the quarter before eleven, he + said abruptly, almost brusquely: + </p> + <p> + “I feel like a coward, giving you up in this way. Yes—giving you up; + for you have a traitor in your fortress who has offered me the keys, who + offers them to me now. But I do not trust you; and I can’t trust myself. + The curse of luxury is on you, the curse of ambition on me. If we had + found each the other younger; if I had lived less alone, more in the + ordinary habit of dependence upon others; if you had been brought up to + live instead of to have all the machinery of living provided and conducted + for you—well, it might have been different.” + </p> + <p> + “You are wrong as to me, right as to yourself. But yours is not the curse + of ambition. It is the passion for freedom. It would be madness for you, + thinking as you do, even if you could—and you can’t.” + </p> + <p> + He stood up and held out his hand. She did not rise or look at him. + </p> + <p> + “Good night,” she said at last, putting her hand in his. “Of course I am + thinking I shall see you tomorrow. One does not come out of such a dream,”—she + looked up at him smiling—“all in a moment.” + </p> + <p> + “Good night,” he smiled back at her. “I shall not open ‘the fiddler’s + bill’ until—until I have to.” At the door he turned. She had risen + and was kneeling on the sofa, her elbow on its low arm, her chin upon her + hand, her eyes staring into the fire. He came toward her. + </p> + <p> + “May I kiss you?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” Her voice was expressionless. + </p> + <p> + He bent over and just touched his lips to the back of her neck at the edge + of her hair. He thought that she trembled slightly, but her face was set + and she did not look toward him. He turned and left her. Half an hour + later she heard the bell ring—it was Mrs. Carnarvon. She wished to + see no one, so she fled through the rear door of the reception room and up + the great stairway to lock herself in her boudoir. She sank slowly upon + the lounge in front of the fire and closed her eyes. The fire died out and + the room grew cold. A warning chilliness made her rise to get ready for + bed. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said aloud. “It isn’t ambition and it isn’t lack of love. It’s a + queer sort of cowardice; but it’s cowardice for all that. He’s a coward or + he wouldn’t have given up. But—I wonder—how am I going to live + without him? I need him—more than he needs me, I’m afraid.” + </p> + <p> + She was standing before her dressing table. On it was a picture of Danvers—handsome, + self-satisfied, healthy, unintellectual. She looked at it, gave a little + shiver, and with the end of her comb toppled it over upon its face. + </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. — RECKONING WITH DANVERS. + </h2> + <p> + On that journey south Marian for the first time studied Danvers as a + husband in prospect. + </p> + <p> + The morning after they left New York, their private car arrived at + Savannah. At dark the night before they were rushing through a snow storm + raging in a wintry landscape. Now they were looking out upon spring from + the open windows. As soon as the train stopped, all except Marian and + Danvers left the car to walk up and down the platform. Danvers, standing + behind Marian, looked around to make sure that none of the servants was + about, then rubbed his hand caressingly and familiarly upon her cheek. + </p> + <p> + “Did you miss me?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Marian could not prevent her head from shrinking from his touch. + </p> + <p> + “There’s nobody about,” Danvers said, reassuringly. But he acted upon the + hint and, taking his hand away, came around and sat beside her. + </p> + <p> + “Did you miss me?” he repeated, looking at her with an expression in his + frank, manly blue eyes that made her flush at the thought of “treason” + past and to come. + </p> + <p> + “Did <i>you</i> miss <i>me</i>?” she evaded. + </p> + <p> + “I would have returned long ago if I had not been ashamed,” he answered, + smiling. “I never thought that I should come not to care for as good + shooting as that. You almost cost me my life.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” Marian spoke absently. She was absorbed in her mental comparison of + the two men. + </p> + <p> + “I got away from the others and was looking at your picture. They started + up a lion and he came straight at me from behind. If he hadn’t made a + misstep in his hurry and loosened a stone, I guess he would have got me. + As it was, I got him.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean your gun got him.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course. You don’t suppose I tackled him bare-handed.” + </p> + <p> + “It might have been fairer. I don’t see how you can boast of having killed + a creature that never bothered you, that you had to go thousands of miles + out of your way to find, and that you attacked with a gun, giving him no + chance to escape.” + </p> + <p> + “What nonsense!” laughed Danvers. “I never expected to hear you say + anything like that. Who’s been putting such stuff into your head?” + </p> + <p> + Marian coloured. She did not like his tone. She resented the suggestion of + the truth that her speech was borrowed. It made her uncomfortable to find + herself thus unexpectedly on the dangerous ground. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it must have been that newspaper fellow Mrs. Carnarvon has + taken up. She talked about him for an hour after you left us to go to bed + last night.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it was—was Mr. Howard.” Marian had recovered herself. “I want + you to meet him some time. You’ll like him, I’m sure.” + </p> + <p> + “I doubt it. Mrs. Carnarvon seemed not to know much about him. I suppose + he’s more or less of an adventurer.” + </p> + <p> + Marian wondered if this obvious dislike was the result of one of those + strange instincts that sometimes enable men to scent danger before any + sign of it appears. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps he is an adventurer,” she replied. “I’m sure I don’t know. Why + should one bother to find out about a passing acquaintance? It is enough + to know that he is amusing.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not so sure of that. He might make off with the jewels when you had + your back turned.” + </p> + <p> + As soon as she had made her jesting denial of her real lover Marian was + ashamed of herself. And Danvers’ remark, though a jest, cut her. “What I + said about a passing acquaintance was not just or true,” she said + impulsively and too warmly. “Mr. Howard is not an adventurer. I admire and + like him very much indeed. I’m proud of his friendship.” + </p> + <p> + Danvers shrugged his shoulders and looked at her suspiciously. + </p> + <p> + “You saw a good deal of this—this friend of yours?” he demanded, his + mouth straightening into a dictatorial line. + </p> + <p> + At this Marian grew haughty and her eyes flashed: “Why do you ask?” she + inquired, her tone dangerously calm. + </p> + <p> + “Because I have the right to know.” He pointed to the diamond on her third + finger. + </p> + <p> + “Oh—that is soon settled.” Marian drew off the ring and held it out + to him. “Really, Teddy, I think you ought to have waited a little longer + before insisting so fiercely on your rights.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be absurd, Marian.” Danvers did not take the ring but fixed his + eyes upon her face and changed his tone to friendly remonstrance. “You + know the ring doesn’t mean anything. It’s your promise that counts. And + honestly don’t you think your promise does give me the right to ask you + about your new friends when you speak of them, of one of them, in—in + such a way?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t intend to deceive you,” she said, turning the ring around slowly + on her finger. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I suppose the only way to + speak is just to speak.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think you are in love with this man, Marian?” + </p> + <p> + She nodded, then after a long pause, said, “Yes, Teddy, I love him.” + </p> + <p> + “But I thought——” + </p> + <p> + “And so did I, Teddy. But he came, and I—well I couldn’t help it.” + </p> + <p> + As he did not speak, she looked at him. His face was haggard and white and + in his eyes which met hers frankly there was suffering. + </p> + <p> + “It wasn’t my fault, Teddy,” Marian laid her hand on his arm, “at least, + not altogether. I might have kept away and I didn’t.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don’t blame you. I blame him.” + </p> + <p> + “But it wasn’t his fault. I—I—encouraged him.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he know that we were engaged?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” reluctantly. + </p> + <p> + “The scoundrel! I suspected that he was rotten somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “You are unjust to him. I have not told you properly.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he tell you that he cared for you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—but he didn’t try to get me to break my engagement.” + </p> + <p> + “So much the more a scoundrel, he. Tell me, Marian—come to your + senses and tell me—what in the devil did he hang about you for and + make love to you, if he didn’t want to marry you? Would an honest man, a + decent man, do that?” + </p> + <p> + Marian’s face confessed assent. + </p> + <p> + “I should think you would have seen what sort of a fellow he is. I should + think you would despise him.” + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes it seems to me that I ought to. But I always end by despising + myself—and—and—it makes no difference in the way I feel + toward him.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I would do well to look him up and give him a horse-whipping. But + you’ll get over him, Marian. I am astonished at your cousin. How could she + let this go on? But then, she’s crazy about him too.” + </p> + <p> + Marian smiled miserably. “I’ve owned up and you ought to congratulate + yourself on so luckily getting rid of such an untrustworthy person as I.” + </p> + <p> + “Getting rid of you?” Danvers looked at her defiantly. “Do you think I’m + going to let you go on and ruin yourself on an impulse? Not much! I hold + you to your promise. You’ll come round all right after you’ve been away + from this fellow for a few days. You’ll be amazed at yourself a week from + now.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t understand, Teddy.” Marian wished him to see once for all that, + whatever might be the future for her and Howard, there was no future for + her and him. “Don’t make it so hard for me to tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want to hear any more about it now, Marian. I can’t stand it—I + hardly know what I’m saying—wait a few days—let’s go on as we + have been—here they come.” + </p> + <p> + The others of the party came bustling into the car and the train started. + For the rest of the journey Danvers avoided her, keeping to the smoking + room and the game of poker there. Marian could neither read nor watch the + landscape. She did not know whether to be glad or sorry that she had told + him. She hated to think that she had inflicted pain and she could not + believe, in spite of what she had seen in his eyes, that his feeling in + the matter was more than jealousy and wounded vanity. + </p> + <p> + “He doesn’t really care for me,” she thought. “It’s his pride that is + hurt. He will flare out at me and break it off. I do hope he’ll get angry. + It will make it so much easier for me.” + </p> + <p> + Late in the afternoon she took Mrs. Carnarvon into her confidence. “I’ve + told Teddy,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I might have known!” exclaimed her cousin. “What on earth made you do + that?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know—perhaps shame.” + </p> + <p> + “Shame—trash! Your life is going to be a fine turmoil if you run to + Teddy with an account of every little mild flirtation you happen to have. + Of all the imbeciles, the most imbecile is the woman who confesses.” + </p> + <p> + “But how could I marry him when——” + </p> + <p> + “When you don’t love him?” + </p> + <p> + “No—I might have done that. I like him. But, when I love another + man.” + </p> + <p> + “It does make a difference. But you ought to be able to foresee that + you’ll get over Howard in a few weeks——” + </p> + <p> + “Precisely what Teddy said.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he? I’m surprised at his having so much sense. For, if you’ll forgive + me, I don’t think Teddy will ever set New York on fire—at least, + he’s—well, he has the makings of an ideal husband. And has he broken + it off?” + </p> + <p> + “No. He wouldn’t have it.” + </p> + <p> + “Really? Well he <i>is</i> in love. Most men in his position—able to + get any girl he wants—would have thrown up the whole business. Yes, + he must be awfully in love.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think that?” Marian’s voice spoke distress but she felt only + satisfaction. “Oh, I hope not—that is, I’d like to think he cared a + great deal and at the same time I don’t want to hurt him.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t fret yourself about these two men. Just go on thinking as you + please. You’ll be surprised how soon Howard will fade.” Mrs. Carnarvon + smiled satirically at some thought—perhaps a memory. “You’re a good + deal of a goose, my dear, but you are a great deal more of a woman. That’s + why I feel sure that Teddy will win.” + </p> + <p> + With such an opportunity—with the field clear and the woman + half-remorseful over her treachery, half-indignant at the man who had + shown himself so weak and spiritless—a cleverer or a less vain man + than Danvers would have triumphed easily. And for the first week he did + make progress. He acted upon the theory that Marian had been hypnotized + and that the proper treatment was to ignore her delusion and to treat her + with assiduous but not annoying consideration. He did not pose as an + injured or jealous lover. He was the friend, always at her service, always + thinking out plans for her amusement. He made no reference to their + engagement or to Howard. + </p> + <p> + Several people of their set were at the hotel and Marian was soon drifting + back into her accustomed modes of thought. The wider horizon which she + fancied Howard had shown her was growing dim and hazy. The horizon which + he had made her think narrow was beginning again to seem the only one. + This meant Danvers; but he was not acute enough to understand her and to + follow up his advantage. + </p> + <p> + One morning as he was walking up and down under the palms, waiting for + Mrs. Carnarvon and Marian, Mrs. Fortescue called him. She was a cold, + rather handsome woman. In her eyes was the expression that always betrays + the wife or the mistress who loathes the man she lives with, enduring him + only because he gives her that which she most wants—money. She had + one fixed idea—to marry her daughter “well,” that is, to money. + </p> + <p> + “Can you join us to-day, Teddy?” she asked. “We need one more man.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m waiting for Mrs. Carnarvon and Marian,” he explained. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, of course.” Mrs. Fortescue smiled. “What a nice girl she is—so + clever, so—so independent. I admired her immensely for deciding to + marry that poor, obscure young fellow. I like to see the young people + romantic.” + </p> + <p> + Danvers flushed angrily and pulled at his mustache. He tried to smile. + “We’ve teased her about it a good deal,” he said, “but she denies it.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose they aren’t ready to announce the engagement yet,” Mrs. + Fortescue suggested. “I suppose they are waiting until he betters his + position a little. It’s never a good idea to have too long a time between + the announcement and the marriage.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps that is it.” Danvers tried to look indifferent but his eyes were + sullen with jealousy. + </p> + <p> + “I always rather thought that you and Marian were going to make a match of + it,” continued Mrs. Fortescue. Just then her daughter came down the walk. + She was fashionably dressed in white and blue that brought out all the + loveliness of her golden hair and violet eyes and faintly-coloured, smooth + fair skin. Danvers had not seen her since she “came out,” and was dazzled + by her radiance. + </p> + <p> + They say that every man must be a little in love with every pretty woman + he sees. And Danvers at once gave Ellen Fortescue her due. She sat silent + beside her mother, looking the personification of innocence, purity and + poetry. Her mother continued subtly to poison Danvers against Marian, to + make him feel that she had not appreciated him, that she had trifled with + him, that she had not treated him as his dignity and importance merited. + When she and Mrs. Carnarvon appeared, he joined them tardily, after having + made an arrangement with the Fortescues for the next day. + </p> + <p> + That evening he danced several times with Ellen Fortescue and adopted the + familiar lover’s tactics—he set about making Marian jealous. He + scored the customary success. When she went to bed she lay for several + hours looking out into the moonlight, raging against the Fortescues and + against Danvers. The mere fact that a man whom she regarded as hers was + permitting himself to show marked attention to another woman would have + been sufficient. But in addition, Marian was perfectly aware of the + material advantages of this particular man. She did not want to marry him; + at least she was of that mind at the moment. But she might change her + mind. Certainly, if there was to be any breaking off, she wished it to be + of her doing. She did not fancy the idea of him departing joyfully. + </p> + <p> + She was far too wise to show that she saw what was going on. She praised + Miss Fortescue to Danvers with apparent frankness and insisted on him + devoting more time to her. Danvers persisted in his scheme boldly for a + week and then, just as Marian was despairing and was casting about for + another plan of campaign, he gave in. They were sitting apart in the + shadow near one of the windows of the ball-room. He had been sullen all + the evening, almost rude. + </p> + <p> + “How much longer are you going to keep me in suspense?” he burst out + angrily. + </p> + <p> + “In suspense?” + </p> + <p> + “You know what I mean. I think I’ve been very patient.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean our engagement?” Marian was looking at him, repelled by his + expression, his manner, the tone of his voice, his whole mood. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—I want your decision.” + </p> + <p> + “I have not changed.” + </p> + <p> + “You still love that—that newspaper fellow?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don’t mean that.” Marian felt her irritation against Danvers + suddenly vanish and in its place a Sense of relief and of calmness. “I + mean toward you. It won’t do, Teddy. We shall get on well as friends. But + I can’t think of you in—in that way.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Fortescue had so swollen his vanity that he was astounded at Marian’s + decision. He rapidly went over in his mind all the advantages he offered + as a husband, and then looked at her as if he thought her beside herself. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Marian,” he protested. “You can’t mean it. Why, it’s all + settled that we are to marry. It would be madness for you to break it off. + I can give you everything—everything. And he can’t give you + anything.” Then with fatal tactlessness: “He won’t even give you the + little that he can, according to your own story.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it’s madness, isn’t it, Teddy, to refuse you—fascinating you, + who can give everything. But that’s just it. You have too much. You + overwhelm me. I should feel like a cheat, taking so much and giving so + little.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t,” he begged, his self-complacence and superiority all gone. “Don’t + mind my blundering, please, dear. I want you. I can’t say it. I haven’t + any gift of words. But you’ve known me all my life and you know that I + love you. I’ve set my heart on it, Mary Ann,”—it was the name he + used to tease her with when they were children playing together—“You + won’t go back on me now, will you?” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could do as you wish, Teddy.” Marian was forgetful of everything + but the unhappiness she was causing this friend of so many, many years and + of so many, many memories. “But I can’t—I can’t.” + </p> + <p> + “Marry me, dear, anyhow. You will care afterward.” Marian was silent and + Danvers hoped. “You know all about me. I’ll not give you any surprises. I + shan’t bother you. And I’ll make you happy.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said firmly. “You mustn’t ask it. I’ll tell you why. I have + thought of marrying you regardless of this. Only last night I thought of + it—finally, went over the whole thing. Listen, Teddy—if I were + married to you—and if he should come—and he would come sooner + or later—if he should come and say ‘Come with me,’—I’d go—yes, + I’m sure I’d go. I can’t explain why. But I know that nothing would stand + in the way—nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “You ought to be ashamed of yourself.” Marian shrank from him. She was + horrified by the malignant fury that sparkled in his eyes and raged in his + voice. “That damned scoundrel is worthy of you and you of him. But I’ll + get you yet. I never was crossed in anything in my life and I’ll not be + beaten here.” + </p> + <p> + “And I thought you were my friend!” Marian was looking at him, pale, her + eyes wide with amazement. “Is it really you?” + </p> + <p> + He laughed insolently. “Yes—you’ll see. And he’ll see. I’ll crush + him as if he were an egg shell. And as for you—you perjurer—you + liar!” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her with coarse contempt, rose and stalked away. Marian sat + rigid. She was conscious of the insult. But even that humiliation was not + so strong in her mind as the astounding revelation of Danvers. She + remembered that even as his eyes blazed hatred at her, he looked at her, + at her neck, her bare arms, with the baffled desire of brute passion. She + did not fully understand the look, but she felt that it was a degradation + far greater than his insulting words. + </p> + <p> + She slipped, almost skulked to her room, her eyes down, her face in a + burning flush, her scarf drawn tightly about her neck. As her door closed + behind her, she fell upon her bed and began to sob hysterically. She + started up with a scream to find her cousin standing beside her. + </p> + <p> + “I’m so sorry. Forgive me.” Mrs. Carnarvon’s voice had lost its wonted + levity. “I saw that you were in trouble and followed. I knocked and I + thought I heard you answer. What is it, Marie? May I ask? Can I do + anything?” + </p> + <p> + Marian drew her down to the bed and buried her face in her lap. “Oh, I + feel so unclean,” she said. “It was—Teddy. Would you believe it, + Jessie, Teddy! I looked on him as a brother. And he showed me that he was + not my friend—that he didn’t even love me—that he—oh, I + shall never forget the look in his eyes. He made me feel like a—like + a <i>thing</i>.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Carnarvon smothered a smile. “Of course Teddy’s a brute,” she said. + “I thought you knew. He’s a domesticated brute, like most of the men and + some of the women. You’ll have to get used to that.” + </p> + <p> + By refusing to fall in with her mood, Mrs. Carnarvon had gone far toward + curing it. Marian stopped sobbing and presently said: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I know all that. But I didn’t expect it from Teddy—and toward + me. And—” she shuddered—“I was thinking, actually thinking of + marrying him. I wish never to see him again. And he pretended to be my + friend!” + </p> + <p> + “And he was, no doubt, until he got you on the brain in another way, in + the way he calls love. There isn’t any love that has friendship in it.” + </p> + <p> + “We must go away at once.” + </p> + <p> + “Unless Teddy saves us the trouble by going first, as I suspect he will.” + </p> + <p> + “Jessie, he hates me and—and—Mr. Howard.” + </p> + <p> + “So you talked to him about Howard again, did you?” Mrs. Carnarvon was + indignant. “You are old enough to know better, Marian. You carry frankness + entirely too far. There is such a thing as truth running amuck.” + </p> + <p> + “He said he would crush Howard. And I believe he really meant it.” + </p> + <p> + “Teddy is a man who believes in revenges—or thinks he does. His + father taught him to keep accounts in grievances, and no doubt he has + opened an account with Howard. But don’t be disturbed about it. His father + would have insisted on balancing the account. Teddy will just keep on + hating, but won’t do anything. He’s not underhanded.” + </p> + <p> + “He’s everything that is vile and low.” + </p> + <p> + “You’re quite mistaken, my dear. He’s what they call a manly fellow—a + little too masculine perhaps, but——” + </p> + <p> + A knock interrupted and Mrs. Carnarvon, answering it, took from the + bell-boy a note for Marian who read it, then handed it to her. Mrs. + Carnarvon read: “I apologise for the way I said what I did this evening, + not for what I said. Because you had forgotten yourself, had played the + traitor and the cheat was, perhaps, no excuse for my rudeness. You have + fallen under an evil influence. I hope no harm will come to you, for I + can’t get over my feeling for you. But I have done my best and have not + been able to save you. I am going away early in the morning. + </p> + <h3> + “E. D.” + </h3> + <p> + “Melodramatic, isn’t it?” laughed Mrs. Carnarvon. “So he’s off. How + furious Martha Fortescue and Ellen will be. But they’ll go in pursuit, and + they’ll get him. A man is never so susceptible as when he’s + broken-hearted. Well, I must go. Good-night, dear. Don’t mope and whine. + Take your punishment sensibly. You’ve learned something—if it’s only + not to tell one man how much you love another.