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diff --git a/9816-0.txt b/9816-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..50e3de7 --- /dev/null +++ b/9816-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12167 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of Lo, Michael!, by Grace Livingston Hill + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: Lo, Michael! + +Author: Grace Livingston Hill + +Release Date: October 20, 2003 [EBook #9816] +Last Updated: September 29, 2023 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: Charles Aldarondo, Keren Vergon, Josephine Paolucci, +and Project Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LO, MICHAEL! *** + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +Lo, Michael! + +by Grace Livingston Hill + + +Contents + + Chapter I + Chapter II + Chapter III + Chapter IV + Chapter V + Chapter VI + Chapter VII + Chapter VIII + Chapter IX + Chapter X + Chapter XI + Chapter XII + Chapter XIII + Chapter XIV + Chapter XV + Chapter XVI + Chapter XVII + Chapter XVIII + Chapter XIX + Chapter XX + Chapter XXI + Chapter XXII + Chapter XXIII + Chapter XXIV + Chapter XXV + Chapter XXVI + Chapter XXVII + Chapter XXVIII + Chapter XXIX + + + + +“But, lo, Michael, one of the chief princes, came to help me.” + +—DANIEL, 10:13. + + + + +Chapter I + + +“Hi, there! Mikky! Look out!” + +It was an alert voice that called from a huddled group of urchins in +the forefront of the crowd, but the child flashed past without heeding, +straight up the stone steps where stood a beautiful baby smiling on the +crowd. With his bundle of papers held high, and the late morning +sunlight catching his tangle of golden hair, Mikky flung himself toward +the little one. The sharp crack of a revolver from the opposite +curbstone was simultaneous with their fall. Then all was confusion. + +It was a great stone house on Madison Avenue where the crowd had +gathered. An automobile stood before the door, having but just come +quietly up, and the baby girl three years old, in white velvet, and +ermines, with her dark curls framed by an ermine-trimmed hood, and a +bunch of silk rosebuds poised coquettishly over the brow vying with the +soft roses of her cheeks came out the door with her nurse for her +afternoon ride. Just an instant the nurse stepped back to the hall for +the wrap she had dropped, leaving the baby alone, her dark eyes shining +like stars under the straight dark brows, as she looked gleefully out +in the world. It was just at that instant, as if by magic, that the +crowd assembled. + +Perhaps it would be better to say that it was just at that minute that +the crowd focused itself upon the particular house where the baby +daughter of the president of a great defaulting bank lived. More or +less all the morning, men had been gathering, passing the house, +looking up with troubled or threatening faces toward the richly laced +windows, shaking menacing heads, muttering imprecations, but there had +been no disturbance, and no concerted crowd until the instant the baby +appeared. + +The police had been more or less vigilant all the morning but had seen +nothing to disturb them. The inevitable small boy had also been in +evidence, with his natural instinct for excitement. Mikky with his +papers often found himself in that quarter of a bright morning, and the +starry eyes and dark curls of the little child were a vision for which +he often searched the great windows as he passed this particular house: +but the man with the evil face on the other side of the street, resting +a shaking hand against the lamp post, and sighting the baby with a +vindictive eye, had never been seen there before. It was Mikky who +noticed him first: Mikky, who circling around him innocently had heard +his imprecations against the rich, who caught the low-breathed oath as +the baby appeared, and saw the ugly look on the man’s face. With +instant alarm he had gone to the other side of the street, his eye upon +the offender, and had been the first to see the covert motion, the +flash of the hidden weapon and to fear the worst. + +But a second behind him his street companions saw his danger and cried +out, too late. Mikky had flung himself in front of the beautiful baby, +covering her with his great bundle of papers, and his own ragged, +neglected little body; and receiving the bullet intended for her, went +down with her as she fell. + +Instantly all was confusion. + +A child’s cry—a woman’s scream—the whistle of the police—the angry roar +of the crowd who were like a pack of wild animals that had tasted +blood. Stones flew, flung by men whose wrongs had smothered in their +breasts and bred a fury of hate and murder. Women were trampled upon. +Two of the great plate glass windows crashed as the flying missiles +entered the magnificent home, regardless of costly lace and velvet +hangings. + +The chauffeur attempted to run his car around the corner but was held +up at once, and discreetly took himself out of the way, leaving the car +in the hands of the mob who swarmed into it and over it, ruthlessly +disfiguring it in their wrath. There was the loud report of exploding +tires, the ripping of costly leather cushions, the groaning of fine +machinery put to torture as the fury of the mob took vengeance on the +car to show what they would like to do to its owner. + +Gone into bankruptcy! He! With a great electric car like that, and +servants to serve him! With his baby attired in the trappings of a +queen and his house swathed in lace that had taken the eyesight from +many a poor lace-maker! He! Gone into bankruptcy, and slipping away +scot free, while the men he had robbed stood helpless on his sidewalk, +hungry and shabby and hopeless because the pittances they had put away +in his bank, the result of slavery and sacrifice, were gone,—hopelessly +gone! and they were too old, or too tired, or too filled with hate, to +earn it again. + +The crowd surged and seethed madly, now snarling like beasts, now +rumbling portentously like a storm, now babbling like an infant; a +great emotional frenzy, throbbing with passion, goaded beyond fear, +desperate with need; leaderless, and therefore the more dangerous. + +The very sight of that luxurious baby with her dancing eyes and happy +smiles “rolling in luxury,” called to mind their own little puny +darling, grimy with neglect, lean with want, and hollow-eyed with +knowledge aforetime. Why should one baby be pampered and another +starved? Why did the bank-president’s daughter have any better right to +those wonderful furs and that exultant smile than their own babies? A +glimpse into the depths of the rooms beyond the sheltering plate glass +and drapery showed greater contrast even than they had dreamed between +this home and the bare tenements they had left that morning, where the +children were crying for bread and the wife shivering with cold. +Because they loved their own their anger burned the fiercer; and for +love of their pitiful scrawny babies that flower-like child in the +doorway was hated with all the vehemence of their untamed natures. +Their every breath cried out for vengeance, and with the brute instinct +they sought to hurt the man through his child, because they had been +hurt by the wrong done to their children. + +The policeman’s whistle had done its work, however. The startled +inmates of the house had drawn the beautiful baby and her small +preserver within the heavy carven doors, and borne them back to safety +before the unorganized mob had time to force their way in. Amid the +outcry and the disorder no one had noticed that Mikky had disappeared +until his small band of companions set up an outcry, but even then no +one heard. + +The mounted police had arrived, and orders were being given. The man +who had fired the shot was arrested, handcuffed and marched away. The +people were ordered right and left, and the officer’s horses rode +ruthlessly through the masses. Law and order had arrived and there was +nothing for the downtrodden but to flee. + +In a very short time the square was cleared and guarded by a large +force. Only the newspaper men came and went without challenge. The +threatening groups of men who still hovered about withdrew further and +further. The wrecked automobile was patched up and taken away to the +garage. The street became quiet, and by and by some workmen came +hurriedly, importantly, and put in temporary protections where the +window glass had been broken. + +Yet through it all a little knot of ragged newsboys stood their ground +in front of the house. Until quiet was restored they had evaded each +renewed command of officer or passer-by, and stayed there; whispering +now and again in excited groups and pointing up to the house. Finally a +tall policeman approached them: + +“Clear out of this, kids!” he said not unkindly. “Here’s no place for +you. Clear out. Do you hear me? You can’t stay here no longer:” + +Then one of them wheeled upon him. He was the tallest of them all, with +fierce little freckled face and flashing black eyes in which all the +evil passions of four generations back looked out upon a world that had +always been harsh. He was commonly known as fighting Buck. + +“Mikky’s in dare. He’s hurted. We kids can’t leave Mick alone. He might +be dead.” + +Just at that moment a physician’s runabout drew up to the door, and the +policeman fell back to let him pass into the house. Hard upon him +followed the bank president in a closed carriage attended by several +men in uniform who escorted him to the door and touched their hats +politely as he vanished within. Around the corners scowling faces +haunted the shadows, and murmured imprecations were scarcely withheld +in spite of the mounted officers. A shot was fired down the street, and +several policemen hurried away. But through it all the boys stood their +ground. + +“Mikky’s in dare. He’s hurted. I seen him fall. Maybe he’s deaded. We +kids want to take him away. Mikky didn’t do nothin’, Mikky jes’ tried +to save der little kid. Mikky’s a good’un. You get the folks to put +Mikky out here. We kids’ll take him away.” + +The policeman finally attended to the fierce pleading of the +ragamuffins. Two or three newspaper men joined the knot around them and +the story was presently written up with all the racy touches that the +writers of the hour know how to use. Before night Buck, with his fierce +black brows drawn in helpless defiance was adorning the evening papers +in various attitudes as the different snapshots portrayed him, and the +little group of newsboys and boot-blacks and good-for-nothings that +stood around him figured for once in the eyes of the whole city. + +The small band held their place until forcibly removed. Some of them +were barefoot, and stood shivering on the cold stones, their little +sickly, grimy faces blue with anxiety and chill. + +The doctor came out of the house just as the last one, Buck, was being +marched off with loud-voiced protest. He eyed the boy, and quickly +understood the situation. + +“Look here!” he called to the officer. “Let me speak to the youngster. +He’s a friend, I suppose, of the boy that was shot?” + +The officer nodded. + +“Well, boy, what’s all this fuss about?” He looked kindly, keenly into +the defiant black eyes of Buck. + +“Mikky’s hurted—mebbe deaded. I wants to take him away from dare,” he +burst forth sullenly. “We kids can’t go off’n’ leave Mikky in dare wid +de rich guys. Mikky didn’t do no harm. He’s jes tryin’ to save de kid.” + +“Mikky. Is that the boy that took the shot in place of the little +girl?” + +The boy nodded and looked anxiously into the kindly face of the doctor. + +“Yep. Hev you ben in dare? Did youse see Mikky? He’s got yaller hair. +Is Mikky deaded?” + +“No, he isn’t dead,” said the physician kindly, “but he’s pretty badly +hurt. The ball went through his shoulder and arm, and came mighty near +some vital places. I’ve just been fixing him up comfortably, and he’ll +be all right after a bit, but he’s got to lie very still right where he +is and be taken care of.” + +“We kids’ll take care o’ Mikky!” said Buck proudly. “He tooked care of +Jinney when she was sick, an’ we’ll take care o’ Mikky, all right, all +right. You jes’ brang him out an’ we’ll fetch a wheelbarry an’ cart him +off’n yer han’s. Mikky wouldn’t want to be in dare wid de rich guys.” + +“My dear fellow,” said the doctor, quite touched by the earnestness in +Buck’s eyes, “that’s very good of you, I’m sure, and Mikky ought to +appreciate his friends, but he’s being taken care of perfectly right +where he is and he couldn’t be moved. It might kill him to move him, +and if he stays where he is he will get well. I’ll tell you what I’ll +do,” he added as he saw the lowering distress in the dumb eyes before +him, “I’ll give you a bulletin every day. You be here tonight at five +o’clock when I come out of the house and I’ll tell you just how he is. +Then you needn’t worry about him. He’s in a beautiful room lying on a +great big white bed and he has everything nice around him, and when I +came away he was sleeping. I can take him a message for you when I go +in tonight, if you like.” + +Half doubtfully the boy looked at him. + +“Will you tell Mikky to drop us down word ef he wants annythin’? Will +you ast him ef he don’t want us to git him out?” + +“Sure!” said the doctor in kindly amusement. “You trust me and I’ll +make good. Be here at five o’clock sharp and again tomorrow at quarter +to eleven.” + +“He’s only a slum kid!” grumbled the officer. “’Tain’t worth while to +take so much trouble. ’Sides, the folks won’t want um botherin’ +’round.” + +“Oh, he’s all right!” said the doctor. “He’s a friend worth having. You +might need one yourself some day, you know. What’s your name, boy? Who +shall I tell Mikky sent the message?” + +“Buck,” said the child gravely, “Fightin’ Buck, they calls me.” + +“Very appropriate name, I should think,” said the doctor smiling. +“Well, run along Buck and be here at five o’clock.” + +Reluctantly the boy moved off. The officer again took up his stand in +front of the house and quiet was restored to the street. + +Meantime, in the great house consternation reigned for a time. + +The nurse maid had reached the door in time to hear the shot and see +the children fall. She barely escaped the bullet herself. She was an +old servant of the family and therefore more frightened for her charge +than for herself. She had the presence of mind to drag both children +inside the house and shut and lock the door immediately, before the +seething mob could break in. + +The mistress of the house fell in a dead faint as they carried her +little laughing daughter up the stairs and a man and a maid followed +with the boy who was unconscious. The servants rushed hither and +thither; the housekeeper had the coolness to telephone the bank +president what had happened, and to send for the family physician. No +one knew yet just who was hurt or how much. Mikky had been brought +inside because he blocked the doorway, and there was need for instantly +shutting the door. If it had been easier to shove him out the nurse +maid would probably have done that. But once inside common humanity +bade them look after the unconscious boy’s needs, and besides, no one +knew as yet just exactly what part Mikky had played in the small +tragedy of the morning. + +“Where shall we take him?” said the man to the maid as they reached the +second floor with their unconscious burden. + +“Not here, Thomas. Here’s no place for him. He’s as dirty as a pig. I +can’t think what come over Morton to pull him inside, anyway. His own +could have tended to him. Besides, such is better dead!” + +They hurried on past the luxurious rooms belonging to the lady of the +mansion; up the next flight of stairs, and Norah paused by the +bath-room door where the full light of the hall windows fell upon the +grimy little figure of the child they carried. + +Norah the maid uttered an exclamation. + +“He’s not fit fer any place in this house. Look at his cloes. They’ll +have to be cut off’n him, and he needs to go in the bath-tub before he +can be laid anywheres. Let’s put him in the bath-room, and do you go +an’ call Morton. She got him in here and she’ll have to bathe him. And +bring me a pair of scissors. I’ll mebbe have to cut the cloes off’n +him, they’re so filthy. Ach! The little beast!” + +Thomas, glad to be rid of his burden, dropped the boy on the bath-room +floor and made off to call Morton. + +Norah, with little knowledge and less care, took no thought for the +life of her patient. She was intent on making him fit to put between +her clean sheets. She found the tattered garments none too tenacious in +their hold to the little, half-naked body. One or two buttons and a +string were their only attachments. Norah pulled them off with gingerly +fingers, and holding them at arm’s length took them to the bath-room +window whence she pitched them down into the paved court below, that +led to the kitchen regions. Thomas could burn them, or put them on the +ash pile by and by. She was certain they would never go on again, and +wondered how they had been made to hold together this last time. + +Morton had not come yet, but Norah discovering a pool of blood under +the little bare shoulder, lifted him quickly into the great white +bath-tub and turned on the warm water. There was no use wasting time, +and getting blood on white tiles that she would have to scrub. She was +not unkind but she hated dirt, and partly supporting the child with one +arm she applied herself to scrubbing him as vigorously as possible with +the other hand. The shock of the water, not being very warm at first, +brought returning consciousness to the boy for a moment, in one long +shuddering sigh. The eyelashes trembled for an instant on the white +cheeks, and his eyes opened; gazed dazedly, then wildly, on the strange +surroundings, the water, and the vigorous Irish woman who had him in +her power. He threw his arms up with a struggling motion, gasped as if +with sudden pain and lost consciousness again, relaxing once more into +the strong red arm that held him. It was just at this critical moment +that Morton entered the bath-room. + +Morton was a trim, apple-cheeked Scotch woman of about thirty years, +with neat yellow-brown hair coiled on the top of her head, a cheerful +tilt to her freckled nose, and eyes so blue that in company with her +rosy cheeks one thought at once of a flag. Heather and integrity +exhaled from her very being, flamed from her cheeks, spoke from her +loyal, stubborn chin, and looked from her trustworthy eyes. She had +been with the bank president’s baby ever since the little star-eyed +creature came into the world. + +“Och! look ye at the poor wee’un!” she exclaimed. “Ye’re hurtin’ him, +Norah! Ye shouldn’t have bathed him the noo! Ye should’ve waited the +docther’s comin’. Ye’ll mebbe kin kill him.” + +“Ach! Get out with yer soft talk!” said Norah, scrubbing the more +vigorously. “Did yez suppose I’ll be afther havin’ all this filth in +the nice clean sheets? Get ye to work an’ he’p me. Do ye hold ’im while +I schrub!” + +She shifted the boy into the gentler arm’s of the nurse, and went to +splashing all the harder. Then suddenly, before the nurse could +protest, she had dashed a lot of foamy suds on the golden head and was +scrubbing that with all her might. + +“Och, Norah!” cried the nurse in alarm. “You shouldn’t a done that! +Ye’ll surely kill the bairn. Look at his poor wee shoulder a bleedin’, +and his little face so white an’ still. Have ye no mercy at all, Norah? +Rinse off that suds at once, an’ dry him softly. What’ll the docther be +sayin’ to ye fer all this I can’t think. There, my poor bairnie,” she +crooned to the child, softly drawing him closer as though he were +conscious,— + +“There, there my bairnie, it’ll soon be over. It’ll be all right in +just a minute, poor wee b’y! Poor wee b’y! There! There—” + +But Norah did her perfect work, and made the little lean body +glistening white as polished marble, while the heavy hair hung limp +like pale golden silk. + +The two women carried him to a bed in a large room at the back of the +house, not far from the nursery, and laid him on a blanket, with his +shoulder stanched with soft linen rags. Morton was softly drying his +hair and crooning to the child—although he was still +unconscious—begging Norah to put the blanket over him lest he catch +cold; and Norah was still vigorously drying his feet unmindful of +Morton’s pleading, when the doctor entered with a trained nurse. The +boy lay white and still upon the blanket as the two women, startled, +drew back from their task. The body, clean now, and beautifully shaped, +might have been marble except for the delicate blue veins in wrists and +temples. In spite of signs of privation and lack of nutrition there was +about the boy a showing of strength in well developed muscles, and it +went to the heart to see him lying helpless so, with his drenched gold +hair and his closed eyes. The white limbs did not quiver, the lifeless +fingers drooped limply, the white chest did not stir with any sign of +breath, and yet the tender lips that curved in a cupid’s bow, were not +altogether gone white. + +“What a beautiful child!” exclaimed the nurse involuntarily as she came +near the bed. “He looks like a young god!” + +“He’s far more likely to be a young devil,” said the doctor grimly, +leaning over him with practised eyes, and laying a listening ear to the +quiet breast. Then, he started back. + +“He’s cold as ice! What have you been doing to him? It wasn’t a case of +drowning, was it? You haven’t been giving him a bath at such a time as +this, have you? Did you want to kill the kid outright?” + +“Oauch, the poor wee b’y!” sobbed Morton under her breath, her blue +eyes drenched with tears that made them like blue lakes. “He’s like to +my own wee b’y that I lost when he was a baby,” she explained in +apology to the trained nurse who was not, however, regarding her in the +least. + +Norah had vanished frightened to consult with Thomas. It was Morton who +brought the things the doctor called for, and showed the nurse where to +put her belongings; and after everything was done and the boy made +comfortable and brought back to consciousness, it was she who stood at +the foot of the bed and smiled upon him first in this new world to +which he opened his eyes. + +His eyes were blue, heavenly blue and dark, but they were great with a +brave fear as he glanced about on the strange faces. He looked like a +wild bird, caught in a kindly hand,—a bird whose instincts held him +still because he saw no way of flight, but whose heart was beating +frightfully against his captor’s fingers. He looked from side to side +of the room, and made a motion to rise from the pillow. It was a wild, +furtive motion, as of one who has often been obliged to fly for safety, +yet still has unlimited courage. There was also in his glance the +gentle harmlessness and appeal of the winged thing that has been +caught. + +“Well, youngster, you had a pretty close shave,” said the doctor +jovially, “but you’ll pull through all right! You feel comfortable +now?” + +The nurse was professionally quiet. + +“Poor wee b’y!” murmured Morton, her eyes drenched again. + +The boy looked from one to another doubtfully. Suddenly remembrance +dawned upon him and comprehension entered his glance. He looked about +the room and toward the door. There was question in his eyes that +turned on the doctor but his lips formed no words. He looked at Morton, +and knew her for the nurse of his baby. Suddenly he smiled, and that +smile seemed to light up the whole room, and filled the heart of Morton +with joy unspeakable. It seemed to her it was the smile of her own lost +baby come back to shine upon her. The tears welled, up and the blue +lakes ran over. The boy’s face was most lovely when he smiled. + +“Where is—de little kid?” It was Morton whose face he searched +anxiously as he framed the eager question, and the woman’s intuition +taught her how to answer. + +“She’s safe in her own wee crib takin’ her morning nap. She’s just new +over,” answered the woman reassuringly. + +Still the eyes were not satisfied. + +“Did she”—he began slowly—“get—hurted?” + +“No, my bairnie, she’s all safe and sound as ever. It was your own self +that saved her life.” + +The boy’s face lit up and he turned from one to another contentedly. +His smile said: “Then I’m glad.” But not a word spoke his shy lips. + +“You’re a hero, kid!” said the doctor huskily. But the boy knew little +about heroes and did not comprehend. + +The nurse by this time had donned her uniform and rattled up starchily +to take her place at the bedside, and Morton and the doctor went away, +the doctor to step once more into the lady’s room below to see if she +was feeling quite herself again after her faint. + +The nurse leaned over the boy with a glass and spoon. He looked at it +curiously, unknowingly. It was a situation entirely outside his +experience. + +“Why don’t you take your medicine?” asked the nurse. + +The boy looked at the spoon again as it approached his lips and opened +them to speak. + +“Is—” + +In went the medicine and the boy nearly choked, but he understood and +smiled. + +“A hospital?” he finished. + +The nurse laughed. + +“No, it’s only a house. They brought you in, you know, when you were +hurt out on the steps. You saved the little girl’s life. Didn’t you +know it?” she said kindly, her heart won by his smile. + +A beautiful look rewarded her. + +“Is de little kid—in this house?” he asked slowly, wonderingly. It was +as if he had asked if he were in heaven, there was so much awe in his +tone. + +“Oh, yes, she’s here,” answered the nurse lightly. “Perhaps they’ll +bring her in to see you sometime. Her father’s very grateful. He thinks +it showed wonderful courage in you to risk your life for her sake.” + +But Mikky comprehended nothing about gratitude. He only took in the +fact that the beautiful baby was in the house and might come there to +see him. He settled to sleep quite happily with an occasional glad +wistful glance toward the door, as the long lashes sank on the white +cheeks, for the first sleep the boy had ever taken in a clean, white, +soft bed. The prim nurse, softened for once from her precise attention +to duties, stood and looked upon the lovely face of the sleeping child, +wondered what his life had been, and how the future would be for him. +She half pitied him that the ball had not gone nearer to the vital spot +and taken him to heaven ere he missed the way, so angel-like his face +appeared in the soft light of the sick room, with the shining gold hair +fluffed back upon the pillow now, like a halo. + + + + +Chapter II + + +Little Starr Endicott, sleeping in her costly lace-draped crib on her +downy embroidered pillow, knew nothing of the sin and hate and murder +that rolled in a great wave on the streets outside, and had almost +touched her own little life and blotted it out. She knew not that three +notable families whose names were interwoven in her own, and whose +blood flowed in her tiny veins represented the great hated class of the +Rich, and that those upon whom they had climbed to this height looked +upon them as an evil to be destroyed; nor did she know that she, being +the last of the race, and in her name representing them all, was hated +most of all. + +Starr Delevan Endicott! It was graven upon her tiny pins and locket, +upon the circlet of gold that jewelled her finger, upon her brushes and +combs; it was broidered upon her dainty garments, and coverlets and +cushions, and crooned to her by the adoring Scotch nurse who came of a +line that knew and loved an aristocracy. The pride of the house of +Starr, the wealth of the house of Delevan, the glory of the house of +Endicott, were they not all hers, this one beautiful baby who lay in +her arms to tend and to love. So mused Morton as she hummed: + +“O hush thee my babie, thy sire was a knight, +Thy mother a ladie, both gentle and bright—” + + +And what cared Morton that the mother in this case was neither gentle +nor bright, but only beautiful and selfish? It did but make the child +the dearer that she had her love to herself. + +And so the little Starr lay sleeping in her crib, and the boy, her +preserver, from nobody knew where, and of nobody knew what name or +fame, lay sleeping also. And presently Delevan Endicott himself came to +look at them both. + +He came from the swirl of the sinful turbulent world outside, and from +his fretting, petted wife’s bedside. She had been fretting at him for +allowing a bank in which he happened to be president to do anything +which should cause such a disturbance outside her home, when he knew +she was so nervous. Not one word about the little step that had stood +for an instant between her baby and eternity. Her husband reminded her +gently how near their baby had come to death, and how she should +rejoice that she was safe, but her reply had been a rush of tears, and +“Oh, yes, you always think of the baby, never of me, your wife!” + +With a sigh the man had turned from his fruitless effort to calm her +troubled mind and gone to his little daughter. He had hoped that his +wife would go with him, but he saw the hopelessness of that idea. + +The little girl lay with one plump white arm thrown over her head, the +curling baby fingers just touching the rosy cheek, flushed with sleep. +She looked like a rosebud herself, so beautiful among the rose and +lacey draperies of her couch. Her dark curls, so fine and soft and +wonderful, with their hidden purple shadows, and the long dark curling +lashes, to match the finely pencilled brows, brought out each delicate +feature of the lovely little face. The father, as he looked down upon +her, wondered how it could have been in the heart of any creature, no +matter how wicked, to put out this vivid little life. His little Starr, +his one treasure! + +The man that had tried to do it, could he have intended it really, or +was it only a random shot? The testimony of those who saw judged it +intention. The father’s quickened heart-beats told him it was, and he +felt that the thrust had gone deep. How they had meant to hurt him! How +they must have hated him to have wished to hurt him so! How they would +have hurt his life irretrievably if the shot had done its work. If that +other little atom of human life had not intervened! + +Where was the boy who had saved his child? He must go and see him at +once. The gratitude of a lifetime should be his. + +Morton divined his thought, as he stepped from the sacred crib softly +after bending low to sweep his lips over the rosy velvet of little +Starr’s cheek. With silent tread she followed her master to the door: + +“The poor wee b’y’s in the far room yon,” she said in a soft whisper, +and her tone implied that his duty lay next in that direction. The +banker had often noticed this gentle suggestion in the nurse’s voice, +it minded him of something in his childhood and he invariably obeyed +it. He might have resented it if it had been less humble, less +trustfully certain that of course that was the thing that he meant to +do next. He followed her direction now without a word. + +The boy had just fallen asleep when he entered, and lay as sweetly +beautiful as the little vivid beauty he had left in the other room. The +man of the world paused and instinctively exclaimed in wonder. He had +been told that it was a little gamin who had saved his daughter from +the assassin’s bullet, but the features of this child were as +delicately chiseled, his form as finely modeled, his hair as soft and +fine as any scion of a noble house might boast. He, like the nurse, had +the feeling that a young god lay before him. It was so that Mikky +always had impressed a stranger even when his face was dirty and his +feet were bare. + +The man stood with bowed head and looked upon the boy to whom he felt +he owed a debt which he could never repay. + +He recognized the child as a representative of that great unwashed +throng of humanity who were his natural enemies, because by their +oppression and by stepping upon their rights when it suited his +convenience, he had risen to where he now stood, and was able to +maintain his position. He had no special feeling for them, any of them, +more than if they had been a pack of wolves whose fangs he must keep +clear of, and whose hides he must get as soon as convenient; but this +boy was different! This spirit-child with the form of Apollo, the +beauty of Adonis, and the courage of a hero! Could he have come from +the hotbeds of sin and corruption? It could not be! Sure there must be +some mistake. He must be of good birth. Enquiry must be made. Had +anyone asked the child’s name and where he lived? + +Then, as if in answer to his thought, the dark blue eyes suddenly +opened. He found them looking at him, and started as he realized it, as +if a picture on which he gazed had suddenly turned out to be alive. And +yet, for the instant, he could not summon words, but stood meeting that +steady searching gaze of the child, penetrating, questioning, as if the +eyes would see and understand the very foundation principles on which +the man’s life rested. The man felt it, and had the sensation of +hastily looking at his own motives in the light of this child’s look. +Would his life bear that burning appealing glance? + +Then, unexpectedly the child’s face lit up with his wonderful smile. He +had decided to trust the man. + +Never before in all his proud and varied experience had Delevan +Endicott encountered a challenge like that. It beat through him like a +mighty army and took his heart by storm, it flashed into his eyes and +dazzled him. It was the challenge of childhood to the fatherhood of the +man. With a strange new impulse the man accepted it, and struggling to +find words, could only answer with a smile. + +A good deal passed between them before any words were spoken at all, a +good deal that the boy never forgot, and that the man liked to turn +back to in his moments of self-reproach, for somehow that boy’s eyes +called forth the best that was in him, and made him ashamed of other +things. + +“Boy, who is your father?” at last asked the man huskily. He almost +dreaded to find another father owning a noble boy like this—and such a +father as he would be if it were true that he was only a street gamin. + +The boy still smiled, but a wistfulness came into his eyes. He slowly +shook his head. + +“Dead, is he?” asked the man more as if thinking aloud. But the boy +shook his head again. + +“No, no father,” he answered simply. + +“Oh,” said the man, and a lump gathered in his throat. “Your mother?” + +“No mother, never!” came the solemn answer. It seemed that he scarcely +felt that either of these were deep lacks in his assets. Very likely +fathers and mothers were not on the average desirable kindred in the +neighborhood from which he came. The man reflected and tried again. + +“Who are your folks? They’ll be worried about you. We ought to send +them word you’re doing well?” + +The boy looked amazed, then a laugh rippled out. + +“No folks,” he gurgled, “on’y jest de kids.” + +“Your brothers and sisters?” asked Endicott puzzled. + +“None o’ dem,” said Mikky. “Buck an’ me’re pards. We fights fer de +other kids.” + +“Don’t you know it’s wrong to fight?” + +Mikky stared. + +Endicott tried to think of something to add to his little moral homily, +but somehow could not. + +“It’s very wrong to fight,” he reiterated lamely. + +The boy’s cherub mouth settled into firm lines. + +“It’s wronger not to, when de little kids is gettin’ hurt, an’ de big +fellers what ought ter work is stole away they bread, an’ they’s +hungry.” + +It was an entirely new proposition. It was the challenge of the poor +against the rich, of the weak against the strong, and from the lips of +a mere babe. The man wondered and answered not. + +“I’d fight fer your little kid!” declared the young logician. He seemed +to know by instinct that this was the father of his baby. + +Ah, now he had touched the responsive chord. The father’s face lit up. +He understood. Yes, it was right to fight for his baby girl, his little +Starr, his one treasure, and this boy had done it, given his life +freely. Was that like fighting for those other unloved, uncared-for, +hungry darlings? Were they then dear children, too, of somebody, of +God, if nobody else? The boy’s eyes were telling him plainly in one +long deep look, that all the world of little children at least was kin, +and the grateful heart of the father felt that in mere decency of +gratitude he must acknowledge so much. Poor little hungry babies. What +if his darling were hungry! A sudden longing seized his soul to give +them bread at once to eat. But at least he would shower his gratitude +upon this one stray defender of their rights. + +He struggled to find words to let the child know of this feeling but +only the tears gathering quickly in his eyes spoke for him. + +“Yes, yes, my boy! You did fight for my little girl. I know, I’ll never +forget it of you as long as I live. You saved her life, and that’s +worth everything to me. Everything, do you understand?” + +At last the words rushed forth, but his voice was husky, and those who +knew him would have declared him more moved than they had ever seen +him. + +The boy understood. A slender brown hand stole out from the white +coverlet and touched his. Its outline, long and supple and graceful, +spoke of patrician origin. It was hard for the man of wealth and pride +to realize that it was the hand of the child of the common people, the +people who were his enemies. + +“Is there anything you would like to have done for you, boy?” he asked +at last because the depth of emotion was more than he could bear. + +The boy looked troubled. + +“I was thinkin’, ef Buck an’ them could see me, they’d know ’twas all +right. I’d like ’em fine to know how ’tis in here.” + +“You want me to bring them up to see you?” + +Mikky nodded. + +“Where can I find them, do you think?” + +“Buck, he won’t go fur, till he knows what’s comed o’ me,” said the boy +with shining confidence in his friend. “He’d know I’d do that fur him.” + +Then it seemed there was such a thing as honor and loyalty among the +lower ranks of men—at least among the boys. The man of the world was +learning a great many things. Meekly he descended the two flights of +stairs and went out to his own front doorsteps. + +There were no crowds any more. The police were still on duty, but +curious passersby dared not linger long. The workmen had finished the +windows and gone. The man felt little hope of finding the boys, but +somehow he had a strange desire to do so. He wanted to see that face +light up once more. Also, he had a curious desire to see these +youngsters from the street who could provoke such loving anxiety from +the hero upstairs. + +Mikky was right, Buck would not go far away until he knew how it was +with his comrade. He had indeed moved off at the officer’s word when +the doctor promised to bring him word later, but in his heart he did +not intend to let a soul pass in or out of that house all day that he +did not see, and so he set his young pickets here and there about the +block, each with his bunch of papers, and arranged a judicious change +occasionally, to avoid trouble with the officers. + +Buck was standing across the street on the corner by the church steps, +making a lively show of business now and then and keeping one eye on +the house that had swallowed up his partner. He was not slow to +perceive that he was being summoned by a man upon the steps, and ran +eagerly up with his papers, expecting to receive his coin, and maybe a +glimpse inside the door. + +“All about der shootin’ of der bank millionaire’s baby!” he yelled in +his most finished voice of trade, and the father, thinking of what +might have been, felt a pang of horror at the careless words from the +gruff little voice. + +“Do you know a boy named Buck?” he questioned as he deliberately paid +for the paper that was held up to him, and searched the unpromising +little face before him. Then marvelled at the sullen, sly change upon +the dirty face. + +The black brows drew down forbodingly, the dark eyes reminded Mm of a +caged lion ready to spring if an opportunity offered. The child had +become a man with a criminal’s face. There was something frightful +about the defiant look with which the boy drew himself up. + +“What if I does?” + +“Only that there’s a boy in here,” motioning toward the door, “would +like very much to see him for a few minutes. If you know where he is, I +wish you’d tell him.” + +Then there came a change more marvelous than before. It was as if the +divine in the soul had suddenly been revealed through a rift in the +sinful humanity. The whole defiant face became eager, the black eyes +danced with question, the brows settled into straight pleasant lines, +and the mouth sweetened as with pleasant thoughts. + +“Is’t Mikky?” He asked in earnest voice. “Kin we get in? I’ll call de +kids. He’ll want ’em. He allus wants der kids.” He placed his fingers +in his mouth, stretching it into a curious shape, and there issued +forth a shriek that might have come from the mouth of an exulting +fiend, so long and shrill and sharp it was. The man on the steps, his +nerves already wrought to the snapping point, started angrily. Then +suddenly around the corner at a swift trot emerged three ragged +youngsters who came at their leader’s command swiftly and eagerly. + +“Mikky wants us!” explained Buck. “Now youse foller me, ’n don’t you +say nothin’ less I tell you.” + +They fell in line, behind the bank president, and followed awed within +the portal that unlocked a palace more wonderful than Aladdin’s to +their astonished gaze. + +Up the stairs they slunk, single file, the bare feet and the illy-shod +alike going silently and sleuth-like over the polished stairs. They +skulked past open doors with frightened defiant glances, the defiance +of the very poor for the very rich, the defiance that is born and bred +in the soul from a face to face existence with hunger and cold and need +of every kind. They were defiant but they took it all in, and for many +a day gave details highly embellished of the palace where Mikky lay. It +seemed to them that heaven itself could show no grander sights. + +In a stricken row against the wall, with sudden consciousness of their +own delinquencies of attire, ragged caps in hands, grimy hands behind +them, they stood and gazed upon their fallen hero-comrade. + +Clean, they had never perhaps seen his face before. The white robe that +was upon him seemed a robe of unearthly whiteness. It dazzled their +gaze. The shining of his newly-washed hair was a glory crown upon his +head. They saw him gathered into another world than any they knew. It +could have seemed no worse to them if the far heaven above the narrow +city streets had opened its grim clouds and received their comrade from +their sight. They were appalled. How could he ever be theirs again? How +could it all have happened in the few short hours since Mikky flashed +past them and fell a martyr to his kindly heart and saved the wicked +rich man his child? The brows of Buck drew together in his densest +frown. He felt that Mikky, their Mikky was having some terrible change +come upon him. + +Then Mikky turned and smiled upon them all, and in his dear familiar +voice shouted, “Say, kids, ain’t this grand? Say, I jes’ wish you was +all in it! Ef you, Buck, an’ the kids was here in this yer grand bed +I’d be havin’ the time o’ me life!” + +That turned the tide. Buck swallowed hard and smiled his darker smile, +and the rest grinned sheepishly. Grandeur and riches had not spoiled +their prince. He was theirs still and he had wanted them. He had sent +for them. They gained courage to look around on the spotlessly clean +room, on the nurse in her crackling dignity; on the dish of oranges +which she promptly handed to them and of which each in awe partook a +golden sphere; on the handful of bright flowers that Morton had brought +but a few minutes before and placed on a little stand by the bed; on +the pictures that hung upon the walls, the like of which they had never +seen, before, and then back to the white white bed that held their +companion. They could not get used to the whiteness and the cleanness +of his clean, clean face and hands, and bright gold hair. It burned +like a flame against the pillow, and Mikky’s blue eyes seemed darker +and deeper than ever before. To Buck they had given their obedient +following, and looked to him for protection, but after all he was one +like themselves, only a little more fearless. To Mikky they all gave a +kind of far-seeing adoration. He was fearless and brave like Buck, but +he was something more. In their superstitious fear and ignorance he +seemed to them almost supernatural. + +They skulked, silently down the stairs like frightened rabbits when the +interview was over, each clutching his precious orange, and not until +the great doors had closed upon them, did they utter a word. They had +said very little. Mikky had done all the talking. + +When they had filed down the street behind their leader, and rounded +the corner out of sight of the house, Buck gathered them into a little +knot and said solemnly: “Kids. I bet cher Mik don’t be comin’ out o’ +this no more. Didn’t you take notice how he looked jes’ like the angel +top o’ the monnemunt down to the cemtary?” + +The little group took on a solemnity that was deep and real. + +“Annyhow, he wanted us!” spoke up a curly-headed boy with old eyes and +a thin face. He was one whom Mikky had been won’t to defend. He bore a +hump upon his ragged back. + +“Aw! he’s all right fer us, is Mik,” said Buck, “but he’s different nor +us. Old Aunt Sal she said one day he were named fer a ’n’angel, an’ +like as not he’ll go back where he b’longs some day, but he won’t never +fergit us. He ain’t like rich folks what don’t care. He’s our pard +allus. Come on, fellers.” + +Down the back alley went the solemn little procession, single file, +till they reached the rear of the Endicott house, where they stood +silent as before a shrine, till at a signal from their leader, each +grimy right hand was raised, and gravely each ragged cap was taken off +and held high in the air toward the upper window, where they knew their +hero-comrade lay. Then they turned and marched silently away. + +They were all in place before the door whenever the doctor came +thereafter, and always went around by the way of the alley afterward +for their ceremonial good night, sometimes standing solemnly beneath +the cold stars while the shrill wind blew through their thin garments, +but always as long as the doctor brought them word, or as long as the +light burned in the upper window, they felt their comrade had not gone +yet. + + + + +Chapter III + + +Heaven opened for Mikky on the day when Morton, with the doctor’s +permission, brought Baby Starr to see him. + +The baby, in her nurse’s arms, gazed down upon her rescuer with the +unprejudiced eyes of childhood. Mikky’s smile flashed upon her and +forthwith she answered with a joyous laugh of glee. The beautiful boy +pleased her ladyship. She reached out her roseleaf hands to greet him. + +The nurse held her down to the bed: + +“Kiss the wee b’y, that’s a good baby. Kiss the wee b’y. He took care +of baby and saved her life when the bad man tried to hurt her. Kiss the +wee b’y and say ‘I thank you,’” commanded Morton. + +The saving of her life meant nothing to little Starr, but she +obediently murmured ‘I’ee tank oo!’ as the nurse had drilled her to do +before she brought her, and then laid her moist pink lips on cheeks, +forehead, eyes and mouth in turn, and Mikky, in ecstasy, lay trembling +with the pleasure of it. No one had ever kissed him before. Kissing was +not in vogue in the street where he existed. + +Thereafter, every day until he was convalescent, Starr came to visit +him. + +By degrees he grew accustomed to her gay presence enough to talk with +her freely as child with child. Her words were few and her tongue as +yet quite unacquainted with the language of this world; but perhaps +that was all the better, for their conversations were more of the +spirit than of the tongue, Mikky’s language, of circumstance, being +quite unlike that of Madison Avenue. + +Starr brought her wonderful electric toys and dolls, and Mikky looked +at them with wonder, yet always with a kind of rare indifference, +because the child herself was to him the wonder of all wonders, an +angel spirit stooped to earth. And every day, when the nurse carried +her small charge away after her frolic with the boy, she would always +lift her up to the bed and say: + +“Now kiss the wee b’y, Baby Starr, and thank him again fer savin’ yer +life.” + +And Starr would lay her soft sweet mouth on his as tenderly and gravely +as if she understood the full import of her obligation. At such times +Mikky would watch her bright face as it came close to his, and when her +lips touched his he would close his eyes as if to shut out all things +else from this sacred ceremony. After Starr and Morton were gone the +nurse was wont to look furtively toward the bed and note the still, +lovely face of the boy whose eyes were closed as if to hold the vision +and memory the longer. At such times her heart would draw her strangely +from her wonted formality and she would touch the boy with a tenderness +that was not natural to her. + +There were other times when Mr. Endicott would come and talk briefly +with the boy, just to see his eyes light and his face glow with that +wonderful smile, and to think what it would be if the boy were his own. +Always Mikky enjoyed these little talks, and when his visitor was gone +he would think with satisfaction that this was just the right kind of a +father for his little lovely Starr. He was glad the Baby Starr had a +father. He had often wondered what it would be like to have a father, +and now he thought he saw what the height of desire in a father might +be. Not that he felt a great need for himself in the way of fathers. He +had taken care of himself since he could remember and felt quite grown +up and fathers usually drank; but a baby like that needed a father, and +he liked Starr’s father. + +But the dearest thing now in life for him was little Starr’s kisses. + +To the father, drawn first by gratitude to the boy who had saved his +child’s life, and afterwards by the boy’s own irresistible smile, these +frequent visits had become a pleasure. There had been a little boy +before Starr came to their home, but he had only lived a few weeks. The +memory of that golden, fuzzy head, the little appealing fingers, the +great blue eyes of his son still lingered bitterly in the father’s +heart. When he first looked upon this waif the fancy seized him that, +perhaps his own boy would have been like this had he lived, and a +strange and unexpected tenderness entered his heart for Mikky. He kept +going to the little invalid’s room night after night, pleasing himself +with the thought that the boy was his own. + +So strong a hold did this fancy take upon the man’s heart that he +actually began to consider the feasibility of adopting the child and +bringing him up as his own—this, after he had by the aid of detectives, +thoroughly searched out all that was known of him and found that no one +owned Mikky nor seemed to care what became of him except Buck and his +small following. And all the time the child, well fed, well cared for, +happier than he had ever dreamed of being in all his little hard life, +rapidly convalesced. + +Endicott came home one afternoon to find Mikky down in the reception +room dressed in black velvet and rare old lace, with his glorious sheaf +of golden hair which had grown during his illness tortured into +ringlets, and an adoring group of ladies gathered about him, as he +stood with troubled, almost haughty mien, and gravely regarded their +maudlin sentimentalities. + +Mrs. Endicott had paid no attention to the boy heretofore, and her +sudden interest in him came from a chance view of him as he sat up in a +big chair for the first time, playing a game with little Starr. His big +eyes and beautiful hair attracted her at once, and she lost no time in +dressing him up like a doll and making him a show at one of her +receptions. + +When her husband remonstrated with her, declaring that such treatment +would ruin the spirit of any real boy, and spoil him for life, she +shrugged her shoulders indifferently, and answered: + +“Well, what if it does? He’s nothing but a foundling. He ought to be +glad we are willing to dress him up prettily and play with him for a +while.” + +“And what would you do with him after you were done using him for a +toy? Cast him aside?” + +“Well, why not?” with another shrug of her handsome shoulders. “Or, +perhaps we might teach him to be a butler or footman if you want to be +benevolent. He would be charming in a dark blue uniform!” + +The woman raised her delicate eyebrows, humming a light tune, and her +husband turned from her in despair. Was it nothing at all to her that +this child had saved the life of her baby? + +That settled the question of adoption. His wife would never be the one +to bring up the boy into anything like manhood. It was different with a +girl—she must of necessity be frivolous, he supposed. + +The next morning an old college friend came into his office, a plain +man with a pleasant face, who had not gone from college days to a bank +presidency. He was only a plain teacher in a little struggling college +in Florida, and he came soliciting aid for the college. + +Endicott turned from puzzling over the question of Mikky, to greet his +old friend whom he had not seen for twenty years. He was glad to see +him. He had always liked him. He looked him over critically, however, +with his successful-business-man-of-New-York point of view. He noticed +the plain cheap business suit, worn shiny in places, the shoes well +polished but beginning to break at the side, the plentiful sprinkling +of gray hairs, and then his eyes travelled to the kind, worn face of +his friend. In spite of himself he could not but feel that the man was +happier than himself. + +He asked many questions, and found a keen pleasure in hearing all about +the little family of the other, and their happy united efforts to laugh +off poverty and have a good time anyway. Then the visitor told of the +college, its struggles, its great needs and small funds, how its orange +crop, which was a large part of its regular income, had failed that +year on account of the frost, and they were in actual need of funds to +carry on the work of the immediate school year. Endicott found his +heart touched, though he was not as a rule a large giver to anything. + +“I’d be glad to help you Harkness,” he said at last, “but I’ve got a +private benevolence on my hands just now that is going to take a good +deal of money, I’m afraid. You see we’ve narrowly escaped a tragedy at +our house—” and he launched into the story of the shooting, and his own +indebtedness to Mikky. + +“I see,” said the Professor, “you feel that you owe it to that lad to +put him in the way of a better life, seeing that he freely gave his +life for your child’s.” + +“Exactly!” said Endicott, “and I’d like to adopt him and bring him up +as my own, but it doesn’t seem feasible. I don’t think my wife would +feel just as I do about it, and I’m not sure I’d be doing the best +after all for the boy. To be taken from one extreme to another might +ruin him.” + +“Well, Endicott, why don’t you combine your debt to the child with +benevolence and send him down to us for a few years to educate.” + +Endicott sat up interestedly. + +“Could I do that; Would they take so young a child? He can’t be over +seven.” + +“Yes, we would take him, I think. He’d be well cared for; and his +tuition in the prep department would help the institution along. Every +little helps, you know.” + +Endicott suddenly saw before him the solution of his difficulties. He +entered eagerly into the matter, talking over rates, plans and so on. +An hour later it was all settled. Mikky was to take a full course with +his expenses all prepaid, and a goodly sum placed in the bank for his +clothing and spending money. He was to have the best room the school +afforded, at the highest price, and was to take music and art and +everything else that was offered, for Endicott meant to do the handsome +thing by the institution. The failure of the bank of which he was +president had in no wise affected his own private fortune. + +“If the boy doesn’t seem to develop an interest in some of these +branches, put some deserving one in his place, and put him at something +else,” he said. “I want him to have his try at everything, develop the +best that is in him. So we’ll pay for everything you’ve got there, and +that will help out some other poor boy perhaps, for, of course one boy +can’t do everything. I’ll arrange it with my lawyer that the payments +shall be made regularly for the next twelve years, so that if anything +happens to me, or if this boy runs away or doesn’t turn out worthy, you +will keep on getting the money just the same, and some one else can +come in on it.” + +Professor Harkness went away from the office with a smile on his face +and in his pocket three letters of introduction to wealthy benevolent +business men of New York. Mikky was to go South with him the middle of +the next week. + +Endicott went home that afternoon with relief of mind, but he found in +his heart a most surprising reluctance to part with the beautiful boy. + +When the banker told Mikky that he was going to send him to “college,” +and explained to him that an education would enable him to become a +good man and perhaps a great one, the boy’s face was very grave. Mikky +had never felt the need of an education, and the thought of going away +from New York gave him a sensation as if the earth were tottering under +his feet. He shook his head doubtfully. + +“Kin I take Buck an’ de kids?” he asked after a thoughtful pause, and +with a lifting of the cloud in his eyes. + +“No,” said Endicott. “It costs a good deal to go away to school, and +there wouldn’t be anyone to send them.” + +Mikky’s eyes grew wide with something like indignation, and he shook +his head. + +“Nen I couldn’t go,” he said decidedly. “I couldn’t take nothin’ great +like that and not give de kids any. We’ll stick together. I’ll stay wid +de kids. They needs me.” + +“But Mikky—” the man looked into the large determined eyes and settled +down for combat—“you don’t understand, boy. It would be impossible for +them to go. I couldn’t send them all, but I _can_ send you, and I’m +going to, because you risked your life to save little Starr.” + +“That wasn’t nothin’ t’all!” declared Mikky with fine scorn. + +“It was everything to me,” said the man, “and I want to do this for +you. And boy, it’s your duty to take this. It’s everybody’s duty to +take the opportunities for advancement that come to them.” + +Mikky looked at him thoughtfully. He did not understand the large +words, and duty meant to him a fine sense of loyalty to those who had +been loyal to him. + +“I got to stay wid de kids,” he said. “Dey needs me.” + +With an exasperated feeling that it was useless to argue against this +calmly stated fact, Endicott began again gently: + +“But Mikky, you can help them a lot more by going to college than by +staying at home.” + +The boy’s eyes looked unconvinced but he waited for reasons. + +“If you get to be an educated man you will be able to earn money and +help them. You can lift them up to better things; build good houses for +them to live in; give them work to do that will pay good wages, and +help them to be good men.” + +“Are you educated?” + +Thinking he was making progress Endicott nodded eagerly. + +“Is that wot you does fer folks?” The bright eyes searched his face +eagerly, keenly, doubtfully. + +The color flooded the bank-president’s cheeks and forehead +uncomfortably. + +“Well,—I might—” he answered. “Yes, I might do a great deal for people, +I suppose. I don’t know as I do much, but I could if I had been +interested in them.” + +He paused. He realized that the argument was weakened. Mikky studied +his face. + +“But dey needs me now, de kids does,” he said gravely, “Jimmie, he +don’t have no supper most nights less’n I share; and Bobs is so little +he can’t fight dem alley kids; n’ sometimes I gets a flower off’n the +florist’s back door fer little sick Jane. Her’s got a crutch, and can’t +walk much anyhow; and cold nights me an’ Buck we sleeps close. We got a +box hid away where we sleeps close an’ keeps warm.” + +The moisture gathered in the eyes of the banker as he listened to the +innocent story. It touched his heart as nothing ever had before. He +resolved that after this his education and wealth should at least help +these little slum friends of Mikky to an occasional meal, or a flower, +or a warm bed. + +“Suppose you get Buck to take your place with the kids while you go to +school and get an education and learn how to help them better.” + +Mikky’s golden head negatived this slowly. + +“Buck, he’s got all he kin do to git grub fer hisse’f an’ his sister +Jane. His father is bad, and kicks Jane, and don’t get her nothin’ to +eat. Buck he has to see after Janie.” + +“How would it be for you to pay Buck something so that he could take +your place? I will give you some money that you may do as you like +with, and you can pay Buck as much as you think he needs every week. +You can send it to him in a letter.” + +“Would it be as much as a quarter?” Mikky held his breath in wonder and +suspense. + +“Two quarters if you like.” + +“Oh! could I do that?” The boy’s face fairly shone, and he came and +threw his arms about Endicott’s neck and laid his face against his. The +man clasped him close and would fain have kept him there, for his well +ordered heart was deeply stirred. + +Thus it was arranged. + +Buck was invited to an interview, but when the silver half dollar was +laid in his grimy palm, and he was made to understand that others were +to follow, and that he was to step up into Mikky’s place in the +community of the children while that luminary went to “college” to be +educated, his face wore a heavy frown. He held out the silver sphere as +if it burned him. What! Take money in exchange for Mikky’s bright +presence? Never! + +It took a great deal of explanation to convince Buck that anything +could be better “fer de kids” than Mikky, their own Mikky, now and +forever. He was quick, however, to see where the good lay for Mikky, +and after a few plain statements from Mr. Endicott there was no further +demur on the part of the boy. Buck was willing to give up Mikky for +Mikky’s good but