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I’ll go abroad with Aunt Retta next month.” + </p> + <p> + “A good idea—you’ll forget both these men. Good-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-night,” answered Marian dolefully, expecting to resume her thoughts + of Danvers. But, instead, he straightway disappeared from her mind and she + could think only of Howard. She was free now. The one barrier between him + and her of which she had been really conscious was gone. And her heart + began to ache with longing for him. Why had he not written? What was he + doing? Did he really love her or was his passion for her only a flash of a + strong and swift imagination? + </p> + <p> + No, he loved her—she could not doubt that. But she could not + understand his conduct. She felt that she ought to be very unhappy, yet + she was not. The longer she thought of him and the more she weighed his + words and looks, the stronger became her trust in him. “He loves me,” she + said. “He will come when he can. It may be even harder for him than for + me.” + </p> + <p> + And so, explanation failing—for she rejected every explanation that + reflected upon him—she hid and excused him behind that familiar + refuge of the doubting, mystery. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIV. — THE NEWS-RECORD GETS A NEW EDITOR. + </h2> + <p> + A few minutes after leaving Marian that last night at Mrs. Carnarvon’s, + Howard was deep in a mood of self-contempt. He felt that he had faced the + crisis like a coward. He despised the weakness which enfeebled him for + effort to win her and at the same time made it impossible for him to + thrust her from his mind. + </p> + <p> + In the working hours his will conquered with the aid of fixed habit and he + was able to concentrate upon his editorials. But in his rooms, and + especially after the lights were out, his imagination became master, + deprived him of sleep and occasionally lifted him to a height of hope in + order that it might dash him down the more cruelly upon the rocks of fact. + </p> + <p> + At last he was forced to face the situation—in his own evasive + fashion. It was impossible to go back. That loneliness which often + threatened him after Alice’s death had become the permanent condition of + his life. “I will work for her,” he said. “Until I have made a place for + her I dare not claim her. So much I will concede to my weakness. But when + I have won a position which reasonably assures the future, I shall claim + her—no matter what has happened in the meanwhile.” + </p> + <p> + He would have smiled at this wild resolution had he been in a less + distracted state of mind or had he been dealing with any other than a + matter of love. But in the circumstances it gave him heart and set him to + work with an energy and effectiveness which still further increased Mr. + Malcolm’s esteem for him. + </p> + <p> + “Will you dine with me at the Union Club on Wednesday?” Mr. Malcolm asked + one morning in mid-February. “Mr. Coulter and Mr. Stokely are coming. I + want you to know them better.” + </p> + <p> + Howard accepted and wondered that he took so little interest. For Stokely + and Coulter were the principal stockholders of the <i>News-Record</i>, and + with Malcolm formed the triumvirate which directed it in all its + departments. Mr. Malcolm held only a few shares of stock, but received + what was in the newspaper-world an immense salary—thirty thousand a + year. He was at once an able editor and an able diplomatist. He knew how + to make the plans of his two associates conform to conditions of news and + policy—when to let them use the paper, or, rather, when to use the + paper himself for their personal interests; when and how to induce them to + let the paper alone. Through a quarter of a century of changing ownerships + Malcolm had persisted, chiefly because he had but one conviction—that + the post of editor of the <i>News-Record</i> exactly suited him and must + remain his at any sacrifice of personal character. + </p> + <p> + Howard had met Stokely and Coulter. He liked Stokely who was owner of a + few shares more than one-third; he disliked Coulter who owned just under + one-half. + </p> + <p> + Stokely was a frank, coarse, dollar-hunter, cheerfully unscrupulous in a + large way, acute, caring not at all for principles of any kind, letting + the paper alone most of the time because he was astute enough to know that + in his ignorance of journalism he would surely injure it as a property. + </p> + <p> + Coulter was a hypocrite and a snob. Also he fancied he knew how to conduct + a newspaper. He was as unscrupulous as Stokely but tried to mask it. + </p> + <p> + When Stokely wished the <i>News-Record</i> to advocate a “job,” or steal, + or the election of some disreputable who would work in his interest, he + told Malcolm precisely what he wanted and left the details of the + stultification to his experienced adroitness. When Coulter wished to + “poison the fountain of publicity,” as Malcolm called the paper’s + departures from honesty and right, he approached the subject by stealth, + trying to convince Malcolm that the wrong was not really wrong, but was + right unfortunately disguised. + </p> + <p> + He would take Malcolm into his confidence by slow and roundabout steps, + thus multiplying his difficulties in discharging his “duty.” If Coulter’s + son had not been married to Malcolm’s daughter, it is probable that not + even his complete subserviency would have enabled him to keep his place. + </p> + <p> + “If you had told me frankly what you wanted in the first place, Mr. + Coulter,” he said after an exasperating episode in which Coulter’s + Pharisaic sensitiveness had resulted in Malcolm’s having to “flop” the + paper both editorially and in its news columns twice in three days, “we + would not have made ourselves ridiculous and contemptible. The public is + an ass, but it is an ass with a memory at least three days long. Your + stealthiness has made the ass bray at us instead of with and for us. And + that is dangerous when you consider that running a newspaper is like + running a restaurant—you must please your customers every day + afresh.” + </p> + <p> + Coulter was further difficult because of his anxieties about social + position for himself and his family. He was disturbed whenever the <i>News-Record</i> + published an item that might offend any of the people whose acquaintance + he had gained with so much difficulty, and for whose good will he was + willing to sacrifice even considerable money. Personally, but very + privately, he edited the <i>News-Record’s</i> “fashionable intelligence” + columns on Sunday and made them an exhibit of his own sycophancy and + snobbishness which excited the amused disgust of all who were in the + secret. + </p> + <p> + Malcolm liked Howard, admired him, in a way envied his fearlessness, his + earnestness for principles. For years he had had it in mind to retire and + write a history of the Civil War period which had been his own period of + greatest activity and most intimate acquaintance with the + behind-the-scenes of statecraft. Howard’s energy, steady application, + enthusiasm for journalism and intelligence both as to editorials and as to + news made Malcolm look upon him as his natural successor. + </p> + <p> + “I think Howard is the man we want,” he said to his two associates when he + was arranging the dinner. “He has new ideas—just what the paper + needs. He is in touch with these recent developments. And above all he has + judgment. He knows what not to print, where and how to print what ought to + be printed. He is still young and is over-enthusiastic. He has + limitations, but he knows them and he is eager and capable to learn.” + </p> + <p> + It was a “shop” dinner, Howard doing most of the talking, led on by + Malcolm. The main point was the “new journalism,” as it was called, and + how to adapt it to the <i>News-Record</i> and the <i>News-Record</i> to + it. + </p> + <p> + Malcolm kept the conversation closely to news and news-ideas, fearing + that, if editorial policies were brought in, Howard would make “breaks.” + He soon saw that his associates were much impressed with Howard, with his + judgment, with his knowledge of the details of every important newspaper + in the city, with his analysis of the good and bad points in each. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll drop you at your corner,” said he to Howard at the end of the + dinner. As they drove up the Avenue he began: “How would you like to be + the editor of the <i>News-Record</i>? My place, I mean.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand,” Howard answered, bewildered. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to retire at once,” Malcolm went on. “I’ve been at it nearly + fifty years—ever since I was a boy of eighteen and I’ve been in + charge there almost a quarter of a century. I think I’ve earned a few + years of leisure to work for my own amusement. I’m pretty sure they’ll + want you to take my place. Would you like it?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not fit for it,” Howard said, and he meant it. “I’m only an + apprentice. I’m always making blunders—but I needn’t tell you about + that.” + </p> + <p> + “You can’t say that you are not fit until you have tried. Besides, the + question is not, are <i>you</i> fit? but, is there any one more fit than + you? I confess I don’t see any one so well equipped, so certain to give + the paper all of the best that there is in him.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I’d like to try. I can only fail.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you won’t fail. But you may quarrel with Stokely and Coulter—especially + Coulter. In fact, I’m sure you’ll quarrel with them. But if you make + yourself valuable enough, you’ll probably win out. Only——” + </p> + <p> + Malcolm hesitated, then went on: + </p> + <p> + “I stopped giving advice years ago. But I’ll venture a suggestion. + Whenever your principles run counter to the policy of the paper, it would + be wise to think the matter over carefully before making an issue. Usually + there is truth on both sides, much that can be said fairly and honestly + for either side. Often devotion to principle is a mere prejudice. Often + the crowd, the mob, can be better controlled to right ends by conceding or + seeming to concede a principle for the time. Don’t strike a mortal blow at + your own usefulness to good causes by making yourself a hasty martyr to + some fancied vital principle that will seem of no consequence the next + morning but one after the election.” + </p> + <p> + “I know, Mr. Malcolm, judgment is all but impossible. And I have been + trying to learn what you have been teaching me with your blue pencil, what + you now put into words. But there is something in me—an instinct, + perhaps—that forces me on in spite of myself. I’ve learned to curb + and guide it to a certain extent, but as long as I am I, I shall never + learn to control it. Every man must work out his own salvation along his + own lines. And with my limitations of judgment, it would be fatal to me, I + feel, to study the art of compromise. Where another, broader, stronger, + more master of himself and of others, would succeed by compromising, I + should fail miserably. I should be lost, compassless, rudderless. I have + often envied you your calmness, your ability to see not only to-morrow but + the day after. But, if I ever try to imitate you, I shall make a sad mess + of my career.” + </p> + <p> + As he ended Howard looked uneasily at the old editor, expecting to see + that caustic smile with which he preceded and accompanied his sarcasms at + “sentimental bosh.” But instead, Malcolm’s face was melancholy; and his + voice was sad and weary as he answered the young man who was just starting + where he had started so many years ago: + </p> + <p> + “No doubt you are right. I’m not intending to try to dissuade you from—from + the best there is in you. All I mean is that caution, self-examination, + self-doubt, calm consideration of the other side—these are as + necessary to success as energy and resolute action. All I suggest is that + its splendour does not redeem a splendid folly. Its folly remains its + essential characteristic.” + </p> + <p> + Three weeks later Howard became editor-in-chief of the <i>News-Record</i>. + His salary was fifteen thousand a year; and Stokely and Coulter, acting + upon Malcolm’s advice, gave him a “free hand” for one year. They agreed + not to interfere during that time unless the circulation or the profits + showed a decrease at the end of a quarter. + </p> + <p> + The next morning Howard, in the Madison Avenue car on his way to the + office, read among the “Incidents in Society:” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. George Alexander Provost and her niece, Miss Marion Trevor, sailed in + the <i>Campania</i> yesterday. They will return in July for the Newport + season. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XV. — YELLOW JOURNALISM. + </h2> + <p> + While several of the New York dailies were circulating from two to three + hundred thousand copies, the <i>News-Record</i>—the best-written, + the most complete, and, where the interests of the owners did not + interfere, the most accurate—circulated less than one hundred + thousand. The Sunday edition had a circulation of one hundred and fifty + thousand where two other newspapers had almost half a million. + </p> + <p> + The theory of the <i>News-Record</i> staff was that their journal was too + “respectable,” too intelligent, to be widely read; that the “yellow + journals” grovelled, “appealed to the mob,” drew their vast crowds by the + methods of the fakir and the freak. They professed pride in the <i>News-Record’s</i> + smaller circulation as proof of its freedom from vulgarity and debasement. + They looked down upon the journalists of the popular newspapers and posed + as the aristocracy of the profession. + </p> + <p> + Howard did not assent to these self-complacent excuses. He was democratic + and modern, and the aristocratic pose appealed only to his sense of humour + and his suspicions. He believed that the success of the “yellow journals” + with the most intelligent, alert and progressive public in the world must + be based upon solid reasons of desert, must be in spite of, not because + of, their follies and exhibitions of bad taste. He resolved upon a radical + departure, a revolution from the policy of satisfying petty vanity and + tradition within the office to a policy of satisfying the demands of the + public. + </p> + <p> + He gave Segur temporary charge of the editorial page, and, taking a desk + in the news-room, centred his attention upon news and the news-staff. But + he was careful not to agitate and antagonise those whose coöperation was + necessary to success. He made only one change in the management; he + retired old Bowring on a pension and appointed to the city editorship one + of the young reporters—Frank Cumnock. + </p> + <p> + He chose Cumnock for this position, in many respects the most important on + the staff of a New York daily, because he wrote well, was a judge of good + writing, had a minute knowledge of New York and its neighbourhood and, + finally and chiefly, because he had a “news-sense,” keener than that of + any other man on the paper. + </p> + <p> + For instance, there was the murder of old Thayer, the rich miser in East + Sixteenth Street. It was the sensation in all the newspapers for two + weeks. Then they dropped it as an unsolvable mystery. Cumnock persuaded + Mr. Bowring to let him keep on. After five days’ work he heard of a deaf + and dumb woman who sat every afternoon at a back window of her flat + overlooking the back windows of Thayer’s house. He had a trying struggle + with her infirmity and stupidity, but finally was rewarded. On the + afternoon of the murder, in its very hour (which the police had been able + to discover), she had seen a man and woman in the bathroom of the Thayer + house. Both were agitated and the man washed his hands again and again, + carefully rinsing the bowl afterward. From her description Cumnock got + upon the track of Thayer’s niece and her husband, found the proof of their + guilt, had them watched until the <i>News-Record</i> came out with the + “beat,” then turned them over to the police. + </p> + <p> + Also, Cumnock was keen at taking hints of good news-items concealed in + obscure paragraphs. The Morris Prison scandal was an example of this. He + found in the New England edition of <i>The World</i> a six-line item + giving an astonishing death rate for the Morris Prison. He asked the City + Editor to assign him to go there; and within a week the press of the + entire country was discussing the <i>News-Record’s</i> exposure of the + barbarities of torture and starvation practised by Warden Johnson and his + keepers. + </p> + <p> + “We are going to print the news, all the news and nothing but the news,” + Howard said to Cumnock. “They’ve put you here because, so they tell me, + you know news no matter how thoroughly it is concealed or disguised. And I + assure you that no one shall interfere with you. No favours to anybody; no + use of the news-columns for revenge or exploitation. The only questions a + news-item need raise in your mind are: Is it true? Is it interesting? Is + it printable in a newspaper that will publish anything which a + healthy-minded grown-person wishes to read?” + </p> + <p> + “Is that ‘straight’?” asked Cumnock. “No favourites? No suppressions? No + exploitations?” + </p> + <p> + “‘Straight’—‘dead straight’! And if I were you I’d make this + particularly clear to the Wall Street and political men. If anybody”—with + stress upon the anybody—“comes to you about this, send him to me.” + </p> + <p> + Howard was uneasy about the managing editor, Mr. King. But he soon found + that his fears were groundless. Mr. King was without petty vanity, and + cordially and sincerely welcomed his control. + </p> + <p> + “We look too dull,” King began when Howard asked him if he had any changes + to suggest. “We need more and bigger headlines, and we need pictures.” + </p> + <p> + “That is it!” Howard was delighted to find that King and he were in + perfect accord. “But we must not have pictures unless we can have the + best. Just at present we can’t increase expenses by any great amount. What + do you say to trying what we can do with all the news, larger headlines + and plenty of leads?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure we can do better with our class of readers by livening up the + appearance of our headlines than we could with second-rate pictures.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope,” Howard said earnestly, “that we won’t have to use that phrase—‘our + class of readers’—much longer. Our paper should interest every man + and woman able to read. It seems to me that a newspaper’s audience should + be like that of a good play—the orchestra chairs full and the last + seat in the gallery taken. I suppose you know we’re not an ‘organ’ any + longer?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I didn’t.” Mr. King looked surprised. “Do you mean to say that we’re + free to print the news?” + </p> + <p> + “Free as freedom. In our news columns we’re neither Democrat nor + Republican nor Mugwump nor Reform. We have no Wall Street or social + connections. We are going to print a newspaper—all the news and + nothing but the news.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. King drummed on his desk softly with the tips of his outstretched + fingers. “Hum—hum,” he said. “This <i>is</i> news. Well—the + circulation’ll go up. And that’s all I’m interested in.” + </p> + <p> + Howard went about his plans quietly. He avoided every appearance of + exerting authority, disturbed not a wheel in the great machine. He made + his changes so subtly that those who received the suggestions often came + to him a few days afterward, proposing as their own the very plans he had + hinted. He was thus cautious partly because of his experience of the + vanity of men, their sensitiveness to criticism, their instinctive + opposition to improvement from without; partly from his knowledge of the + hysteria which raged in the offices of the “yellow journals.” He wished to + avoid an epidemic of that hysteria—the mad rush for sensation and + novelty; the strife of opposing ambitions; the plotting and + counter-plotting of rival heads of departments; the chaos out of which the + craziest ideas often emerged triumphant, making the pages of the paper + look like a series of disordered dreams. + </p> + <p> + He was indifferent to the semblance of authority, to the shadows for which + small men are forever struggling. What he wanted, all he wanted, was—results. + </p> + <p> + The first opposition came from the night editor, who for twenty-six years, + his weekly “night off” and his two weeks’ vacation in summer excepted, had + “made up” the paper—that is to say, had defined, with the advice and + consent of the managing editor, the position and order of the various news + items. This night editor, Mr. Vroom, was a strenuous conservative. He + believed that an editor’s duty was done when he had intelligently arranged + his paper so that the news was placed before the reader in the order of + its importance. Big headlines, attempts at effect with varying sizes of + large type and varying column-widths he held to be crowd-catching devices, + vulgar and debasing. He had no sympathy with Howard’s theory that the + first object of a newspaper published in a democratic republic is to catch + the crowd, to interest it, to compel it to read, and so to lead it to + think. + </p> + <p> + “We’re on the way to scuffling in the gutter with the ‘yellow journals’ + for the pennies of the mob,” he was saying sarcastically to Mr. King, one + afternoon just as Howard joined them. + </p> + <p> + Howard laughed. “Not on the way to the gutter, Mr. Vroom. Actually in the + gutter, actually scuffling.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’m frank to say that I don’t like it. A newspaper ought to appeal + to the intelligent.” + </p> + <p> + “To intelligence, yes; to the intelligent, no. At least in my opinion, + that is the right theory. We want people to read us because we’re + intelligent enough to know how to please them, not because they’re + intelligent enough to overcome the difficulties we put in their way. But + let’s go out to dinner this evening and talk it over.” + </p> + <p> + They dined together at Mouquin’s every night for a week. At the end of + that time Vroom, still sarcastic and grumbling, was a convert. And a great + accession Howard found him. He had sound judgment as to the value of + news-items—what demanded first page, the “show-window,” because it + would interest everybody; what was worth a line on an inside page because + it would interest only a few thousands. He was the most skillful of the <i>News-Record’s</i> + many good writers of headlines, a master of that, for the newspaper, art + of arts—condensed and interesting statement, alluring the glancing + reader to read on. Also he had an eye for effects with type. “You make + every page a picture,” Howard said to him. “It is wonderful how you + balance your headlines, emphasising the important news yet saving the + minor items from obscurity. I should like to see the paper you would make + if you had the right sort of illustrations to put in.” + </p> + <p> + Vroom was amazed at himself. He who had opposed any “head” which broke the + column rule was now so far degenerated into a “yellow journalist” that, + when Howard spoke of illustrations, he actually longed to test his skill + at distributing them effectively. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Two months of hard work, tedious, because necessarily so indirect, + produced a newspaper which was “on the right lines,” as Howard understood + right lines. And he felt that the time had come to make the necessary + radical changes in the editorial page. + </p> + <p> + The <i>News-Record</i> had long posed as independent because it supported + now one political party and now the other, or divided its support. But + this superficial independence was in reality subservience to the financial + interests of the two principal owners. They made their newspaper assail + Republican or Democratic corruption and misgovernment in city, state or + nation, according as their personal interests lay. They used the editorial + page and, to even better advantage, the news-columns, in revenging + themselves for too heavy levies of blackmail upon their corrupt interests + or in securing unjust legislation and privileges. + </p> + <p> + Obedient and cynical Mr. Malcolm had made the editorial page corrupt and + brilliant—never so effective as when assailing a good cause. The + great misfortune of good causes is that they attract so many fatal friends—the + superciliously conscientious; the well-meaning but feeble-minded and + blundering; the most offensive because least deceptive kinds of + hypocrites. Mr. Malcolm, as acute as he was intellectually unscrupulous, + well understood how to weaken or to ruin a just cause through these + supporters. Sometimes he stood afar off, showering the poisoned arrows of + raillery and satire. Again he was the plain-spoken friend of the cause and + warned its honest supporters against these “fool friends” whom he + pretended to regard as its leaders. Again he played the part of a blind + enthusiast and praised folly as wisdom and urged it on to more damaging + activities. + </p> + <p> + “We abhor humbug here,” he used to say; and perhaps he did in a measure + excuse himself to his conscience with the phrase. But in fact his + editorial page was usually a succession of humbugs, of brilliant + hypocrisies and cheats perpetrated under the guise of exposing humbug. + </p> + <p> + Just as Howard was ready to reverse Malcolm’s editorial programme, New + York was seized with one of its “periodic spasms of virtue.” The city + government was, as usual, in the hands of the two bosses who owned the two + political machines. One was taking the responsibility and the larger share + of the spoils; the other was maintaining him in power and getting the + smaller but a satisfactory share. The alliance between the police and + criminal vice had become so open and aggressive under this bi-boss + patronage that the people were aroused and indignant. But as they had no + capable leaders and no way of selecting leaders, there arose a + self-constituted leadership of uptown Phariseeism and sentimentality, + planning the “purification” of the city. + </p> + <p> + Every man of sense knowing human nature and the conditions of city life + knew that this plan was foredoomed to ridiculous failure, and that the + event would be a popular revulsion against “reform.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not speak the truth about these vice-hunters?” Howard was discussing + the situation with three of his editorial writers—Segur, Huntington + and Montgomery. + </p> + <p> + “It’s mighty dangerous,” Montgomery objected. “You will be sticking knives + into a sacred Anglo-Saxon hypocrisy.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, we’ll have all the good people about our ears,” said Segur. “We’ll + be denounced as a defender of depravity, a foe of purity. They’ll thunder + away at us from every pulpit. The other newspapers will take it up, + especially those that expect to sell millions of papers containing + accounts of the ‘exposure’ of the dives and dens.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s good. I hope we shall,” said Howard cheerfully. “It will advertise + us tremendously.” + </p> + <p> + The three were better pleased than they would have admitted to themselves + by the seeming certainty of Howard’s impending undoing. + </p> + <p> + “No, gentlemen,” Howard said, as they were about to go to their rooms for + the day’s work. “There’s no danger in attacking any hypocrisy. Don’t + attack beliefs that are universal or nearly universal—at least not + openly. But don’t be afraid of a hypocrisy because it is universal. People + know that they are hypocrites in respect of it. They may not have the + courage publicly to applaud you. But they’ll be privately delighted and + will admire your courage. We’ll try to be discreet and we’ll be careful to + be truthful. And we’ll begin by making these gentlemen show themselves + up.” + </p> + <p> + The next morning the <i>News-Record</i> published a double-leaded + editorial. It described the importance of improving political and social + conditions in New York; it went on to note the distinguished names on the + committee for the destruction of vice; it closed with the announcement + that on the following day the <i>News-Record</i> would publish the views + of these eminent reformers upon conditions and remedies. + </p> + <p> + The next day he printed the interviews—a collection of curiosities + in utopianism, cant, ignorant fanaticism, provincialism, hypocrisy. These + appeared strictly as news; for the cardinal principle of Howard’s theory + of a newspaper was that it had no right to intrude its own views into its + news-columns. On the editorial page he riddled the interviews. By adroit + quotations, by contrasting one with another, he showed, or rather made the + so-called reformers themselves show, that where they were sincere they + were in the main silly, and where they were plausible they were in the + main insincere; that every man of them had his own pet scheme for the + salvation of wicked New York; and that they could not possibly accomplish + anything more valuable than leading the people on the familiar, aimless, + demoralizing excursion through the slums. + </p> + <p> + On the following day he frankly laughed at them as a lot of impracticables + who either did not know the patent facts of city life or refused to admit + those facts. And he turned his attention to the real problem, a + respectable administration for the city—a practical end which could + easily be accomplished by practical action. From day to day he kept this + up, publishing a splendid series of articles, humorous, witty, satirical, + eloquent, bold, with a dominant strain of sincerity and plain common + sense. As his associates had predicted, a storm gathered and burst in fury + about the <i>News-Record</i>. It was denounced by “leading citizens,” + including many of the clergy. Its “esteemed” contemporaries published and + endorsed and amplified the abuse. And its circulation went up at the rate + of five thousand a day. + </p> + <p> + When the storm was at its height, when the whole town seemed to be + agreeing with the angry reformers but was quietly laughing at their folly + and hypocrisy, Howard threw his bomb. On a Saturday morning he gave half + of his first page with big but severely impartial headlines to an analysis + of the members of the vice committee—a broadside of facts often + hinted but never before verified and published. First came those who owned + property and sub-let it for vicious purposes, the property and purpose + specified in detail; then those who were directors in corporations which + had got corrupt privileges from the local boss, the privileges being + carefully specified, and also the amounts of which they had robbed the + city. Last came those who were directors in corporations which had bought + from the State-boss injustices and licenses to rob, the specifications + given in damning detail. + </p> + <p> + His leading editorial was entitled “Why We Don’t Have Decent Government.” + It was powerful in its simplicity, its merciless raillery and irony; and + only at the very end did it contain passion. There, in a few eloquent + sentences he arraigned these professed reformers who were growing rich + through the boss-system, who were trafficking with the bosses and were now + engaged in wrecking the hopes of honesty and decency. On that day the <i>News-Record’s</i> + circulation went up thirty thousand. The town rang with its “exposure” and + the attention of the whole country was arrested. It was one of the + historic “beats” of New York journalism. The reputation of the <i>News-Record</i> + for fearlessness and truth-telling and news-enterprise was established. At + abound it had become the most conspicuous and one of the most powerful + journals in New York. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVI. — MR. STOKELY IS TACTLESS. + </h2> + <p> + Howard, riding in the Park one morning late in the spring, came upon Mrs. + Carnarvon. She gave him no chance to evade her, but joined him and + accommodated her horse’s pace to his. + </p> + <p> + “And are you still on the <i>News-Record?</i>” she said. “I hope not.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” Howard was smiling, glad to get an outside view of what he had been + doing. + </p> + <p> + “Because it’s become so sensational. It used to be such a nice paper. And + now—gracious, what headlines! What attacks on the very best people + in the town!” + </p> + <p> + “Dreadful, isn’t it?” laughed Howard. “We’ve become so depraved that we + are actually telling the truth about somebodies instead of only about + nobodies.” + </p> + <p> + “I might have known that you would sympathise with that sort of thing.” + Mrs. Carnarvon was teasing, yet reproachful. “You always were an + anarchist.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it anarchistic to be no respecter of persons and to put big headlines + over big items and little headlines over little items?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you know what I mean. You are encouraging the unruly classes.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear me! And we thought we were fighting the unruly class. We thought + that it was our friends—or rather, your friends—the franchise + grabbers and legislature-buyers who won’t obey the laws unless the laws + happen to suit their convenience. They’re the only unruly class I know + anything about. I’ve heard of another kind but I’ve never been able to + find it. And I never hear much about it except when a lot of big rascals + are making off weighted down with plunder. They always shout back over + their shoulders: ‘Don’t raise a disturbance or you’ll arouse the unruly + classes.’” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Carnarvon was laughing. “You put it well,” she said, “and I’m not + clever enough to answer you. But they all tell me the <i>News-Record</i> + has become a dangerous paper, that it’s attacking everybody who has + anything.” + </p> + <p> + “Anything he has stolen, yes. But that’s all.” + </p> + <p> + “You can’t get me to sympathise with you. I like well-dressed, + well-mannered people who speak good English.” + </p> + <p> + “So do I. That’s why I’m doing all in my power to improve the conditions + for making more and more people of the sort one likes to talk to and dine + with.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I thought you sympathised with the lower classes.” + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit of it. Who has been maligning me to you? I abhor the lower + classes—so much so that I wish to see them abolished.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you’ll have to blame Marian for misleading me.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Trevor? How is she?” Mrs. Carnarvon was looking closely at him, and + he was not sure that he succeeded in showing nothing more than friendly + interest. + </p> + <p> + “Haven’t you heard from her? She’s in England, visiting in Lancashire. You + know her cousin married Lord Cranmore.” + </p> + <p> + “I saw in the papers several months ago that she was going abroad. I + haven’t heard a word since.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Carnarvon started to say something, but changed her mind. + </p> + <p> + “When is she coming home?” + </p> + <p> + “Not until July. You must come to see us at Newport.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing could please me better—if I can get away.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll send you an invitation, although you have treated me very badly of + late. But I suppose you are busy.” + </p> + <p> + “Busy? Isn’t a galley slave always busy?” + </p> + <p> + “Are you still writing editorials?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—and on the fallen <i>News-Record</i>. In fact——” + </p> + <p> + “Well—what?” + </p> + <p> + Howard laughed. “Don’t faint,” he said. “I’ll leave you at once if you + wish me to, and I’ll never give it away that you once knew me. I’m the + editor—the responsible devil for the depravity.” + </p> + <p> + “How interesting!” Mrs. Carnarvon was evidently not disturbed. Then the + American adoration of success came out. “I’m so glad you’re getting on. I + always knew you would. Really, you must come to dinner. I’ll invite some + of the people you’ve been attacking. They’ll like to look at you, and you + will be amused by them. And I don’t in the least mind your giving it to + them if they bait you, as I did this morning. Will you come?” + </p> + <p> + “If I may leave by ten o’clock. I go down town every night.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, when do you sleep?” + </p> + <p> + “Not much, these days. Life’s too interesting to permit of much sleep. + I’ll make up when it slackens a bit.” + </p> + <p> + As he was turning his horse, she said: “Marian’s address is Claridge’s, + Brooke Street, Mayfair. If she isn’t there, they forward her mail.” + </p> + <p> + Howard was puzzled. “What made her give me that address?” he thought. “I + know she didn’t like my seeing so much of Marian. And here she is + practically inviting me to write to her.” He could not understand it. “If + I were not a ‘yellow’ editor and if Marian were not engaged to one of the + richest men in New York, I’d say that this lady was encouraging me.” He + smiled. “Not yet—not just yet.” And he cheerfully urged his horse + into a canter. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Carnarvon’s opinion of the <i>News-Record</i> and its recent + performances fairly represented that of the fashionable and the very rich. + They read it, as they never did before, because it interested them. They + could not deny that what it said was true; that is, they could not deny it + to their own minds, although they did vigorously deny it publicly. Those + who were attacked directly or indirectly, or expected to be attacked, + denounced the paper as an “outrage,” a “disgrace to the city,” a “specimen + of the journalism of the gutter.” Many who were not in sympathy with the + men or the methods assailed thought that its course was “inexpedient,” + “tended to increase discontent among the lower classes,” “weakened the + influence of the better classes.” Only a few of the “triumphant classes” + saw the real value and benefit of the <i>News-Record’s</i> frank attacks + upon greed and hypocrisy, saw that these attacks were not dangerous or + demagogical because they were just and were combined with a careful + avoidance of encouragement to the lazy, the envious, the incompetent and + the ignorant. + </p> + <p> + Fortunately for Howard’s peace, that eminent New York “multi,” Samuel + Jocelyn, for whom Coulter had the highest respect, was of this last class. + When Howard began, Coulter was at Aiken where Jocelyn had a cottage. He + had never been able to make headway with Jocelyn, and Mrs. Jocelyn deigned + to give him and Mrs. Coulter only the coldest of cold nods. Just as + Coulter had become so agitated by Howard’s radical course that he was + preparing to go to New York to remonstrate with him, Jocelyn called. + </p> + <p> + “I came to thank you for what you are doing with your paper,” he said + cordially. “It seems to me that all intelligent men who are not blind to + their own ultimate interests ought to stand by you. I can’t tell you how + much I admire your frankness and honesty. And you draw the line just + right. You attack plunder, you defend property. Will your wife and you + dine with us this evening?” + </p> + <p> + Coulter postponed his trip to New York. + </p> + <p> + On the last day of the first three months the circulation of the <i>News-Record</i> + was 147,253—an increase of 42,150 over what it was on the day Howard + took charge; its advertising had increased twelve per cent; its net + profits for the quarter were seventy-five thousand dollars as against + fifty-seven thousand for the preceding quarter. + </p> + <p> + “Very good indeed,” was Stokely’s comment. + </p> + <p> + “Another quarter like this,” said Howard, “and I’m going to ask you to let + me increase expenses a thousand dollars a week to illustrate the paper.” + </p> + <p> + “We’ll talk that over with Coulter. Personally I like this + ‘yellow-journalism’—when it’s done intelligently. I always told + Coulter we’d have to come to it. It’s only common sense to make a paper + easy reading. Then, too, we can have a great deal more influence—in + fact, we have already. I’m getting what I want up at Albany this winter + much cheaper.” + </p> + <p> + Howard winced. “He made me feel like a blackmailer,” he said to himself + when Stokely had gone. “And I suppose these fellows do look on me as a new + Malcolm with up-to-date tricks. Well, they will see, they will see.” + </p> + <p> + He tried to go on with his work, but Stokely’s cynical words persistently + interrupted him. Why had he not squarely challenged Stokely then and + there? Why had he only winced where a year ago he would have demanded an + explanation? + </p> + <p> + He hated to confess it to himself, he made every effort to smother it, but + the thought still stared him in the face—“I am not so strong in my + ideals of personal character as I was a year ago.” + </p> + <p> + The fact that his present course was profitable gave him, he felt, more + pleasure than the fact that it was right. If the alternative of wealth and + power with self-abasement or poverty, obscurity with self-respect were put + to him now, what would he decide? Would he give up his prospects, his + hopes of Marian and of an easy career? He was afraid to answer. He + contented himself with one of his habitual evasions—“I will settle + that when the time comes. No, Stokely’s remark did not make a crisis. If + the crisis ever does come, surely I will act like a man. I’ll be securer + then, more necessary to this pair of plunderers, able to make better terms + for myself. In practical life, it is necessary to sacrifice something in + order to succeed.” + </p> + <p> + But Stokely’s words and his own silence and the real reasons for his + changing ideals and for his cowardice continued to annoy him. + </p> + <p> + Every day he came down town planning for a better newspaper the next + morning than they had ever made before. And his vigour, his enthusiasm + permeated the entire office. He went from one news department to another, + suggesting, asking for suggestions, praising, criticising judiciously and + with the greatest consideration for vanity. He talked with the reporters, + urging them on by showing keen interest in them and their work, and + intimate knowledge of what they were doing. And he dictated every day + telegrams to correspondents, thanking them for any conspicuously good + stories they had telegraphed in, adding something to the compensation of + those who were paid by space and made little. + </p> + <p> + If his work had not been his amusement the long hours, the constant + application, would have broken him down. But he had no interests outside + the office and he got his mental recreation by shifting his mind from one + department to another. + </p> + <p> + In June his salary was increased to twenty-five thousand a year and his + last lingering feeling of financial insecurity disappeared. For the first + time in his life he felt strong enough to undertake a serious + responsibility, to give hostages to fortune without fear of being unable + to keep faith. He learned from Mrs. Carnarvon that Marian was returning on + the <i>Oceanic</i> on the ninth of July, and he accepted a + Saturday-to-Monday invitation to Newport for the twelfth of July. It was + from Segur that he got the news that Danvers was in Japan and was not + returning until the autumn. + </p> + <p> + On the ninth of July, from the window of his office, he saw the <i>Oceanic</i> + steam up the bay and up the river to her pier. He sent down a request that + the ship-news reporter be sent up as soon as he returned. “Is it a good + story?” he asked when the reporter, Blackwell, entered. “Was there anybody + on board?” + </p> + <p> + “A lot of swell people,” the young man answered; “all the women got up in + the latest Paris gowns.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you notice whether Mrs. Provost came?” + </p> + <p> + “Came? Well, rather, with two French maids chattering and chasing after + her. And there was a tall girl with her, a stunner, a girl she called + ‘Marian, my dear.’” + </p> + <p> + Howard stopped him with “Thank you. Don’t write anything about them.” + </p> + <p> + “It was the best thing I saw—the funniest.” + </p> + <p> + “Well—don’t use the names.” + </p> + <p> + Young Blackwell turned to go. “Oh, I see—friends of yours,” he + smiled. “Very well. I’ll keep ‘em out.” + </p> + <p> + Howard flushed and called him back. “Go ahead,” he said. “Write just what + you were going to. Of course you wouldn’t write anything that was not fair + and truthful. We don’t ‘play favourites’ here. Forget what I said.” + </p> + <p> + And so it came to pass that Mrs. Provost, half pleased, half indignant, + said to Miss Trevor as they sat in the drawing room of the Pullman on the + way to Newport the next day: “Just look at this, Marian dear, in the + horrid <i>News-Record</i>. And it used to be such a nice paper with that + slimy Coulter bowing and scraping to everybody.” + </p> + <p> + “This” was Mrs. Provost and her dogs and her maids and her asides to + “Marian dear,” described with accuracy and a keen sense of the ludicrous. + </p> + <p> + “It’s too dreadful,” she continued. “There is no such thing as privacy in + this country. The newspapers are making us,” with a slight accent on the + pronoun, “as common and public as tenement-house people.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Miss Trevor answered absently. “But why read the newspapers? I + never could get interested in them, though I’ve tried.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVII. — A WOMAN AND A WARNING. + </h2> + <p> + On the evening of Howard’s arrival at Newport, Mrs. Carnarvon was having a + few people in to dine. He had just time to dress and so saw no one until + he descended to the reception room. + </p> + <p> + “You are to take in Marian,” said his hostess, going with him to where + Miss Trevor was sitting, her back to the door and her attention apparently + absorbed by the man facing her. + </p> + <p> + “Here’s Mr. Howard, Marian,” Mrs. Carnarvon interrupted. “Come with me, + Willie. Your lady is over here and we’re going in directly.” + </p> + <p> + Marian saw that Howard was looking at her in the straight, frank fashion + she remembered and liked so well. “I’ve come for you,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you are to take me in,” she evaded, her look even lamer than her + words. + </p> + <p> + “You know what I mean.” He was smiling, his heart in his eyes, as if the + dozen people were not about them. + </p> + <p> + “I see you have not changed,” she laughed, answering his look in kind. + </p> + <p> + “Changed? I’m revolutionized. I was blind and now I see. I was paralyzed + and behold, I walk. I was weak and lo, I am strong—strong enough for + two, if necessary.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, hasn’t it occurred to you that I might possibly have something to + say about my own fate?” + </p> + <p> + “You? Why, you had everything to say. I reasoned it all out with you. You + simply can’t add anything to the case I made you make out for yourself + when I talked it over with you. I made you protest very vigorously.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what did I say—that is, what did you make me say?” + </p> + <p> + “You said you were engaged—pledged to another—that you could + not draw back without dishonour. And I answered that no engagement could + bind you to become the wife of a man you did not love; that no moral code + could hold you to such a sin; that no code of honour could command you to + permit a man to degrade himself and you. Then you pleaded that you were + not sure you liked my kind of a life, that you feared you wanted wealth + and a great establishment and social leadership and—and all that.” + </p> + <p> + “Did I?” Marian said with exaggerated astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “You did indeed. You were perfectly open with me. You let me see all that + part of you which we try to keep concealed and fancy we are concealing—all + that one really feels and wishes and thinks as distinguished from what one + fancies he ought to feel and wish and think.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder that you cared, after a glance behind that curtain.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but I like what is behind that curtain best of all. The very human + things are there. They make me feel so at home.” + </p> + <p> + Dinner was announced and it was not until the second course that he had a + chance to resume. Then he began as if there had been no interval: + </p> + <p> + “You said—” + </p> + <p> + Marian laughed and looked at him—a flash of her luminous blue-green + eyes—and was looking away again with her usual expression. “You + needn’t tell me the rest. It doesn’t matter what I said. I’ve had you with + me wherever I went. You never doubted my—my caring, did you?” + </p> + <p> + “No. I couldn’t doubt you. If you were the sort of woman a man could + doubt, you wouldn’t be the sort of woman I could love. And you know it + isn’t vanity that makes me sure. I often wonder how you happened to care + for such a—but I must not attack any one whom you like so well. No, + I knew you cared by the same instinct that makes you know that I care for + you.” + </p> + <p> + “But why did you come?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I have won a position for myself, have enough to enable us to + live without eternally fretting over money-matters. I feel that I have the + right to come. And then I could not be interested to live on, without you; + and I’m willing to face, willing to have you face, whatever may come to us + through me. I know that you and I together——” + </p> + <p> + “Not now—don’t—please.” Marian was pale and she was obviously + under a great strain. “You see, you knew all about this. But I didn’t + until you looked at me when Jessie brought you. It makes me—happy—I + am so happy. But I must—I can’t control myself here.” She leaned + over as if her napkin had slipped to the floor. “I love you,” she + murmured. + </p> + <p> + It was Howard’s turn to struggle for self-control. “I understand,” he + said, “why you wished me not to go on. You never said those words to me + before—and——” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes I have—many and many a time.” + </p> + <p> + “With your eyes, but not with your voice—at least not so that I + could hear. And—well, it is not easy to look calm and only friendly + when every nerve in one’s body is vibrating like a violin string under the + bow. Yes, let us talk of something else. I’ve never been acutely conscious + of the presence of others when I’ve been with you. To-night I’m in great + danger of forgetting them altogether.” + </p> + <p> + “That would be so like you.” Marian laughed, then raised her voice a + little and went on. “Yes, your little restaurant in the Rue Louis le Grand + was gone. There was a dressmaker in its place—Raudinitz. She made + this. How do you like it?” + </p> + <p> + “It has the air of—of belonging to you.” + </p> + <p> + Marian looked amused. Howard shrugged his shoulders. “All roads lead to + Rome,” he said. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Carnarvon hung about until the women went to bed, so Howard and Marian had + no opportunity to be alone. As soon as he saw his last chance vanish, he + went to his own room, to the solitude of its balcony in the shadow of the + projecting facade with the moonlight flooding the rocks and the sea. + </p> + <p> + As he sat smoking, the recession came, the reaction from weeks of nervous + tension. And with the ebb of the tide entered that Visitor who alone has + the privilege of the innermost chamber where lives the man himself, + unmasked of all vanity and show and pretense. The visit was not + unexpected; for at every such crisis every one is certain of a call from + this Visitor, this merciless critic, plain and rude of speech, rare and + reluctant in praise, so mocking in our moments of elation, so cruelly + frank about our follies and self-excuses when he comes in our moments of + depression. + </p> + <p> + “So you are going to marry?” the Visitor said abruptly. “I thought you had + made up your mind on that subject long ago.” + </p> + <p> + “Love changes a man’s point of view,” Howard replied, timid and apologetic + before this quiet, relentless other-self. + </p> + <p> + “But it doesn’t change the facts of life, does it? It doesn’t change + character, does it?” + </p> + <p> + “I think so. For instance, it has changed me. It has made a man of me. It + has been the inspiration of the past year, strengthening me, making me + ambitious, energetic. Have I not thought of her all the time, worked for + her?” + </p> + <p> + “You have been uncommonly persistent—as you always are when you are + thwarted.” The Visitor wore a satirical smile. “But a spurt of inspiration + is one thing. A wife—responsibility—fetters——” + </p> + <p> + “Not when one loves.” + </p> + <p> + “That depends upon the kind of love—and the kind of woman—and + the kind of man.” + </p> + <p> + “Could there be any higher kind of love than ours?” + </p> + <p> + “Most romantic, most high-minded—quite idyllic.” The Visitor’s tone + was gently mocking. “And I don’t deny that you may go on loving each the + other. But—how does she fit in with your scheme of life? What does + she really know of or care about your ambitions? Why, you had so little + confidence in her that you didn’t dare to think of marrying her until you + had an income which you once would have thought wealth—an income + which, by the way, already begins to seem small to you.” + </p> + <p> + “No, it wasn’t lack of confidence in her,” protested Howard. “It was lack + of confidence in myself.” + </p> + <p> + “True, that did have something to do with it, I grant you. And that + reminds me—what has become of all your cowardice about + responsibility?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’m changed there.