not for his own. But it was a terrible sacrifice. The +hard little face knotted itself into a fierce expression when he came +to say good-bye. The long scrawny throat worked convulsively, the hands +gripped each other savagely. It was like handing Mikky over to another +world than theirs, and though he confidently promised to return to them +so soon as the college should have completed the mysterious process of +education, and to live with them as of yore, sleeping in Buck’s box +alongside, and taking care of the others when the big alley kids grew +troublesome, somehow an instinct taught them that he would never return +again. They had had him, and they would never forget him, but he would +grow into a being far above them. They looked vindictively at the great +rich man who had perpetrated this evil device of a college life for +their comrade. It was the old story of the helpless poor against the +powerful rich. Even heart-beats counted not against such power. Mikky +must go. + +They went to the great station on the morning when Mikky was to depart +and stood shivering and forlorn until the train was called. They +listened sullenly while Professor Harkness told them that if they +wished to be fit to associate with their friend when he came out of +college they must begin at once to improve all their opportunities. +First of all they must go to school, and study hard, and then their +friend in college would be proud to call them friends. They did not +think it worth while to tell the kindly but ignorant professor that +they had no time for school, and no clothes to wear if they had the +time or the inclination to go. Schools were everywhere, free, of +course, but it did not touch them. They lived in dark places and casual +crannies, like weeds or vermin. No one cared whether they went to +school. No one suggested it. They would have as soon thought of +entering a great mansion and insisting on their right to live there as +to present themselves at school. Why, they had to hustle for a mere +existence. They were the water rats, the bad boys, the embryo criminals +for the next generation. The problem, with any who thought of them was +how to get rid of them. But of course this man from another world did +not understand. They merely looked at him dully and wished he would +walk away and leave Mikky to them while he stayed. His presence made it +seem as if their companion were already gone from them. + +It was hard, too, to see Mikky dressed like the fine boys on Fifth +Avenue, handsome trousers and coat, and a great thick overcoat, a hat +on his shining crown of hair that had always been guiltless of cap, +thick stockings and shining shoes on his feet that had always been bare +and soiled with the grime of the streets—gloves on his hands. This was +a new Mikky. “The kids” did not know him. In spite of their best +efforts they could not be natural. Great lumps arose in their throats, +lumps that never dared arise for hunger or cold or curses at home. + +They stood helpless before their own consciousness, and Mikky, divining +the trouble with that exquisite keenness of a spirit sent from heaven +to make earth brighter, conceived the bright idea of giving each of his +comrades some article of his apparel as a remembrance. Mr. Endicott +came upon the scene just in time to keep Mikky from taking off his +overcoat and enveloping Buck in its elegant folds. He was eagerly +telling them that Bobs should have his undercoat, Jimmie his hat; they +must take his gloves to Jane, and there was nothing left for Sam but +his stockings and shoes, but he gave them all willingly. He seemed to +see no reason why he could not travel hatless and coatless, bare of +foot and hand, for had he not gone that way through all the years of +his existence? It was a small thing to do, for his friends whom he was +leaving for a long time. + +The bright face clouded when he was told he could not give these things +away, that it would not be fair to the kind professor to ask him to +carry with him a boy not properly dressed. But he smiled again +trustfully when Endicott promised to take the whole group to a clothing +house and fit them out. + +They bade Mikky good-bye, pressing their grimy noses against the bars +of the station gate to watch their friend disappear from their bare +little lives. + +Endicott himself felt like crying as he came back from seeing the boy +aboard the train. Somehow it went hard for him to feel, he should not +meet the bright smile that night when he went home. + +But it was not the way of “the kids” to cry when tragedy fell among +them. They did not cry now—when he came back to them they regarded the +banker with lowering brows as the originator of their bereavement. They +had no faith in the promised clothing. + +“Aw, what’s he givin’ us!” Buck had breathed under his breath. But to +do Buck credit he had not wanted to take Mikky’s coat from him. When +their comrade went from them into another walk in life he must go +proudly apparelled. + +Endicott led the huddled group away from the station, to a clothing +house, and amused himself by fitting them out. The garments were not of +as fine material, nor elegant a cut as those he had pleased himself by +purchasing for Mikky’s outfit, but they were warm and strong and +wonderful to their eyes, and one by one the grimy urchins went into a +little dressing room, presently emerging with awe upon their faces to +stand before a tall mirror surveying themselves. + +Endicott presently bade the little company farewell and with a +conscience at ease with himself and all mankind left them. + +They issued from the clothing house with scared expressions and walked +solemnly a few blocks. Then Buck called them to a halt before a large +plate glass show-window. + +“Take a good look at yersel’s, kids,” he ordered, “an’ we’ll go up to +the Park an’ shine around, an’ see how ther swells feels, then we’ll go +down to Sheeny’s an’ sell ’em.” + +“Sell ’em! Can’t we keep ’em?” pitifully demanded Bobs who had never +felt warm in winter in all his small life before. + +“You wouldn’t hev ’em long,” sneered Buck. “That father o’ yourn would +hey ’em pawned ’afore night; You better enjoy ’em a while, an’ then git +the money. It’s safer!” + +The children with wisdom born of their unhappy circumstances recognized +this truth. They surveyed themselves gravely in their fleeting grandeur +and then turned to walk up to the aristocratic part of town, a curious +little procession. They finished by rounding the Madison Avenue block, +marched up the alley, and gave the salute with new hats toward the +window where their Prince and Leader used to be. He was no longer +there, but his memory was about them, and the ceremony did their +bursting little hearts good. Their love for Mikky was the noblest thing +that had so far entered their lives. + +Jimmie suggested that they must let Jane see them before they disposed +forever of their elegant garments, so Bobs, minus coat, hat, stockings +and shoes was sent to bid her to a secluded retreat at the far end of +the alley. Bobs hurried back ahead of her little tapping crutch to don +his fine attire once more before she arrived. + +Little Jane, sallow of face, unkempt of hair, tattered of clothing and +shivering in the cold twilight stood and watched the procession of +pride as it passed and repassed before her delighted eyes. The +festivity might have been prolonged but that the maudlin voice of Bobs’ +father reeling into the alley struck terror to their hearts, and with +small ceremony they scuttled away to the pawnshop, leaving little Jane +to hobble back alone to her cellar and wonder how it would feel to wear +a warm coat like one of those. + +“Gee!” said Jimmie as they paused with one consent before the shop +door, and looked reluctantly down at their brief glory, “Gee! I wisht +we could keep jest one coat fer little Jane!” + +“Couldn’t we hide it some’ere’s?” asked Sam, and they all looked at +Buck. + +Buck, deeply touched for his sister’s sake, nodded. + +“Keep Jim’s,” he said huskily, “it’ll do her best.” + +Then the little procession filed proudly in and gave up their garments +to the human parasite who lived on the souls of other men, and came +away bearing the one coat they had saved for Janie, each treasuring a +pitiful bit of money which seemed a fortune in their eyes. + +Little Jane received her gift with true spirit when it was presented, +skilfully hid it from her inhuman father, and declared that each boy +should have a turn at wearing the coat every Sunday at some safe hour, +whereat deep satisfaction, reigned among them. Their grandeur was not +all departed after all. + +Meantime, Mikky, in his luxurious berth in a sleeper, smiled drowsily +to think of the fine new clothes that his friends must be wearing, and +then fell asleep to dream of little Starr’s kisses on his closed +eyelids. + + + + +Chapter IV + + +Into a new world came Mikky, a world of blue skies, song birds, and +high, tall pines with waving moss and dreamy atmosphere; a world of +plenty to eat and wear, and light and joy and ease. + +Yet it was a most bewildering world to the boy, and for the first week +he stood off and looked at it questioningly, suspiciously. True, there +were no dark cellars or freezing streets, no drunken fathers or +frightened children, or blows, or hunger or privation; but this +education he had come to seek that he might go back to his own world +and better it, was not a garment one put on and exercised in so many +times a day; it was not a cup from which one drank, nor an atmosphere +that one absorbed. It was a strange, imperceptible thing got at in some +mysterious way by a series of vague struggles followed by sudden and +almost alarming perceptions. For a time it seemed to the boy, keen +though his mind, and quick, that knowledge was a thing only granted to +the few, and his was a mind that would never grasp it. How, for +instance, did one know how to make just the right figures under a line +when one added a long perplexity of numbers? Mikky the newsboy could +tell like a flash how much change he needed to return to the fat +gentleman who occasionally gave him a five-dollar bill to change on +Broadway; but Mikky the scholar, though he knew figures, and was able +to study out with labor easy words in his papers, had never heard of +adding up figures in the way they did here, long rows of them on the +blackboard. It became necessary that this boy should have some private +instruction before he would be able to enter classes. Professor +Harkness himself undertook the task, and gradually revealed to the +child’s neglected understanding some of the simple rudiments that would +make his further progress possible. The sum that was paid for his +tuition made it quite necessary that the boy advance reasonably, for +his benefactor had made it understood that he might some day visit the +institution and see how he was getting on. So great pains were taken to +enlighten Mikky’s darkness. + +There was another thing that the boy could not understand, and that was +the discipline that ruled everywhere. He had always been a law unto +himself, his only care being to keep out of the way of those who would +interfere with this. Now he must rise with a bell, stay in his room +until another bell, eat at a bell, go to the hard bench in the +schoolroom with another bell, and even play ball when the recreation +bell rang. It was hard on an independent spirit to get used to all +this, and while he had no mind to be disorderly, he often broke forth +into direct disobedience of the law from sheer misunderstanding of the +whole régime. + +The boys’ dormitory was presided over by a woman who, while thorough in +all housekeeping arrangements, had certainly mistaken her calling as a +substitute mother for boys. She kept their clothes in order, saw to it +that their rooms were aired, their stockings darned and their lights +out at exactly half-past nine, but the grimness of her countenance +forbade any familiarity, and she never thought of gaining the +confidence of her rough, but affectionate charges. There was no +tenderness in her, and Mikky never felt like smiling in her presence. +He came and went with a sort of high, unconscious superiority that +almost irritated the woman, because she was not great enough to see the +unusual spirit of the child; and as a consequence she did not win his +heart. + +But he did not miss the lack of motherliness in her, for he had never +known a mother and was not expecting it. + +The professors he grew to like, some more, some less, always admiring +most those who seemed to him to deal in a fair and righteous manner +with their classes—fairness being judged by the code in use among “the +kids” in New York. But that was before he grew to know the president. +After that his code changed. + +His first interview with that dignitary was on an afternoon when he had +been overheard by the matron to use vile language among the boys at the +noon hour. She hauled him up with her most severe manner, and gave him +to understand that he must answer to the president for his conduct. + +As Mikky had no conception of his offence he went serenely to his fate +walking affably beside her, only wishing she would not look so sour. As +they crossed the campus to the president’s house a blue jay flew +overhead, and a mocking bird trilled in a live oak near-by. The boy’s +face lighted with joy and he laughed out gleefully, but the matron only +looked the more severe, for she thought him a hardened little sinner +who was defying her authority and laughing her to scorn. After that it +was two years before she could really believe anything good of Mikky. + +The president was a noble-faced, white-haired scholar, with a firm +tender mouth, a brow of wisdom, and eyes of understanding. He was not +the kind who win by great athletic prowess, he was an old-fashioned +gentleman, well along in years, but young in heart. He looked at the +child of the slums and saw the angel in the clay. + +He dismissed the matron with a pleasant assurance and took Mikky to an +inner office where he let the boy sit quietly waiting a few minutes +till he had finished writing a letter. If the pen halted and the kind +eyes furtively studied the beautiful face of the child, Mikky never +knew it. + +The president asked the boy to tell him what he had said, and Mikky, +with sweet assurance repeated innocently the terrible phrases he had +used, phrases which had been familiar to him since babyhood, conveying +statements of facts that were horrible, but nevertheless daily +happenings in the corner of the world where he had brought himself up. + +With rare tact the president questioned the boy, until he made sure +there was no inherent rottenness in him: and then gently and kindly, +but firmly laid down the law and explained why it was right and +necessary that there should be a law. He spoke of the purity of God. +Mikky knew nothing of God and listened with quiet interest. The +president talked of education and culture and made matters very plain +indeed. Then when the interview was concluded and the man asked the boy +for a pledge of good faith and clean language from that time forth, +Mikky’s smile of approval blazed forth and he laid his hand in that of +the president readily enough, and went forth from the room with a great +secret admiration of the man with whom he had just talked. The whole +conversation had appealed to him deeply. + +Mikky sought his room and laboriously spelled out with lately acquired +clumsiness a letter to Buck: + +“Dear Buck we mussent yuz endecent langwidg enay moor ner swar. God +donte lyk it an’ it ain’t educated. I want you an’ me to be educate. I +ain’t gone to, donte yoo ner let de kids.— +Mikky.” + + +In due time, according to previous arrangement about the monthly +allowance, this letter reached Buck, and he tracked the doctor for two +whole days before he located him and lay in wait till he came out to +his carriage, when he made bold to hand over the letter to be read. + +The doctor, deeply touched, translated as best he could. Buck’s +education had been pitifully neglected. He watched the mystic paper in +awe as the doctor read. + +“Wot’s indecent langwidge?” he asked with his heavy frown. + +The doctor took the opportunity to deliver a brief sermon on purity, +and Buck, without so much as an audible thank you, but with a +thoughtful air that pleased the doctor, took back his letter, stuffed +it into his ragged pocket and went on his way. The man watched him +wistfully, wondering whether Mikky’s appeal could reach the hardened +little sinner; and, sighing at the wickedness of the world, went on his +way grimly trying to make a few things better. + +That night “the kids” were gathered in front of little Janie’s window, +for she was too weak to go out with them, and Buck delivered a lesson +in ethical culture. Whatever Mikky, their Prince, ordered, that must be +done, and Buck was doing his level best, although for the life of him +he couldn’t see the sense in it. But thereafter none of “the kids” were +allowed to use certain words and phrases, and swearing gradually became +eliminated from their conversation. It would have been a curious study +for a linguist to observe just what words and phrases were cut out, and +what were allowed to flourish unrebuked; but nevertheless it was a +reform, and Buck was doing his best. + +With his schoolmates Mikky had a curiously high position even from the +first. His clothes were good and he had always a little money to spend. +That had been one of Endicott’s wishes that the boy should be like +other boys. It meant something among a group of boys, most of whom were +the sons of rich fathers, sent down to Florida on account of weak lungs +or throats. Moreover, he was brave beyond anything they had ever seen +before, could fight like a demon in defense of a smaller boy, and did +not shrink from pitching into a fellow twice his size. He could tell +all about the great base-ball and foot-ball games of New York City, +knew the pitchers by name and yet did not boast uncomfortably. He could +swim like a duck and dive fearlessly. He could outrun them all, by his +lightness of foot, and was an expert in gliding away from any hand that +sought to hold him back. They admired him from the first. + +His peculiar street slang did not trouble them in the least, nor his +lack of class standing, though that presently began to be a thing of +the past, for Mikky, so soon as he understood the way, marched +steadily, rapidly, up the hill of knowledge, taking in everything that +was handed out to him and assimilating it. It began to look as if there +would not be any left over courses in the curriculum that might be +given to some other deserving youth. Mikky would need them all. The +president and the professors began presently to be deeply interested in +this boy without a past; and everywhere, with every one, Mikky’s smile +won his way; except with the matron, who had not forgiven him that her +recommendation of his instant dismissal from the college had not been +accepted. + +The boys had not asked many questions about him, nor been told much. +They knew his father and mother were dead. They thought he had a rich +guardian, perhaps a fortune some day coming, they did not care. Mikky +never spoke about any of these things and there was a strange reticence +about him that made them dislike to ask him questions; even, when they +came to know him well. He was entered under the name of Endicott, +because, on questioning him Professor Harkness found he could lay no +greater claim to any other surname, and called him that until he could +write to Mr. Endicott for advice. He neglected to write at once and +then, the name having become fastened upon the boy, he thought it best +to let the matter alone as there was little likelihood of Mr. +Endicott’s coming down to the college, and it could do no harm. He +never stopped to think out possible future complications and the boy +became known as Michael Endicott. + +But his companions, as boys will, thought the matter over, and +rechristened him “Angel”; and Angel, or Angel Endy he became, down to +the end of his college course. + +One great delight of his new life was the out-of-door freedom he +enjoyed. A beautiful lake spread its silver sheet at the foot of the +campus slope and here the boy revelled in swimming and rowing. The +whole country round was filled with wonder to his city-bred eyes. He +attached himself to the teacher of natural sciences, and took long +silent tramps for miles about. They penetrated dense hammocks, +gathering specimens of rare orchids and exquisite flowers; they stood +motionless and breathless for hours watching and listening to some +strange wild bird; they became the familiar of slimy coiling serpents +in dark bogs, and of green lizards and great black velvet spiders; they +brought home ravishing butterflies and moths of pale green and gold and +crimson. Mikky’s room became a museum of curious and wonderful things, +and himself an authority on a wide and varied range of topics. + +The new life with plenty of wholesome plain food, plenty of fresh air, +long nights of good sleep, and happy exercise were developing the young +body into strength and beauty, even as the study and contact, with life +were developing the mind. Mikky grew up tall and straight and strong. +In all the school, even among the older boys, there was none suppler, +none so perfectly developed. His face and form were beautiful as +Adonis, and yet it was no pink and white feminine beauty. There was +strength, simplicity and character in his face. With the acceptance of +his new code of morals according to the president, had grown gradually +a certain look of high moral purpose. No boy in his presence dared use +language not up to the standard. No boy with his knowledge dared do a +mean or wrong thing. And yet, in spite of this, not a boy in the school +but admired him and was more or less led by him. If he had been one +whit less brave, one shade more conscious of self and self’s interests, +one tiny bit conceited, this would not have been. But from being a +dangerous experiment in their midst Mikky became known as a great +influence for good. The teachers saw it and marvelled. The matron saw +it and finally, though grudgingly, accepted it. The president saw it +and rejoiced. The students saw it not, but acknowledged it in their +lives. + +Mikky’s flame of gold hair had grown more golden and flaming with the +years, so that when their ball team went to a near-by town to play, +Mikky was sighted by the crowd and pointed out conspicuously at once. + +“Who is that boy with the hair?” some one would ask one of the team. + +“That? Oh, that’s the Angel! Wait till you see him play,” would be the +reply. And he became known among outsiders as the Angel with the golden +hair. At a game a listener would hear: + +“Oh, see! see! There’ll be something doing now. The Angel’s at the +bat!” + +Yet in spite of all this the boy lived a lonely life. Giving of himself +continually to those about him, receiving in return their love and +devotion, he yet felt in a great sense set apart from them all. Every +now and again some boy’s father or mother, or both, would come down for +a trip through the South; or a sister or a little brother. Then that +boy would be excused from classes and go off with his parents for +perhaps a whole week; or they would come to visit him every day, and +Michael would look on and see the love light beaming in their eyes. +That would never be for him. No one had ever loved him in that way. + +Sometimes he would close his eyes and try to get back in memory to the +time when he was shot; and the wonder of the soft bed, the sweet room, +and little Starr’s kisses. But the years were multiplying now and room +and nurse and all were growing very dim. Only little Starr’s kisses +remained, a delicate fragrance of baby love, the only kisses that the +boy had ever known. One day, when a classmate had been telling of the +coming of his father and what it would mean to him, Michael went into +his room and locking his door sat down and wrote a stiff school boy +letter to his benefactor, thanking him for all that he had done for +him. It told briefly, shyly of a faint realization of that from which +he had been saved; it showed a proper respect, and desire to make good, +and it touched the heart of the busy man who had almost forgotten about +the boy, but it gave no hint of the heart hunger which had prompted its +writing. + +The next winter, when Michael was seventeen, Delevan Endicott and his +daughter Starr took a flying trip through the South, and stopped for a +night and a day at the college. + +The president told Michael of his expected coming. Professor Harkness +had gone north on some school business. + +The boy received the news quietly enough, with one of his brilliant +smiles, but went to his room with a tumult of wonder, joy, and almost +fear in his heart. Would Mr. Endicott be like what he remembered, kind +and interested and helpful? Would he be pleased with the progress his +protégé had made, or would he be disappointed? Would there be any +chance to ask after little Starr? She was a baby still in the thoughts +of the boy, yet of course she must have grown. And so many things might +have happened—she might not be living now. No one would think or care +to tell him. + +Baby Starr! His beautiful baby! He exulted in the thought that he had +flung his little useless life, once, between her lovely presence and +death! He would do it again gladly now if that would repay all that her +father had done for him. Michael the youth was beginning to understand +all that that meant. + +Those other friends of his, Buck, Jimmie, Bobs, and the rest, were +still enshrined in his faithful heart, though their memory had grown +dimmer with the full passing years. Faithfully every month the boy had +sent Buck two dollars from his pocket money, his heart swelling with +pleasure that he was helping those he loved, but only twice had any +word come back from that far city where he had left them. In answer to +the letter which the doctor had translated to them, there had come a +brief laborious epistle, terse and to the point, written with a stub of +pencil on the corner of a piece of wrapping paper, and addressed by a +kindly clerk at the post office where Buck bought the stamped envelope. +It was the same clerk who usually paid to the urchin his monthly money +order, so he knew the address. For the inditing of the letter Buck went +to night school two whole weeks before he could master enough letters +and words to finish it to his satisfaction, It read: + +“Deer Mik WE WunT + + +“Buck.” + + +The significant words filled the boy’s heart with pride over his friend +whenever he thought of it, even after some time had passed. He had +faith in Buck. Somehow in his mind it seemed that Buck was growing and +keeping pace with him, and he never dreamed that if Buck should see him +now he would not recognize him. + +When Mikky had been in Florida several years another letter had come +from Buck addressed in the same way, and little better written than the +other. Night school had proved too strenuous for Buck; besides, he felt +he knew enough for all practical purposes and it was not likely he +would need to write many letters. This, however, was an occasion that +called for one. + +“Dear Mikky Jany is DEAD sHe sayd tell yo hur LUV beeryd hur in owr +kote we giv hur ther wuz a angle wit pink wins on top uv the wite hurs +an a wite hors we got a lot uv flowers by yur money so yo needn sen no +mor money kuz we ken got long now til yo cum BUCK.” + + +After that, though Michael had written as usual every month for some +time no reply had come, and the money orders had been returned to him +as not called for. Buck in his simplicity evidently took it for granted +that Mikky would not send the money and so came no more to the office, +at least that was the solution Michael put upon it, and deep down in +his heart he registered a vow to go and hunt up Buck the minute he was +through at college, and free to go back to New York and help his +friends. Meantime, though the years had dimmed those memories of his +old life, and the days went rapidly forward in study, he kept always in +view his great intention of one day going back to better his native +community. + +But the coming of Mr. Endicott was a great event to the boy. He could +scarcely sleep the night before the expected arrival. + +It was just before the evening meal that the through train from New +York reached the station. Michael had been given the privilege of going +down to meet his benefactor. + +Tall and straight and handsome he stood upon the platform as the train +rushed into the town, his cheeks glowing from excitement, his eyes +bright with anticipation, his cap in his hand, and the last rays of the +setting sun glowing in his golden hair, giving a touch like a halo +round his head. When Endicott saw him he exclaimed mentally over his +strength and manly beauty, and more than one weary tourist leaned from +the open car window and gazed, for there was ever something strange and +strong and compelling about Michael that reminded one of the beauty of +an angel. + + + + +Chapter V + + +Michael met Mr. Endicott unembarrassed. His early life in New York had +given him a self-poise that nothing seemed to disturb; but when the +father turned to introduce his young daughter, the boy caught his +breath and gazed at her with deepening color, and intense delight. + +She was here then, his Starr! She had come to see him, and she looked +just as he would have her look. He had not realized before that she +would be grown up, but of course she would, and the change in her was +not so great as to shock his memory. The clear white of her skin with +its fresh coloring was the same. New York life had not made it sallow. +The roses were in her cheeks as much as when she was a little child. +Her eyes were the same, dark and merry and looked at him straightly, +unabashed, with the ease of a girl trained by a society mother. The +dark curls were there, only longer, hanging to the slender waist and +crowned with a fine wide Panama hat. She gave him a little gloved hand +and said: “I’m afraid I don’t remember you very well, but daddy has +been telling me about you and I’m very glad to see you.” + +She was only a little over twelve, but she spoke with ease and +simplicity, and for the first time in his life Michael felt conscious +of himself. She was so perfect, so lovely, so finished in every +expression and movement. She looked at him intelligently, politely +curious, and no longer with the baby eyes that wondered at nothing. He +himself could not help wondering what she must think of him, and for a +few minutes he grew shy before her. + +Mr. Endicott was surprised and pleased at the appearance of the boy. +The passing of the years had easily erased the tender feelings that +Mikky the little street urchin had stirred in his heart. This visit to +the school and college was not so much on account of the boy, to whom +he had come to feel he had discharged his full duty, but because of the +repeated invitations on the part of Professor Harkness and the +president. It went not against him to see the institution to which he +had from time to time contributed, in addition to his liberal allowance +for the education of the boy. It was