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure? Are you not deceived by this sudden and maybe momentary + streak of good luck in your affairs? You have fixed your ambition high—very + high. You wish to make an honest and a useful and a distinguished career. + You know you have weaknesses. I needn’t remind you—need I—that + you have had to fight those weaknesses? How could you have won thus far if + you had been responsible for others instead of being alone, and certain + that the consequences would fall upon yourself only? I want to see you + continue to win. I don’t want to see you dragged down by extravagance, by + love for this woman, by ambition of the kind her friends approve. I don’t + want to see you—You were silent when Stokely insulted you!” + </p> + <p> + “Love—such love as mine—and for such a woman—and with + such love in return—drag down? Impossible!” + </p> + <p> + “Not so—not exactly so, though I must say you are plausible. But + don’t forget that you and she are not starting out to make a career. Don’t + forget that she is already fixed—her tastes, habits, friendships, + associations, ideals already formed. Don’t forget that your love is the + only bond between you—and that it may drag you toward her mode of + life instead of drawing her towards yours. Don’t forget that your own + associations and temptations are becoming more and more difficult. I + repeat, you cringed—yes, cringed—when Stokely insulted you. + Why?” + </p> + <p> + Howard was silent. + </p> + <p> + “And,” the Visitor went on relentlessly, “let me remind you that not only + did you give her up without a struggle a few months ago but also she gave + you up without a word.” + </p> + <p> + “But what could she have said?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know, I’m sure. I’m not familiar with ways feminine. But I know—we + know—that, if there had not been some reservation in her love, some + hesitation about you—unconscious, perhaps, but powerful enough to + make her yield—she would not have let you go as she did.” + </p> + <p> + “But she did not realise, as I did not, how much our love meant to us.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps—that sounds well. All I ask is, will she help you? Are you + really so much stronger than you were only four months ago? Or are you + stimulated by success? Suppose that days of disaster, of peril, come? What + then?” + </p> + <p> + “But they will not. I have won a position. I can always command a large + salary—perhaps not quite so much but still a large salary.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps—if you don’t trouble yourself about principles. But how + would it be if you would do nothing, write nothing, except what you think + is honest? Would you ask her to face it? Tell me, tell yourself honestly, + have you the right to assume a responsibility you may not be able to bear, + to invite temptations you may not be able to resist?” + </p> + <p> + There was a long silence. At last Howard stood up and flung his cigar into + the sea. His face was drawn and his eyes burned. + </p> + <p> + “God in heaven!” he cried, “am I not human? May I not have companionship + and sympathy and love? Must I be alone and friendless and loveless always? + That is not life; that is not just. I will not; I will not. I love her—love + her—love her. With the best that there is in me, I love her. Am I + such a coward that I cannot face even my own weaknesses?” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVIII. — HOWARD EXPLAINS HIS MACHINE. + </h2> + <p> + In August Marian and Mrs. Carnarvon came to the Waldorf for two days. + Howard had offered to show them how a newspaper is made; and Mrs. + Carnarvon, finding herself bored by too many days of the same few people + every day, herself proposed the trip. The three dined in the open air on + Sherry’s piazza and at eleven o’clock drove down the Avenue, to the east + at Washington Square, and through the Bowery. + </p> + <p> + “I never saw it before,” said Marian, “and I must say I shall not care if + I never see it again. Why do people make so much fuss about slums, I + wonder?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, they’re so queer, so like another world,” suggested Mrs. Carnarvon. + “It gives you such a delightful sensation of sadness. It’s just like a + not-too-melancholy play, only better because it’s real. Then, too, it + makes one feel so much more comfortable and clean and contented in one’s + own surroundings.” + </p> + <p> + “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Jessie.” Marian spoke in mock + indignation. “The next thing we know you’ll sink to being a patron of the + poor and go about enjoying yourself at making them self-conscious and + envious.” + </p> + <p> + “They’re not at all sad down this way,” said Howard, “except in the usual + inescapable human ways. When they’re not hit too hard, they bear up + wonderfully. You see, living on the verge of ruin and tumbling over every + few weeks get one used to it. It ceases to give the sensation of event.” + </p> + <p> + Their automobile had turned into Park Row and so reached the <i>News-Record</i> + building in Printing House Square. Howard took the two women to the + elevator and they shot upward in a car crowded with telegraph messengers, + each carrying one or more envelopes, some of them bearing in bold black + type the words: “News!—Rush!” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose that is the news for the paper?” Mrs. Carnarvon asked. + </p> + <p> + “A little of it. Our special cable and special news from towns to which we + have no direct wire and also the <i>Associated Press</i> reports come this + way. But we don’t use much <i>Associated Press</i> matter, as it is the + same for all the papers.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you do with it?” + </p> + <p> + “Throw it away. A New York newspaper throws away every night enough to + fill two papers and often enough to fill five or six.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t that very wasteful?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but it’s necessary. Every editor has his own idea of what to print + and what not to print and how much space each news event calls for. It is + there that editors show their judgment or lack of it. To print the things + the people wish to read in the quantities the people like and in the form + the most people can most easily understand—that is success as an + editor.” + </p> + <p> + “No doubt,” said Marian, thinking of the low view all her friends took of + Howard’s newspaper, “if you were making a newspaper to please yourself, + you would make a very different one.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” laughed Howard, “I print what I myself like; that is, what I + like to find in a newspaper. We print human news made by human beings and + interesting to human beings. And we don’t pretend to be anything more than + human. We try never to think of our own idea of what the people ought to + read, but always to get at what the people themselves think they ought to + read. We are journalists, not news-censors.” + </p> + <p> + “I must say newspapers do not interest me.” Marian confessed it a little + diffidently. + </p> + <p> + “You are probably not interested,” Howard answered, “because you don’t + care for news. It is a queer passion—the passion for news. The + public has it in a way. But to see it in its delirium you must come here.” + </p> + <p> + “This seems quiet enough.” Marian looked about Howard’s upstairs office. + It was silent, and from the windows one could see New York and its rivers + and harbour, vast, vague, mysterious, animated yet quiet. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I rarely come here—a few hours a week,” Howard replied. “On + this floor the editorial writers work.” He opened a door leading to a + private hall. There were five small rooms. In each sat a coatless man, + smoking and writing. One was Segur, and Howard called to him. + </p> + <p> + “Are you too busy to look after Mrs. Carnarvon and Miss Trevor for a few + minutes? I must go downstairs.” + </p> + <p> + Segur gave some “copy” to a boy who handed him a bundle of proofs and + rushed away down a narrow staircase. Howard descended in the elevator, and + Segur, who had put on his coat, sat talking to the two women as he looked + through the proofs, glancing at each narrow strip, then letting it drop to + the floor. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t mind my working?” he asked. “I have to look at these things to + see if there is any news that calls for editional attention. If I find + anything and can think an editorial thought about it, I write it; and if + Howard is in the humour, perhaps the public is permitted to read it.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he severe?” asked Mrs. Carnarvon. + </p> + <p> + “The ‘worst ever,’” laughed Segur. “He is very positive and likes only a + certain style and won’t have anything that doesn’t exactly fit his ideas. + He’s easy to get along with but difficult to work for.” + </p> + <p> + “I imagine his positiveness is the secret of his success.” Marian knew + that Segur was half in jest and was fond of Howard. But she couldn’t + endure hearing him criticised. + </p> + <p> + “No. I think he succeeds because he works, pushes straight on, never stops + to repair blunders but never makes the same kind of a blunder the second + time.” + </p> + <p> + Segur’s eye caught an item that suggested an editorial paragraph. He sat + at Howard’s desk, thought a moment, scrawled half a dozen lines in a large + ragged hand on a sheet of ruled yellow paper, and pressed an electric + button. The boy came, handed him another thick bundle of proofs, took the + “copy” and withdrew. Just then Howard returned. + </p> + <p> + “We’ll go down to the news-room,” he said. + </p> + <p> + The windows of the great news-room were thrown wide. Scores of electric + lights made it bright. At the various desks or in the aisles were perhaps + fifty men, most of them young, none of them beyond middle age. They were + in every kind of clothing from the most fashionable summer attire to an + old pair of cheap and stained duck trousers, collarless negligee shirt + open all the way down the front and suspenders hanging about the hips. + </p> + <p> + Some were writing long-hand; others were pounding away at the typewriter; + others were talking in undertones to “typists” taking dictation to the + machine; others were reading “copy” and altering it with huge blue pencils + which made apparently unreadable smears wherever they touched the paper. + In and out skurried a dozen office-boys, responding to calls from various + desks, bringing bundles of proofs, thrusting copy into boxes which + instantly and noisily shot up through the ceiling. + </p> + <p> + It was a scene of confusion and furious activity. The face of each + individual was calm and his motions by themselves were not excited. But + taking all together and adding the tense, strained expression underneath + the calm—the expression of the professional gambler—there was + a total of active energy that was oppressive. + </p> + <p> + “We had a fire below us one night,” said Howard. “We are two hundred feet + from the street and there were no fire escapes. We all thought it was + good-bye. It was nearly half an hour before we found out that the smoke + booming up the stairways and into this room had no danger behind it.” + </p> + <p> + “Gracious!” Mrs. Carnarvon shuddered and looked uneasily about. + </p> + <p> + “It’s perfectly safe,” Howard reassured her. “We’ve arranged things better + since then. Besides, that fire demonstrated that the building was + fireproof.” + </p> + <p> + “And what happened?” asked Miss Trevor. + </p> + <p> + “Why, just what you see now. The Managing Editor, Mr. King over there—I’ll + introduce him to you presently—went up to a group of men standing at + one of the windows. They were pretending indifference as they looked down + at the crowd which was shouting and tossing its arms in a way that more + than suggested pity for us poor devils up here. Well, King said: ‘Boys, + boys, this isn’t getting out a paper.’ Every one went back to his work and—and + that was all.” + </p> + <p> + They went on to the room behind the newsroom. As Howard opened its heavy + door a sound, almost a roar, of clicking instruments and typewriters burst + out. Here again were scores of desks with men seated at them, every man + with a typewriter and a telegraph instrument before him. + </p> + <p> + “These are our direct wires,” Howard explained. “Our correspondents in all + the big cities, east, west, north and south and in London, are at the + other end of these wires. Let me show you.” + </p> + <p> + Howard spoke to the operator nearest them. “Whom have you got?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m taking three thousand words from Kansas City,” he replied. + “Washington is on the next wire.” + </p> + <p> + “Ask Mr. Simpson how the President is to-night,” Howard said to the + Washington operator. + </p> + <p> + His instrument clicked a few times and was silent. Almost immediately the + receiver began to click and, as the operator dashed the message off on his + typewriter the two women read over his shoulder: “Just came from White + House. He is no better, probably a little worse because weaker. Simpson.” + </p> + <p> + “And can you hear just as quickly from London?” Marian asked. + </p> + <p> + “Almost. I’ll try. There is always a little delay in transmission from the + land systems to the cable system; and messages have to be telephoned + between our office in Trafalgar Square and the cable office down in the + city. Let’s see, it’s five o’clock in the morning in London now. They’ve + been having it hot there. I’ll ask about the weather.” + </p> + <p> + Howard dictated to the man at the London wire: “Roberts, London. How is + the weather? Howard.” + </p> + <p> + In less than ten minutes the cable-man handed Howard a typewritten slip + reading: “<i>News-Record</i>, New York, Howard: Thermometer 97 our office + now. Promises hottest day yet. Roberts.” + </p> + <p> + “I never before realised how we have destroyed distance,” said Mrs. + Carnarvon. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think any one but a newspaper editor completely realises it,” + Howard answered. “As one sits here night after night, sending messages far + and wide and receiving immediate answers, he loses all sense of space. The + whole world seems to be in his anteroom.” + </p> + <p> + “I begin to see fascination in this life of yours.” Marian’s face showed + interest to enthusiasm. “This atmosphere tightens one’s nerves. It seems + to me that in the next moment I shall hear of some thrilling happening.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s listening for the first rumour of the ‘about to happen’ that makes + newspaper-men so old and yet so young, so worn and yet so eager. Every + night, every moment of every night, we are expecting it, hoping for some + astounding news which it will test our resources to the utmost to present + adequately.” + </p> + <p> + From the news-room they went up to the composing room—a vast hall of + confusion, filled with strange-looking machines and half-dressed men and + boys. Some were hurrying about with galleys of type, with large metal + frames; some were wheeling tables here and there; scores of men and a few + women were seated at the machines. These responded to touches upon their + key-boards by going through uncanny internal agitations. Then out from a + mysterious somewhere would come a small thin strip of almost hot metal, + the width of a newspaper column and marked along one edge with letters + printed backwards. + </p> + <p> + Up through the floor of this room burst boxes filled with “copy.” Boys + snatched the scrawled, ragged-looking sheets and tossed them upon a desk. + A man seated there cut them into little strips, hanging each strip upon a + hook. A line of men filed rapidly past these hooks, snatching each man a + single strip and darting away to a machine. + </p> + <p> + “It is getting late,” said Howard. “The final rush for the first edition + is on. They are setting the last ‘copy.’” + </p> + <p> + “But,” Mrs. Carnarvon asked, “how do they ever get the different parts of + the different news-items together straight?” + </p> + <p> + “The man who is cutting copy there—don’t you see him make little + marks on each piece? Those marks tell them just where their ‘take,’ as + they call it, belongs.” + </p> + <p> + They went over to the part of the great room where there were many tables, + on each a metal frame about the size of a page of the newspaper. Some of + the frames were filled with type, others were partly empty. And men were + lifting into them the galleys of type under the direction of the Night + Editor and his staff. As soon as a frame was filled two men began to even + the ends of the columns and then to screw up an inside framework which + held the type firmly in place. Then a man laid a great sheet of what + looked like blotting-paper upon the page of type and pounded it down with + a mallet and scraped it with a stiff brush. + </p> + <p> + “That is the matrix,” said Howard. “See him putting it on the elevator.” + They looked down the shaft. “It has dropped to the sub-basement,” said + Howard, “two hundred and fifty feet below us. They are already bending it + into a casting-box of the shape of the cylinders on the presses; metal + will be poured in and when it is cool, you will have the metal form, the + metal impression of the page. It will be fastened upon the press to print + from.” + </p> + <p> + They walked back through the room which was now in almost lunatic + confusion—forms being locked; galleys being lifted in; editors, + compositors, boys, rushing to and fro in a fury of activity. Again the + phenomenon of the news-room, the individual faces calm but their tense + expressions and their swift motions making an impression of almost + irrational excitement. + </p> + <p> + “Why such haste?” asked Marian. + </p> + <p> + “Because the paper must be put to press. It must contain the very latest + news and it must also catch the mails; and the mail-trains do not wait.” + </p> + <p> + They descended in the main elevator to the ground floor and then went down + a dark and winding staircase until they faced an iron door. Howard pushed + it open and they entered the press-room. Its temperature was blood-heat, + its air heavy and nauseating with the odours of ink, moist paper and oil, + its lights dim. They were in a gallery and below them on all sides were + the huge presses, silent, motionless, waiting. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly a small army of men leaped upon the mighty machines, scrambled + over them, then sprang back. With a tremendous roar that shook the entire + building the presses began to revolve, to hurl out great heaps of + newspapers. + </p> + <p> + “Those presses eat six hundred thousand pounds of paper and four tons of + ink a week,” Howard shouted. “They can throw out two hundred thousand + complete papers an hour—papers that are cut, folded, pasted, and + ready to send away. Let us go before you are stifled. This air is + horrible.” + </p> + <p> + They returned in the elevator to his lofty office. Even there a slight + vibration from the press-room could be felt. But it was calm and still, a + fit place from which to view the panorama of sleeping city and drowsy + harbour tranquil in the moonlight. + </p> + <p> + “Look.” Howard was leaning over the railing just outside his window. + </p> + <p> + They looked straight down three hundred feet to the street made bright by + electric lights. Scores of wagons loaded with newspapers were rushing away + from the several newspaper buildings. The shouts, the clash of hoofs and + heavy tires on the granite blocks, the whirr of automobiles, were borne + faintly upward. + </p> + <p> + “It is the race to the railway stations to catch the mail-trains,” Howard + explained. “The first editions go to the country. These wagons are + hurrying in order that tens of thousands of people hundreds of miles away, + at Boston, Philadelphia, Washington and scores on scores of towns between + and beyond, may find the New York newspapers on their breakfast-tables.” + </p> + <p> + The office-boy came with a bundle of papers, warm, moist, the ink + brilliant. + </p> + <p> + “And now for the inquest,” said Howard. + </p> + <p> + “The inquest?” Marian looked at him inquiringly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—viewing the corpse. It was to give birth to this that there was + all that intensity and fury—that and a thousand times more. For, + remember, this paper is the work of perhaps twenty thousand brains, in + every part of the world, throughout civilisation and far into the depths + of barbarism. Look at these date lines—cities and towns everywhere + in our own country, Canada, Mexico, Central America, South America. You’ll + find most of the capitals of Europe represented; and Africa, north, south + and central, east and west coast. Here’s India and here the heart of + Siberia. + </p> + <p> + “There is China and there Japan and there Australia. Think of these scores + of newspaper correspondents telegraphing news of the doings of their + fellow beings—not what they did last month or last year, but what + they did a few hours ago—some of it what they were doing while we + were dining up at Sherry’s. Then think of the thousands on thousands of + these newspaper-men, eager, watchful agents of publicity, who were on duty + but had nothing to report to-day. And——” + </p> + <p> + Howard shrugged his shoulders and tossed the paper from him. + </p> + <p> + “There it lies,” he said, “a corpse. Already a corpse, its life ended + before it was fairly born. There it is, dead and done for—writ in + water, and by anonymous hands. Who knows who did it? Who cares?” + </p> + <p> + He caught Marian’s eyes, looking wonder and reproach. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t like to hear you say that,” she said, forgetting Mrs. Carnarvon. + “Other men—yes, the little men who work for the cheap rewards. But + not you, who work for the sake of work. This night’s experience has + thrilled me. I understand your profession now. I see what it means to us + all, to civilisation, what a splendid force for good, for enlightenment, + for uplifting it is. I can see a great flood of light radiating from this + building, pouring into the dark places, driving away ignorance. And the + thunder of those presses seems to me to fill the world with some mighty + command—what is it?—oh, yes—I can hear it distinctly. It + is, ‘Let there be light!’” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Carnarvon’s back was toward them and she was looking out at the + harbour. Howard put his hands upon Marian’s shoulders and they looked each + the other straight in the eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Lovers and comrades,” he said, “always. And how strong we are—together!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIX. — “I MUST BE RICH.” + </h2> + <p> + “While I don’t feel dependent upon the owners of the <i>News-Record</i>, + still I am not exactly independent of them either. And if I left them it + would only be to become dependent in the same way upon somebody else. A + man who makes his living by the advocacy of principles should be wholly + free. If he isn’t, the principles are sure sooner or later to become + incidental to the living, instead of the living being incidental to the + principles.” + </p> + <p> + “But you see—perhaps I ought to have told you before—that is, + there may be”—Marian was stammering and blushing. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter? Don’t frighten me by looking so—so criminal,” + Howard laughed. + </p> + <p> + It was late in August. Marian was visiting Mrs. Brandon at + Irvington-on-the-Hudson and she and Howard were driving. + </p> + <p> + “I never told you. But the fact is”—she hesitated again. + </p> + <p> + “Is it about your other engagement? You never told me about that—how + you broke it off. I don’t want you to tell me unless you wish to. You know + I never meddle in past matters. I’m simply trying to help you out.” + </p> + <p> + “Instead, you’re making it worse. I’d rather not tell you that if——” + </p> + <p> + “We’ll never speak of it again. And now, what is it that is troubling + you?” + </p> + <p> + “I have been trying to tell you—I wish you wouldn’t look at me—I’ve + got a small income—it’s really very small.