perfectly convenient for him to +stop, being on the regular route he had laid out for his southern trip. +His wife he had left at Palm Beach with her fashionable friends; and +with Starr as his companion, the father was going through the orange +belt on a tour of investigation with a view to investments. It suited +him perfectly to stop off and receive the thanks of the college, +therefore he stopped. Not that he was a heartless man, but there were +so many things in his world to make him forget, and a little pleasant +adulation is grateful to the most of us. + +But when Michael in all his striking beauty stood before him with the +deference of a more than son, his heart suddenly gave a great leap back +to the day when he had first looked down upon the little white face on +the pillow; when the blue eyes had opened and Mikky had smiled. Michael +smiled now, and Endicott became aware at once of the subtle fascination +of that smile. And now the thought presented itself. “What if this were +my son! how proud I should be of him!” + +Michael was indeed good to look upon even to the eyes of the city +critic. Endicott had taken care to leave orders with his tailor for a +full outfit to be sent to the boy, Spring and Fall, of suitable plain +clothing for a school boy, little realizing how unnecessary it would +have been to have dressed him so well. The tailor, nothing loth, had +taken the measurements which were sent to him from year to year in +answer to the letter of the firm, and had kept Michael looking as well +as any rich man’s son need desire to look. Not that the boy knew nor +realized. The clothes came to him, like his board and tuition, and he +took them well pleased and wrote his best letter of thanks each year as +Professor Harkness suggested; but he had no idea that a part at least +of his power of leadership with all the boys of the school was due to +his plain though stylishly cut garments. This fact would not have +counted for anything with boys who had been living in Florida for +years, for any plain decent clothes were thought fit, no matter how +they were cut; but the patronage of the school was at least one-half +made up of rich men’s sons who were sent South for a few years to a +milder climate for their health. These as a rule, when they came, had +exaggerated ideas of the importance of clothes and prevailing modes. + +And so it was that Michael did not look like a dowdy country boy to his +benefactor, but on the contrary presented a remarkable contrast with +many of the boys with whom Endicott was acquainted at home. There was +something about Michael even when he was a small lad that commanded +marked attention from all who saw him. This attention Endicott and his +daughter gave now as they walked beside him in the glow of the sunset, +and listened as he pointed out the various spots of interest in the +little college town. + +The institution boasted of no carriage, and the single horse-car that +travelled to the station belonged to the hotel and its guests. However, +the walk was not long, and gave the travellers an opportunity to +breathe the clear air and feel the stillness of the evening which was +only emphasized by each separate sound now and again. + +Starr, as she walked on the inside of the board sidewalk, and looked +down at the small pink and white and crimson pea blossoms growing +broad-cast, and then up at the tallness of the great pines, felt a kind +of awe stealing upon her. The one day she had spent at Palm Beach had +been so filled with hotels and people and automobiles that she had had +no opportunity to realize the tropical nature of the land. But here in +this quiet spot, where the tiny station, the post office, the grocery, +and a few scattered dwellings with the lights of the great tourists’ +hotel gleaming in the distance, seemed all there was of human +habitation; and where the sky was wide even to bewilderment; she seemed +suddenly to realize the difference from New York. + +Michael had recovered his poise as soon as she no longer faced him, +though he was profoundly conscious of her presence there on the other +side of her father. But he talked easily and well. Yes, there was the +hotel. It held five hundred guests and was pretty well filled at this +season of the year. There were some distinguished people stopping +there. The railroad president’s private car was on the track for a few +hours last week. That car over on the siding belonged to a great steel +magnate. The other one had brought the wife of a great inventor. Off +there at the right toward the sunset were the school and college +buildings. No, they could not be seen, until one passed the orange +grove. Too bad there was no conveyance, but the one little car turned +off toward the hotel at this corner, and the one beast of burden +belonging to the college, the college Mule—Minus, by name, because +there were so many things that he was not—was lame today and therefore +could not be called into requisition to bring the guests from the +station. + +Mr. Endicott felt that he was drawing nearer to nature in this quiet +walk than he had been since he was a boy and visited his grandfather’s +farm. It rested and pleased him immensely, and he was charmed with the +boy, his protégé. His frank, simple conversation was free from all +affectation on the one hand, or from any hint of his low origin on the +other hand. He felt already that he had done a good thing in sending +this boy down here to be educated. It was worth the little money he had +put into it. + +Starr watched Michael shyly from the shelter of her father’s side and +listened to him. He was not like the boys she met in New York. To begin +with he was remarkably fine looking, and added to that there was a +mingled strength and kindliness in his face, and above all about his +smile, that made her feel instinctively that he was nobler than most of +them. She could not think of a boy of her acquaintance who had a firm +chin like that. This boy had something about him that made the girl +know instantly that he had a greater purpose in life than his own +pleasure. Not that she thought this all out analytically. Starr had +never learned to think. She only felt it as she looked at him, and +liked him at once. Moreover there was a sort of glamour over the boy in +her eyes, for her father had just been telling her the story of how he +had saved her life when she was barely two years old. She felt a +prideful proprietorship in him that made her shy in his presence. + +At the college president’s gate, just on the edge of the campus, the +president came out with apologies. He had been detained on a bit of +business at the county seat five miles away, and had driven home with a +friend whose horse was very slow. He was sorry not to have done their +honored guests the courtesy of being at the station on their arrival. +Endicott walked with the president after the greetings, and Michael +dropped behind with Starr eagerly pointing out to her the buildings. + +“That’s the chapel, and beyond are the study and recitation rooms. The +next is the dining hall and servant’s quarters, and over on that side +of the campus is our dormitory. My window looks down on the lake. Every +morning I go before breakfast for a swim.” + +“Oh, aren’t you afraid of alligators?” exclaimed Starr shivering +prettily. + +Michael looked down at her fragile loveliness with a softened +appreciation, as one looks at the tender precious things of life that +need protection. + +“No,” he answered without laughing, as some of the other boys would +have done at her girlish fears, “they never bother us here, and +besides, I’m sort of acquainted with them. I’m not afraid of them. +Nothing will hurt you if you understand it well enough to look out for +its rights.” + +“Oh!” said Starr eyeing him in wonder. As if an alligator had rights! +What a strange, interesting boy. The idea of understanding an +alligator. She was about to ask how understanding the creature would +keep one from being eaten up when Michael pointed to the crimsoning +West: + +“See!” he said eagerly as if he were pointing to a loved scene, “the +sun is almost down. Don’t you love to watch it? In a minute more it +will be gone and then it will be dark. Hear that evening bird? +‘Tit-wiloo! Tit-wiloo!’ He sings sometimes late at night.” + +Starr followed his eager words, and saw the sun slipping, slipping like +a great ruby disc behind the fringe of palm and pine and oak that +bordered the little lake below the campus; saw the wild bird dart from +the thicket into the clear amber of the sky above, utter its sweet +weird call, and drop again into the fine brown shadows of the living +picture; watched, fascinated as the sun slipped lower, lower, to the +half now, and now less than half. + +Breathless they both stood and let the two men go on ahead, while they +watched the wonder of the day turn into night. The brilliant liquid +crimson poured itself away to other lands, till only a rim of wonderful +glowing garnet remained; then, like a living thing dying into another +life, it too dropped away, and all was night. + +“Why! How dark it is!” exclaimed Starr as she turned to her companion +again and found she could scarcely see his face. “Why! How queer! Where +is the twilight? Is anything the matter? I never saw it get dark all at +once like this!” She peered around into the strange velvet darkness +with troubled eyes. + +Michael was all attention at once. + +“No, that’s all right,” he assured her. “That’s the way we do here. +Almost everybody from the north speaks about it at first. They can’t +understand it. Its the difference in the position of the sun, nearer +the equator, you know. I’ll show you all about it on the chart in the +astronomical room if you care to see. We haven’t any twilight here. I +should think twilight would be queer. You wouldn’t just know when night +began and day ended. I don’t remember about it when I lived in New +York. Look up there! That’s the evening star! It’s come out for you +tonight—to welcome another—Starr!” + +Oh, Michael, of unknown origin! Whence came that skill of delicate +compliment, that grace of courtesy, that you, plucked from the slime of +the gutter, set apart from all sweetening influences of loving contact +with, womankind, should be able so gallantly and respectfully to guide +the young girl through the darkness, touching her little elbow +distantly, tactfully, reverently, exactly as the college president +helps his wife across the road on Sabbath to the church? Is it only +instinct, come down from some patrician ancestor of gallant ways and +kind, or have you watched and caught the knack from the noble scholar +who is your ideal of all that is manly? + +They walked silently through the warm darkness until they came within +the circle of light from the open door, and matron and teachers came +out to welcome the young stranger and bring her into the house. + +Michael lingered for a moment by the door, watching her as she went +with the matron, her sweet face wreathed in smiles, the matron’s thin +arm around her and a new and gentle look upon her severe countenance; +watched until they mounted the stairs out of sight; then he went out of +doors. + +Taking off his cap he stood reverently looking up at the star, +communing with it perhaps about the human Starr that had come back to +him out of the shadows of the past. + +And she was a star. No one who saw her but acknowledged it. He +marvelled as he recalled the change wrought in the face of the matron +and because of her gentleness to the little girl forgave her all that +she had not been to his motherless boyhood. + +Starr came down to dinner in a few minutes radiant in a little rosy +frock of soft Eastern silk, girdled with a fringed scarf of the same +and a knot of coral velvet in her hair. From the string of pearls about +her white neck to the dainty point of her slipper she was exquisite and +Michael watched her with open admiration; whereat the long lashes +drooped shyly over the girl’s rosy cheeks and she was mightily pleased. + +She sat at her father’s side to the right of the president, with +Michael across the table. Well he bore the scrutiny of Endicott’s keen +eyes which through all the conversation kept searching the intelligent +face of the boy. + +The evening passed like a dream, and Michael lay awake again that night +thinking of all the pleasure in anticipation for the next day. At last, +at last he had some people who in a way he might call his own. They had +cared to come and see him after all the years! His heart swelled with +joy and gratitude. + +The guests attended chapel exercises with the students the next +morning, and Michael saw with pride the eyes of his companions turn +toward the beautiful young girl, and look at him almost with envy. The +color mounted into his strong young face, but he sat quietly in his +place and no one would have guessed to look at him, the tumult that was +running riot in his veins. He felt it was the very happiest day of his +life. + +After chapel the guests were shown about the college buildings and +campus. The president and Endicott walked ahead, Michael behind with +Starr, answering her interested questions. + +They had been through all the classrooms, the gymnasium, the dining +hall, servants’ quarters and dormitories. They had visited the athletic +ground, the tennis courts, and gone down by the little lake, where +Michael had taken them out for a short row. Returning they were met by +one of the professors who suggested their going to hear some of the +classes recite, and as Mr. Endicott seemed interested they turned their +steps toward the recitation hall. + +“I think,” said Starr as they walked slowly across the campus together, +“that you must be a very brave boy. To think of you saving my life that +way when you were just a little fellow!” + +She looked up, her pretty face full of childish feeling. + +Michael looked down silently and smiled. He was wondering if any eyes +were ever as beautiful as those before him. He had never had even a +little girl look at him like that. The president’s daughter was fat and +a romp. She never took time to look at the boys. The few other girls he +knew, daughters of the professors, were quiet and studious. They paid +little attention to the boys. + +“I want to thank you for what you did,” went on Starr, “only I can’t +think of any words great enough to tell you how I feel about it. I wish +there was something I could do to show you how I thank you?” + +She lifted her sweet eyes again to his. They were entering the large +Hall of the college now. + +“This way,” said Michael guiding her toward the chapel door which had +just swung to behind the two men. + +“Isn’t there something you would like that I could do for you?” +persisted Starr earnestly, following him into the empty chapel where +Mr. Endicott and the president stood looking at a tablet on the wall by +the further door. + +“Your father has done everything for me,” said Michael sunnily, with a +characteristic sweep of his hand that seemed to include himself, his +garments and his mental outfit. He turned upon her his blazing smile +that spoke more eloquently than words could have done. + +“Yes, but that is papa,” said Starr half impatiently, softly stamping +her daintily shod foot. “He did that because of what you did for _him_ +in saving my life. I should like to do something to thank you for what +you did for _me_. I’m worth something to myself you know. Isn’t there +something I could do for you.” + +She stood still, looking up into his face anxiously, her vivid childish +beauty seeming to catch all the brightness of the place and focus it +upon him. The two men had passed out of the further door and on to the +recitation rooms. The girl and boy were alone for the moment. + +“You have done something for me, you did a great deal,” he said, his +voice almost husky with boyish tenderness. “I think it was the greatest +thing that anybody ever did for me.” + +“I did something for you! When? What?” questioned Starr curiously. + +“Yes,” he said, “you did a great thing for me. Maybe you don’t remember +it, but I do. It was when I was getting well from the shot there at +your house, and your nurse used to bring you up to play with me every +day; and always before you went away, you used to kiss me. I’ve never +forgotten that.” + +He said it quite simply as if it were a common thing for a boy to say +to a girl. His voice was low as though the depths of his soul were +stirred. + +A flood of pretty color came into Starr’s cheeks. + +“Oh!” she said quite embarrassed at the turn of the conversation, “but +that was when I was a baby. I couldn’t do that now. Girls don’t kiss +boys you know. It wouldn’t be considered proper.” + +“I know,” said Michael, his own color heightening now, “I didn’t mean +that. I wanted you to know how much you had done for me already. You +don’t know what it is never to have been kissed by your mother, or any +living soul. Nobody ever kissed me in all my life that I know of but +you.” + +He looked down at the little girl with such a grave, sweet expression, +his eyes so expressive of the long lonely years without woman’s love, +that child though she was Starr seemed to understand, and her whole +young soul went forth in pity. Tears sprang to her eyes. + +“Oh!” she said, “That is dreadful! Oh!—I don’t care if it isn’t +proper—” + +And before he knew what she was about to do the little girl tilted to +her tiptoes, put up her dainty hands, caught him about the neck and +pressed a warm eager kiss on his lips. Then she sprang away frightened, +sped across the room, and through the opposite door. + +Michael stood still in a bewilderment of joy for the instant. The +compelling of her little hands, the pressure of her fresh lips still +lingered with him. A flood tide of glory swept over his whole being. +There were tears in his eyes, but he did not know it. He stood with +bowed head as though in a holy place. Nothing so sacred, so beautiful, +had ever come into his life. Her baby kisses had been half unconscious. +This kiss was given of her own free will, because she wanted to do +something for him. He did not attempt to understand the wonderful joy +that surged through his heart and pulsed in every fibre of his being. +His lonely, unloved life was enough to account for it, and he was only +a boy with a brief knowledge of life; but he knew enough to enshrine +that kiss in his heart of hearts as a holy thing, not even to be +thought about carelessly. + +When he roused himself to follow her she had disappeared. Her father +and the president were listening to a recitation, but she was nowhere +to be seen. She had gone to her own room. Michael went down by himself +in a thicket by the lake. + +She met him shyly at dinner, with averted gaze and a glow on her +cheeks, as if half afraid of what she had done, but he reassured her +with his eyes. His glance seemed to promise he would never take +advantage of what she had done. His face wore an exalted look, as if he +had been lifted above earth, and Starr, looking at him wonderingly, was +glad she had followed her impulse. + +They took a horseback ride to the college grove that afternoon, Mr. +Endicott, one of the professors, Starr and Michael. The president had +borrowed the horses from some friends. + +Michael sat like a king upon his horse. He had ridden the college mule +bareback every summer, and riding seemed to be as natural to him as any +other sport. Starr had been to a New York riding school, and was +accustomed to taking her morning exercise with her father in the Park, +or accompanied by a footman; but she sat her Florida pony as happily as +though he had been a shiny, well-groomed steed of priceless value. +Somehow it seemed to her an unusually delightful experience to ride +with this nice boy through the beautiful shaded road of arching +live-oaks richly draped with old gray moss. Michael stopped by the +roadside, where the shade was dense, dismounted and plunged into the +thicket, returning in a moment with two or three beautiful orchids and +some long vines of the wonderful yellow jessamine whose exquisite +perfume filled all the air about. He wreathed the jessamine about the +pony’s neck, and Starr twined it about her hat and wore the orchids in +her belt. + +Starr had never seen an orange grove before and took great delight in +the trees heavily loaded with fruit, green and yellow and set about by +blossoms. She tucked a spray of blossoms in her dark hair under the +edge of her hat, and Michael looked at her and smiled in admiration. +Mr. Endicott, glancing toward his daughter, caught the look, and was +reminded of the time when he had found the two children in his own +drawing room being made a show for his wife’s guests, and sighed half +in pleasure, half in foreboding. What a beautiful pair they were to be +sure, and what had the future in store for his little girl? + +On the way back they skirted another lake and Michael dismounted again +to bring an armful of great white magnolia blossoms, and dainty bay +buds to the wondering Starr; and then they rode slowly on through the +wooded, road, the boy telling tales of adventures here and there; +pointing out a blue jay or calling attention to the mocking bird’s +song. + +“I wish you could be here next week,” said the boy wistfully. “It will +be full moon then. There is no time to ride through this place like a +moonlight evening. It seems like fairyland then. The moonbeams make +fairy ladders of the jessamine vines.” + +“It must be beautiful,” said Starr dreamily. Then they rode for a few +minutes in silence. They were coming to the end of the overarched +avenue. Ahead of them the sunlight shone clearly like the opening of a +great tunnel framed in living green. Suddenly Starr looked up gravely: + +“I’m going to kiss you good-bye tonight when, we go away,” she said +softly; and touching her pony lightly with the whip rode out into the +bright road; the boy, his heart leaping with joy, not far behind her. + +Before supper Mr. Endicott had a talk with Michael that went further +toward making the fatherless boy feel that he had someone belonging to +him than anything that had happened yet. + +“I think you have done enough for me, sir,” said Michael respectfully +opening the conversation as Endicott came out to the porch where the +boy was waiting for him. “I think I ought to begin to earn my own +living. I’m old enough now—” and he held his head up proudly. “It’s +been very good of you all these years—I never can repay you. I hope you +will let me pay the money back that you have spent on me, some day +when, I can earn enough—” + +Michael had been thinking this speech out ever since the president had +told him of Endicott’s expected visit, but somehow it did not sound as +well to him when he said it as he had thought it would. It seemed the +only right thing to do when he planned it, but in spite of him as he +looked into Mr. Endicott’s kind, keen eyes, his own fell in troubled +silence. Had his words sounded ungrateful? Had he seen a hurt look in +the man’s eyes? + +“Son,” said Endicott after a pause, and the word stirred the boy’s +heart strangely, “son, I owe you a debt you never can repay. You gave +me back my little girl, flinging your own life into the chance as +freely as if you had another on hand for use any minute. I take it that +I have at least a father’s right in you at any rate, and I mean to +exercise it until you are twenty-one. You must finish a college course +first. When will that be? Three years? They tell me you are doing well. +The doctor wants to keep you here to teach after you have graduated, +but I had thought perhaps you would like to come up to New York and +have your chance. I’ll give you a year or two in business, whatever +seems to be your bent when you are through, and then we’ll see. Which +would you rather do? Or, perhaps you’d prefer to let your decision rest +until the time comes.” + +“I think I’m bound to go back to New York, sir,” said Michael lifting +his head with that peculiar motion all his own, so like a challenge. +“You know, sir, you said I was to be educated so that I might help my +friends. I have learned of course that you meant it in a broader sense +than just those few boys, for one can help people anywhere; but still I +feel as if it wouldn’t be right for me not to go back. I’m sure they’ll +expect me.” + +Endicott shrugged his shoulders half admiringly. + +“Loyal to your old friends still? Well, that’s commendable, but still I +fancy you’ll scarcely find them congenial now. I wouldn’t let them hang +too closely about you. They might become a nuisance. You have your way +to make in the world, you know.” + +Michael looked at his benefactor with troubled brows. Somehow the tone +of the man disturbed him. + +“I promised,” he said simply. Because there had bean so little in his +affections that promise had been cherished through the years, and meant +much to Michael. It stood for Principle and Loyalty in general. + +“Oh, well, keep your promise, of course,” said the man of the world +easily. “I fancy you will find the discharge of it a mere form.” + +A fellow student came across the campus. + +“Endicott,” he called, “have you seen Hallowell go toward the village +within a few minutes?” + +“He just want, out the gate,” responded Michael pleasantly. + +Mr. Endicott looked up surprised. + +“Is that the name by which you are known?” + +“Endicott? Yes, sir, Michael Endicott. Was it not by your wish? I +supposed they had asked you. I had no other name that I knew.” + +“Ah! I didn’t know,” pondered Endicott. + +There was silence for a moment. + +“Would you,—shall I—do you dislike my having it?” asked the boy +delicately sensitive at once. + +But the man looked up with something like tenderness in his smile. + +“Keep it, son. I like it. I wish I had a boy like you. It is an old +name and a proud one. Be worthy of it.” + +“I will try, sir,” said Michael, as if he were registering a vow. + +There was an early supper for the guests and then Michael walked +through another sunset to the station with Starr. He carried a small +box carefully prepared in which reposed a tiny green and blue lizard +for a parting gift. She had watched the lizards scuttling away under +the board sidewalks at their approach, or coming suddenly to utter +stillness, changing their brilliant colors to gray like the fence +boards that they might not be observed. She was wonderfully interested +in them, and was charmed with her gift. The particular lizard in +question was one that Michael had trained to eat crumbs from his hand, +and was quite tame. + +The two said little as they walked along together. Each was feeling +what a happy time they had spent in one another’s company. + +“I shall write and tell you how the lizard is,” said Starr laughing, +“and you will tell me all about the funny and interesting things you +are doing, won’t you?” + +“If—I may,” said Michael wistfully. + +At the station a New York acquaintance of the Endicotts’ invited them +to ride in his private car which was on the side track waiting for the +train to pick them up. Michael helped Starr up the steps, and carried +the lizard into the car as well as the great sheaf of flowers she +insisted on taking with her. + +There were some ladies inside who welcomed Starr effusively; and +Michael, suddenly abashed, laid down the flowers, lifted his cap and +withdrew. A sudden blank had come upon him. Starr was absorbed by +people from another world than his. He would have no opportunity to say +good-bye—and she had promised—But then of course he ought not to expect +her to do that. She had been very kind to him— + +He was going down the steps now. An instant more and he would be on the +cinders of the track. + +A sudden rush, a soft cry, caused him to pause on the second step of +the vestibuled car. It was Starr, standing just above him, and her eyes +were shining like her namesake the evening star. + +“You were going without good-bye,” she reproved, and her cheeks were +rosy red, but she stood her ground courageously. Placing a soft hand +gently on either cheek as he stood below her, his face almost on a +level with hers, she tilted his head toward her and touched his lips +with her own red ones, delicately as if a rose had swept them. + +Simultaneously came the sound of the distant train. + +“Good-bye, you nice, splendid boy!” breathed Starr, and waving her hand +darted inside the car. + +Mr. Endicott, out on the platform, still talking to the president, +heard the oncoming train and looked around for Michael. He saw him +coming from the car with his exalted look upon his face, his cap off, +and the golden beams of the sun again sending their halo like a nimbus +over his hair. + +Catching his hand heartily, he said: + +“Son, I’m pleased with you. Keep it up, and come to me when you are +ready. I’ll give you a start.” + +Michael gripped his hand and blundered out some words of thanks. Then +the train was upon them, and Endicott had to go. + +The two younger ladies in the car, meantime, were plying Starr with +questions. “Who is that perfectly magnificent young man. Starr +Endicott? Why didn’t you introduce him to us? I declare I never saw +such a beautiful face on any human being before.” + +A moment more and the private car was fastened to the train, and Starr +leaning from the window waved her tiny handkerchief until the train had +thundered away among the pines, and there was nothing left but the echo +of its sound. The sun was going down but it mattered not. There was +sunshine in the boy’s heart. She was gone, his little Starr, but she +had left the memory of her soft kiss and her bright eyes; and some day, +some day, when he was done with college, he would see her again. +Meantime he was content. + + + + +Chapter VI + + +The joy of loving kindness in his life, and a sense that somebody +cared, seemed to have the effect of stimulating Michael’s mind to +greater energies. He studied with all his powers. Whatever he did he +did with his might, even his play. + +The last year of his stay in Florida, a Department of Scientific +Farming was opened on a small scale. Michael presented himself as a +student. + +“What do you want of farming, Endicott?” asked the president, happening +to pass through the room on the first day of the teacher’s meeting with +his students. “You can’t use farming in New York.” + +There was perhaps in the kindly old president’s mind a hope that the +boy would linger with them, for he had become attached to him in a +silent, undemonstrative sort of way. + +“I might need it sometime,” answered Michael, “and anyway I’d like to +understand it. You said the other day that no knowledge was ever +wasted. I’d like to know enough at least to tell somebody else.” + +The president smiled, wondered, and passed on. Michael continued in the +class, supplementing the study by a careful reading of all the +Agricultural magazines, and Government literature on the subject that +came in his way. Agriculture had had a strange fascination for him ever +since a noted speaker from the North had come that way and in an +address to the students told them that the new field for growth today +lay in getting back to nature and cultivating the earth. It was +characteristic of Michael that he desired to know if that statement was +true, and if so, why. Therefore he studied. + +The three years flew by as if by magic. Michael won honors not a few, +and the day came when he had completed his course, and as valedictorian +of his class, went up to the old chapel for his last commencement in +the college. + +He sat on the platform looking down on the kindly, uncritical audience +that had assembled for the exercises, and saw not a single face that +had come for his sake alone. Many were there who were interested in him +because they had known him through the years, and because he bore the +reputation of being the honor man of his class and the finest athlete +in school. But that was not like having some one of his very own who +cared whether he did well or not. He found himself wishing that even +Buck might have been there; Buck, the nearest to a brother he had ever +had. Would Buck have cared that he had won highest rank? Yes, he felt +that Buck would have been proud of him. + +Michael had sent out three invitations to commencement, one to Mr. +Endicott, one to Starr, and one addressed to Buck, with the inner +envelope bearing the words “For Buck and ‘the kids,’” but no response +had come to any of them. He had received back the one addressed to Buck +with “Not Called For” in big pink letters stamped across the corner. It +had reached him that morning, just before he came on the platform. He +wished it had not come till night; it gave him a lonely, almost +forsaken feeling. He was “educated” now, at least enough to know what +he did not know; and there was no one to care. + +When Michael sat down after his oration amid a storm of hearty +applause, prolonged by his comrades into something like an ovation, +some one handed him a letter and a package. There had been a mistake +made at the post office in sorting the mail and these had not been put +into the college box. One of the professors going down later found them +and brought them up. + +The letter was from Mr. Endicott containing a businesslike line of +congratulations, a hope that the recipient would come to New York if he +still felt of that mind, and a check for a hundred dollars. + +Michael looked at the check awesomely, re-read the letter carefully and +put both in his pocket. The package was tiny and addressed in Starr’s +handwriting. Michael saved that till he should go to his room. He did +not want to open it before any curious eyes. + +Starr’s letters had been few and far between, girlish little epistles; +and the last year they had ceased altogether. Starr was busy with life; +finishing-school and dancing-school and music-lessons and good times. +Michael was a dim and pleasant vision to her. + +The package contained a scarf-pin of exquisite workmanship. Starr had +pleased herself by picking out the very prettiest thing she could find. +She had her father’s permission to spend as much as she liked on it. It +was in the form of an orchid, with a tiny diamond like a drop of dew on +one petal. + +Michael looked on it with wonder, the first suggestion of personal +adornment that had ever come to him. He saw the reminder of their day +together in the form of the orchid; studied the beautiful name, “Starr +Delevan Endicott,” engraved upon the card; then put them carefully back +into their box and locked it into his bureau drawer. He would wear it +the first time he went to see Starr. He was very happy that day. + +The week after college closed Michael drove the college mule to the +county seat, ten miles away, and bought a small trunk. It was not much +of a trunk but it was the best the town afforded. In this he packed all +his worldly possessions, bade good-bye to the president, and such of +the professors as had not already gone North for their vacations, took +a long tramp to all his old haunts, and boarded the midnight train for +New York. + +The boy had a feeling of independence which kept him from letting his +benefactor know of his intended arrival. He did not wish to make him +any unnecessary trouble, and though he had now been away from New York +for fourteen years, he felt a perfect assurance that he could find his +way about. There are some things that one may learn even at seven, that +will never be forgotten. + +When Michael landed in New York he looked about him with vague +bewilderment for a moment. Then he started out with assurance to find a +new spot for himself in the world. + +Suitcase he had not, nor any baggage but his trunk to hinder him. He +had discovered that the trunk could remain in the station for a day +without charge. The handsome raincoat and umbrella which had been a +part of the outfit the tailor had sent him that spring were all his +encumbrances, so he picked his way unhampered across Liberty Street, +eyeing his former enemies, the policemen, and every little urchin or +newsboy with interest. Of course Buck and the rest would have grown up +and changed some; they wouldn’t likely be selling papers now—but—these +were boys such as he had been. He bought a paper off a little ragged +fellow with a pinched face, and a strange sensation came over him. When +he left this city he was the newsboy, and now he had money enough to +buy a paper—and the education to read it! What a difference! Not that +he wanted the paper at present, though it might prove interesting +later, but he wanted the experience of buying it. It marked the era of +change in his life and made the contrast tremendous. Immediately his +real purpose in having an education, the uplift of his fellow-beings, +which had been most vague during the years, took form and leapt into +vivid interest, as he watched the little skinny legs of the newsboy +nimbly scrambling across the muddy street under the feet of horses, and +between automobiles, in imminent danger of his life. + +Michael had thought it all out, just what he would do, and he proceeded +to carry out his purpose. He had no idea what a fine picture of +well-groomed youth and manly beauty he presented as he marched down the +street. He walked like a king, and New York abashed him no more now +that he had come back than it did before he went away. There are some +spirits born that way. He walked like a “gentleman, unafraid.” + +He had decided not to go to Mr. Endicott until he had found lodgings +somewhere. An innate delicacy had brought him to this decision. He +would not put one voluntary burden upon his kind benefactor. Born and +bred in the slums, whence came this fineness of feeling? Who shall say? + +Michael threaded his way through the maze of traffic, instinct and +vague stirrings of memory guiding him to a quiet shabby street where he +found a dingy little room for a small price. The dangers that might +have beset a strange young man in the great city were materially +lessened for him on account of his wide reading. He had read up New +York always wherever he found an article or book or story that touched +upon it; and without realizing it he was well versed in details. He had +even pondered for hours over a map of New York that he found in the +back of an old magazine, comparing it with his faint memories, until he +knew the location of things with relation to one another pretty well. A +stranger less versed might have gotten into most undesirable quarters. + +The boy looked around his new home with a strange sinking of heart, +after he had been out to get something to eat, and arranged for his +trunk to be sent to his room. It was very tiny and not over clean. The +wall paper was a dingy flowered affair quite ancient in design, and +having to all appearances far outlived a useful life. The one window +looked out to brick walls, chimneys and roofs. The noise of the city +clattered in; the smells and the heat made it almost stifling to the +boy who had lived for thirteen years in the sunshine of the South, and +the freedom of the open. + +The narrow bed looked uninviting, the bureau-washstand was of the +cheapest, and the reflection Michael saw in its warped mirror would +have made any boy with a particle of vanity actually suffer. Michael, +however, was not vain. He thought little about himself, but this room +was depressing. The floor was covered with a nondescript carpet faded +and soiled beyond redemption, and when his trunk was placed between the +bureau and the bed there would be scarcely room for the one wooden +chair. It was not a hopeful outlook. The boy took off his coat and sat +down on the bed to whistle. + +Life, grim, appalling, spectral-like, uprose before his mental vision, +and he spent a bad quarter of an hour trying to adjust himself to his +surroundings; his previous sunny philosophy having a tough tussle with +the sudden realities of things as they were. Then his trunk arrived. + +It was like Michael to unpack it at once and put all his best +philosophical resolves into practice. + +As he opened the trunk a whiff of the South, exhaled. He caught his +breath with a sudden keen, homesickness. He realized that his school +days were over, and all the sweetness and joy of that companionful life +passed. He had often felt alone in those days. He wondered at it now. +He had never in all his experience known such aloneness as now in this +great strange city. + +The last thing he had put into his trunk had been a branch of mammoth +pine needles. The breath of the tree brought back all that meant home +to him. He caught it up and buried his face in the plumy tassels. + +The tray of the trunk was filled with flags, pennants, photographs, and +college paraphernalia. Eagerly he pulled them all out and spread them +over the bumpy little bed. Then he grabbed for his hat and rushed out. +In a few minutes he returned with a paper of tacks, another of pins, +and a small tack hammer. In an hour’s time he had changed the +atmosphere of the whole place. Not an available inch of bare wall +remained with, its ugly, dirty wallpaper. College colors, pennants and +flags were grouped about pictures, and over the unwashed window was +draped Florida moss. Here and there, apparently fluttering on the moss +or about the room, were fastened beautiful specimens of semi-tropical +moths and butterflies in the gaudiest of colors. A small stuffed +alligator reposed above the window, gazing apathetically down, upon the +scene. A larger alligator skin was tacked on one wall. One or two queer +bird’s nests fastened to small branches hung quite naturally here and +there. + +Michael threw down the hammer and sat down to survey his work, drawing +a breath of relief. He felt more at home now with the photographs of +his fellow students smiling down upon him. Opposite was the base-ball +team, frowning and sturdy; to the right the Glee Club with himself as +their leader; to the left a group of his classmates, with his special +chum in the midst. As he gazed at that kindly face in the middle he +could almost hear the friendly voice calling to him: “Come on, Angel! +You’re sure to win out!” + +Michael felt decidedly better, and fell to hanging up his clothes and +arranging his effects on clean papers in the rheumatic bureau drawers. +These were cramped quarters but would do for the present until he was +sure of earning some money, for he would not spend his little savings +more than he could help now and he would not longer be dependent upon +the benefaction of Mr. Endicott. + +When his box of books arrived he would ask permission to put some +shelves over the window. Then he would feel quite cosy and at home. + +So he cheered himself as he went about getting into his best garments, +for he intended to arrive at Madison Avenue about the time that his +benefactor reached home for the evening. + +Michael knew little of New York ways, and less of the habits of +society; the few novels that had happened in his way being his only +instructors on the subject. He was going entirely on his dim memories +of the habits of the Endicott home during his brief stay there. As it +happened Mr. Endicott was at home when Michael arrived and the family +were dining alone. + +The boy was seated in the reception room gazing about him with the ease +of his habitual unconsciousness of self, when Endicott came down +bringing Starr with him. A second time the man of the world was deeply +impressed with the fine presence of this boy from obscurity. He did not +look out of place even in a New York drawing room. It was incredible; +though of course a large part of it was due to his city-made clothing. +Still, that would not by any means account for case of manner, graceful +courtesy, and an instinct for saying the right thing at the right time. + +Endicott invited the lad to dine with them and Starr eagerly seconded +the invitation. Michael accepted as eagerly, and a few moments later +found himself seated at the elegantly appointed table by the side of a +beautiful and haughty woman who stared at him coldly, almost +insultingly, and made not one remark to him throughout the whole meal. +The boy looked at her half wonderingly. It almost seemed as if she +intended to resent his presence, yet of course that could not be. His +idea of this whole family was the highest. No one belonging to Starr +could of course be aught but lovely of spirit. + +Starr herself seemed to feel the disapproval of her mother, and shrink +into herself, saying very little, but smiling shyly at Michael now and +then when her mother was not noticing her. + +Starr was sixteen now, slender and lovely as she had given promise of +being. Michael watched her satisfied. At last he turned to the mother +sitting in her cold grandeur, and with the utmost earnestness and +deference in his voice said, his glance still half toward Starr: + +“She is like you, and yet not!” + +He said it gravely, as if it were a discovery of the utmost importance +to them both, and he felt sure it was the key to her heart, this +admission of his admiration of the beautiful girl. + +Mrs. Endicott froze him with her glance. + +From the roots of his hair down to the tips of his toes and back again +he felt it, that insulting resentment of his audacity in expressing any +opinion about her daughter; or in fact in having any opinion. For an +instant his self-possession deserted him, and his face flushed with +mingled emotions. Then he saw a look of distress on Starr’s face as she +struggled to make reply for her silent mother: + +“Yes, mamma and I are often said to resemble one another strongly,” and +there was a tremble in Starr’s voice that roused all the manliness in +the boy. He flung off the oppression that was settling down upon him +and listened attentively to what Endicott was saying, responding +gracefully, intelligently, and trying to make himself think that it was +his inexperience with ladies that had caused him to say something +inappropriate. Henceforth during the evening he made no more personal +remarks. + +Endicott took the boy to his den after dinner, and later Starr slipped +in and they talked a little about their beautiful day in Florida +together. Starr asked him if he still rode and would like to ride with +her in the Park the next morning when she took her exercise, and it was +arranged in the presence of her father and with his full consent that +Michael should accompany her in place of the groom who usually attended +her rides. + +Mrs. Endicott came in as they were making this arrangement, and +immediately called Starr sharply out of the room. + +After their withdrawal Endicott questioned the boy carefully about his +college course and his habits of living. He was pleased to hear that +Michael had been independent enough to secure lodgings before coming to +his house. It showed a spirit that was worth helping, though he told +him that he should have come straight to him. + +As Endicott was going off on a business trip for a week he told Michael +to enjoy himself looking around the city during his absence, and on his +return present himself at the office at an appointed hour when he would +put him in the way of something that would start him in life. + +Michael thanked him and went back to his hot little room on the fourth +floor, happy in spite of heat and dinginess and a certain homesick +feeling. Was he not to ride with Starr in the morning? He could hardly +sleep for thinking of it, and of all he had to say to her. + + + + +Chapter VII + + +When Michael presented himself at the appointed hour the next morning +he was shown into a small reception room by a maid, and there he waited +for a full half hour. At the end of that time he heard a discreet +rustle of garments in the distance, and a moment later, became aware of +a cold stare from the doorway. Mrs. Endicott in an elaborate morning +frock was surveying him fixedly through a jewelled lorgnette, her chin +tilted contemptuously, and an expression of supreme scorn upon her +handsome features. Woman of the world that she was, she must have noted +the grace of his every movement as he rose with his habitual courtesy +to greet her. Yet for some reason this only seemed to increase her +dislike. + +There was no welcoming hand held out in response to his good morning, +and no answering smile displaced the severity of the woman’s expression +as she stood confronting the boy, slowly paralyzing him with her +glance. Not a word did she utter. She could convey her deepest meaning +without words when she chose. + +But Michael was a lad of great self-control, and keen logical mind. He +saw no reason for the woman’s attitude of rebuke, and concluded he must +be mistaken in it. Rallying his smile once more he asked: + +“Is Miss Starr ready to ride, or have I come too early?” + +Again the silence became impressive as the cold eyes looked him +through, before the thin lips opened. + +“My daughter is not ready to ride—with YOU, this morning or at any +other time!” + +“I beg your pardon, ma’am,” said Michael now deeply astonished, and +utterly unable to fathom the woman’s strange manner. “Have I +misunderstood? I thought she asked me to ride with her this morning. +May I see her, please?” + +“No, you may not see Miss Endicott!” said the cold voice. “And I have +come down to tell you that I consider your coming here at all a great +impertinence. Certainly my husband has fully discharged any obligations +for the slight service he is pleased to assume that you rendered a good +many years ago. I have always had my doubts as to whether you did not +do more harm than good at that time. Of course you were only a child +and it was impossible that you should have done any very heroic thing +at that age. In all probability if you had kept out of things the +trouble never would have happened, and your meddling simply gave you a +wound and a soft bed for a while. In my opinion you have had far more +done for you than you ever deserved, and I want you to understand that +so far as my daughter is concerned the obligation is discharged.” + +Michael had stood immovable while the cruel woman uttered her harangue, +his eyes growing wide with wonder and dark with a kind of manly shame +for her as she went on. When she paused for a moment she saw his face +was white and still like a statue, but there was something in the depth +of his eyes that held her in check. + +With the utmost calm, and deference, although his voice rang with +honest indignation, Michael spoke: + +“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Endicott,” he said, his tone clear and +attention-demanding, “I have never felt that there was the slightest +obligation resting upon any of this family for the trifling matter that +occurred when, as you say, I was a child. I feel that the obligation is +entirely the other way, of course, but I cannot understand what you +mean. How is my coming here at Mr. Endicott’s invitation an +impertinence?” + +The woman looked at him contemptuously as though it were scarcely worth +the trouble to answer him, yet there was something about him that +demanded an answer. + +“I suppose you are ignorant then,” she answered cuttingly, “as you seem +to be honest. I will explain. You are not fit company for my daughter. +It is strange that you do not see that for yourself! A child of the +slums, with nothing but shame and disgrace for an inheritance, and +brought up a pauper! How could you expect to associate on a level with +a gentleman’s daughter? If you have any respect for her whatever you +should understand that it is not for such as you to presume to call +upon her and take her out riding. It is commendable in you of course to +have improved what opportunities have been given you, but it is the +height of ingratitude in a dependent to presume upon kindness and take +on the airs of an equal, and you might as well understand first as last +that you cannot do it. I simply will not have you here. Do you +understand?” + +Michael stood as if rooted to the floor, horror and dismay growing in +his eyes; and stupor trickling through his veins. For a minute he stood +after she had ceased speaking, as though the full meaning of her words +had been slow to reach his consciousness. Yet outwardly his face was +calm, and only his eyes had seemed to change and widen and suffer as +she spoke. Finally his voice came to him: + +“Madam, I did not know,” he said in a stricken voice. “As you say, I am +ignorant.” Then lifting his head with that fine motion of challenge to +the world that was characteristic of him whenever he had to face a hard +situation, his voice rang clear and undaunted: + +“Madam, I beg your pardon. I shall not offend this way again. It was +because I did not understand. I would not hurt your daughter in any +way, for she has been the only beautiful thing that ever came into my +life. But I will never trouble her again.” + +The bow with which he left her and marched past her into the hall and +out of the great door where once his boy life had been freely laid down +for her child, could have been no more gracefully or dramatically +effected if he had been some great actor. It was natural, it was full +of dignity and reproach, and it left the lady feeling smaller and +meaner than she had ever felt in all of her rose-colored, velvet-lined +existence. Somehow all the contempt she had purposely prepared for the +crushing of the lad, he had suddenly flung from him as a hated garment +and walked from her presence, leaving it wrapped about herself. + +“Well, really!” she gasped at last when she realized that he was gone +and her eloquence not half finished, “Well, really! What right had he +to go away like that without my permission. Impertinent to the end! One +would suppose he was a grand Duke. Such airs! I always told Delevan it +was a mistake to educate the masses. They simply don’t know their place +and will not keep it.” + +Nevertheless, the selfish woman was much shaken. Michael had made her +feel somehow as if she had insulted a saint or a supernal being. She +could not forget how the light had sifted through his wonderful hair +and glinted through the depths of his great eyes, as he spoke those +last words, and she resented the ease with which he had left her +presence. It had been too much like the going of a victor, and not like +one crushed back into his natural place. She was cross all day in +consequence. + +Starr meanwhile was lingering upstairs waiting for Michael. She had +been purposely kept busy in a distant room at the back of the house by +her mother, and was not told of his coming. As an hour went by beyond +the appointed time she grew restless and disappointed; and then annoyed +and almost angry that he should have so easily forgotten her; but she +did not tell her mother, and the old Scotch nurse who would have been +her confidante had been sent on an errand to another part of the city. + +Thus, as the days went by, and Michael came no more to the house, the +girl grew to think he did not want to come, and her slight +disappointment and mortification were succeeded by a haughty +resentment, for her mother’s teaching had not been without some result +in her character. + +Michael had gone into the door of the Endicott mansion a boy with a +light heart and a happy vision of the future. He came out from there an +hour later, a man, with a heavy burden on his heart, and a blank vision +of the future. So much had the woman wrought. + +As he walked from the house his bright head drooped, and his spirit was +troubled within him. He went as one in a terrible dream. His face had +the look of an angel newly turned out of paradise and for no fault of +his own; an angel who bowed to the Supreme mandate, but whose life was +crushed within him. People looked at him strangely, and wondered as +they passed him. It was as if Sorrow were embodied suddenly, and +looking through eyes intended for Love. For the first time Michael, +beloved of all his companions for his royal unselfishness, was thinking +of himself. + +Yet even so there was no selfishness in his thought. It was only as if +that which had always given him life and the breath of gladness had +suddenly been withdrawn from him, and left him panting, gasping in a +wide and unexpected emptiness. + +Somehow he found his way to his room and locked the door. + +Then the great spirit gave way and he flung himself upon the bed in +supreme exhaustion. He seemed not to have another atom of strength left +wherewith, to move or think or even breathe consciously. All his +physical powers had oozed away and deserted him, now in this great +crisis when life’s foundations were shaken to their depths and nothing +seemed to be any more. He could not think it over or find a way out of +the horror, he could only lie and suffer it, fact by fact, as it came +and menaced him, slowly, cruelly throughout that length of day. + +Gradually it became distinct and separated itself into thoughts so that +he could follow it, as if it were the separate parts of some great +dragon come to twine its coils about him and claw and crush and +strangle the soul of him. + +First, there was the fact like a great knife which seemed to have +severed soul from body, the fact that he might not see Starr, or have +aught to do with her any more. So deeply had this interdiction taken +hold upon him that it seemed to him in his agitation he might no longer +even think of her. + +Next, following in stern and logical sequence, came the reason for this +severing of soul from all it knew and loved; the fact of his lowly +birth. Coming as it did, out of the blue of a trustful life that had +never questioned much about his origin but had sunnily taken life as a +gift, and thought little about self; with the bluntness and directness +of an un-lovingkindness, it had seemed to cut and back in every +direction, all that was left of either soul or body, so that there came +no hope of ever catching things together again. + +That was the way it came over and over again as the boy without a +friend in the whole wide world to whom he could turn in his first great +trouble, lay and took it. + +Gradually out of the blackness he began to think a little; think back +to his own beginning. Who was he? What was he? For the first time in +his life, though he knew life more than most of the boys with whom he +had associated, the thought of shame in connection with his own birth +came to him, and burrowed and scorched its way into his soul. + +He might have thought of such a possibility before perhaps, had not his +very youngest years been hedged about by a beautiful fancy that sprang +from the brain of an old Irish woman in the slums, whose heart was wide +as her ways were devious, and who said one day when little Mikky had +run her an errand, “Shure, an’ then Mikky, yer an angel sthraight frum +hiven an’ no misthake. Yer no jest humans like the rist av us; ye must +av dhropped doon frum the skoy.” And from that it had gone forth that +Mikky was the child of the sky, and that was why no one knew who were +his parents. + +The bit of a fancy had guarded the boy’s weird babyhood, and influenced +more than he knew his own thought of existence, until life grew too +full to think much on it. + +Out of the darkness and murk of the slums the soul of Mikky had climbed +high, and his ambitions reached up to the limitless blue above him. It +had never occurred to him once that there might be an embargo put upon +his upward movements. He had taken all others to be as free hearted and +generous as himself. Heir of all things, he had breathed the atmosphere +of culture as though it were his right. Now, he suddenly saw that he +had no business climbing. He had been seized just as he was about to +mount a glorious height from which he was sure other heights were +visible, when a rude hand had brushed him back and dropped him as +though he had been some crawling reptile, down, down, down, at the very +bottom of things. And the worst of all was that he might not climb +back. He might look up, he might know the way up again, but the honor +in him—the only bit of the heights he had carried back to the foot with +him—forbade him to climb to the dizzy heights of glory, for they +belonged to others: those whom fortune favored, and on whose escutcheon +there was no taint of shame. + +And why should it be that some souls should be more favored than +others? What had he, for instance, to do with his birth? He would not +have chosen shame, if shame there was. Yet shame or not he was branded +with it for life because his origin was enveloped in mystery. The +natural conclusion was that sin had had its part. + +Then through the boy’s mind there tumbled a confusion of questions all +more or less unanswerable, in the midst of which he slept. + +He seemed to have wandered out into the open again with the pines he +loved above him, and underneath the springy needles with their slippery +resinous softness; and he lay looking up into the changeless blue that +covered all the heights, asking all the tumultuous questions that +throbbed through his heart, asking them of God. + +Silently the noises of the city slunk away and dropped into the +ceaseless calm of the southland he had left. The breeze fanned his +cheek, the pines whispered, and a rippling bird song touched his soul +with peace. A quietness came down upon his troubled spirit, and he was +satisfied to take the burden that had been laid him and to bear it +greatly. The peace was upon him when he awoke, far into the next +morning. + +The hot June sun streamed into his stuffy room and fell aslant the bed. +He was sodden and heavy with the heat and the oppression of his +garments. His head ached, and he felt as nearly ill as he had ever felt +in his life. The spectre of the day before confronted him in all its +torturing baldness, but he faced it now and looked it squarely in the +eyes. It was not conquered yet, not by any means. The sharp pain of its +newness was just as great, and the deep conviction was still there that +it was because of wrong that this burden was laid upon him, but there +was an adjustment of his soul to the inevitable that there had not been +at first. + +The boy lay still for a few minutes looking out upon a new life in +which everything had to be readjusted to the idea of himself and his +new limitations. Heretofore in his mind there had been no height that +was not his for the climbing. Now, the heights were his, but he would +not climb because the heights themselves might be marred by his +presence. It was wrong, it was unfair, that things should be so; but +they were so, and as long as Sin and Wrong were in the world they would +be so. + +He must look upon life as he had looked upon every contest through his +education. There were always things to be borne, hard things, but that +only made the conquest