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m glad to hear it.” + </p> + <p> + “I was afraid you wouldn’t like it. It isn’t very big—only about + eight thousand a year—some years not so much. But then, if anything + happened—we could be—we could live.” + </p> + <p> + Howard smiled as he looked at her—but not with his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I’m glad,” he said. “It makes me feel safer in several ways. And I’m + especially glad that it is not larger than mine. I know it’s stupid, as so + many of our instincts are; but I should not like to marry a woman who had + a larger income than I could earn. I think it is the only remnant I have + of the ‘lord and master’ idea that makes so many men ridiculous. But we + need not let that bother us. Fate has made us about equal in this respect, + so unimportant yet so important; and we are each independent of the other. + Each will always know that love is the only bond that holds us together.” + </p> + <p> + They decided that they would live at the rate of about fifteen thousand a + year and would put by the rest of their income. She was to undertake the + entire management of their home, he transferring his share by check each + month. + </p> + <p> + “And so,” she said, “we shall never have to discuss money matters.” + </p> + <p> + “We couldn’t,” laughed Howard. “I don’t know anything about them and could + not take part in a discussion.” + </p> + <p> + As they were to be married in November, they planned to take an apartment + when Marian came back to town—in late September. She was to attend + to the furnishing and all was to be in readiness by the time they were + married. Howard was to get a six weeks’ vacation and, as soon as they + returned, they were to go to housekeeping. + </p> + <p> + Her visit to the <i>News-Record</i> office had made a change in her. Until + she met Howard, she had known only the world-that-idles and the + world-that-drudges. Howard brought her the first real news of the + world-that-works. Of course she knew that there was such a world, but she + had confused it with the world-that-drudges. She liked to hear Howard talk + about his world, but she thought that his enthusiasm blinded him to the + truth of its drudgery; and she often caught herself half regretting that + he had to work. + </p> + <p> + But that vast machine for the swift collecting and distributing of the + news of the world had opened her eyes, had made her see her lover and, + through him, his life, in a different aspect. She had accepted the + supercilious, thoughtless opinion of those about her that the newspaper is + a mere purveyor of inaccurate gossip. And while Howard had tried to show + her his profession as it was, he had only succeeded in convincing her that + he himself had an exalted view of it; a view which she thought creditable + to him but wide of the disagreeable truth. + </p> + <p> + On that trip down-town she had seen “the press” with the flaws reduced and + the merits looming. She had looked into those all-seeing eyes that watch + the councils of statesmen and the movements of nations and peoples, yet + also note the swing of a murderous knife in an alley of the slums. She had + heard that stentorian voice of Publicity, arousing the people of the earth + to apprehend, to reflect, to progress. + </p> + <p> + She had been proud of Howard for his appearance, for what he said and the + way he said it. Now she was proud of him for the part he was taking in + this wonderful world-that-works. And she would not have confessed to him + how insignificant she felt, how weak and worthless. + </p> + <p> + She thought she was impatient for the time to come when she could learn + how to help him in his work, could begin to feel that she too had a real + share in it. With what seemed to her most creditable energy and + self-sacrifice she tried again to interest herself in newspapers. But the + trivial parts bored her; the chronicles of crime repelled her; and the + politics and most of the other serious articles were beyond the range of + her knowledge or of her interest. “I shall wait until we are married,” she + said, “then he will teach me.” And she did not suspect how significant, + how ominous her postponement was. + </p> + <p> + She asked him if he would not teach her and he replied: “Why, certainly, + if you are interested. But I don’t intend to trouble you with the details + of my profession. I want you to lead your own life—to do what + interests you.” + </p> + <p> + She did not stop to analyse her feeling of relief at this release, and + went on to protest: “But I want your life to be my life. I want there to + be only one life—our life.” + </p> + <p> + “And there shall be—each contributing his share, at least I’ll try + to contribute mine. But you have your own individuality, dear; and a very + strong one it is. And I don’t want you to change.” + </p> + <p> + At the time he was deep in his plans for illustrating the <i>News-Record</i>. + Early in that fall’s campaign they had secured the best cartoonist in + America. Cartoons are rarely the work of one man but are got up by + consultations. Howard spent never less than an hour each day with the + cartoonist, Wickham, wrestling with the problem of the next day’s picture. + For he insisted upon having a striking cartoon each day, and gave it the + most conspicuous place in the paper—the top-centre of the first + page. + </p> + <p> + “If a cartoon is worth printing at all,” he said, “it is worth printing + large and conspicuous. And to be worth printing it must be like an ideal + editorial—one point sharply and swiftly made and so clear that the + most careless glance-of-the-eye is enough.” + </p> + <p> + Wickham had made a series of cartoons on the campaign, humorous and + satirical, which had the distinction of being reproduced on lantern slides + for use in all parts of the town. It was an admirable beginning of the new + policy of illustration. Howard had been making a careful study of all the + illustrators in the country, not overlooking those toiling in obscurity on + the big western dailies. He had selected a staff of twenty; as soon as + Coulter and Stokely assented, he engaged them by telegraph. Five were + developed artists, the rest beginners with talent. He gave all of his + attention for two weeks to organising this staff. He infected it with his + enthusiasm. He impressed upon it his ideas of newspaper illustration—the + dash and energy of the French illustrators adapted to American public + taste. He insisted upon the artists studying the French illustrated papers + and applying what they learned. It was not until the first Sunday in + December that he felt ready to submit the results of these labours to the + public. + </p> + <p> + Again he scored over the “contemporaries” of the <i>News-Record</i>. They + printed many more illustrations than it did. It had only one illustration + on a page, but there was one on every page and a good one. All the + subjects were well chosen—either action or character—and as + many good looking women as possible. + </p> + <p> + “Never publish a commonplace face,” he said. “There is no such thing in + life as an uninteresting face. Always find the element of interest and + bring it out.” + </p> + <p> + The result of this policy, interpreted by a carefully trained and + enthusiastic staff, was what the out-of-town press was soon praising as “a + revelation in newspaper-illustration.” Howard himself was surprised. He + had mentally insured against a long period of disappointment. + </p> + <p> + “This shows,” he remarked to King and Vroom, “how much more competent men + are than we usually think—if they get a chance, if they are pointed + in the right direction and are left free.” + </p> + <p> + “He certainly knows his business.” Vroom was looking after Howard + admiringly. “I never saw anybody who so well understood when to lead and + when to let alone. What results he does get!” + </p> + <p> + “A pity to waste such talents on this thankless business,” said King. “If + he’d gone into real business, he would have a salary of a hundred thousand + a year, would be rich and secure for life. Why, a business man could and + would make a whole career on the ideas he has in a single week. As it is——” + </p> + <p> + King shrugged his shoulders and Vroom finished the sentence for him: + “Coulter and Stokely could kick him out to-morrow and the <i>News-Record</i> + would go straight on living upon his ideas for ten years at least.” + </p> + <p> + Howard needed no one to make this truth clear to him to the full. Often, + as he thought of his expanding tastes, his expanding expenditures and his + expanding plans both for his private life and for his career, he felt an + awful sinking at the heart and a sense of fundamental weakness. + </p> + <p> + “I am building upon sand,” he said to himself. “In business, in the law, + in almost any other career to-day’s work would be to-morrow’s capital. As + it is, I am ever more and more a slave. To be free I ought to be poor or + rich. And I cannot endure the thought of poverty again. I must be rich.” + </p> + <p> + The idea allured him to a degree that made him ashamed of himself. + Sometimes, when he was talking to Marian or writing editorials, all in the + strain of high principle and contempt for sordidness, he would flush at + the thought that he was in reality a good deal of a hypocrite. “I’m + expressing the ideals I ought to have, the ideals I used to have, not the + ideals I have.” + </p> + <p> + But the clearer this discrepancy became to him and the wider the gap + between what he ought to think and what he really did think, the more + strenuously he protested to himself against himself, and the more fiercely + he denounced in public the very poison he was himself taking. + </p> + <p> + “I am living in a tainted atmosphere,” he said to Marian. “We all are. I + fight against the taint but how can I hope to avoid the consequences if I + persist in breathing it, in absorbing it at every pore of my body?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand you.” Marian was used to his moods of self-criticism + and did not attach much importance to them. + </p> + <p> + He thought a moment. “Oh, nothing,” he said. “What’s the use of discussing + what can’t be helped?” How could he tell her that the greatest factor in + his enervating environment was herself; that the strongest chains which + held him in it were the chains which bound him to her? Indeed, was he not + indulging in cowardly self-excuse in thinking that this was true? Had not + his success, rather than his love, made ambition unfettered by principle + the mainspring of his life? + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XX. — ILLUSION. + </h2> + <p> + “How shall we be married?” Howard asked her in the late Autumn. + </p> + <p> + “I know it will not be in a church with ushers and bridesmaids and a crowd + gaping at us. I suppose there is a public side to marriage since the state + makes one enter into a formal contract. But that can be done privately. I + should as soon think of driving down the Avenue with my arms about your + neck as of a public wedding.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” he laughed. “I was afraid—well, women are usually so + fond of—but you’re not usual. Let us see. The minister is absolutely + necessary, I suppose. Would one feel married if there were not a + minister?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know—I feel—” + </p> + <p> + She hesitated and blushed but looked straight at him with that expression + in her eyes which always made him think of their love as their religion. + </p> + <p> + “Feel—go on. I want to hear that very, very much.” + </p> + <p> + “I feel as if I were just as much married to you now as I ever could be.” + </p> + <p> + “And that is how I have felt ever since the day, when I hardly knew you, + when you suddenly came into my life—my real, inner life where no one + had been before—and sat down and at once made it look as if it were + your home. And the place that had been lonely was lonely no more, and has + not been since.” + </p> + <p> + She put her hand in his and he saw that there were tears in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Only that—that I am so happy. It—it frightens me. It seems so + like a dream.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s going to be a long, long dream, isn’t it?” He lifted her hand and + kissed it, then put it down in her lap again gently as if he feared a + sudden movement might awaken them. “Perhaps it had better be at Mrs. + Carnarvon’s house—some morning just before luncheon and we could go + quietly away afterward.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—and—tell me,” she said, “wouldn’t it be better for us not + to go far away—and not to stay long? It seems to me that I most want + to begin—begin our life together just as it will be.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you afraid you wouldn’t know what to do with me if I were idling + about all day long?” + </p> + <p> + “Not exactly that. But I’d rather not take a vacation until we had earned + it together.” + </p> + <p> + “What a beautiful idea! I’ll see what I can do.” + </p> + <p> + They postponed the wedding until Howard had the “art-department” of the <i>News-Record</i> + well established. It was on a bright winter day in the second week of + January that they stood up together and were married by the Mayor whom + Howard had helped to elect. Only Mr. and Mrs. Carnarvon and Marian’s + brother were there. Then the six sat down to luncheon, and at three + o’clock Howard and his wife started for Lakewood. + </p> + <p> + When they arrived a victoria was waiting. As soon as they were seated, + Howard said “Home.” The coachman touched his hat and the horses set out at + a swift trot. The sun was setting and the dry, still air was saturated + with the perfume of the snow-draped pines. Within five minutes the + carriage was at a pretty little cottage with wide, glass-enclosed porches. + They entered the hall. In the rooms on either side open fires were blazing + an ecstatic welcome. + </p> + <p> + “How do you like ‘home’?” asked Howard. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t quite understand.” + </p> + <p> + “You remember your plan of beginning at once. Well—this is the + compromise. Stokely has let me have his house here for a month—we + may keep it two if we like it. There is a telephone. The office isn’t two + hours away by rail. The newspapers are here early. We can combine work and + play.” + </p> + <p> + The manservant had left the room, a sort of library-reception room. Marian + was seated in a big chair drawn near the fire. She had thrown back her + wraps and was slowly drawing off her gloves. Howard stood at the side of + the fire, leaning against the mantel and looking down at her. + </p> + <p> + “Before you definitely decide to stay—” he paused. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said, her colour heightening as she slowly lifted her eyes to + his, “yes—why this solemn tone?” + </p> + <p> + “If ever—in the days that come—one never knows what may happen—if + ever you should find that you had changed toward me——” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + “I ask you—don’t promise—I never want you to promise me + anything—I want you always—at every moment—to be + perfectly free. So I just ask that you will let me see it. Then we can + talk about it frankly, and we can decide what is best to do.” + </p> + <p> + “But—suppose—you see I might still not wish to wound you—” + she suggested, half teasing, half in earnest. + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me now that it is impossible that we can ever change. It + seems to me—” he sat on the wide arm of her chair, and leaned over + until his head touched hers, “that if you were to change it would break my + heart. But if you were to change and were to hide it from me, I should + find it out some day and——” + </p> + <p> + “And what——” + </p> + <p> + “It would be worse—a broken heart, a horror of myself, a—a + contempt for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Whatever comes, I’ll be myself or try to be. Is that what you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly.” + </p> + <p> + “And if you change?” + </p> + <p> + “But I shall not!” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you say that so positively?” + </p> + <p> + “Because—well, there are some things that we wish to believe and + half believe, and some things that we believe that we believe, and + somethings that we <i>know</i>. I <i>know</i> about you—about my + love for you.” + </p> + <p> + “It is strange in a way, isn’t it?” Marian was gently drawing her fingers + through his. “This is all so different from what I used to think love + would be. I used to picture to myself a man, something like you in + appearance, only taller and fair, who would be my master, who would make + me do what he wished. I think a woman always dreams of a lover who will be + strong enough to be her ruler. And here——” + </p> + <p> + “So I am not the strong man that you look up to and tremble before? We + shall see.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t laugh at me. I mean that instead I have a man who makes me rule + myself. You make me feel strong, not weak, and proud, not humble. You make + me respect myself so.” + </p> + <p> + “The democracy of love—freedom, equality, fraternity. Don’t you like + it?” + </p> + <p> + “Madame is served.” It was the servant holding back one of the portières, + his face expressionless, his eyes down. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Happiness evades description or analysis. We can only say that it reaches + its highest point when a man and a woman, intelligent, appreciative, + sympathetic, endowed with youth, health and freedom, are devoting their + energies solely and determinedly to verifying each a preconceived idea of + the other. + </p> + <p> + “And what do you think of it by this time?” + </p> + <p> + Marian asked the question in the pause after a twenty minutes’ canter over + a straightaway stretch through the pines. + </p> + <p> + “Of what?” Howard inquired. “I mean of what phase of it. Of you?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,—yes, of me—after a week.” + </p> + <p> + “As I expected, only more so—more than I could have imagined. And + you, what do you think?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s very different from what I expected. It seemed to me beforehand that + you, even you, would ‘get on my nerves’ just a little at times. I didn’t + expect you to appreciate—to feel my moods and to avoid doing—or + is it that you simply cannot do—anything jarring. You have amazing + instincts or else—” Marian looked at him and smiled mischievously, + “or else you have been well educated. Oh, I don’t mind—not in the + least. No matter what the cause, I’m glad—glad—glad that you + have been taught how to treat a woman.” + </p> + <p> + “I see you are determined to destroy me,” Howard was in jest, yet in + earnest. “I am not used to being flattered. I have never had but one + critic, and I have trained him to be severe and uncharitable. Now if you + set me up on a high altar and wave the censers and cry ‘glory, glory, + glory,’ I’ll lose my head. You have a terrible responsibility. I trust you + and I believe everything you say.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll begin my duties as critic as soon as we go back to—to earth. + But at present I’m going to be selfish. You see it makes me happier to + blind myself to your faults.” + </p> + <p> + They rode in silence for a few moments and then she said: + </p> + <p> + “I wish I had your feeling about—about democracy. I see your point + of view but I can’t take it. I know that you are right but I’m afraid my + education is too strong for me. I don’t believe in the people as you do. + It’s beautiful when you say it. I like to hear you. And I would not wish + you to feel as I do. I’d hate it if you did. It would be stooping, + grovelling for you to make distinctions among people. But——” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but I do make distinctions among people—so much so that I have + never had a friend in my life until you came. I have been on intimate + terms with many, but no one except you has been on intimate terms with me. + Oh, yes, I’m one of the most exclusive persons in the world.” + </p> + <p> + “That sounds like autocracy, doesn’t it?” laughed Marian. “But you know I + don’t mean that. You think all the others are just as good as you are, + only in different ways, whereas I feel that they’re not. You don’t mind + vulgarity and underbreeding because you are perfectly indifferent to + people so long as they don’t try to jump the fence about your own little + private enclosure.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I believe in letting other people alone, and I insist upon being let + alone myself. You see you make the whole world revolve about social + distinctions. The fact is, isn’t it, that social distinctions are mere + trifles—” + </p> + <p> + “You oughtn’t to waste time arguing with a prejudice. I admit that what I + believe and feel is unreasonable. But I can’t change an instinct. To me + some people are better than others and are entitled to more, and ought to + be looked up to and respected.” + </p> + <p> + Howard had an answer on the tip of his tongue. His passion for high + principle seemed to have been rekindled for the time by his love and in + this tranquillising environment. He felt strongly tempted to reason with + her unreasonableness, thus practically boasted as a virtue. It seemed so + unworthy, this streak of snobbery, so senseless in an American at most + three generations away from manual labour. But he had made up his mind + long ago to trust to new surroundings, new interests to create in her a + spirit more in sympathy with his career. + </p> + <p> + “She is too intelligent, too high-minded,” he often reassured himself, “to + cling to this stupidity of class-feeling. She has heard nothing but + class-distinction all her life. Now that she is away from those people, + with their petty routine of petty ideas, she will begin to see things as + they are.” + </p> + <p> + So he suppressed the argument and, instead, said in a tone of mock-pity: + “Poor fallen queen—to marry beneath her. How she must have fought + against the idea of such a plebeian partner.” + </p> + <p> + “Plebeian—you?” Marian looked at him proudly. “Why, one has only to + see you to know.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, plebeian. I shall conceal it no longer. My ancestors were plain, + ordinary, common, untitled Americans.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, so were mine,” she laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t! You distress me. I should never have married you had I known + that.” + </p> + <p> + “I <i>am</i> absurd, am I not?” Marian said gaily. “But let me have my + craze for well-mannered people and I’ll leave you your craze for the—the + masses.” + </p> + <p> + They began to canter. Howard was smiling in spite of his irritation; for + it always irritated him to have her refuse to see his point in this matter—his + distinction between a person as a friend and a person as a sociological + unit. + </p> + <p> + He worked for an hour or two every morning and sometimes in the evening, + Marian not far from his desk, so seated that when she turned the page of + her book she could lift her eyes and look at him. She read the papers + diligently every day for the first week. At the outset she thought she was + interested. But she knew so little about newspaper details that she soon + had to confess to herself that she was in fact interested in Howard as her + husband and lover, and that his career interested her only in a broad, + general way. What he talked about, that she understood and liked and was + able to discuss. But the newspapers and the news direct suggested nothing + to her, bored her. + </p> + <p> + “Just read that,” he would say, pointing to an item. She would read it and + wonder what he meant. + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me,” she would think, “that it wouldn’t in the least matter + if that had not been printed.” Then she would ask evasively but with an + assumption of interest, “What are you going to do about it?” + </p> + <p> + And he would explain the meaning between the lines; the hinted facts that + ought to be brought out; the possibilities of getting a piece of news that + would attract wide attention. And she would see it, sometimes clearly, + usually vaguely; and she would admire him, but resume her unconquerable + indifference to news. + </p> + <p> + She was soon looking at the paper only to read what he wrote; and she + often thought how much more interesting he was as a talker than as a + writer. “I’ll start right when we get to town,” she was constantly + promising herself. “It must, must, must be <i>our</i> work.” + </p> + <p> + Howard was, as she had told him, acutely sensitive to her moods. He did + not formulate it to himself but simply obeyed an instinct which defined + for him the limits of her interest. Before they had been at Lakewood a + month, he was working alone without any expectation of sympathy or + interest from her and without the slightest sense of loss in not getting + it. Why should he miss that which he had never had, had never counted upon + getting? He had always been mentally alone, most alone in the plans and + actions bearing directly upon his own career. He was perfectly content to + have her as the companion of his leisure. + </p> + <p> + Possibly, if he had been insistent, or if they had been in real sympathy + instead of in only surface sympathy in most respects, she might have + become interested in his work, might have impelled him to right + development. But her distaste and inertia and his habit of debating and + deciding questions as to the paper in his own mind, the fear of boring + her, the dread of intruding upon her rights to her own individual tastes + and feelings, restrained him without his having a sense of restraint. + </p> + <p> + When, after two months, they went up to town to stay, their course of life + was settled, though Marian was protesting that it was not and Howard was + unconscious of there having been any settlement, or anything to settle. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXI. — WAVERING. + </h2> + <p> + Their home was an apartment at Twenty-ninth Street and Madison Avenue—just + large enough for two with its eleven rooms, all bearing the stamp of + Marian’s individuality. She had a keen sense of the beautiful and she had + given her thought and most of her time between the early autumn and the + wedding to making an attractive home. He had not seen her work until they + came together in the late afternoon of a day in the last week of February. + </p> + <p> + “You—everywhere you,” he said, as they inspected room after room. “I + don’t see how I could add anything to that. It is beautiful—the + things you have brought together, I mean, the furniture, curtains, + carpets, pictures, all beautiful in themselves, but—” + </p> + <p> + He was looking at her in that way which made her feel his great love for + her even more deeply than when he put his arms about her and kissed her. + “It reminds me of what I so often think about you. Nature gave you beauty + but you make it wonderful because <i>you</i> shine through it, give it the + force, the expression of your individuality. Other women have noses, eyes, + chins, mouths as beautiful as yours. But only you produce such effects + with the materials. I don’t express it very well but—you + understand?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I understand.” She was leaning against him, her head resting upon + his shoulder. “And you like your home?” + </p> + <p> + “We shall be happy here. I feel it in the air. This is a temple of the + three great gods—Freedom, Love and Happiness. And—we’ll keep + the fires on the altars blazing, won’t we?” + </p> + <p> + His hours were most irregular. Sometimes he was off to work early in the + morning. Again he would not rise until noon. Sometimes he did not go to + the office after dinner, and again he came hurriedly to dinner, not having + the time to dress, and left immediately afterward to be gone until two, + three or even four in the morning. At first Marian tried to follow his + irregularities; but she was soon compelled to give up. As he most often + breakfasted about ten o’clock, she arranged to breakfast regularly at that + hour. If he was not yet up, she waited about the house until she had seen + him, listened while he talked of those “everlasting newspapers,” praised + his work a great deal, criticised it little and that gently. She made few + and feeble struggles to interest herself in newspapers as newspapers. But + he did not encourage her; other interests, domestic and social, clamoured + for her time; and the idea of being directly useful to him in his work + faded from her mind. + </p> + <p> + If she had loved him more sympathetically, if she had not been so + super-sensitive to his passion for complete freedom, she would have + resented what in another kind of man would have seemed frank neglect of + her. But she thought she understood him and was deceived by his + self-deceiving conviction that his work was her service and that the + highest proof of his devotion to her was devotion to “our” career. Thus + there was no bitterness or reproach of him, rarely much intensity, in her + regret that they were together so little. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, stranger!” she said, as he came into the dining room one + day in early June. + </p> + <p> + He kissed her hand and then the “topknot” as he called the point into + which her hair was gathered at the crown of her head. “It has been four + days since I saw you,” he said. And he sat opposite her looking at her + with an expression of sadness which she had not seen since the first days + of their acquaintance. + </p> + <p> + “I have missed you—you know,” she was trying to look cheerful, “but + I understand—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he interrupted. “You understand what I intend, understand that I + mean my life to be for <i>us</i>. But sometimes—this morning—I + think I am mistaken. It seems to me that I am letting this—” he + threw his hand contemptuously toward the heap of morning newspapers beside + him, “this trash comes between us. You are my real career, not these, and + under the pretense of working for us I am spending my whole life, my one + life, my one chance to help to make us happy, upon these.” And he pushed + the bundle of papers off the table. + </p> + <p> + “Something has depressed you.” She was leaning her elbow upon the table + and her chin upon her hand and was looking at him wistfully. “I wouldn’t + have you any different. You must follow the law of your nature. You must + work at your ideal of being useful and influential in the world. You would + not be satisfied to take my hand and trudge off with me through Arcadia to + pick flowers and weave them into crowns for me. Nor should I,” she + laughed, “or I try to think I shouldn’t.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us go abroad for two months,” he said. “I am tired, so tired. I am so + weary of all these others, men and things.” + </p> + <p> + “Can you spare the time?” + </p> + <p> + “I”—he corrected himself—“we have earned a vacation. It will + be for me the first real vacation since I left Yale—thirteen years + ago. I am growing narrow and stale. Let us get away and forget. Shall we?” + </p> + <p> + “The sooner the better—if this is not a passing mood. What has + depressed you?” she persisted. + </p> + <p> + “What seems to be a piece of very good luck.” He laughed almost + sneeringly. “They have given me a share in the paper, twenty thousand in + stock—which means a fixed income of five thousand a year so long as + the paper pays what it does now—twenty-five per cent. And they offer + me twenty thousand more at par to be paid for within two years. We are in + a fair way to be rich.” + </p> + <p> + “They don’t want to lose you, evidently,” she said. “But why does this + make you sad? We are independent now—absolutely independent, both of + us.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—we are rich. Together we have more than thirty-five thousand a + year. But it is not what I wanted. I wanted to be free. Can a man be free + who is rich, and rich in the way we are? Will my mind be open? Shall I + dare to act and speak the truth? Or will our property, our environment, + speak for me?” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t imagine you a slave to mere dollars.” + </p> + <p> + “Can’t you? Well, I am afraid—I’m really afraid. I have always said + that if I wished to—enslave a people I would make them prosperous, + would give them property, make them dependent upon their dollars. Then the + fear of losing their dollars, their investments, would make them endure + any oppression. Freedom’s battles were never fought by men with full + stomachs and full purses.” + </p> + <p> + “But rich men have given up everything for freedom—Washington was a + rich man.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, but how many Washingtons has the world produced? I see the time + coming when I shall have to choose. I see it and—I dread it.” + </p> + <p> + She rose and stood behind him leaning over with her arms about his neck + and her check against his. + </p> + <p> + “You are brave. You are strong,” she whispered. “You will meet that crisis + if it comes and I have no fear, Mr. Valiant-for-Truth, as to how the + battle will go.” + </p> + <p> + He was glad that he did not have to face her eyes just then. “We will go + abroad next Wednesday week,” he whispered, “and we’ll be happy in France—in + Switzerland—in Holland—I want to see the park at the Hague + again; and the tall trees with their straight big trunks green with moss; + and the boughs meeting over the canals and making the clear water so + black; and the snow-white swans sailing statelily about.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + With the Atlantic between him and his work, he was able to suspend the + habit of so many years. You would have fancied them just married, at + whatever stage of their wanderings you might have met them. They were + always laughing and talking—an endless flow of high spirits, + absorption each in the other. They rose when they pleased, went to bed + when it suited them. They had a manservant and a maid with them to relieve + them of all the details. They travelled only in the afternoons, and then + not far. If they missed one train, they cheerfully waited for another. + </p> + <p> + “I think we are achieving my ideal of vacation,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “What is that—perfect idleness? We certainly are idle. I shouldn’t + have believed you could be so idle.” + </p> + <p> + “Perfect idleness—yes. But more than that. I aimed far higher. My + ideal was perfect irresponsibility. We have become like the wind that + bloweth where it listeth.” + </p> + <p> + And again, she said: “Let me see, what day is this?” + </p> + <p> + “I think it is Thursday or Friday,” he replied. “But it may be Sunday. I + can assure you that it is afternoon, late afternoon, and I think we ought + to dress for dinner soon. After dinner, if you still care to know, and + will remind me, I’ll try to find out the day. But I’m sure we shall have + forgotten before to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + Howard got an extension of his leave of absence and they roamed about + England in August, reaching New York on the first day of September. Marian + went on to Mrs. Carnarvon at Newport and Howard took rooms at the Waldorf. + She stayed away a full week, then came to town, opened their apartment, + and surprised him with a formal invitation to dinner. + </p> + <p> + He came like a guest and they went through all the formalities of meeting + for the first time, of increasing intimacy—condensing a complete + courtship into one evening. + </p> + <p> + “I thought you had had enough of me for the time,” he said, as they sat in + the wide window-seat, he tracing with his forefinger the line of the + straps over her bare shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “And I thought that I would give you a chance to forget how nice I am and + so give you the pleasure of learning all over again. But it was so lonely + and miserable up there. ‘Who can come after the king?’” + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes I think I ought to stir about more—meet the men who lead + in the city. But it seems such a waste of time when I can come and call + upon you.” + </p> + <p> + “But might it not be better in the long run if you did meet these men? + Mightn’t it make your getting on quicker and easier?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps—if I were a gregarious animal, but I’m not. I’m shy and + solitary and hard to get acquainted with. And it takes time to make + friends. Besides, in making friends you also make enemies, and one enemy + can do you more harm than all your friends can do you good. Then too, + friends take up too much time. We have so little time and—we can + spend it to so much better advantage—can’t we?” + </p> + <p> + Marian pushed herself closer against him and presently said dreamily: “So + much happiness, such utter happiness which no one, nothing can take away. + I wonder when and how the first storm will come?” + </p> + <p> + “It needn’t come at all—not for a long, long time. And when it does—we + can weather it, don’t you think?” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + During the next two months they were together more than they had been in + the spring. He imposed day office hours upon himself and did no work in + the evenings except the correcting of editorial proofs which he had sent + to him at the house, at the theatre, or at whatever restaurant they were + dining. And at midnight he called up the office on the telephone and + talked with Mr. King or Mr. Vroom about the news in hand and the programme + for presenting it in the next morning’s paper. + </p> + <p> + But as “people”—meaning Marian’s friends—returned to town, + they fell into the former routine. It was in part his doing, in part hers. + He was now thirty-seven years old and his mind, always of a serious cast, + was intolerant of trifles and triflers. + </p> + <p> + Marian’s range of interests was shallower but much wider than his. Her + beauty, her cleverness, her tact caused her to be sought. She invited many + to their house and accepted more and more invitations. At first she never + went without him. But he was sometimes compelled by his work to send her + alone. He rarely went except for her sake—because he thought going + about amused her. And he was glad and relieved when she began to go + without him, instead of spending the evenings in solitude. + </p> + <p> + “There is no reason why you should punish yourself and punish me because + you had the ill luck to marry a working-man,” he said. “It cannot be + agreeable to sit here all by yourself evening after evening. And it + depresses me when I am at the office at night to think of you as lonely. + It makes me happier in my work—my pleasure, you know—to think + of you enjoying yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “But aren’t you afraid that some one will steal me?” she asked, + laughingly. + </p> + <p> + “Not I.” He was smiling proudly at her. “If you could be stolen, if you + could be happier anywhere than with me, you have only to let me into the + plot.” + </p> + <p> + “There are some women who would not like that.” + </p> + <p> + “And there are men who wouldn’t feel as I do. But you and I, we belong to + a class all by ourselves, don’t we?” + </p> + <p> + Apparently they were as devoted each to the other as ever. But each now + sought a separate happiness—he perforce in his work, she perforce in + the only way left open to her. When they were together, which meant + several hours every day and usually one whole day in the week, they were + at once seemingly absorbed each in the other with all the rest as + background. But none the less, they were leading separate lives, with + separate interests, separate tastes, separate modes of thinking. The + “bourgeois” life which they had planned—both standing behind the + counter and both adding up the results of the day’s business after they + had put up the shutters, two as one in all the interests of life—became + a dead and forgotten dream. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXII. — THE SHENSTONE EPISODE. + </h2> + <p> + On the way to or from the opera or a party, she would peep in on him, + watching the back of his head as he bent over his desk or read away at + some dull-looking book, wishing that he would feel her presence and turn + with that smile which was always hers from him, yet fearing to make a + sound and compel his attention. + </p> + <p> + “At times I think,” she said one day when he caught her in his arms on a + sudden impulse and kissed her, “that the reason you don’t try to rule me + is because you don’t care enough.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s precisely it.” He was smoothing her eyebrows with his forefinger. + “I don’t care enough about ruling. I don’t care enough for the sort of + love that responds to ‘must.’” + </p> + <p> + “But a woman likes to have ‘must’ said to her sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + “Does she? Do you? Well—I’ll say ‘must’ to you. You must love me + freely and voluntarily, or not at all. You must do as you please.” + </p> + <p> + “But don’t you see that that drives me from you often, keeps us apart in + many ways. Now if you compelled me to think as you do, to like what you + like—” + </p> + <p> + “But I couldn’t. Then you would no longer be <i>you</i>. And I like you so + well just as you are that I would not change an idea in your head.” + </p> + <p> + Marian sighed and went away to her dinner party. She felt that she was in + danger. “Not of falling in love with some other man,” she thought, “for + that’s impossible. But if a man were to come along who invited me to be + interested in his work, to keep him at whatever he was doing, I’d accept + and that would lead on and on—where?” + </p> + <p> + She soon had an opportunity to answer that question. Howard went away to + Washington to assist the party leaders in putting through a difficult + tariff-reform bill which all the protected interests were fighting. He + expected to be gone a week; but week after week passed and he was still at + the capital, directing the paper by telegraph and sending Marian hurried + notes postponing his return. She was going about daily, early and late, + her life vacant, her mind restlessly seeking occupation, interest. + </p> + <p> + After he had been gone three weeks she found herself at dinner at Mrs. + Provost’s next to a tall, fair-haired athletic young man of about her own + age. Something in his expression—perhaps the amused way in which he + studied the faces of the others—attracted her to him. She glanced + over at his card. It read “Mr. Shenstone.” + </p> + <p> + “It doesn’t add much to your information, does it?” he smiled, as he + caught her glance rising from the card. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” she confessed candidly. “I never heard of you before.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet I’ve been splashing about, trying to attract attention to myself, + for twelve years.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps not in this particular pond.” + </p> + <p> + “No, that is true.” + </p> + <p> + “I was wondering what you do—lawyer, doctor, journalist, business + man or what. + </p> + <p> + “And what did you conclude?” + </p> + <p> + “I concluded that you did nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right. But I try—I paint.” + </p> + <p> + “Portraits?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “That explains your way of looking at people. Only, you’ll get no + customers if you paint them as you see them.” + </p> + <p> + “I only see what they see when they look in the mirror.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but you see it impartial—or rather, I should say, cynically.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you.” + </p> + <p> + “For what?” + </p> + <p> + “For calling me cynical. The two keenest pleasures a man can attain are + for a woman to call him a cynic and for a woman to call him a devil with + the women.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you a ‘devil with the women’?” + </p> + <p> + “Not I—not any more than I am a cynic. But let us talk about you—I + am about exhausted as a topic of conversation. Why do you look so + discontented?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I have nothing to occupy my mind.” + </p> + <p> + “No children?” + </p> + <p> + “None—and no dogs.” + </p> + <p> + “No husband?” + </p> + <p> + “Husbands are busy.” + </p> + <p> + “So you are the typical American woman—the American instinct for + doing, the universal woman’s instinct for sunshine and laziness; the + husband absorbed in his business or profession with his domestic life as + an incident; the wife—like you.” + </p> + <p> + “That is right, and wrong—nearer right than wrong, a little unjust + to the husband.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it’s probably your fault that you are not absorbed in his business or + profession. It ought to be as much yours as his. What does he do?” + </p> + <p> + “He edits a newspaper.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he’s <i>the</i> Mr. Howard. A very interesting, a very remarkable + man.” + </p> + <p> + Marian was delighted by this appreciation. She talked with Shenstone again + after dinner and was pleased that he was to be in the same box with her at + the opera the next night. He had spent much of his time on the other side + of the Atlantic. He was unusually well educated for an artist’s, and his + mind was not developed in one direction only. Like Marian, his point of + view was artistic and emotional. Like her he had a reverence for + tradition, a deference to caste—the latter not offensive for the + same reason that hers was not, because good birth and good breeding made + him of the “high caste” and not a cringer with his eyes craned upward. It + seemed in him, as in her, a sort of self-respect. + </p> + <p> + Marian showed a candid liking for his society and he was quick to take + advantage of it. For a month they saw more and more each of the other, she + discreet without deliberation and he discreet with deliberation. He talked + to her of his work, of his ambition. He showed her himself without + egotism. He made an impression upon her so distinct and so favourable that + she admitted to herself that he was the most fascinating man—except + one—whom she had ever met. + </p> + <p> + When Howard at last returned, defeated by corruption within his own party + and for the time disgusted with politics, she at once had Shenstone at the + house to dine. “What do you think of Mr. Shenstone?” she asked when they + were alone. + </p> + <p> + “No wonder you’re enthusiastic about him. As he talked to me, I could + hardly keep from laughing. It was your own views, almost your own words. + He has the look of a great man. I think he will ‘arrive,’ as they say in + the Bowery.” + </p> + <p> + Howard went out of his way to be agreeable to Shenstone, often inviting + him to the house and giving him a commission to paint Marian. For the rest + of the winter Shenstone was constantly in Marian’s company; so constantly + that they were gossiped about, and all the women who were unpleasantly + discussed “for cause” conspired to throw them together as much as + possible. + </p> + <p> + One evening in the very end of the winter, Howard called to Marian from + his dressing room: “Why, lady, Shenstone’s gone, hasn’t he? I’ve just read + a note from him.” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause before Marian answered in a constrained voice: “Yes, he + sailed to-day.” + </p> + <p> + Howard was tying his bow. He paused at the curious tone, then smiled + mysteriously to himself. He put on his waistcoat and coat and knocked on + the half-open door. “May I come in?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—I’m waiting for dinner to be announced.” + </p> + <p> + She was sitting before the fire, very beautiful in her evening gown. She + seemed not to observe that he had entered but stared on into the flames. + He stood beside her, looking down at her with the half mocking, half + tender smile. Presently he sat upon the arm of her chair and took one of + her hands. “Poor, friendless, beautiful lady,” he said softly. + </p> + <p> + She glanced up quickly, her cheeks flaming but her eyes clear and frank. + “Why do you say that?” she asked in the tone of one who knows why. + </p> + <p> + “Other women will not be her friends because they are jealous of her, and + as for the men—how can a man be really a friend to a woman, a + fascinating, sympathetic woman?” + </p> + <p> + Marian hid her face against the lapel of his coat. “He told me,” she + whispered, “and then he went away.” + </p> + <p> + “He always does tell her. But——” + </p> + <p> + “But—what?” + </p> + <p> + “She doesn’t always send him away. Poor fellow! Still, he went into it + with his eyes open.” + </p> + <p> + “He was very nice. He told it in a roundabout way. And I wasn’t a bit + afraid that he’d—he’d—you know. But I got to thinking about + how I’d feel if he did—did touch me. And it made me—nervous.” + </p> + <p> + There was a long pause, then she went on: “I wonder how you’d feel about + touching another woman?” + </p> + <p> + “I? Dear me, I wonder! I never thought. You see I’m such a domestic, + unattractive creature——” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t laugh at me, please,” she pleaded. + </p> + <p> + “I’m not laughing. Underneath, I’m thinking—thinking what I would do + if I met you and lost you. It’s very black on the Atlantic for one pair of + eyes to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “And the worst of it is,” she said, “that my vanity is flattered and I’m + not really sorry for him.” + </p> + <p> + “Rather proud of her conquest, is she?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it pleased me to have him care.” + </p> + <p> + “She likes to think that he’ll carry his broken heart to the grave, does + she?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Isn’t it shameful?” + </p> + <p> + “Shameful? Shameless. I have always held that even the best woman dearly + loves to ruin a man. It’s such a triumph. And the more she loves him, the + more she’d like to ruin him—that is, if ruin came solely through + love for her and didn’t involve her.” + </p> + <p> + “But I would not want to ruin you.” + </p> + <p> + “If that seemed to be the supreme test of my love for you—are you + sure? I’m not. There’s Thomas, knocking to announce dinner.” + </p> + <p> + The Shenstone incident was apparently closed. Marian, a most attractive + woman of thirty, absorbed in a social life that demanded all her physical + and mental energy as well as all of her time, did not long vividly + remember him. But he had given her a standard by which she unconsciously + measured her husband. She contrasted the life he had promised her, the + life Shenstone reminded her of, with the life that was—so material, + so suspiciously physical when it professed to be loving, so suspiciously + chill when it professed to be friendly. She thrust aside these thoughts as + disloyal and false. But they persisted in returning. + </p> + <p> + If she had been less appreciative of Howard’s intellect, less fascinated + by the charm of his personality, she would soon have become one of the + “misunderstood” women in search of “consolation.” Instead, she turned her + mind in the direction natural to her character—social ambition. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIII. — EXPANDING AND CONTRACTING. + </h2> + <p> + In such a city as New York, to be deliberately careful about money is the + only way to keep within one’s income, whether it be vast or small. There + are temptations to buy at the end of every glance of the eye. The + merchants are crafty in producing new and insidious allurements, in + creating new and expensive tastes. But these might be resisted were it not + that the habits of all one’s associates are constantly and all but + irresistibly stimulating the faculty of imitation. + </p> + <p> + Neither Howard nor Marian had been brought up to be watchful about money. + Both had been accustomed to having their wants supplied. And now that they + had a household and a growing income, it was a matter of course that their + expenditures should steadily expand. Before three years had passed they + were spending more than double the sum which at the outset they had fixed + upon as their limit. A merely decent and self-respecting return of the + hospitalities they accepted, a carriage and pair and two saddle horses and + the servants to look after them—these items accounted for the + increase. They looked upon this as really necessary expenditure and soon + would have found that curtailment involved genuine deprivation. From the + very beginning each step in expansion made the next logical and + inevitable, made the plea of necessity seem valid. + </p> + <p> + An aunt of Marian’s died, leaving her a “small” house—worth perhaps + a quarter of a million—near the Avenue in Sixty-fifth Street, and + eighty thousand in cash. About the same time Stokely told Howard of a fine + speculative opportunity in certain copper properties. Howard hesitated. He + knew that the way of speculation was the way of bondage for his newspaper + and for him. But this particular adventure seemed harmless and he yielded. + The money was invested and within a few months was producing an income of + fifteen thousand a year which promised to be steady. Howard’s ownership of + stock in the paper increased; and as the profits advanced swiftly with its + swift growth in its illustrated form, his own income was nearly fifty + thousand a year. They were growing very rich. There was no longer the + slightest anxiety as to money in his mind. + </p> + <p> + “You know the great dread I had in marrying,” he said to her one day, “was + lest I should make myself and you dependents, should some day sacrifice my + freedom to my fear of losing—happiness.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and very foolish you were, not to have more confidence in yourself + and in me.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps. But what I am thinking is that you have brought me luck. I am + free, beyond anybody’s reach. I could quit the paper to-morrow and we + should hardly have to change our style of living even if I did not get + something else to do.” + </p> + <p> + “Style of living—” in that phrase lay the key to the change that was + swiftly going on in Howard’s mind and mental attitude. It is not easy for + a man with environment wholly in his favour to keep his point of view + correct, to keep his horizon wide and clear, his sense of proportion just. + It is next to impossible for him to do so when his environment opposes. + </p> + <p> + The man who looks out from misery and squalor upon misery and squalor is, + if he thinks at all, naturally an anarchist. To him the established order + shows only injustice and persistence of injustice. The man who looks out + from luxury and ease and well-being upon luxury and ease and well-being is + forced by the very limitations of the human mind to an over-reverence for + the established order. He is unreasonably suspicious of anything that + threatens change. “When I’m comfortable all’s well in the world; change + might bring discomfort to me.” And he flatters himself that he is a + “conservative.” + </p> + <p> + Howard had had a long training at the correct standpoint and in right + thinking. But the influences were there, were at work, were destroying his + devotion to a social and political ideal wholly alien to the life he was + now living under the leading of his wife. He did not blame her, indeed he + could not justly have blamed her, for his falling away from what he knew + were correct principles for him. While she had brought him into this + environment, while at first it was in large part for her that he gave so + much time and thought to the accumulation of wealth, soon love of luxury, + dependence upon a train of servants, fondness for the great extravagances + to which New York tempts the rich and those living near the rich, became + stronger in him than it was in her. And through the inevitable reaction of + environment upon the man, the central point in his valuation of men and + women tended to shift from the fundamentals, mind and character, to the + surface qualities—dress and style and manners and refinement, and + even dress. + </p> + <p> + This process of demoralisation was well advanced when they moved from the + apartment. After four years of “expansion” there, they had begun to feel + cramped; and a year after Marian inherited the house Howard had progressed + to the mental, the moral, the financial state where it seemed natural, + logical, practically necessary that they should set up a real New York + “establishment.