greater. He must face this thing and win. + +And what had he lost that had been his before? Not the beautiful girl +who had been the idol of his heart all these years. She was still +there, alive and well, and more beautiful than ever. His devotion might +yet stand between her and harm if need arose. True, he had lost the +hope of companionship with her, but that had been the growth of a day. +He had never had much of it before, nor expected it when he came North. +It would have been a glory and a joy beyond expression, but one could +live without those things and be true. There was some reason for it all +somewhere in the infinite he was sure. + +It was not like the ordinary boy to philosophize in this way, but +Michael had never been an ordinary boy. Ever his soul had been open to +the greatness of the universe and sunny toward the most trying +surroundings. He had come out of the hardest struggle his soul had yet +met, but he had come out a man. There were lines about his pleasant +mouth that had not been there the day before, which spoke of strength +and self-control. There were new depths in his eyes as of one who had +looked down, and seen things unspeakable, having to number himself with +the lowly. + +A new thought came to him while he lay there trying to take in the +change that had come to him. The thought of his childhood companions, +the little waifs like himself who came from the offscourings of the +earth. They had loved him he knew. He recalled slowly, laboriously, +little incidents from his early history. They were dim and uncertain, +many of them, but little kindnesses stood out. A bad cut on his foot +once and how Buck had bathed it and bound it up in dirty rags, doing +double duty with the newspapers for several days to save his friend +from stepping. There was a bitter cold night way back as far as he +could remember when he had had bad luck, and came among the others +supperless and almost freezing. Buck had shared a crust and found a +warm boiler-room where they crawled out of sight and slept. There were +other incidents, still more blurred in his memory, but enough to recall +how loyal the whole little gang had been to him. He saw once more their +faces when they heard he was going away to college; blanched with +horror at the separation, lighting with pleasure when he promised to +return! + +The years, how they had changed and separated! Where were they, these +who really belonged to him; who were his rightful companions? What had +the years done to them? And he had a duty toward them unperformed. How +was it that he had been in the city all these hours and not even +thought of going to look for those loyal souls who had stood by him so +faithfully when they were all mere babies? He must go at once. He had +lost his head over attempting to reach things that were not for him, +and this shock had come to set him straight. + +Gravely he rose at last, these thoughts surging through his brain. + +The heat, the stifling air of the room, his recent struggling and the +exhausting stupor made him reel dizzily as he got up, but his mettle +was up now and he set his lips and went about making himself neat. He +longed for a dip in the crystal waters of the little lake at college. +The tiny wash-bowl of his room proved a poor substitute with its tepid +water and diminutive towel. + +He went out and breakfasted carefully as if it were a duty, and then, +with his map in his pocket, started out to find his old haunts. + + + + +Chapter VIII + + +Thirteen years in New York had brought many changes. Some of the +well-remembered landmarks were gone and new buildings in their places. +A prosperous looking saloon quite palatial in its entrance marked the +corner where he used to sell papers. It used to be a corner grocery +store. Saloons! Always and everywhere there were saloons! Michael +looked at them wonderingly. He had quite forgotten them in his exile, +for the college influence had barred them out from its vicinity. + +The boy Mikky had been familiar enough with saloons, looking upon them +as a necessary evil, where drinking fathers spent the money that ought +to have bought their children food. He had been in and out of them +commonly enough selling his papers, warming his feet, and getting a +crust now and then from an uneaten bit on the lunch counter. Sometimes +there had been glasses to drain, but Mikky with his observing eyes had +early decided that he would have none of the stuff that sent men home +to curse their little children. + +College influence, while there had been little said on the subject, had +filled the boy with horror for saloons and drunkards. He stood appalled +now as he turned at last into an alley where familiar objects, +doorsteps, turnings, cellars, met his gaze, with grog shops all along +the way and sentinelling every corner. + +A strange feeling came over him as memory stirred by long-forgotten +sights awoke. Was this really the place, and was that opening beyond +the third steps the very blind alley where Janie used to live? Things +were so much dirtier, so much, worse in every way than he remembered +them. + +He hurried on, not noticing the attention he was attracting from the +wretched little children in the gutters, though he scanned them all +eagerly, hurriedly, with the wild idea that Buck and the rest might be +among them. + +Yes, the alley was there, dark and ill-smelling as ever, and in its dim +recesses on a dirty step a woman’s figure hunched; a figure he knew at +once that he had seen before and in that very spot. Who was she? What +had they called her? Sally? Aunt Sal? + +He hurried up to where she sat looking curiously, apathetically at him; +her gray hair straggling down on her dirty cotton frock open at the +neck over shrivelled yellow skin; soiled old hands hanging carelessly +over slatternly garments; stockingless feet stuck into a great tattered +pair of men’s shoes. Nothing seemed changed since he saw her last save +that the hair had been black then, and the skin not so wrinkled. Aunt +Sally had been good natured always, even when she was drunk; her +husband, when he came home was always drunk also, but never good +natured. These things came back to the boy as he stood looking down at +the wreck of a woman before him. + +The bleary eyes looked up unknowing, half resentful of his intrusion. + +“Aunt Sally!” impulsively cried the boyish voice. “Aren’t you Aunt +Sally?” + +The woman looked stupidly surprised. + +“I be,” she said thickly, “but wot’s that to yous? I beant no hant o’ +yourn.” + +“Don’t you remember Mikky?” he asked almost anxiously, for now the +feeling had seized him that he must make her remember. He must find out +if he could whether anything was known of his origin. Perhaps she could +help him. Perhaps, after all, he might be able to trace his family, and +find at least no disgrace upon him. + +“Mikky!” the woman repeated dully. She shook her head. + +“Mikky!” she said again stolidly, “Wot’s Mikky?” + +“Don’t you remember Mikky the little boy that sold papers and brought +you water sometimes? Once you gave me a drink of soup from your kettle. +Think!” + +A dim perception came into the sodden eyes. + +“Thur wus a Mikky long ago,” she mused. “He had hair like a h’angel, +bless the sweet chile; but he got shot an’ never come back. That war +long ago.” + +Michael took off his hat and the little light in the dark alley seemed +to catch and tangle in the gleam of his hair. + +The old woman started as though she had seen a vision. + +“The saints presarve us!” she cried aghast, shrinking back into her +doorway with raised hands, “an’ who be yez? Yeh looks enough like the +b’y to be the father of ’im. He’d hair loike the verra sunshine itself. +Who be yez? Spake quick. Be ye man, b’y, er angel?” + +There was something in the woman’s tone that went to the heart of the +lonely boy, even while he recoiled from the repulsive creature before +him. + +“I am just Mikky, the boy, grown a little older,” he said gently, “and +I’ve come back to see the place where I used to live, and find the +people I used to know.” + +“Y’ve lost yer way thin fer shure!” said the woman slightly recovering +her equilibrium. “The loikes uv yous nivver lived in dis place; fer ef +yous ain’t angel you’s gintulmun; an’ no gintulmun ivver cum from the +loikes o’ this. An’ besoides, the b’y Mikky, I tel’d yez, was shot an’ +nivver comed back no more. He’s loikely up wid de angels where he +b’longs.” + +“Yes, I was shot,” said Michael, “but I wasn’t killed. A good man sent +me to college, and I’ve just graduated and come back to look up my +friends.” + +“Frinds, is it, ye’ll be afther a findin’? Thin ye’d bist look +ilsewhar, fer thur’s no one in this alley fit to be frinds with the +loikes uv you. Ef that’s wot they does with b’ys at co-lidge a pity +’tis more uv um can’t git shot an’ go there. But ef all yous tell is +thrue, moi advice to yez is, juist bate it as hoird as ivver yez kin +out’n yere, an’ don’t yez nivver set oies on this alley agin. Ye’d +better stay to co-lidge all the days uv yer loife than set fut here +agin, fer juist let ’em got holt uv yez an’ they’ll spile the pretty +face uv ye. Look thar!” she pointed tragically toward a wreck of +humanity that reeled into the alley just then. “Would yez loike to be +loike that? My mon come home loike that ivvery day of his loife, rist +his bones, an’ he nivver knowed whin he died.” + +Maudlin tears rolled down the poor creature’s cheeks, for they could be +no tears of affection. Her man’s departure from this life could have +been but a relief. Michael recoiled from the sight with a sickening +sadness. Nevertheless he meant to find out if this woman knew aught of +his old friends, or of his origin. He rallied his forces to answer her. + +“I don’t have to be like that,” he said, “I’ve come down to look up my +friends I tell you, and I want you to tell me if you know anything +about my parents. Did you ever hear anything about me? Did anybody know +who I was or how I came to be here?” + +The old woman looked at him only half comprehending, and tried to +gather her scattered faculties, but she shook her grizzled head +hopelessly. + +“I ain’t niver laid oies on yea before, an’ how cud I know whar yez cum +from, ner how yez cam to be here?” she answered. + +He perceived that it would require patience to extract information from +this source. + +“Try to think,” he said more gently. “Can you remember if anyone ever +belonged to the little boy they called Mikky? Was there ever any mother +or father, or—anybody that belonged to him at all.” + +Again, she shook her head. + +“Niver as Oi knows on. They said he just comed a wee babby to the +coourt a wanderin’ with the other childer, with scarce a rag to his +back, an’ a smile on him like the arch-angel, and some said as how he +niver had no father ner mother, but dthrapped sthraight frum the place +where de angels live.” + +“But did no one take care of him, or ever try to find out about him?” +questioned Michael wistfully. + +“Foind out, is it? Whist! An’ who would tak toime to foind out whin +ther’s so miny uv their own. Mikky was allus welcome to a bite an’ a +sup ef any uv us had it by. There wuz old Granny Bane with the +rheumatiks. She gave him a bed an’ a bite now an’ agin, till she died, +an afther that he made out to shift fer hisse’f. He was a moighty +indepindint babby.” + +“But had he no other name? Mikky what? What was his whole name?” +pursued Michael with an eagerness that could not give up the sought-for +information. + +The old woman only stared stupidly. + +“Didn’t he have any other name?” There was almost despair in his tone. + +Another shake of the head. + +“Juist Mikky!” she said and her eyes grew dull once more. + +“Can you tell me if there are any other people living here now that +used to know Mikky? Are there any other men or women who might +remember?” + +“How kin Oi tell?” snarled the woman impatiently. “Oi can’t be +bothered.” + +Michael stood in troubled silence and the woman turned her head to +watch a neighbor coming down the street with a basket in her hand. It +would seem that her visitor interested her no longer. She called out +some rough, ribaldry to the woman who glanced up fiercely and deigned +no further reply. Then Michael tried again. + +“Could you tell me of the boys who used to go with Mikky?” + +“No, Oi can’t,” she answered crossly, “Oi can’t be bothered. Oi don’t +know who they was.” + +“There was Jimmie and Sam and Bobs and Buck. Surely you remember Buck, +and little Janie. Janie who died after Mikky went away?” + +The bleared eyes turned full upon him again. + +“Janie? Fine Oi remimber Janie. They had a white hurse to her, foiner’n +any iver cum to the coourt before. The b’ys stayed up two noights +selling to git the money fur it, an’ Buck he stayed stiddy while she +was aloive. Pity she doied.” + +“Where is Buck?” demanded Michael with a sudden twinging of his heart +strings that seemed to bring back the old love and loyalty to his +friend. Buck had needed him perhaps all these years and he had not +known. + +“That’s whot the _po_lice would like fer yez to answer, I’m thinkin’!” +laughed old Sal. “They wanted him bad fer breakin’ into a house an’ +mos’ killin’ the lady an’ gittin’ aff wid de jewl’ry. He beat it dat +noight an’ ain’t none o’ us seen him these two year. He were a slick +one, he were awful smart at breakin’ an’ stealin’. Mebbe Jimmie knows, +but Jimmie, he’s in jail, serving his time fer shootin’ a man in the +hand durin’ a dhrunken fight. Jimmie, he’s no good. Never wuz. He’s +jest like his foither. Bobs, he got both legs cut aff, bein’ runned +over by a big truck, and he doied in the horspittle. Bobs he were +better dead. He’d uv gone loike the rist. Sam, he’s round these parts +mostly nights. Ye’ll hev to come at noight ef yez want to see him. +Mebbe he knows more ’bout Buck’n he’ll tell.” + +Sick at heart Michael put question, after question but no more +information was forthcoming and the old woman showed signs of +impatience again. Carefully noting what she said about Sam and getting +a few facts as to the best time and place to find him Michael turned +and walked sadly out of the alley. He did not see the alert eyes of old +Sal following him, nor the keen expression of her face as she stretched +her neck to see which way he turned as he left the alley. As soon as he +was out of sight she shuffled down from her doorstep to the corner and +peered after him through the morning sunshine. Then she went slowly, +thoughtfully back to her doorstep. + +“Now whut in the divil could he be a wantin’ wid Buck an’ Sammie?” she +muttered to herself. “All that story ’bout his bein’ Mikky was puttin’ +it on my eye, I’ll giv warnin’ to Sammie this night, an’ ef Buck’s in +these pairts he better git out west some’res. The _po_lice uv got onto +’im. But hoiwiver did they know he knowed Mikky? Poor little angel +Mikky! I guv him the shtraight about Bobs an’ Jimmie, fer they wuz +beyant his troublin’ but he’ll niver foind Sammie from the directin’ I +sayed.” + +Michael, sorrowing, horror-filled, conscience-stricken, took his way to +a restaurant and ate his dinner, thinking meanwhile what he could do +for the boys. Could he perhaps visit Jimmie in prison and make his life +more comfortable in little ways? Could he plan something for him when +he should come out? Could he help Sam? The old woman had said little +about Sam’s condition. Michael thought he might likely by this time +have built up a nice little business for himself. Perhaps he had a +prosperous news stand in some frequented place. He looked forward +eagerly to meeting him again. Sam had always been a silent child +dependent on the rest, but he was one of the little gang and Michael’s +heart warmed toward his former comrade. It could not be that he would +find him so loathsome and repulsive as the old woman Sal. She made him +heart-sick. Just to think of drinking soup from her dirty kettle! How +could he have done it? And yet, he knew no better life then, and he was +hungry, and a little child. + +So Michael mused, and all the time with a great heart-hunger to know +what had become of Buck. Could he and Sam together plan some way to +find Buck and help him out of his trouble? How could Buck have done +anything so dreadful? And yet even as he thought it he remembered that +“pinching” had not been a crime in his childhood days, not unless one +was found out. How had these principles, or lack of principles been +replaced gradually in his own life without his realizing it at all? It +was all strange and wonderful. Practically now he, Michael, had been +made into a new creature since he left New York, and so gradually, and +pleasantly that he had not at all realized the change that was going on +in him. + +Yet as he thought and marvelled there shot through him a thought like a +pang, that perhaps after all it had not been a good thing, this making +him into a new creature, with new desires and aims and hopes that could +never be fulfilled. Perhaps he would have been happier, better off, if +he had never been taken out of that environment and brought to +appreciate so keenly another one where he did not belong, and could +never stay, since this old environment was the one where he must stay +whether he would or no. He put the thought from him as unworthy at +once, yet the sharpness of the pang lingered and with it a vision of +Starr’s vivid face as he had seen her two nights before in her father’s +home, before he knew that the door of that home was shut upon him +forever. + +Michael passed the day in idly wandering about the city trying to piece +together his old knowledge, and the new, and know the city in which he +had come to dwell. + +It was nearing midnight, when Michael, by the advice of old Sal, and +utterly fearless in his ignorance, entered the court where his babyhood +had been spent. + +The alley was dark and murky with the humidity of the summer night; but +unlike the morning hours it was alive with a writhing, chattering, +fighting mass of humanity. Doorways were overflowing. The narrow alley +itself seemed fairly thronging with noisy, unhappy men and women. +Hoarse laughs mingled with rough cursing, shot through with an +occasional scream. Stifling odors lurked in cellar doorways and struck +one full in the face unawares. Curses seemed to be the setting for all +conversation whether angry or jolly. Babies tumbled in the gutter and +older children fought over some scrap of garbage. + +Appalled, Michael halted and almost turned back. Then, remembering that +this was where he had come from,—where he belonged,—and that his duty, +his obligation, was to find his friends, he went steadily forward. + +There sat old Sal, a belligerent gleam in her small sodden eyes. Four +men on a step opposite, with a candle stood between them, were playing +cards. Sal muttered a word as Michael approached and the candle was +suddenly extinguished. It looked as if one had carelessly knocked it +down to the pavement, but the glare nickered into darkness and Michael +could no longer see the men’s faces. He had wondered if one of them was +Sam. But when he rubbed his eyes and looked again in the darkness the +four men were gone and the step was occupied by two children holding a +sleeping baby between them and staring at him in open mouthed +admiration. + +The flickering weird light of the distant street lamps, the noise and +confusion, the odors and curses filled him anew with a desire to flee, +but he would not let himself turn back. Never had Michael turned from +anything that was his duty from fear or dislike of anything. + +He tried to enter into conversation with old Sal again, but she would +have none of him. She had taken “a wee drapth” and was alert and +suspicious. In fact, the whole alley was on the alert for this elegant +stranger who was none of theirs, and who of course could have come but +to spy on some one. He wanted Sam, therefore Sam was hidden well and at +that moment playing a crafty game in the back of a cellar on the top of +an old beer barrel, by the light of a wavering candle; well guarded by +sentinels all along the difficult way. Michael could have no more found +him under those circumstances than he could have hoped to find a needle +in a haystack the size of the whole city of New York. + +He wandered for two hours back and forth through the alley seeing +sights long since forgotten, hearing words unspeakable; following out +this and that suggestion of the interested bystanders; always coming +back without finding Sam. He had not yet comprehended the fact that he +was not intended to find Sam. He had taken these people into his +confidence just as he had always taken everyone into his confidence, +and they were playing him false. If they had been the dwellers on Fifth +Avenue he would not have expected them to be interested in him and his +plans and desires; but these were his very own people, at least the +“ownest” he had in the world, and among them he had once gone freely, +confidently. He saw no reason why they should have changed toward him, +though he felt the antagonism in the atmosphere as the night wore on, +even as he had felt it in the Endicott house the day before. + +Heartsick and baffled at last he took his way slowly, looking back many +times, and leaving many messages for Sam. He felt as if he simply could +not go back to even so uncomfortable a bed an he called his own in his +new lodgings without having found some clew to his old comrades. + +Standing at the corner of the alley opposite the flaunting lights of +the saloon he looked back upon the swarming darkness of the alley and +his heart filled with a great surging wave of pity, love, and sorrow. +Almost at his feet in a dark shadow of a doorway a tiny white-faced boy +crouched fast asleep on the stone threshold. It made him think of +little Bobs, and his own barren childhood, and a mist came before his +eyes as he looked up, up at the sky where the very stars seemed small +and far away as if the sky had nothing to do with this part of the +earth. + +“Oh, God!” he said under his breath. “Oh, God! I must do something for +them!” + +And then as if the opportunity came with the prayer there reeled into +view a little group of people, three or four men and a woman. + +The woman was talking in a high frightened voice and protesting. The +men caught hold of her roughly, laughing and flinging out coarse jests. +Then another man came stealing from the darkness of the alley and +joined the group, seizing the woman by the shoulders and speaking words +to her too vile for repetition. In terrible fear the girl turned, for +Michael could see, now that she was nearer, that she was but a young +girl, and that she was pretty. Instantly he thought of Starr and his +whole soul rose in mighty wrath that any man should dare treat any girl +as he had seen these do. Then the girl screamed and struggled to get +away, crying: “It ain’t true, it ain’t true! Lem’me go! I won’t go with +you—” + +Instantly Michael was upon them, his powerful arms and supple body +dashing the men right and left. And because of the suddenness of the +attack coming from this most unexpected quarter,—for Michael had stood +somewhat in the shadow—and because of the cowardliness of all bullies, +for the moment he was able to prevail against all four, just long +enough for the girl to slip like a wraith from their grasp and +disappear into the shadows. + +Then when the men, dazed from surprise, though not seriously hurt, +discovered that their prey was gone and that a stranger from the higher +walks of life had frustrated their plans they fell upon him in their +wrath. + +Michael brave always, and well trained in athletics, parried their +blows for an instant, but the man, the one who had come from the +shadows of the alley, whose face was evil, stole up behind and stabbed +him in the shoulder. The sudden faintness that followed made him less +capable of defending himself. He felt he was losing his senses, and the +next blow from one of the men sent him reeling into the street where he +fell heavily, striking his head against the curbing. There was a loud +cry of murder from a woman’s shrill voice, the padded rush of the +villains into their holes, the distant ring of a policeman’s whistle, +and then all was quiet as a city night could be. Michael lay white and +still with his face looking up to the faint pitying moon so far away +and his beautiful hair wet with the blood that was flowing out on the +pavement. There he lay on the edge of the world that was his own and +would not own him. He had come to his own and his own received him not. + + + + +Chapter IX + + +Michael awoke in the hospital with a bandage around his head and a +stinging pain in his shoulder whenever he tried to move. + +Back in his inner consciousness there sounded the last words he heard +before he fell, but he could not connect them with anything at first: + +“Hit him again, Sam!” + +Those were the words. What did they mean? Had he heard them or merely +dreamed them? And where was he? + +A glance about the long room with its rows of white beds each with an +occupant answered his question. He closed his eyes again to be away +from all those other eyes and think. + +Sam! He had been looking for Sam. Had Sam then come at last? Had Sam +hit him? Had Sam recognized him? Or was it another Sam? + +But there was something queer the matter with his head, and he could +not think. He put up his right arm to feel the bandage and the pain in +his shoulder stung again. Somehow to his feverish fancy it seemed the +sting of Mrs. Endicott’s words to him. He dropped his hand feebly and +the nurse gave him something in a spoon. Then half dreaming he fell +asleep, with a vision of Starr’s face as he had seen her last. + +Three weeks he lay upon that narrow white bed, and learned to face the +battalion of eyes from the other narrow beds around him; learned to +distinguish the quiet sounds of the marble lined room from the rumble +of the unknown city without; and when the rumble was the loudest his +heart ached with the thought of the alley and all the horrible sights +and sounds that seemed written in letters of fire across his spirit. + +He learned to look upon the quiet monotonous world of ministrations as +a haven from the world outside into which he must presently go; and in +his weakened condition he shrank from the new life. It seemed to be so +filled with disappointments and burdens of sorrow. + +But one night a man in his ward died and was carried, silent and +covered from the room. Some of his last moaning utterances had reached +the ears of his fellow sufferers with a swift vision of his life and +his home, and his mortal agony for the past, now that he was leaving it +all. + +That night Michael could not sleep, for the court and the alley, and +the whole of sunken humanity were pressing upon his heart. It seemed to +be his burden that he must give up all his life’s hopes to bear. And +there he had it out with himself and accepted whatever should come to +be his duty. + +Meantime the wound on his head was healed, the golden halo had covered +the scar, and the cut in his shoulder, which had been only a flesh, +wound, was doing nicely. Michael, was allowed to sit up, and then to be +about the room for a day or two. + +It was in those days of his sitting up when the sun which crept in for +an hour a day reached and touched to flame his wonderful hair, that the +other men of the ward began to notice him. He seemed to them all as +somehow set apart from the rest; one who was lifted above what held +them down to sin and earth. His countenance spoke of strength and +self-control, the two things that many of those men lacked, either +through constant sinning or through constant fighting with poverty and +trouble, and so, as he began to get about they sent for him to come to +their bedsides, and as they talked one and another of them poured out +his separate tale of sorrow and woe, till Michael felt he could bear no +more. He longed for power, great power to help; power to put these +wretched men on their feet again to lead a new life, power to crush +some of the demons in human form who were grinding them down to earth. +Oh! for money and knowledge and authority! + +Here was a man who had lost both legs in a defective machine he was +running in a factory. He was a skilled workman and had a wife and three +little ones. But he was useless now at his trade. No one wanted a man +with no legs. He might better be dead. Damages? No, there was no hope +of that. He had accepted three hundred dollars to sign a release. He +had to. His wife and children were starving and they must have the +money then or perish. There was no other way. Besides, what hope had he +in fighting a great corporation? He was a poor man, a stranger in this +country, with no friends. The company had plenty who were willing to +swear it was the man’s own fault. + +Yonder was another who had tried to asphyxiate himself by turning on +the gas in his wretched little boarding-house room because he had lost +his position on account of ill health, and the firm wished to put a +younger man in his place. He had almost succeeded in taking himself out +of this life. + +Next him was one, horribly burned by molten metal which he had been +compelled to carry without adequate precautions, because it was a +cheaper method of handling the stuff and men cost less than machinery. +You could always get more men. + +The man across from him was wasted away from insufficient food. He had +been out of work for months, and what little money he could pick up in +odd jobs had gone mostly to his wife and children. + +And so it was throughout the ward. On almost every life sin,—somebody’s +sin,—had left its mark. There were one or two cheery souls who, though +poor, were blest with friends and a home of some kind and were looking +forward to a speedy restoration; but these were the exception. Nearly +all the others blamed someone else for their unhappy condition and in +nearly every case someone else was undoubtedly to blame, even though in +most cases each individual had been also somewhat responsible. + +All this Michael gradually learned, as he began his practical study of +sociology. As he learned story after story, and began to formulate the +facts of each he came to three conclusions: First, that there was not +room enough in the city for these people to have a fair chance at the +great and beautiful things of life. Second, that the people of the +cities who had the good things were getting them all for themselves and +cared not a straw whether the others went without. Third, that somebody +ought to be doing something about it, and why not he? + +Of course it was absurd for a mere boy just out of college, with +scarcely a cent to his name—and not a whole name to call his own—to +think of attempting to attack the great problem of the people +single-handed; but still he felt he was called to do it, and he meant +to try. + +He hadn’t an idea at this time whether anybody else had seen it just +this way or not. He had read a little of city missions, and charitable +enterprises, but they had scarcely reached his inner consciousness. His +impression gathered from such desultory reading had been that the +effort in that direction was sporadic and ineffective. And so, in his +gigantic ignorance and egotism, yet with his exquisite sensitiveness to +the inward call, Michael henceforth set