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t this just the house for us?” she said. “I hate huge, big houses. + Like you, I think the taste of the occupants should be everywhere. Now + this house is just big enough. You don’t know how wonderful it would be.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, I do,” he laughed, “and you must try it.” He was as enthusiastic + as she. + </p> + <p> + In the late autumn the house was ready; and there was not a more artistic + interior in New York. It was not so much the result of great expense as of + intelligence and taste. It was an expression of an individuality—a + revelation of a woman’s beautiful mind, inspired by love. + </p> + <p> + “At last I have something to interest, to occupy me,” she said. “This is + our very own, through and through our own. It will be such a pleasure to + me to keep it always like this.” + </p> + <p> + “You—degenerated into a household drudge,” he mocked. “Why, you used + to laugh at me when I held up a wife who was a good housekeeper as one of + my ideals.” + </p> + <p> + “Did I?” she answered. “Well, as you would say, see what I’ve come to + through living with—a member of the working-classes.” + </p> + <p> + Howard’s own particular part of this house included a library with a small + study next to it. In the study was a most attractive table with plenty of + room to spread about books and papers, a huge divan in the corner and a + fire-place near by. He found himself doing more and more of his work at + home. There were not so many interruptions as at the office, the beauty of + the surroundings, the consciousness that “she” was not far away—all + combined to keep him at home and to enable him to do more and better work + there. + </p> + <p> + He was justly and greatly proud of her achievement; and where he used to + be more regretful than he admitted even to himself when they had guests, + he was now glad to see others about, admiring her taste, appreciating her + skill as a hostess and giving him opportunities to look at her from an + ever new point of view. + </p> + <p> + Of course these guests were almost all “<i>their</i> kind of people”—amiable, + well mannered persons who thought and acted in that most conventional of + moulds, the mould of “good society.” They fitted into the surroundings, + they did their part toward making those surroundings luxurious—a + “wallow of self-complacent content.” And this environment soon suited and + fitted him exactly. + </p> + <p> + But to her he was still The Democrat. She loved him in the way and to the + degree which her character, as the years had developed it, permitted her + to love. And this love, or rather admiring respect, was wholly based upon + her ideal of him, her belief in the honesty and intensity of his + convictions. While she did not share them, she had breadth enough to + admire them and to regard them as high removed above her own ideas to + which for herself she held tenaciously, instinct and association and + “tradition” triumphing over reason. + </p> + <p> + Howard retained his ideal of her, never examining her closely, never + seeing or suspecting what a pale love she gave him and how shrivelled had + become the part of her nature which she and he both assumed was most + strongly developed. He knew how she idealised him and did not dare to + undeceive her. Therefore he practised toward her a hypocrisy that grew + steadily more disgraceful, yet grew so gradually that there was no single + moment at which he could conveniently halt and “straighten the record.” At + first he was often and heartily ashamed of himself; but by degrees this + feeling deadened into cynical insensibility and he was only ashamed to let + her see him as he really was. She had kept her self-respect. She esteemed + self-respect at the exalted valuation he had formerly put upon it. What if + she should find him out? + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + When the famous “coal conspiracy” was formed, three of the men conspicuous + in it were among their intimates—that is, their families were often + at his house and he and Marian were often at theirs. Yet he had never made + a more relentless attack. Nor did he, either in the news columns or on the + editorial page, conceal the connection of his three friends with the + conspiracy. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Mercer was here this morning,” Marian said as they were waiting for + the butler to announce dinner. She was flushed and embarrassed. + </p> + <p> + Howard laughed. “And did she tell you what a dreadful husband you had?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, she didn’t blame you at all. She said they all knew how perfectly + upright you were. Only, she said you did not understand and were doing Mr. + Mercer a great injustice.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what do you think?” + </p> + <p> + “Why—I can’t believe—is it possible, dear—I was just + reading one of your editorials. Can Mr. Mercer be in such a scheme? The + way she told it to me, he and the others were really doing a lot of people + a valuable service, putting their property on a paying basis, enabling the + railroads to meet their expenses and to keep thousands and thousands of + men employed.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor Mercer!” Howard said ironically. “Poor misunderstood philanthropist! + What a pity that that sort of benevolence has to be carried on by bribing + judges and prosecutors and legislatures, by making the poor shiver and + freeze, by subtracting from the pleasures and adding to the anxieties of + millions. One would almost say that such a philanthropy had better not be + undertaken. It is so likely to be misunderstood by the ‘unruly classes.’” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I knew you were right. I told her you must be right, that you never + wrote until you knew.” + </p> + <p> + “And what was the result?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we are making some very bitter enemies.” + </p> + <p> + “I doubt it. I suspect that before long they’ll come wheedling about in + the hope that I’ll let up on them or be a little easier next time.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure I do not care what they do,” said Marian, drawing herself up. + “All I care for is—you, and to see you do your duty at whatever cost + or regardless of cost—” she was leaning over the back of his chair + with her arms about his neck and her lips very near to his ear—“you + are my love without fear and without reproach.” + </p> + <p> + “Listen, dear.” He took her hand and drew her arms more closely about his + neck. “Suppose that the lines were drawn—as they may be any day. + Suppose that we had to choose, with all these friends of yours, with our + position, yes, even the place I have won in my profession, my place as + editor—all that we now have on the one side; and on the other side a + thankless, unprofitable, apparently useless standing up for the right. + Wouldn’t you miss your friends?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>All</i> our friends? And who will be on the other side?” + </p> + <p> + “Almost no one that we know—that you would care to call upon or go + about with or have here at the house. Nobody with any great amount of + wealth or social position. Those other people who are in town when it is + said ‘Nobody is in town now!’” + </p> + <p> + She did not answer. + </p> + <p> + “Where would you be?” he repeated. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I wasn’t thinking of that.” She came around and sat on his knee. + “Where? Why, there’s only one ‘where’ in all this world for me—‘wheresoever + thou goest.’” + </p> + <p> + And so the half-formed impulse to begin to straighten himself out with her + was smothered by her. + </p> + <p> + Both were silent through dinner. She was thinking how honest, how fearless + he was, how he loved her, how eagerly she would follow him, how blessed + she was in the love of such a man. And he—he was regretting that his + “pose” had carried him so far; he was wishing that he had not been so + bitter in his attacks upon his and his wife’s friends, the coal + conspirators. When he had definitely cast in his lot with “the shearers” + why persist in making his hypocrisy more abominable by protesting more + loudly than ever in behalf of “the sheep?” Above all, why had he let his + habit of voluble denunciation lead him into this hypocrisy with the woman + he loved? + </p> + <p> + He admitted to himself that “causes” had ceased to interest him except as + they might contribute to the advancement of his power. Power!—that + was his ambition now. First he had wished to have an independent income in + order to be free. When he had achieved that, it was at the sacrifice of + his mental freedom. And now, with the clearness of self-knowledge which + only men of great ability have, he knew that the one cause for which he + would make sacrifices was—himself. + </p> + <p> + “Of what are you thinking so gloomily?” she interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “Oh—I—let me see—well, I was thinking what a fraud I am; + and that I wished I could dupe myself as completely as I can dupe—” + </p> + <p> + “Me?” she laughed. “Oh, we’re all frauds—shocking frauds. I wouldn’t + have you see me as I really am for anything.” + </p> + <p> + Although her remark was a commonplace, of small meaning, as he knew, he + got comfort out of it, so desperately was he casting about for some + consolation. + </p> + <p> + “That’s true, my dear,” he said. “And I wish that you liked the kind of a + fraud I am as well as I like the kind of a fraud you are.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIV. — “MR. VALIANT-FOR-TRUTH.” + </h2> + <p> + Stokely came rushing into his office the next morning. “Good God, old + man,” he exclaimed, “What’s the meaning of this attack on the coal roads?” + </p> + <p> + Howard flushed with resentment, not at what Stokely said, but at his tone. + </p> + <p> + “Now, don’t get on your high horse. I don’t think you understand.” + Stokely’s tone had moderated. “Don’t you know that the Delaware Valley + road is in this?” + </p> + <p> + Howard started. He had just invested two hundred thousand dollars in that + stock on Stokely’s advice “No, I didn’t know it.” He recovered himself. + “And furthermore I don’t give a damn.” He struck his desk angrily. His + simulation of incorruptible indignation for the moment half deceived + himself. + </p> + <p> + “Why, man, if this infernal roast is kept up, you’ll lose a hundred + thousand. Then there are my interests. I’m up to my neck in this deal.” + </p> + <p> + “My advice to you is to get out of it. I’m sorry, but you know as well as + I do that the thing is infamous.” + </p> + <p> + “Infamous—nonsense! It will double our dividends and the consumers + won’t feel it.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us not discuss it, Stokely. There—don’t say anything you’ll + regret.” + </p> + <p> + “But—” + </p> + <p> + “Now, Stokely—don’t argue it with me.” + </p> + <p> + Stokely put on his hat, stood up and looked at Howard with sullen + admiration. “You will drive away the last friend you’ve got on earth, if + you keep this up. Good morning.” + </p> + <p> + Howard sent a smile of cynical amusement after him, then stared + thoughtfully into the mass of papers on his desk for five, ten, fifteen + minutes. When his plan was formed he touched the electric button. + </p> + <p> + “Please tell Mr. King I’d like to see him,” he said to the answering boy. + </p> + <p> + Mr. King entered with a bundle of legal documents. “I suppose it’s the + injunction you want to discuss,” he said. “We’ve got the papers all ready. + It’s simply great. Those fellows will be in a corner and will have to give + up. They can’t get away from us. The price of coal will drop half a dollar + within a week, I’ll bet.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid you are over sanguine,” Howard said. “I’ve just been going + over the matter with my lawyer. But leave the papers with me. And—about + the news—be careful what you say. We’ve been going a little strong. + I think a little less personal matter would be advisable.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. King was amazed and looked it. He slowly pulled himself together to + say, “All right, Mr. Howard. I think I understand.” He laid the papers + down and departed. Outside the door he laughed softly to himself. + “Somebody’s been cutting his comb, I guess,” he murmured. “Well, I didn’t + think he’d last. New York always gets ‘em when they’re worth while.” + </p> + <p> + As the door closed behind King, Howard drew out the lowest and deepest + drawer of his desk. It was half-filled with long-undisturbed pamphlets and + newspaper cuttings. He tossed in the injunction papers. A cloud of dust + flew up and settled thickly upon them. He shut the drawer. + </p> + <p> + He went to the window and looked out over the city—that seductive, + that overwhelming expression of wealth and power. “What was it my father + wrote me when I told him I was going to New York?” and he recalled almost + the exact words—“New York that lures young men from the towns and + the farms, and prostitutes them, teaches them to sell themselves with + unblushing cheeks for a fee, for an office, for riches, for power.” He + shrugged his shoulders, smiled, drew himself up, returned to his desk and + was soon absorbed in his work. + </p> + <p> + The next morning the <i>News-Record’s</i> double-leaded “leader” on the + Coal Trust was a discharge of heavy artillery. But it was artillery in + retreat. And in the succeeding days, the retreat continued—not + precipitate but orderly, masterly. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Ten days after their talk on the “coal conspiracy” Marian greeted him late + in the afternoon with “Oh, such a row with Mrs. Mercer!” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Mercer! Why, what was she angry about?” + </p> + <p> + “She wasn’t—at least, not at first. It was I. I went to see her and + she asked me to thank you for stopping that fight on the coal conspiracy.” + </p> + <p> + “That was tactful of her,” Howard said, turning away to hide his + nervousness. + </p> + <p> + “And I told her that you had not stopped, that you wouldn’t stop until you + had broken it up. And she smiled in a superior way and said I was quite + mistaken, that I didn’t read the paper, I haven’t read it for several + days, but I knew <i>you</i>, dear, and I remembered what you had said. And + so we just had it. We were polite but furious when I went. I shall never + go near her again.” + </p> + <p> + “But, unfortunately, we have stopped. We had to do it. We could accomplish + nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it doesn’t matter. What angered me was her insinuation.” + </p> + <p> + “That was irritating. But, tell me, what if it had been true?” Howard’s + voice was strained and he was looking at her eagerly, with fever in his + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “But it couldn’t be. It isn’t worth while imagining. You could not be a + coward and a traitor.” So complete was her confidence in him that + suspicion of him was impossible. + </p> + <p> + “Would you sit in judgment on me?” + </p> + <p> + “Not if I could help it.” + </p> + <p> + “But you can—you could help it.” His manner was agitated, and he + spoke almost fiercely. “I am free,” he went on, and as she watched his + eyes she understood why men feared him. “I do what I will. I am not + accountable to you, not even to you. I have never asked you to approve of + me, to approve what I do, to love me. You are free also, free to love, + free to withdraw your love. I follow the law of my own being. You must + take me as you find me or not at all.” + </p> + <p> + She tried to stop him but could not. His words poured on. He leaned + forward and took her hand and his eyes were brilliant and piercing. “I + love you,” he said. “Ah, how I love you—not because you love me, not + because you are an angel, not because you are a superior being. No, not + for any reason in all this wide world but because you are you. Do what you + will and I shall love you. Whether I had to look up among the stars or + down in the mire to find you, I would look just as steadily, just as + proudly.” + </p> + <p> + He drew along breath and his hand trembled. “If I were a traitor, then, if + you loved me, you would say, ‘What! Is he to be found among traitors? How + I love treason!’ If I were a coward, liar, thief, a sum of all the vices, + then, if you ever had loved me you would love me still. I want no love + with mental reservations, no love with ifs and buts and provided-thats. I + want love, free and fearless, that adapts itself to changing human nature + as the colour of the sea adapts itself to the colour of the sky; love that + does not have to be cajoled and persuaded lest it be not there when I most + need it. I want the love that loves.” + </p> + <p> + “You know you have it.” She had been compelled by his mood and was herself + in a fever. She looked at him with the expression which used to make his + nerves vibrate. “You know that no human being ever was more to another + than I to you. But you can’t expect me to be just the same as you are. I + love <i>you</i>—not the false, base creature you picture. I admire + the way you love, but I could not love in that way. Thank God, my love, my + dear—I shall never be put to that test. For my love for you is my—my + all.” + </p> + <p> + “We are very serious about a mere supposition.” + </p> + <p> + Howard was laughing, but not naturally. “We take each the other far too + seriously. I’m sorry you idealise me so. Who knows—you might find me + out some day—and then—well, don’t blame me.” + </p> + <p> + Marian said no more, but late that evening she put her hands on his + shoulders and said: “You’re not hiding something from me—something + we ought to bear together?” + </p> + <p> + “Not I.” Howard smiled down into her eyes and kissed her. + </p> + <p> + His mood of reaction, of hysteria had passed. He was thinking how little + in reality she had had to do with his outburst. He had not been addressing + her at all, except as she seemed to him for the moment the embodiment of + his self-respect—or rather, of an “absurd,” “extremely youthful” + ideal of self-respect which he had “outgrown.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXV. — THE PROMISED LAND. + </h2> + <p> + A woman with a powerful personality may absorb in herself a man of strong + and resolute ambition, may compel him to make her his career, to feel that + to get and to keep her is all that he asks from destiny. But Marian was + not such a woman. + </p> + <p> + She had come into Howard’s life at just the time and in just the way to + arouse his latent passion for power and to give it a sufficient initial + impetus. It was love for her that set him to lifting himself from among + those who work through themselves alone to the potent few who work chiefly + by directing the labour of others. + </p> + <p> + Once in this class, once having tasted the joy of power, Howard was lost + to her. She was unable to restrain or direct, or even clearly to + understand. She became an incident in his life. As riches came with power, + they pushed him to one side in her life. Living in separate parts of a + large house, leading separate lives, rarely meeting except when others + were present—following the typical life of New Yorkers of fortune + and fashion—they gradually grew to know little and see little and + think little each of the other. + </p> + <p> + There was no abruptness in the transition. Every day had contributed its + little toward widening the gap. There was no coolness, no consciousness of + separation; simply the slow formation of the habit of complete + independence each of the other. + </p> + <p> + His ambitions absorbed his thought and his time. To them he found her very + useful. The social side—forming and keeping up friendly relations + with the families whose heads were men of influence—was a vital part + of his plan. But he used her just as he used every and any one else whom + he found capable of contributing to his advancement; and, as she never + insisted upon herself, never sought to influence or even to inquire into + his course of action, she did not find him out. + </p> + <p> + She was in a vague way an unhappy woman. A discontent, a feeling that her + life was incomplete, perpetually teased her. He was distinctly unhappy, + often gloomy, at times morose. In her rare analytic moods she attributed + their failure to prolong the happiness of their courtship to the hard work + which kept him from her, kept them from enjoying the great love which she + assumed they felt each for the other. She would not and could not see that + that love had long disappeared, leaving a mask of forms, of phrases and of + impulses of passion to conceal its departure. And to this view he + outwardly assented, when she suggested it; but he knew that she was + deceiving herself as to him, and wondered if she were not deceiving + herself as to her own feelings. + </p> + <p> + Up to the time of the “Coal Conspiracy” and his attempt to put himself + straight with her, the idea of his love for her and of her oneness with + him had at least a hold upon his imagination. He then saw how far apart + they had drifted; and he dismissed from his mind even the pretense that + love played any part in his life. After that definite break with principle + and self-respect for the sake of his coal holdings, his Wall Street + friends and his newspaper career, the development of his character + continued along strictly logical lines with accelerating speed. And it was + accompanied by an ever franker, more cynical acceptance of the change. + </p> + <p> + He could not deceive himself, nor can any man with the clearness of + judgment necessary to great achievement—although many “successful” + men, for obvious reasons of self-interest, diligently encourage the + popular theory of warped conscience. He was well aware that he had shifted + from the ideal of use <i>to</i> his fellow-beings to the ideal of use <i>of</i> + his fellow-beings, from the ideal of character to the ideal of reputation. + And he knew that the two ideals can not be combined and that he not only + was not attempting to combine them but had no desire so to do. He despised + his former ideals; but also he despised himself for despising them. + </p> + <p> + His quarrel with himself was that he seemed to himself a rather vulgar + sort of hypocrite. This was highly disagreeable to him, as his whole + nature tended to make him wish to be himself, to make him shrink from the + part of the truckler and the sycophant which he was playing so haughtily + and so artistically. At times it exasperated him that he could not regard + his change of front as a deliberate sale for value received, and not as + the weak and cowardly surrender which he saw that it really was. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + On the day after Howard’s forty-fourth birthday Coulter fell dead at the + entrance to the Union Club. When Stokely heard of it he went direct to the + <i>News-Record</i> office. + </p> + <p> + “I happen to know something about Coulter’s will,” he said to Howard. “The + <i>News-Record</i> stock is to be sold and you and I are to have the first + chance to take it at three hundred and fifty—which is certainly + cheap enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did he arrange to dispose of the most valuable part of his estate?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we had an agreement about it. Then, too, Coulter had no faith in + newspapers as a permanent investment. You know there are only the widow, + the girl and that worthless boy. Heavens, what an ass that boy is! Coulter + has tied up his estate until the youngest grandchild comes of age. He + hopes that there will be a son among the grandchildren who will realise + his dream.” + </p> + <p> + “Dream?” Howard smiled. “I didn’t know that Coulter ever indulged in + dreams.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he had the rich man’s mania—the craze for founding a family. + So everything is to be put into real estate and long-term bonds. And for + years New York is to be reminded of Samuel Coulter by some incapable + who’ll use his name and his money to advertise nature’s contempt for + family pride in her distributions of brains. I think even a fine tomb is a + wiser memorial.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, how much of the stock shall you take?” Howard asked. + </p> + <p> + “Not a share,” Stokely replied dejectedly. “Coulter couldn’t have died at + a worse time for me. I’m tied in every direction and shall be for a year + at least. So you’ve got a chance to become controlling owner.” + </p> + <p> + “I?” Howard laughed. “Where could I get a million and a half?” + </p> + <p> + “How much could you take in cash?” + </p> + <p> + “Well—let me see—perhaps—five hundred thousand.” + </p> + <p> + “You can borrow the million with the stock as collateral.” + </p> + <p> + “But how could I pay?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, your dividends at our present rate would be more than two hundred + thousand a year. Your interest charge would be under seventy-five + thousand. Perhaps I can arrange it so that it won’t be more than fifty + thousand. You can let the balance go on reducing the loan. Then I may be + able to put you onto a few good things. At any rate you can’t lose + anything. Your stock would bring five hundred even at forced sale. It’s + your chance, old man. I want to see you take it.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll think it over. I have no head for figures.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me manage it for you.” Stokely rose to go. Howard began thanking him, + but he cut him off with: + </p> + <p> + “You owe me no thanks. You’ve made money for me—big money. I owe you + my help. Besides, I don’t want any outsider in here. Let me know when + you’re ready.” He nodded and was gone. + </p> + <p> + “What a chance!” Howard repeated again and again. + </p> + <p> + He was looking out over New York. + </p> + <p> + Twenty years before he had faced it, asking of it nothing but a living and + his freedom. For twenty years he had fought. Year by year, even when he + seemed to be standing still or going backward, he had steadily gained, + making each step won a vantage-ground for forward attack. And now—victory. + Power, wealth, fame, all his! + </p> + <p> + Yet a deep melancholy came over him. And he fell to despising himself for + the kind of exultation that filled him, its selfishness, its sordidness, + the absence of all high enthusiasm. Why was he denied the happiness of + self-deception? Why could he not forget the means, blot it out, now that + the end was attained? + </p> + <p> + His mind went out, not to Marian, but to that other—the one sleeping + under the many, many layers of autumn leaves at Asheville. And he heard a + voice saying so faintly, so timidly: “I lay awake night after night + listening to your breathing, and whispering under my breath, ‘I love you, + I love you. Why can’t you love me?’” And then—he flung down the + cover of his desk and rushed away home. + </p> + <p> + “Why did I think of Alice?” he asked himself. And the answer came—because + in those days, in the days of his youth, he had had beliefs, high + principles; he had been incapable of this slavery to appearances, to vain + show, incapable of this passion for reputation regardless of character. + His weaknesses were then weaknesses only, and not, as now, the laws of his + being controlling his every act. + </p> + <p> + He smiled cynically at the self of such a few years ago—yet he could + not meet those honest, fearless eyes that looked out at him from the + mirror of memory. + </p> + <p> + He was triumphant, but self-respect had gone and not all the thick + swathings of vanity covered him from the stabs of self-contempt. + </p> + <p> + “When I am really free, when the paper is paid for and I can do as I + please, why not try to be a man again? Why not? It would cost me nothing.” + </p> + <p> + But a man is the sum of <i>all</i> his past. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXVI. — IN POSSESSION. + </h2> + <p> + Stokely arranged the loan, and within six months Howard was controlling + owner of the <i>News-Record.</i> There was a debt of a million and a + quarter attached to his ownership, but he saw how that would be wiped out. + Once more he threw himself into his work with the energy of a boy. He had + to give much of his time to the business department—to the details + of circulation and advertising. He felt that the profits of the paper + could be greatly increased by improving its facilities for reaching the + advertiser and the public. He had never been satisfied with the + circulation methods; but theretofore his ignorance of business and his + position as mere salaried editor had acted in restraint upon his + interference with the “ground floor.” + </p> + <p> + As he had suspected, the business office was afflicted with the twin + diseases—routine and imitativeness. It followed an old system, + devised in days of small circulation and grudgingly improved, not by + thought on the part of those who circulated the paper, but by compulsion + on the part of the public. No attempts were made to originate schemes for + advertising the paper. The only methods were wooden variations upon + placards in the street cars and the elevated stations, and cards hung up + at the news-stands. As forgetting advertising business, they thought they + showed enterprise by a little canvassing among the conspicuous merchants + in Greater New York. + </p> + <p> + Howard had charts made showing the circulation by districts. With these as + a basis he ordered an elaborate campaign to “push” the paper in the + districts where it was circulated least and to increase its hold where it + was strong. “We do not reach one-third of the people who would like to + take our paper,” he told Jowett, the business manager. “Let us have an + army of agents and let us take up our territory by districts.” + </p> + <p> + The Sunday edition was the largest source of revenue, both because it + carried a great deal more advertising at much higher rates than did the + week-day editions, and because it sold at a price which yielded a profit + on the paper itself, while the price of the weekday editions did not. News + constituted less than one-fourth of its contents. The rest was “feature + articles,” as interesting a week late to a man in Seattle as on the day of + publication within a mile of the office. + </p> + <p> + “We get out the very best magazine in the market,” said Howard to Jowett. + “Are we pushing it in the east, in the west, in the south? Look at the + charts. + </p> + <p> + “We have a Sunday circulation of five hundred in Oregon, of one thousand + in Texas, of six hundred in Georgia, of two thousand in Maine. Why not ten + times as much in each of those states? Why not ten times as much as we now + have near New York?” + </p> + <p> + There was no reason except failure to “push” the paper. That reason Howard + proceeded to remove. But these enterprises involved large expenditures, + perhaps might mean postponement of the payment of the debt. Receipts must + be increased and the most promising way was an increase in the advertising + business. + </p> + <p> + Howard noted on the chart nineteen cities and large towns near New York in + each of which the daily circulation of the <i>News-Record</i> was equal to + that of any paper published there and far exceeded the combined + circulations of all the home dailies on Sunday. This suggested a system of + local advertising pages, and for its working out he engaged one of the + most capable newspaper advertising men in the city. Within three months + the idea had “caught on” and, instead of sending useless columns of New + York “want-ads” and the like to places where they could not be useful, the + <i>News-Record</i> was presenting to its readers in twelve cities and + towns the advertisements of their local merchants. + </p> + <p> + A year of this work, with Howard giving many hours of each day personally + to tiresome details, brought the natural results. The profits of the <i>News-Record</i> + had risen to five hundred and forty thousand, of which Howard’s share was + nearly three hundred thousand. The next year the profits were seven + hundred and fifty thousand, and Howard had reduced his debt to eight + hundred thousand. + </p> + <p> + “We shall be free and clear in less than three years,” he said to Marian. + </p> + <p> + “If we have luck,” she added. + </p> + <p> + “No—if we work—and we shall. Luck is a stone which envy flings + at success.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you don’t think you have been lucky?” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed I do not.” + </p> + <p> + “Not even,” she smiled, drawing herself up. + </p> + <p> + “Not even—” he said with a faint, sad answering smile. “If you only + knew how hard I worked preparing myself to be able to get you when you + came; if you only, only knew how life made me pay, pay, pay; if you only + knew—” + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” she said, coming closer to him. + </p> + <p> + He sighed—not for the reason of sentiment which she fancied, though + he put his arms around her. “How willingly I paid,” he evaded. + </p> + <p> + He went to his desk and she stood looking at him. There was still the + charm of youth, even freshness, in her beauty—and she was not + unconscious of the fact. + </p> + <p> + And he—he was handsome, distinguished looking and certainly did not + suggest age or the approach of age; but in his hair, so grey at the + temples, in the stern, rather haughty lines of his features, in the + weariness of his eyes, there was not a vestige of youth. “How he has + worked for me and for his ideals,” she thought, sadly yet proudly. “Ah, he + is indeed a great man, and <i>my</i> husband!” And she bent over him and + kissed him on an impulse to a kind of tenderness which was now so strange + to her that it made her feel shy. + </p> + <p> + “And what a radical you’ll be,” she laughed, after a moment’s silence. + “What a radical, what a democrat!” + </p> + <p> + “When?” He was flushing a little and avoided her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “When you’re free—really the proprietor—able to express your + own views, all your own views. We shall become outcasts.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder,” he replied slowly, “does a rich man own his property or does + it own him?” + </p> + <p> + For an instant he had an impulse of his old longing for sympathy, for + companionship. She was now thirty-six and, save for an expression of + experience, of self-control, seemed hardly so much as thirty. But with the + years, with the habit of self-restraint, with instinctive rather than + conscious realisation of his indifference toward her, had come a chill + perceptible at the surface and permeating her entire character. In her own + way she had become as self-absorbed, as ambitious as he. + </p> + <p> + He looked at her, felt this chill, sighed, smiled at himself. Yes, he was + alone—and he preferred to be alone. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXVII. — THE HARVEST. + </h2> + <p> + Through all his scheming and shifting Howard had kept the <i>News-Record</i> + in the main an “organ of the people.” Coulter and Stokely had on many + occasions tried to persuade him to change, but he had stood out. He did + not confess to them that his real reason was not his alleged principles + but his cold judgment that the increases in circulation which produced + increases in advertising patronage were dependent upon the paper’s + reputation of fearless democracy. + </p> + <p> + In the fourth year of his ownership he felt that the time had come for the + change, that he could safely slip over to the other side—the side of + wealth and power, the winning side, the side with offices and privileges + to distribute. His debt was so far reduced that he had nothing to fear + from it. A presidential campaign was coming on and was causing unusual + confusion, a general shift of party lines. And he had put the <i>News-Record</i> + in such a position that it could move in any direction without shock to + its readers. + </p> + <p> + The “great battle” was on—the battle he had in his younger days + looked forward to and longed for—the battle against Privilege and + for a “restoration of government by the people.” The candidates were + nominated, the platforms put forward and the issue squarely joined. + </p> + <p> + The same issue had been involved in previous campaigns; but the statement + of the case by the party opposed to “government of, by and for plutocracy” + had been fantastic, extreme, entangled with social, economic and political + lunacies. And Howard had strengthened the <i>News-Record</i> by refusing + to permit it to “go crazy.” Now, however, there was in honesty no reason + for refusing support to the advocates of his professed principles. + </p> + <p> + But the <i>News-Record</i> was silent. Howard and Marian went away to + their cottage at Newport, and he left rigid instructions that no political + editorials were to be published except those which he might send. There he + got typhoid fever and was at the point of death for two weeks. + </p> + <p> + Marian gave herself to nursing him, stayed close beside him, read books + and the newspapers to him throughout his convalescence. They were more + intimate than they had been for years. A feeling bearing a remote + resemblance to the love he had once had for her arose out of his weakness + and dependence and his seclusion from the instruments and objects of his + ambition. And she swept aside the barriers she had erected between herself + and him and returned, as nearly as one may, to the love and interest of + their early days together. + </p> + <p> + In the first week of September came Stokely with Senator Hereford, the + chairman of the “Plutocracy” campaign committee. + </p> + <p> + “I shall not annoy you with evasions,” said Hereford, “as Mr. Stokely + assures me that I may speak freely to you, that you personally are with + us. The fact is, our campaign is in a bad way, especially in New York + State, and there especially in New York City.” + </p> + <p> + “You surprise me,” said Howard. “All my information has come from the + newspapers which my wife reads me. I had gathered that the victory was all + but won.” + </p> + <p> + “We encourage that impression. You know how many weak-kneed fellows there + are who like to be on the winning side. We’ve been pouring out the money + and stand ready to pour it out like water. But these damned reform + ballot-laws make it hard for us to control the vote. We buy, but we fear + that the goods will not be delivered. Feeling is high against us. Even our + farmers and shopkeepers are acting queerly. And the other fellows have at + last put up a safe man on a conservative platform.” + </p> + <p> + Howard turned his face away. There was still the memory, the now quickened + memory, of his former self to make him wince at being included in such an + “us.” + </p> + <p> + “You can’t afford to keep silent any longer,” Hereford continued. “You’ve + done the cause a world of good by your silence thus far. You have the + reputation of being the leading popular organ, and your keeping quiet has + meant thousands of votes for us. But the time has come to attack. And you + must attack if we are to carry New York. You can turn the tide in the + state, and—well, we have a very high regard for your genius for + making your points clearly and interestingly. We need your ideas for our + editors and speakers as much as we need your influence.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot discuss it to-day,” Howard answered after a moment’s silence. + “It would be a grave step for the <i>News-Record</i> to take. I am not + well, as you see. To-morrow or next day I’ll decide. You’ll see my answer + in the paper, I think.” He closed his eyes with significant weariness. + </p> + <p> + Hereford looked at him uneasily. Just outside the door Stokely whispered, + “Don’t be alarmed. You’ve got him. He’s with us, I tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “I must make sure,” whispered Hereford. “I wish to speak to him alone for + a moment.” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, Mr. Howard,” he said as he re-entered the room. “I + forgot an important part of my mission. Our candidate authorized me to say + to you on his behalf that he felt sure you would see your duty; that he + esteemed your character and judgment too highly to have any doubts; and + that he intends to show his appreciation of the conscientious, independent + vote which is rallying to his support; in the event of his election, he + feels that he could not do so in a more satisfactory manner than by + offering you either a place in his cabinet or an ambassadorship as you may + prefer.” + </p> + <p> + As soon as Howard saw Hereford returning, he knew the reason. He had never + before been offered a bribe; but he could not mistake the meaning of + Hereford’s bold yet frightened expression. He kept his eyes averted during + the delivery of the long, rambling sentence. At the end, he looked at + Hereford frankly and said in his most gracious manner: + </p> + <p> + “Thank him for me, will you? And express my appreciation of so high a + compliment from such a man.” + </p> + <p> + Hereford looked relieved, delighted. “I’m glad to have met you, Mr. + Howard, and to have had so satisfactory an interview.” + </p> + <p> + Again outside the door, he muttered gleefully: “Yes, we’ve him. Otherwise + he would have had his servants kick me down stairs. Gad, no wonder —— + is on his way to the Presidency, I had a sneaking fear that this fellow + might be sincere. But <i>he</i> saw through him without ever having seen + him. I suppose two men of that stripe instinctively understand each + other.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + That was on a Sunday afternoon. On the following Wednesday, as Marian came + into Howard’s sitting-room with the newspapers, she laughed: “I’ve been + reading such a speech from your candidate, you radical! I must say I liked + to read it. It was so like you, your very phrases in many places, the + things you used to talk to me before you gave me up as hopeless. Just + listen.” + </p> + <p> + And she read him the oration—a reproduction of the Howard she first + saw, the Howard she admired and loved and had never lost. “Isn’t it + superb?” she asked at the end. “You must have written it for him. Don’t + you like it?” + </p> + <p> + “Very able,” was Howard’s only comment. + </p> + <p> + Marian continued to read the paper, glancing from column to column, giving + him the substance of the news. Soon she reached the editorial page. He was + stealthily watching her face. He saw her glance through a few lines of the + leader, start, read on, look in a terrified way at him, and then skip + abruptly to the next page. + </p> + <p> + “Read me the leader, won’t you?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “My voice is tired,” she pleaded. “I’ll read it after awhile.” + </p> + <p> + “Please,” he insisted. “I’m especially anxious to hear it.” + </p> + <p> + “I think,” she almost stammered, “that somebody has taken advantage of + your illness. I didn’t want to tell you until I’d had a chance to think.” + </p> + <p> + “Please read it.” His tone was abrupt. She had never heard that tone + before. + </p> + <p> + She read. It was an assertion of that which her Howard most disbelieved, + most protested against; a defense of the public corruption she had heard + him denounce so often; an attack upon the ideas, the principles, the + elements she had so often heard him eulogize. It was as adroit as it was + detestable, as plausible as it was unprincipled. + </p> + <p> + When she had done, there was a long silence which he broke. “What do you + think of it?” + </p> + <p> + “Only a wretch, an enemy of yours could have written it. Who can it have + been?” Her eyes were ablaze and her voice trembled with anger. + </p> + <p> + “I wrote it,” he said. + </p> + <p> + He did not dare to look at her for a few seconds. Then, with a flimsy mask + of pretended calmness only the more clearly revealing self-contempt and + cowardice, he faced her amazed eyes, her pale cheeks, her parted lips—and + dropped his gaze to the floor. + </p> + <p> + “You?” she whispered. “You?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I.” + </p> + <p> + She sat so still that he reached over and touched her hand. It was cold. + She shivered and drew it away. They were silent for a long time—several + minutes. She was looking at his face. It was old and sad and feeble—pitiful, + contemptible. She had never seen those lines of weakness about his mouth + before. She had never before noted that his features had lost the + expression of exalted character, the light of free and independent manhood + which made her look again the first time she saw him. When had the man she + loved departed? When had the new man come? How long had she been giving + herself to a stranger—and <i>such</i> a stranger? + </p> + <p> + “Yes—I,” he repeated. “I have come over to your side.” He laughed + and she shivered again. “Well—what do you think?” + </p> + <p> + “Think?—I?—Oh, I think——” + </p> + <p> + She burst into tears, flung herself down at his feet and buried her head + in his lap. + </p> + <p> + “I think nothing,” she sobbed, “except that I—I love you.” + </p> + <p> + He fell to smoothing her hair, slowly, gently, patronisingly. His face was + composed and he was looking down at her trembling head and agitated + shoulders with an absent-minded smile. How easily this once dreaded crisis + had passed! How he had overestimated her! How he had underestimated + himself! + </p> + <p> + His glance and his thoughts soon fastened upon the copy of his newspaper + which she had thrown aside—<i>his</i> newspaper indeed, his creation + and his creature, the epitome of his intellect and character, of his + strength and his weakness. Half a million circulation daily, three + quarters of a million on Sunday—how mighty as a direct influence + upon the people! Its clearness and vigour, its intelligence, its + truth-like sophistry—how mighty as an indirect influence upon the + minds of other editors and of public men! “Power—Success,” he + repeated to himself in an exaltation of vanity and arrogance. + </p> + <p> + Marian lifted her head and, turning, put it against his knee. She reached + out for his hand. He began to speak at once in a low persuasive voice: + </p> + <p> + “Trust me, dear, can’t you? You do not—have not been reading the + paper until recently. You are not interested in politics. There have been + many changes in the few last years. And I too have changed. I am no longer + without responsibilities. They have sobered me, have given me an + appreciation of property, stability, conservatism. Youth is enthusiastic, + theoretical. I have—” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, but I do trust you,” she interrupted eagerly, fearful lest his + explanations would make it the more difficult for her to convince herself + of what she felt she must believe if life were to go on. “And you—I + don’t want you to excite yourself. You must be quiet—must get well.” + </p> + <p> + Each avoided meeting the other’s eyes as she arranged the pillows for him + before leaving him alone to rest. + </p> + <p> + The longer she juggled with her discovery the less appalling it seemed. + His line of action fitted too closely to her own ambitions of social + distinction, social leadership. If he had been her lover, the shock would + have killed love and set up contempt in its stead. But he was not her + lover, had not been for years; and to find that her husband was doing a + husband’s duty, was winning position and power for himself and therefore + for his wife—that was a disclosure with mitigating aspects at least. + Besides, might she not be in part mistaken? Surely any course so + satisfactory in its results could not be wholly wrong, might perhaps be + the right in an unexpected, unaccustomed form. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXVIII. — SUCCESS. + </h2> + <p> + French had made a portrait of the new American ambassador to the Court of + St. James and it was shown at the spring exhibition of the Royal Academy. + The ambassador and his wife wished to see how it had been hung, but they + did not wish to be seen. So they chose an early hour of a chill, rainy May + morning to drive in a hansom from their place in Park Lane to Burlington + House. + </p> + <p> + They found the portrait in Room VI, on the line, in a corner, but where it + had the benefit of such light as there was. When they entered no one was + there; but, as they were standing close to the picture, admiring the + energy and simplicity of the strokes of the master’s brush, a crowd swept + in and enclosed them. + </p> + <p> + “Let us go,” Howard said in a low tone. + </p> + <p> + Just then a man, almost at his shoulder because of the pressure of those + behind, said: “Wonderful, isn’t it? I’ve never seen a better example of + his work. He had a subject that suited him perfectly.” + </p> + <p> + “No, let us stay,” Marian whispered in reply to her husband. “They can’t + see our faces and I’d like to hear.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is superb,” came the answer to the man behind them in a voice + unmistakably American. “Now, tell me, Saverhill, what sort of a person + would you say the ambassador is from that picture? You don’t know him?” + </p> + <p> + “Never heard of him until I read of his appointment,” replied the first + voice. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve heard of him often enough,” came in the American voice. “But I’ve + never seen him.” + </p> + <p> + “You know him now,” resumed the Englishman, “inside as well as out. French + always paints what he sees and always sees what he’s painting.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Let us go,” whispered Marian. But Howard did not heed her. + </p> + <p> + “I see—a fallen man. He was evidently a real man once; but he sold + himself.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes? Where does it show?” + </p> + <p> + “He’s got a good mind, this fellow-countryman of yours. There are the eyes + of a thinker and a doer. Nothing could have kept him down. His face is + almost as relentless as Kitchener’s and fully as aggressive, except that + it shows intellect, and Kitchener’s doesn’t. Now note the corners of his + eyes, Marshall, and his mouth and nostrils and chin, and you’ll see why he + sold himself, and the—the consequences.” + </p> + <p> + Howard and Marian, fascinated, compelled, looked where the unknown + requested. + </p> + <p> + “I think I see what you mean,” came in Marshall’s voice, laughingly. “But + go on.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, there it all is—hypocrisy, vanity, lack of principle, and, + plainest of all, weakness. It’s a common enough type among your successful + men. The man himself is the fixed market price for a certain kind of + success. But, according to French, this ambassador of yours seems to know + what he has paid; and the knowledge doesn’t make him more content with his + bargain. He has more brains than vanity; therefore he’s an unhappy + hypocrite instead of a happy self-deceiver.” + </p> + <p> + Howard and Marian shrunk together with their heads close in the effort to + make sure of concealing their faces. She was suffering for herself, but + more acutely for him. She knew, as if she were looking into his mind, his + frightful humiliation. “Hereafter,” she thought, “whenever any one looks + at him he will feel the thought behind the look.” + </p> + <p> + “How nearly did I come to him?” asked Saverhill. + </p> + <p> + Howard started and Marian caught the rail for support. + </p> + <p> + “A centre-shot,” replied Marshall, “if the people who know him and have + talked to me about him tell the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, they’re ‘on to’ him, as you say, over there, are they?” + </p> + <p> + “No, not everybody. Only his friends and the few who are on the inside. + There’s an ugly story going about privately as to how he got the + ambassadorship. They say he was bought with it. But—he’s admired and + envied even by a good many who know or suspect that he’s only an article + of commerce. He’s got the cash and he’s got position; and his paper gives + him tremendous power. Then too, as you say, all about him there are men + like himself. The only punishment he’s likely to get is the penalty of + having to live with himself.” + </p> + <p> + “A good, round price if French is not mistaken,” replied Saverhill. + </p> + <p> + The two men passed on. Howard and Marian looked guiltily about, then + slipped away in the opposite direction. He helped her into the waiting + hansom. As they were driven homeward she cast a stealthy side-glance at + him. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she thought, “the portrait is a portrait of his face; and his face + is a portrait of himself.” + </p> + <p> + He caught her glance in the little mirror in the side of the hansom—caught + it and read it. And he began to hate her, this instrument to his + punishment, this constant remembrancer of his downfall. + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Great God Success, by +John Graham (David Graham Phillips) + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREAT GOD SUCCESS *** + +***** This file should be named 7989-h.htm or 7989-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/9/8/7989/ + + +Text file produced by Eric Eldred, William Craig, Charles Franks and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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