himself to espouse the cause of +the People. + +Was he not one of them? Had he not been born there that he might be one +of them, and know what they had to suffer? Were they not his kindred so +far as he had any kindred? Had he not been educated and brought into +contact with higher things that he might know what these other human +souls might be if they had the opportunity? If he had known a little +more about the subject he would have added “and if they _would_.” But +he did not; he supposed all souls were as willing to be uplifted as he +had been. + +Michael went out from the hospital feeling that his life work was +before him. The solemn pledge he had taken as a little child to return +and help his former companions became a voluntary pledge of his young +manhood. He knew very little indeed about the matter, but he felt much, +and he was determined to do, wherever the way opened. He had no doubt +but that the way would open. + +“Now young man, take care of yourself,” said the doctor in parting from +his patient a few days later, “and for the land’s sake keep away from +back alleys at night. When you know a little more about New York you’ll +learn that it’s best to keep just as far away from such places as +possible. Don’t go fooling around under the impression that you can +convert any of those blackguards. They need to be blown up, every one +of them, and the place obliterated. Mind, I say, keep away from them.” + +Michael smiled and thanked the doctor, and walked unsteadily down the +hospital steps on feet that were strangely wobbly for him. But Michael +did not intend to obey the doctor. He had been turning the matter over +in his mind and he had a plan. And that very night about ten o’clock he +went back to the alley. + +Old Sal was sitting on her doorstep a little more intoxicated than the +last time, and the young man’s sudden appearance by her side startled +her into an Irish howl. + +“The saints presarve us!” she cried tottering to her feet. “He’s cum +back to us agin, sure he has! There’s no killin’ him! He’s an angel +shure. B’ys rin! bate it! bate it! The angel’s here agin!” + +There was a sound of scurrying feet and the place seemed to suddenly +clear of the children that had been under foot. One or two scowling +men, or curiously apathetic women in whose eyes the light of life had +died and been left unburied, peered from dark doorways. + +Michael stood quietly until the howling of Sal had subsided, and then +he spoke in a clear tone. + +“Can you tell if Sam has been around here tonight? Is he anywhere near +here now?” + +There was no answer for a minute but some one growled out the +information that he might and then he might not have been. Some one +else said he had just gone away but they didn’t know where. Michael +perceived that it was a good deal as it had been before. + +“I have brought a message for him, a letter,” he said, and he spoke so +that anyone near-by might hear. “Will you give it to him when he comes. +He will want to see it, I am sure. It is important. I think he will be +glad to get it. It contains good news about an old friend of his.” + +He held out the letter courteously to old Sal, and she looked down at +its white crispness as though it had been a message from the lower +regions sent to call her to judgment. A letter, white, square-cornered +and clean, with clear, firm inscription, had never come within her gaze +before. Old Sal had never learned to read. The writing meant nothing to +her, but the whole letter represented a mystic communication from +another world. + +Instinctively the neighbors gathered nearer to look at the letter, and +Sal, seeing herself the centre of observation, reached forward a dirty +hand wrapped in a corner of her apron, and took the envelope as though +it had been hot, eyeing it all the while fearfully. + +Then with his easy bow and touching his hat to her as though she had +been a queen, Michael turned and walked away out of the alley. + +Old Sal stood watching him, a kind of wistful wonder in her bleary +eyes. No gentleman had ever tipped his hat to her, and no man had ever +done her reverence. From her little childhood she had been brought up +to forfeit the respect of men. Perhaps it had never entered her dull +mind before that she might have been aught but what she was; and that +men might have given her honor. + +The neighbors too were awed for the moment and stood watching in +silence, till when Michael turned the corner out of sight, Sal +exclaimed: + +“Now that’s the angel, shure! No gintlemin would iver uv tipped his ’at +to the loikes of Sal. Saints presarve us! That we should hev an angel +in this alley!” + +When Michael reached his lodging he found that he was trembling so from +weakness and excitement that he could scarcely drag himself up the +three flights to his room. So had his splendid strength been reduced by +trouble and the fever that came with his wounds. + +He lay down weakly and tried to think. Now he had done his best to find +Sam. If Sam did not come in answer to his letter he must wait until he +found him. He would not give up. So he fell asleep with the burden on +his heart. + +The letter was as follows: + +Dear Sam: + You can’t have forgotten Mikky who slept with you in the boiler + room, and with whom you shared your crusts. You remember I promised + when I went away to college I would come back and try to make + things better for you all? And now I have come and I am anxious to + find the fellows and see what we can do together to make life + better in the old alley and make up for some of the hard times when + we were children. I have been down to the alley but can get no + trace of you. I spent the best part of one night hunting you and + then a slight accident put me in the hospital for a few days, but I + am well now and am anxious to find you all. I want to talk over old + times, and find out where Buck and Jim are; and hear all about + Janie and little Bobs. + I am going to leave this letter with Aunt Sally, hoping she will + give it to you. I have given my address below and should be glad to + have you come and see me at my room, or if you would prefer I will + meet you wherever you say, and we will go together and have + something to eat to celebrate. + Hoping to hear from you very soon, I am as always, + + +Your brother and friend, + + +MIKKY. + + +“Address, Michael Endicott, No —— West 23rd St.” + +A few days later a begrimed envelope addressed in pencil was brought to +the door by the postman. Michael with sinking heart opened it. It read: + +MiKY ef yo be reely hym cum to KelLys karner at 10 tumoroW nite. Ef you +are mIK youz thee old whissel an doante bring no une wit yer Ef yO du I +wunt be thar. + + +SAM. + + +Michael seated on his lumpy bed puzzled this out, word by word, until +he made fairly good sense of it. He was to go to Kelly’s corner. How +memory stirred at the words. Kelly’s corner was beyond the first turn +of the alley, it was at the extreme end of an alley within an alley, +and had no outlet except through Kelly’s saloon. Only the “gang” knew +the name, “Kelly’s Corner,” for it was not really a corner at all only +a sort of pocket or hiding place so entitled by Buck for his own and +“de kids” private purpose. If Michael had been at all inclined to be a +coward since his recent hard usage in the vicinity of the alley he +would have kept away from Kelly’s corner, for once in there with +enemies, and alone, no policeman’s club, nor hospital ambulance would +ever come to help. The things that happened at Kelly’s corner never got +into the newspapers. + +Memory and instinct combined to make this perfectly dear to Michael’s +mind, and if he needed no other warning those words of the letter, +“Don’t bring no one with you. If you do, I won’t be there,” were +sufficient to make him wise. + +Yet Michael never so much as thought of not keeping the appointment. +His business was to find Sam, and it mattered as little to him now that +danger stood in the way as it had the day when he flung his neglected +little body in front of Starr Endicott and saved her from the +assassin’s bullet. He would go, of course, and go alone. Neither did it +occur to him to take the ordinary precaution of leaving his name and +whereabouts at the police station to be searched for in case he did not +turn up in reasonable time. It was all in the day’s work and Michael +thought no more about the possible peril he was facing than he had +thought of broken limbs and bloody noses the last hour before a +football scrimmage. + +There was something else in the letter that interested Michael and +stirred the old memories. That old whistle! Of course he had not +forgotten that, although he had not used it much among his college +companions. It was a strange, weird, penetrating sound, between a call +and whistle. He and Buck had made it up between them. It was their old +signal. When Michael went to college he had held it sacred as belonging +strictly to his old friends, and never, unless by himself in the woods +where none but the birds and the trees could hear, had he let its +echoes ring. Sometimes he had flung it forth and startled the mocking +birds, and once he had let it ring into the midst of his astonished +comrades in Florida when he was hidden from their view and they knew +not who had made the sound. He tried it now softly, and then louder and +louder, until with sudden fear he stopped lest his landlady should +happen to come up that way and think him insane. But undoubtedly he +could give the old signal. + +The next night at precisely ten o’clock Michael’s ringing step sounded +down the alley; firm, decisive, secure. Such assurance must Daniel have +worn as he faced the den of lions; and so went the three Hebrew +children into the fiery furnace. + +“It’s him! It’s the angel!” whispered old Sal who was watching. “Oi +tould yez he’d come fer shure!” + +“He’s got his nerve with him!” murmured a girl with bold eyes and a +coarse kind of beauty, as she drew further back into the shadow of the +doorway. “He ain’t comin’ out again so pretty I guess. Not if Sam don’t +like. Mebbe he ain’t comin’ out ’tall!” + +“Angels has ways, me darlint!” chuckled Sal. “He’ll come back al +roight, ye’ll see!” + +On walked Michael, down the alley to the narrow opening that to the +uninitiated was not an opening between the buildings at all, and +slipped in the old way. He had thought it all out in the night. He was +sure he knew just how far beyond Sal’s house it was; on into the fetid +air of the close dark place, the air that struck him in the face like a +hot, wet blanket as he kept on. + +It was very still all about when he reached the point known as Kelly’s +corner. It had not been so as he remembered it. It had been the place +of plots, the hatching of murders and robberies. Had it so changed that +it was still tonight? He stood for an instant hesitating. Should he +wait a while, or knock on some door? Would it be any use to call? + +But the instinct of the slums was upon him again, his birthright. It +seemed to drop upon him from the atmosphere, a sort of stealthy +patience. He would wait. Something would come. He must do as he had +done with the birds of the forest when he wished to watch their habits. +He must stand still unafraid and show that he was harmless. + +So he stood three, perhaps five minutes, then softly at first and +gradually growing clearer, he gave the call that he had given years +before, a little barefoot, hungry child in that very spot many times. + +The echo died away. There was nothing to make him know that a group of +curious alley-dwellers huddled at the mouth of the trap in which he +stood, watching with eyes accustomed to the darkness, to see what would +happen; to block his escape if escape should be attempted. + +Then out of the silence a sigh seemed to come, and out of the shadows +one shadow unfolded itself and came forward till it stood beside him. +Still Michael did not stir; but softly, through, half-open lips, +breathed the signal once more. + +Sibilant, rougher, with a hint of menace as it issued forth the signal +was answered this time, and with a thrill of wonder the mantle of the +old life fell upon Michael once more. He was Mikky—only grown more +wise. Almost the old vernacular came to his tongue. + +“Hi! Sam! That you?” + +The figure in the darkness seemed to stiffen with sudden attention. The +voice was like, and yet not like the Mikky of old. + +“Wot yous want?” questioned a voice gruffly. + +“I want you, Sam. I want to see if you look as you used to, and I want +to know about the boys. Can’t we go where there’s light and talk a +little? I’ve been days hunting you. I’ve come back because I promised, +you know. You expected me to come back some day, didn’t you, Sam?” + +Michael was surprised to find how eager he was for the answer to this +question. + +“Aw, what ye givin’ us?” responded the suspicious Sam. “D’yous s’pose I +b’lieve all that gag about yer comin’ here to he’p we’uns? Wot would a +guy like yous wid all dem togs an’ all dem fine looks want wid us? Yous +has got above us. Yous ain’t no good to us no more.” + +Sam scratched a match on his trousers and lit an old pipe that he held +between his teeth, but as the match flared up and showed his own face a +lowering brow, shifty eyes, a swarthy, unkempt visage, sullen and sly, +the shifty eyes were not looking at the pipe but up at the face above +him which shone out white and fine with its gold halo in the little +gleam in the dark court. The watchers crowding at the opening of the +passage saw his face, and almost fancied there were soft shadowy wings +behind him. It was thus with old Sal’s help that Michael got his name +again, “The Angel.” It was thus he became the “angel of the alley.” + +“Sam!” he said, and his voice was very gentle, although he was +perfectly conscious that behind him there were two more shadows of men +and more might be lurking in the dark corners. “Sam, if you remember me +you will know I couldn’t forget; and I do care. I came back to find +you. I’ve always meant to come, all the time I was in college. I’ve had +it in mind to come back here and make some of the hard things easier +for”—he hesitated, and—“for _us_ all.” + +“How did yous figger yous was goin’ to do that?” Sam asked, his little +shifty eyes narrowing on Michael, as he purposely struck another match +to watch the effect of his words. + +Then Michael’s wonderful smile lit up his face, and Sam, however much +he may have pretended to doubt, knew in his deepest heart that this was +the same Mikky of old. There was no mistaking that smile. + +“I shall need you to help me in figuring that out, Sam. That’s why I +was so anxious to find you.” + +A curious grunt from behind Michael warned him that the audience was +being amused at the expense of Sam, Sam’s brows were lowering. + +“Humph!” he said, ungraciously striking a third match just in time to +watch Michael’s face. “Where’s yer pile?” + +“What?” + +“Got the dough?” + +“Oh,” said Michael comprehendingly, “no, I haven’t got money, Sam. I’ve +only my education.” + +“An’ wot good’s it, I’d like to know. Tell me those?” + +“So much good that I can’t tell it all in one short talk,” answered +Michael steadily. “We’ll have to get better acquainted and then I hope +I can make you understand how it has helped. Now tell me about the +others. Where is Buck?” + +There was a dead silence. + +“It’s hard to say!” at last muttered Sam irresponsibly. + +“Don’t you know? Haven’t you any kind of an idea, Sam? I’d so like to +hunt him up.” + +The question seemed to have produced a tensity in the very atmosphere, +Michael felt it. + +“I might, an’ then agin’ I might not,” answered Sam in that tone of his +that barred the way for further questions. + +“Couldn’t you and I find him and—and—help him, Sam? Aunt Sally said he +was in trouble.” + +Another match was scratched and held close to his face while the narrow +eyes of Sam seemed to pierce his very soul before Sam answered with an +ugly laugh. + +“Oh, he don’t need none o’ your help, you bet. He’s lit out. You don’t +need to worry ’bout Buck, he kin take car’ o’ hisse’f every time.” + +“But won’t he come back sometime?” + +“Can’t say. It’s hard to tell,” non-committally. + +“And Jim?” Michael’s voice was sad. + +“Jim, he’s doin’ time,” sullenly. + +“I’m sorry!” said Michael sadly, and a strange hush came about the dark +group. Now why should this queer chap be sorry? No one else cared, +unless it might be Jim, and Jim had got caught. It was nothing to them. + +“Now tell me about Janie—and little Bobs—” The questioner paused. His +voice was very low. + +“Aw, cut it out!” snarled Sam irritably. “Don’t come any high strikes +on their account. They’re dead an’ you can’t dig ’em up an’ weep over +’em. Hustle up an’ tell us wot yer wantin’ to do.” + +“Well, Sam,” said Michael trying to ignore the natural repulsion he +felt at the last words of his one-time friend, “suppose you take lunch +with me tomorrow at twelve. Then we can talk over things and get back +old times. I will tell you all about my college life and you must tell +me all you are doing.” + +Sam was silent from sheer astonishment. Take lunch! Never in his life +had he been invited out to luncheon. Nor had he any desire for an +invitation now. + +“Where?” he asked after a silence so long that Michael began to fear he +was not going to answer at all. + +Michael named a place not far away. He had selected it that morning. It +was clean, somewhat, yet not too clean. The fare was far from princely, +but it would do, and the locality was none too respectable. Michael was +enough of a slum child still to know that his guest would never go with +him to a really respectable restaurant, moreover he would not have the +wardrobe nor the manners. He waited Sam’s answer breathlessly. + +Sam gave a queer little laugh as if taken off his guard. The place +named was so entirely harmless, to his mind, and the whole matter of +the invitation took on the form of a great joke. + +“Well, I might,” he drawled indifferently. “I won’t make no promises, +but I might, an’ then again I might not. It’s jes’ as it happens. Ef I +ain’t there by twelve sharp you needn’t wait. Jes’ go ahead an’ eat. I +wouldn’t want to spoil yer digestion fer my movements.” + +“I shall wait!” said Michael decidedly with his pleasant voice ringing +clear with satisfaction. “You will come, Sam, I know you will. Good +night!” + +And then he did a most extraordinary thing. He put out his hand, his +clean, strong hand, warm and healthy and groping with the keenness of +low, found the hardened grimy hand of his one-time companion, and +gripped it in a hearty grasp. + +Sam started back with the instant suspicion of attack, and then stood +shamedly still for an instant. The grip of that firm, strong hand, the +touch of brotherhood, a touch such as had never come to his life before +since he was a little child, completed the work that the smile had +begun, and Sam knew that Mikky, the real Mikky was before him. + +Then Michael walked swiftly down that narrow passage,—at the opening of +which, the human shadows scattered silently and fled, to watch from +other furtive doorways,—down through the alley unmolested, and out into +the street once more. + +“The saints presarve us! Wot did I tell yez?” whispered Sal. “It’s the +angel all right fer shure.” + +“I wonder wot he done to Sam,” murmured the girl. “He’s got his nerve +all right, he sure has. Ain’t he beautiful!” + + + + +Chapter X + + +Michael went early to his lunch party. He was divided between wondering +if his strange guest would put in an appearance at all; if he did, what +he should talk about; and how he would pilot him through the +embarrassing experience of the meal. One thing he was determined upon. +He meant to find out if possible whether Sam knew anything about his, +Michael’s, origin. It was scarcely likely; and yet, Sam might have +heard some talk by older people in the neighborhood. His one great +longing was to find out and clear his name of shame if possible. + +There was another thing that troubled Michael. He was not sure that he +would know Sam even supposing that he came. The glimpse he had caught +the night before when the matches were struck was not particularly +illuminating. He had a dim idea that Sam was below the medium height; +with thin, sallow face; small, narrow eyes; a slouching gait; and a +head that was not wide enough from front to back. He had a feeling that +Sam had not room enough in his brain for seeing all that ought to be +seen. Sam did not understand about education. Would he ever be able to +make him understand? + +Sam came shuffling along ten minutes after twelve. His sense of dignity +would not have allowed him to be on time. Besides, he wanted to see if +Michael would wait as he had said. It was a part of the testing of +Michael; not to prove if he were really Mikky, but to see what stuff he +was made of, and how much he really had meant of what he said. + +Michael was there, standing anxiously outside the eating house. He did +not enjoy the surroundings nor the attention he was attracting. He was +too well dressed for that locality, but these were the oldest clothes +he had. He would have considered them quite shabby at college. He was +getting worried lest after all his plan had failed. Then Sam slouched +along, his hat drawn down, his hands in his pockets, and wearing an air +of indifference that almost amounted to effrontery. He greeted Michael +as if there had been no previous arrangement and this were a chance +meeting. There was nothing about his manner to show that he had +purposely come late to put him to the test, but Michael knew +intuitively it was so. + +“Shall we go in now?” said Michael smiling happily. He found he was +really glad that Sam had come, repulsive in appearance though he was, +hard of countenance and unfriendly in manner. He felt that he was +getting on just a little in his great object of finding out and helping +his old friends, and perhaps learning something more of his own +history. + +“Aw, I donno’s I care ’bout it!” drawled Sam, just as if he had not +intended going in all the time, nor had been thinking of the “feed” all +the morning in anticipation. + +“Yes, you better,” said Michael putting a friendly hand on the others’ +shoulder. If he felt a repugnance to touching the tattered, greasy coat +of his one-time friend, he controlled it, remembering how he had once +worn garments far more tattered and filthy. The greatness of his desire +to uplift made him forget everything else. It was the absorption of a +supreme task that had come upon the boy to the exclusion of his own +personal tastes. + +It was not that Michael was so filled with love for this miserable +creature who used to be his friend, nor so desired to renew old +associations after these long years of separation; it was the terrible +need, the conditions of which had been called vividly to his +experience, that appealed to his spirit like a call of authority to +which he answered proudly because of what had once been done for him. +It had come upon him without his knowledge, suddenly, with the revival +of old scenes and memories, but as with all workers for humanity it had +gone so deeply into his soul as to make him forget even that there was +such a thing as sacrifice. + +They passed into the restaurant. Michael in his well-made clothing and +with his strikingly handsome face and gold hair attracting at once +every eye in the place: Sam with an insolent air of assurance to cover +a sudden embarrassment of pride at the company he was in. + +Michael gave a generous order, and talked pleasantly as they waited. +Sam sat in low-browed silence watching him furtively, almost +disconcertingly. + +It was when they had reached the course of three kinds of pie and a dab +of dirty looking, pink ice cream professing to be fresh strawberry, +that Michael suddenly looked keenly at his guest and asked: + +“What are you doing now, Sam? In business for yourself?” + +Sam’s eyes narrowed until they were almost eclipsed, though a keen +steel glitter could be seen beneath the colorless lashes. A kind of +mask, impenetrable as lead, seemed to have settled over his face, which +had been gradually relaxing during the meal into a half indulgent grin +of interest in his queer host. + +“Yas, I’m in business fer myself,” he drawled at last after carefully +scrutinizing the other’s face to be sure there was no underlying motive +for the question. + +“News-stand?” asked Michael. + +“Not eggs-act-ly!” + +“What line?” + +Sam finished his mince pie and began on the pumpkin before he answered. + +“Wal, ther’s sev’ral!” + +“Is that so? Got more than one string to your bow? That’s a good thing. +You’re better off than I am. I haven’t looked around for a job yet. I +thought I’d get at it tomorrow. You see I wanted to look you fellows up +first before I got tied down to anything where I couldn’t get off when +I wanted to. Perhaps you can put me onto something. How about it?” + +It was characteristic of Michael that he had not once thought of going +to Endicott for the position and help offered him, since the setting +down he had received from Mrs. Endicott. The time appointed for his +going to Endicott’s office was long since passed. He had not even +turned the matter over in his mind once since that awful night of agony +and renunciation. Mrs. Endicott had told him that her husband “had done +enough for him” and he realized that this was true. He would trouble +him no more. Sometime perhaps the world would turn around so that he +would have opportunity to repay Endicott’s kindness that he might not +repay in money, but until then Michael would keep out of his way. It +was the one poor little rag of pride he allowed himself from the +shattering of all his hopes. + +Sam narrowed his eyes and looked Michael through, then slowly widened +them again, an expression of real interest coming into them. + +“Say! Do you mean it?” he asked doubtfully. “Be you straight goods? +Would you come back into de gang an not snitch on us ner nothin’?” + +“I’m straight goods, Sam, and I won’t snitch!” said Michael quickly. He +knew that he could hope for no fellow’s confidence if he “snitched.” + +“Wal, say, I’ve a notion to tell yeh!” + +Sam attacked his ice cream contemplatively. + +“How would a bluff game strike you?” he asked suddenly as the last +delectable mouthful of cream disappeared and he pulled the fresh cup of +coffee toward him that the waiter had just set down. + +“What sort?” said Michael wondering what he was coming on in the way of +revelation, but resolving not to be horrified at anything. Sam must not +suspect until he could understand what a difference education had made +in the way of looking at things. + +“Wal, there’s diffrunt ways. Cripple’s purty good. Foot all tied up in +bloody rags, arm an’ hand tied up, a couple o’ old crutches. I could +lend the clo’es. They’d be short fer yeh, but that’d be all the better +gag. We cud swap an’ I’d do the gen’lman act a while.” He looked +covetously at Michael’s handsome brown tweeds—“Den you goes fom house +to house, er you stands on de corner—” + +“Begging!” said Michael aghast. His eyes were on his plate and he was +trying to control his voice, but something of his horror crept into his +tones. Sam felt it and hastened on apologetically— + +“Er ef you want to go it one better, keep on yer good cloes an’ have +the asthma bad. I know a feller what’ll teach you how, an’ sell you the +whistles to put in yer mouth. You’ve no notion how it works. You just +go around in the subbubs tellin’ thet you’ve only been out of the +’orspittal two days an’ you walked all this way to get work an’ +couldn’t get it, an’ you want five cents to get back—see? Why, I know a +feller—course he’s been at it fer years an’ he has his regular +beats—folks don’t seem to remember—and be can work the ground over +’bout once in six months er so, and he’s made’s high’s thirty-eight +dollars in a day at asthma work.” + +Sam paused triumphant to see what effect the statement had on his +friend, but Michael’s face was toward his coffee cup. + +“Seems sort of small business for a man!” he said at last, his voice +steady with control. “Don’t believe I’d be good at that? Haven’t you +got something that’s real _work_?” + +Sam’s eyes narrowed. + +“Ef I thought you was up to it,” he murmured. “You’d be great with that +angel face o’ yourn. Nobody’d ever suspect you. You could wear them +clo’es too. But it’s work all right, an’ mighty resky. Ef I thought you +was up to it—” He continued to look keenly at Michael, and Michael, +with innate instinct felt his heart beat in discouraged thumps. What +new deviltry was Sam about to propose? + +“You used to be game all right!” murmured Sam interrogatively. “You +never used to scare easy—” + +“Wal, I’ll tell you,” in answer to Michael’s questioning eyes which +searched his little sharp wizened face—Michael was wondering if there +was anything in that face to redeem it from utter repulsiveness. + +“You see it’s a reg’ler business, an’ you hev to learn, but I’d give +you pinters, all you’d need to know, I’m pretty slick myself. There’s +tools to open things, an’ you hev to be ready to ’xplain how you come +thur an’ jolly up a parlor maid per’aps. It’s easy to hev made a +mistake in the house, er be a gas man er a plumber wot the boss sent up +to look at the pipes. But night work’s best pay after you get onto +things. Thur’s houses where you ken lay your han’s on things goin’ into +the thousands an’ lots ov um easy to get rid of without anybody findin’ +out. There’s Buck he used to be great at it. He taught all the gang. +The day he lit out he bagged a bit o’ glass wuth tree tousand dollars, +’sides a whole handful of fivers an’ tens wot he found lyin’ on a +dressin’ table pretty as you please. Buck he were a slick one at it. +He’d be pleased to know you’d took up the work—” + +Sam paused and eyed Michael with the first friendly gleam he had shown +in his eyes, and Michael, with his heart in a tumult of varied +emotions, and the quick color flooding brow and cheek, tried to hold +himself in check. He must not speak too hastily. Perhaps he had not +understood Sam’s meaning. + +“Where is Buck?” Michael looked Sam straight in the eye. The small +pupils seemed to contract and shut out even his gaze. + +“They ain’t never got a trace of Buck,” he said evasively. + +“But don’t you know?” There was something in Michael’s look that +demanded an answer. + +“I might an’ I might not,” responded Sam sullenly. + +Michael was still for several seconds watching Sam; each trying to +understand the other. + +“Do you think he will come back where I can see him?” he asked at +length. + +“He might, an’ he might not. ’t depends. Ef you was in th’ bizness he +might. It’s hard to say. ’t depends.” + +Michael watched Sam again thoughtfully. + +“Tell me more about the business,” he said at last, his lips +compressed, his brows drawn down into a frown of intensity. + +“Thur ain’t much, more t’tell,” said Sam, still sullen. “I ain’t sure +you’re up to it?” + +“What do you mean by that?” + +“Ain’t sure you got de sand. You might turn faint and snitch.” Sam +leaned forward and spoke in low rapid sentences. “Wen we’d got a big +haul, ’sposen you’d got into de house an’ done de pinchin’, and we got +the stuff safe hid, an’ you got tuk up? Would you snitch? Er would you +take your pill like a man? That’s what I’d want to be sure. Mikky would +a’ stood by the gang, but you—you’ve had a edicashun! They might go +soft at college. I ain’t much use fer edicated persons myself. But I’ll +give you a show ef you promise stiff not to snitch. We’ve got a big +game on tonight up on Madison Avenue, an’ we’re a man short. Dere’s +dough in it if we make it go all right. Rich man. Girl goin’ out to a +party tonight. She’s goin’ to wear some dimons wurth a penny. Hed it in +de paper. Brung ’em home from de bank this mornin’. One o’ de gang +watched de feller come out o’ de bank. It’s all straight so fur. It’s a +pretty big haul to let you in de first try, an’ you’ll hev to run all +de risks; but ef you show you’re game we’ll make it a bargain.” + +Michael held himself tensely and fought the desire to choke the fellow +before him; tried to remember that he was the same Sam who had once +divided a crust with him, and whom he had come to help; reflected that +he might have been as bad himself if he had never been taken from the +terrible environment of the slums and shown a better way; knew that if +he for one fraction of a second showed his horror at the evil plot, or +made any attempt to stop it all hope of reaching Sam, or Buck, or any +of the others was at an end; and with it all hope of finding any stray +links of his own past history. Besides, though honor was strong in him +and he would never “snitch” on his companions, it would certainly be +better to find out as much as possible about the scheme. There might be +other ways besides “snitching” of stopping such things. Then suddenly +his heart almost stopped beating, Madison Avenue! Sam had said Madison +Avenue, and a girl! What if it were Starr’s jewels they were planning +to take. He knew very little about such matters save what he had read. +It did not occur to him that Starr was not yet “out” in society; that +she would be too young to wear costly jewels and have her costume put +in the paper. He only knew that his heart was throbbing again +painfully, and that the fellow before him seemed too vile to live +longer on the same earth with Starr, little, beautiful, exquisite +Starr. + +He was quite still when Sam had finished; his face was white with +emotion and his eyes were blazing blue flames when he raised them to +look at Sam. Then he became aware that his answer was awaited. + +“Sam, do you mean _burglary_?” He tried to keep his voice low and +steady as he spoke but he felt as if he had shouted the last word. The +restaurant was almost empty now, and the waiters had retired behind the +scenes amid a clatter of dishes. + +“That’s about as pretty a word as you can call it, I guess,” said Sam, +drawing back with a snarl as he saw the light in Michael’s eyes. + +Michael looked him through for an instant, and if a glance can burn +then surely Sam’s little soul shrank scorching into itself, but it was +so brief that the brain which was only keen to things of the earth had +not analyzed it. Michael dropped his glance to the table again, and +began playing with his spoon and trying to get calm with a deep breath +as he used to when he knew a hard spot in a ball game was coming. + +“Well, why don’t you speak? You ’fraid?” It was said with a sneer that +a devil from the pit might have given. + +Then Michael sat up calmly. His heart was beating steadily now and he +was facing his adversary. + +“No! I’m not afraid, Sam, if there were any good reason for going, but +you know I never could feel comfortable in getting my living off +somebody else. It doesn’t seem fair to the other fellow. You see +they’ve got a right to the things they own and I haven’t; and because I +might be smart enough to catch them napping and sneak away with what +they prize doesn’t make it right either. Now that girl probably thinks +a lot of her diamonds, you see, and it doesn’t seem quite the manly +thing for a big strong fellow like me to get them away from her, does +it? Of course you may think differently, but I believe I’d rather do +some good hard work that would keep my muscles in trim, than to live +off some one else. There’s a kind of pretty gray moss that grows where +I went to college. It floats along a little seed blown in the air first +and lodges on the limb of a tree and begins to fasten itself into the +bark, and grow and grow and suck life from the big tree. It doesn’t +seem much at first, and it seems as if the big tree might spare enough +juice to the little moss. But wait a few years and see what happens. +The moss grows and drapes itself in great long festoons all over that +tree and by and by the first thing you know that tree has lost all its +green leaves and stands up here stark and dead with nothing on its bare +branches but that old gray moss which has to die too because it has +nothing to live on any longer. It never learned to gather any juice for +itself. They call the moss a parasite. I couldn’t be a human parasite, +Sam. You may feel differently about it, but I couldn’t. I really +couldn’t.” + +Michael’s eyes had grown dreamy and lost their fire as he remembered +the dear South land, and dead sentinel pines with their waving gray +festoons against the ever blue sky. As he talked he saw the whole great +out-of-doors again where he had wandered now so many years free and +happy; free from burdens of humanity which were pressing him now so +sorely. A great longing to fly back to it all, to get away from the +sorrow and the degradation and the shame which seemed pressing so hard +upon him, filled his heart, leaped into his eyes, caught and fascinated +the attention of the listening Sam, who understood very little of the +peroration. He had never heard of a parasite. He did not know he had +always been a human parasite. He was merely astonished and a trifle +fascinated by the passion and appeal in Michael’s face as he spoke. + +“Gosh!” he said in a tone almost of admiration. “Gosh! Is that wot +edicashun done fer you?” + +“Perhaps,” said Michael pleasantly, “though I rather think, Sam, that I +always felt a bit that way, I just didn’t know how to say it.” + +“Wal, you allus was queer!” muttered Sam half apologetically. “I +couldn’t see it that way myself, as you say, but o’ course it’s your +fun’ral! Ef you kin scratch up enough grub bein’ a tree, why that’s +your own lookout. Moss is good ’nough fer me fer de present.” + +Michael beamed his wonderful smile on Sam and answered: “Perhaps you’ll +see it my way some day, Sam, and then we can get a job together!” + +There was so much comraderie in the tone, and so much dazzling +brilliancy in the smile that Sam forgot to be sullen. + +“Wal, mebbe,” he chuckled, “but I don’t see no edicashun comin’ my way +dis late day, so I guess I’ll git along de way I be.” + +“It isn’t too late yet, Sam. There’s more than one way of getting an +education. It doesn’t always come through college.” + +After a little more talk in which Sam promised to find out if there was +any way for Michael to visit Jim in his temporary retirement from the +law-abiding world, and Michael promised to visit Sam in the alley again +at an appointed time, the two separated. + +Then Michael went forth to reconnoitre and to guard the house of +Endicott. + +With no thought of any personal danger, Michael laid his plans. Before +sundown, he was on hand, having considered all visible and invisible +means of ingress to the house. He watched from a suitable distance all +who came and went. He saw Mr. Endicott come home. He waited till the +evening drew near when a luxurious limousine stopped before the door; +assured himself that only Mrs. Endicott had gone out. A little later +Mr. Endicott also left the house. Starr had not gone out. He felt that +he had double need to watch now as she was there alone with only the +servants. + +Up and down he walked. No one passed the Endicott house unwatched by +him. None came forth or went in of whom he did not take careful notice. + +The evening passed, and the master and mistress of the house returned. +One by one the lights went out. Even in the servants’ rooms all was +dark at last. The night deepened and the stars thickened overhead. + +The policeman’s whistle sounded through the quiet streets and the city +seemed at last to be sinking into a brief repose. It was long past +midnight, and still Michael kept up his patrol. Up this side of the +street, down that, around the corner, through the alley at the back +where “de kids” had stood in silent respect uncovered toward his window +years ago; back to the avenue again, and on around. With his cheery +whistle and his steady ringing step he awakened no suspicion even when +he came near to a policeman; and besides, no lurkers of the dark would +steal out while he was so noisily in the neighborhood. + +And so he watched the night through, till the morning broke and +sunshine flooded the window of the room where Starr, unconscious of his +vigil, lay a-sleeping. + +Busy milk wagons were making their rounds, and sleepy workmen with +dinner pails slung over their arms were striding to their day’s work +through the cool of the morning, as Michael turned his steps toward his +lodging. Broad morning was upon them and deeds of darkness could be no +more. The night was passed. Nothing had happened. Starr was safe. He +went home and to sleep well pleased. He might not companion with her, +but it was his privilege to guard her from unsuspected evils. That was +one joy that could not be taken from him by the taint that was upon +him. Perhaps his being a child of the slums might yet prove to be a +help to guard her life from harm. + + + + +Chapter XI + + +It was the first week in September that Michael, passing through a +crowded thoroughfare, came face to face with Mr. Endicott. + +The days had passed into weeks and Michael had not gone near his +benefactor. He had felt that he must drop out of his old friend’s life +until a time came that he could show his gratitude for the past. +Meantime he had not been idle. His winning smile and clear eyes had +been his passport; and after a few preliminary experiences he had +secured a position as salesman in a large department store. His college +diploma and a letter from the college president were his references. He +was not earning much, but enough to pay his absolute expenses and a +trifle over. Meantime he was gaining experience. + +This Saturday morning of the first week of September he had come to the +store as usual, but had found that on account of the sudden death of a +member of the firm the store would be closed for the day. + +He was wondering how he should spend his holiday and wishing that he +might get out into the open and breathe once more the free air under +waving trees, and listen to the birds, and the waters and the winds. He +was half tempted to squander a few cents and go to Coney Island or up +the Hudson, somewhere, anywhere to get out of the grinding noisy +tempestuous city, whose sin and burden pressed upon his heart night and +day because of that from which he had been saved; and of that from +which he had not the power to save others. + +Then out of an open doorway rushed a man, going toward a waiting +automobile, and almost knocking Michael over in his progress. + +“Oh! It is you, young man! At last! Well, I should like to know what +you have done with yourself all these weeks and why you didn’t keep +your appointment with me?” + +“Oh!” said Michael, pleasure and shame striving together in his face. +He could see that the other man was not angry, and was really relieved +to have found him. + +“Where are you going, son?” Endicotts tone had already changed from +gruffness to kindly welcome. “Jump in and run down to the wharf with me +while you give an account of yourself. I’m going down to see Mrs. +Endicott off to Europe. She is taking Starr over to school this winter. +I’m late already, so jump in.” + +Michael seemed to have no choice and stepped into the car, which was +whirled through the intricate maze of humanity and machinery down +toward the regions where the ocean-going steamers harbor. + +His heart was in a tumult at once, both of embarrassed joy to be in the +presence of the man who had done so much for him, and of eager +anticipation. Starr! Would he see Starr again? That was the thought +uppermost in his mind. He had not as yet realized that she was going +away for a long time. + +All the spring time he had kept guard over the house in Madison Avenue. +Not all night of course, but hovering about there now and then, and for +two weeks after he had talked with Sam, nightly. Always he had walked +that way before retiring and looked toward the window where burned a +soft light. Then they had gone to the seashore and the mountains and +the house had put on solemn shutters and lain asleep. + +Michael knew all about it from a stray paragraph in the society column +of the daily paper which he happened to read. + +Toward the end of August he had made a round through Madison Avenue +every night to see if they had returned home, and for a week the +shutters had been down and the lights burning as of old. It had been +good to know that his charge was back there safely. And now he was to +see her. + +“Well! Give an account of yourself. Were you trying to keep out of my +sight? Why didn’t you come to my office?” + +Michael looked him straight in the eye with his honest, clear gaze that +showed no sowing of wild oats, no dissipation or desire to get away +from friendly espionage. He decided in a flash of a thought that this +man should never know the blow his beautiful, haughty wife had dealt +him. It was true, all she had said, and he, Michael, would give the +real reason why he had not come. + +“Because I thought you had done for me far more than I deserved +already, and I did not wish to be any further burden to you.” + +“The dickens you did!” exclaimed Endicott. “You good-for-nothing +rascal, didn’t you know you would be far more of a burden running off +in that style without leaving a trace of yourself behind so I could +hunt you up, than if you had behaved yourself and done as I told you? +Here I have been doing a lot of unnecessary worrying about you. I +thought you had fallen among thieves or something, or else gone to the +dogs. Don’t you know that is a most unpardonable thing to do, run off +from a man who has told you he wants to see you? I thought I made you +understand that I had more than a passing interest in your welfare!” + +The color came into the fine, strong face and a pained expression in +his eyes. + +“I’m sorry, sir! I didn’t think of it that way. I thought you felt some +kind of an obligation; I never felt so, but you said you did; and I +thought if I got out of your way I would trouble you no more.” + +“Trouble me! Trouble me! Why, son, I like to be troubled once in a +while by something besides getting money and spending it. You never +gave me a shadow of trouble, except these last weeks when you’ve +disappeared and I couldn’t do anything for you. You’ve somehow crept +into my life and I can’t get you out. In fact, I don’t want to. But, +boy, if you felt that way, what made you come to New York at all? You +didn’t feel that way the night you came to my house to dinner.” + +Michael’s eyes owned that this was true, but his firm lips showed that +he would never betray the real reason for the change. + +“I—didn’t—realize—sir!” + +“Realize? Realize what?” + +“I didn’t realize the difference between my station and yours, sir. +There had never been anything during my years in school to make me +know. I am a ‘child of the slums’”—unconsciously he drifted into +quotations from Mrs. Endicott’s speech to him—“and you belong to a fine +old family. I don’t know what terrible things are in my blood. You have +riches and a name beyond reproach—” He had seen the words in an article +he had read the evening before, and felt that they fitted the man and +the occasion. He did not know that he was quoting. They had become a +part of his thoughts. + +“I might make the riches if I tried hard,” he held up his head proudly, +“but I could never make the name. I will always be a child of the +slums, no matter what I do!” + +“Child of the fiddlesticks!” interrupted Endicott. “Wherever did you +get all that, rot? It sounds as if you had been attending society +functions and listening to their twaddle. It doesn’t matter what you +are the child of, if you’re a mind to be a man. This is a free country, +son, and you can be and climb where you please. Tell me, where did you +get all these ideas?” + +Michael looked down. He did not wish to answer. + +“In a number of places,” he answered evasively. + +“Where!” + +“For one thing, I’ve been down to the alley where I used to live.” The +eyes were looking into his now, and Endicott felt a strange swelling of +pride that he had had a hand in the making of this young man. + +“Well?” + +“I know from what you’ve taken me—I can never be what you are!” + +“Therefore you won’t try to be anything? Is that it?” + +“Oh, no! I’ll try to be all that I can, but—I don’t belong with you. +I’m of another class—” + +“Oh, bosh! Cut that out, son! Real men don’t talk like that. You’re a +better man now than any of the pedigreed dudes I know of, and as for +taints in the blood, I could tell you of some of the sons of great men +who have taints as bad as any child of the slums. Young man, you can be +whatever you set out to be in this world! Remember that.” + +“Everyone does not feel that way,” said Michael with conviction, though +he was conscious of great pleasure in Endicott’s hearty words. + +“Who, for instance?” asked Endicott looking at him sharply. + +Michael was silent. He could not tell him. + +“Who?” asked the insistent voice once more. + +“The world!” evaded Michael. + +“The world is brainless. You can make the world think what you like, +son, remember that! Here we are. Would you like to come aboard?” + +But Michael stood back. + +“I think I will wait here,” he said gravely. It had come to him that +Mrs. Endicott would be there. He must not intrude, not even to see +Starr once more. Besides, she had made it a point of honor for him to +keep away from her daughter. He had no choice but to obey. + +“Very well,” said Endicott, “but see you don’t lose yourself again. I +want to see you about something. I’ll not be long. It must be nearly +time for starting.” He hurried away and Michael stood on the edge of +the throng looking up at the great floating village. + +It was his first view of an ocean-going steamer at close range and +everything about it interested him. He wished he might have gone aboard +and looked the vessel over. He would like to know about the engines and +see the cabins, and especially the steerage about which he had read so +much. But perhaps there would be an opportunity again. Surely there +would be. He would go to Ellis Island, too, and see the emigrants as +they came into the country, seeking a new home where they had been led +to expect to find comfort and plenty of work, and finding none; landing +most of them, inevitably, in the slums of the cities where the +population was already congested and where vice and disease stood ready +to prey upon them. Michael had been spending enough time in the alleys +of the metropolis to be already deeply interested in the problem of the +city, and deeply pained by its sorrows. + +But his thoughts were not altogether of the masses and the classes as +he stood in the bright sunlight and gazed at the great vessel about to +plow its way over the bright waters. He was realizing that somewhere +within those many little windowed cabins was a bright faced girl, the +only one of womankind in all the earth about whom his tender thoughts +had ever hovered. Would he catch a glimpse of her face once more before +she went away for the winter? She was going to school, her father had +said. How could they bear to send her across the water from them? A +whole winter was a long time; and yet, it would pass. Thirteen years +had passed since he went away from New York, and he was back. It would +not be so long as that. She would return, and need him perhaps. He +would be there and be ready when he was needed. + +The fine lips set in a strong line that was good to see. There were the +patient, fearless lines of a soldier in the boy’s face, and rugged +strength in spite of his unusual beauty of countenance. It is not often +one sees a face like Michael’s. There was nothing womanish in his +looks. It was rather the completeness of strength and courage combined +with mighty modelling and perfection of coloring, that made men turn +and look after him and look again, as though they had seen a god; and +made women exclaim over him. If he had been born in the circles of +aristocracy he would have been the idol of society, the spoiled of all +who knew him. He was even now being stared at by every one in sight, +and more than one pair of marine glasses from the first cabin deck were +pointed at him; but he stood deep in his thoughts and utterly +unconscious of his own attraction. + +It was only a moment before the first warning came, and people crowded +on the wharf side of the decks, while others hurried down the gang +plank. Michael watched the confusion with eagerness, his eyes searching +the decks for all possible chance of seeing Starr. + +When the last warning was given, and just as the gang plank was about +to be hauled up, Mr. Endicott came hurrying down, and Michael suddenly +saw her face in the crowd on the deck above, her mother’s haughtily +pretty face just behind her. + +Without in the least realizing what he was doing Michael moved through +the crowd until he stood close behind Starr’s father, and then all at +once he became aware that her starry eyes were upon him, and she +recognized him. + +He lifted his hat and stood in reverent attitude as though in the +presence of a queen, his eyes glowing eloquently, his speaking face +paying her tribute as plainly as words could have done. The noonday sun +burnished his hair with its aureole flame, and more than one of the +passengers called attention to the sight. + +“See that man down there!” exclaimed a woman of the world close behind +Mrs. Endicott. “Isn’t he magnificent! He has a head and shoulders like +a young god!” She spoke as if her acquaintance with gods was wide, and +her neighbors turned to look. + +“See, mamma,” whispered Starr glowing rosily with pleasure, “they are +speaking of Michael!” + +Then the haughty eyes turned sharply and recognized him. + +“You don’t mean to tell me that upstart has dared to come down and see +us off. The impudence of him! I am glad your father had enough sense +not to bring him on board. He would probably have come if he had let +him. Come away, Starr. He simply shall not look at you in that way!” + +“What! Come away while papa is standing there watching us out of sight. +I simply couldn’t. What would papa think? And besides, I don’t see why +Michael shouldn’t come if he likes. I think it was nice of him. I +wonder why he hasn’t been to the house to explain why he never came for +that horseback ride.” + +“You’re a very silly ignorant little girl, or you would understand that +he has no business presuming to come to our house; and he knows it +perfectly well. I want you to stop looking in that direction at once. I +simply will not have him devouring you with his eyes in that way. I +declare I would like to go back and tell him what I think of him. +Starr, stop I tell you, Starr!” + +But the noise of the starting drowned her words, and Starr, her cheeks +like roses and her eyes like two stars, was waving a bit of a +handkerchief and smiling and throwing kisses. The kisses were for her +father, but the smiles and the starry glances, and the waving bit of +cambric were for Michael, and they all travelled through the air quite +promiscuously, drenching the bright uncovered head of the boy with +sweetness. His eyes gave her greeting and thanks and parting all in one +in that brief moment of her passing: and her graceful form and dainty +vivid face were graven on his memory in quick sweet blows of pain, as +he realized that she was going from him. + +Slowly the great vessel glided out upon the bright waters and grew +smaller and smaller. The crowd on the wharf were beginning to break +away and hurry back to business or home or society. Still Michael stood +with bared head gazing, and that illumined expression upon his face. + +Endicott, a mist upon his own glasses at parting from his beloved baby, +saw the boy’s face as it were the face of an angel; and was half +startled, turning away embarrassedly as though he had intruded upon a +soul at prayer; then looked again. + +“Come, son!” he said almost huskily. “It’s over! We better be getting +back. Step in.” + +The ride back to the office was a silent one. Somehow Endicott did not +feel like talking. There had been some differences between himself and +his wife that were annoying, and a strange belated regret that he had +let Starr go away for a foreign education was eating into his heart. +Michael, on his part, was living over again the passing of the vessel +and the blessing of the parting. + +Back in the office, however, all was different. Among the familiar +walls and gloomy desks and chairs Endicott was himself, and talked +business. He put questions, short, sharp and in quick succession. + +“What are you doing with yourself? Working? What at? H’m! How’d you get +there? Like it? Satisfied to do that all your life? You’re not? Well, +what’s your line? Any ambitions? You ought to have got some notion in +college of what you’re fit for. Have you thought what you’d like to do +in the world?” + +Michael hesitated, then looked up with his clear, direct, challenging +gaze. + +“There are two things,” he said, “I want to earn money and buy some +land in the country, and I want to know about laws.” + +“Do you mean you want to be a lawyer?” + +“Yes.” + +“What makes you think you’d be a success as a lawyer?” + +“Oh, I might not be a success, but I need to know law, I want to try to +stop some things that ought not to be.” + +“H’m!” grunted Endicott disapprovingly. “Don’t try the reform game, it +doesn’t pay. However, if you feel that way you’ll probably be all right +to start. That’ll work itself off and be a good foundation. There’s no +reason why you shouldn’t be a lawyer if you choose, but you can’t study +law selling calico. You might get there some day, if you stick to your +ambition, but you’d be pretty old before you were ready to practice if +you started at the calico counter and worked your way up through +everything you came to. Well, I can get you into a law office right +away. How soon can you honorably get away from where you are? Two +weeks? Well, just wait a minute.” + +Endicott called up a number on the telephone by his side, and there +followed a conversation, brief, pointed, but in terms that Michael +could barely follow. He gathered that a lawyer named Holt, a friend of +Mr. Endicott’s, was being asked to take him into his office to read +law. + +“It’s all right, son,” said Endicott as he hung up the receiver and +whirled around from the ’phone. “You’re to present yourself at the +office as soon as you are free. This is the address”—hurriedly +scribbling something on a card and handing it to him. + +“Oh, thank you!” said Michael, “but I didn’t mean to have you take any +more trouble for me. I can’t be dependent on you any longer. You have +done so much for me—” + +“Bosh!” said Endicott, “I’m not taking any trouble. And you’re not +dependent on me. Be as independent as you like. You’re not quite +twenty-one yet, are you? Well, I told you you were my boy until you +were of age, and I suppose there’s nothing to hinder me doing as I will +with my own. It’s paid well all I’ve done for you so far, and I feel +the investment was a good one. You’ll get a small salary for some +office work while you’re studying, so after you are twenty-one you can +set up for yourself if you like. Till then I claim the privilege of +giving you a few orders. Now that’s settled. Where are you stopping? I +don’t intend to lose sight of you again.” + +Michael gave him the street and number. Endicott frowned. + +“That’s not a good place. I don’t like the neighborhood. If you’re +going to be a lawyer, you must start in right. Here, try this place. +Tell the woman I sent you. One of my clerks used to board there.” + +He handed Michael another address. + +“Won’t that cost a lot?” asked Michael studying the card. “Not any more +than you can afford,” said Endicott, “and remember, I’m giving orders +until your majority.” + +Michael beamed his brilliant smile at his benefactor. + +“It is like a real father!” said the boy deeply moved. “I can never +repay you. I can never forget it.” + +“Well, don’t!” said Endicott. “Let’s turn to the other thing. What do +you want land for?” + +Michael’s face sobered instantly. + +“For an experiment I want to try,” he said without hesitation, and +then, his eyes lighting up, “I’ll be able to do it now, soon, perhaps, +if I work hard. You see I studied agriculture in college—” + +“The dickens you did!” exclaimed Endicott. “What did you do that for?” + +“Well, it was there and I could, and I wanted to know about it.” + +“H’m!” said Endicott. “I wonder what some of my pedigreed +million-dollar friend’s sons would think of that? Well, go on.” + +“Why, that’s all,” laughed Michael happily. “I studied it and I want to +try it and see what I can do with it. I want to buy a farm.” + +“How would you manage to be a farmer and a lawyer both?” + +“Well, I thought there might he a little time after hours to work, and +I could tell others how—” + +“Oh, I see you want to be a gentleman farmer,” laughed Endicott. “I +understand that’s expensive business.” + +“I think I could make it pay, sir.” said Michael shutting his lips with +that firm challenge of his. “I’d like to try.” + +Endicott looked at him quizzically for a minute and then whirling +around in his office chair he reached out his hand to a pigeon hole and +took out a deed. + +“I’ve a mind to let you have your try,” said Endicott, chuckling as if +it were a good joke. “Here’s a little farm down in Jersey. It’s swampy +and thick with mosquitoes. I understand it won’t grow a beanstalk. +There are twelve acres and a tumble-down house on it. I’ve had to take +it in settlement of a mortgage. The man’s dead and there’s nothing but +the farm to lay hands on. He hasn’t even left a chick or child to leave +his debt to. I don’t want the farm and I can’t sell it without a lot of +trouble. I’ll give it to you. You may consider it a birthday present. +If you’ll pay the taxes I’ll be glad to get it off my hands. That’ll be +something for you to be independent about.” + +He touched a bell and a boy appeared. + +“Take this to Jowett and tell him to have a deed made out to Michael +Endicott, and to attend to the transfer of the property, nominal sum. +Understand?” + +The boy said, “Yes, sir,” and disappeared with the paper. + +“But I can’t take a present like that from you after all you have done +for me,” gasped Michael, a granite determination showing in his blue +eyes. “Nonsense,” said Endicott. “Other men give their sons automobiles +when they come of age. Mayn’t I give you a farm if I like? Besides, I +tell you it’s of no account. I want to get rid of it, and I want to see +what you’ll make of it. I’d like to amuse myself seeing you try your +experiment.” + +“If you’ll let me pay you for it little by little—” + +“Suit yourself after you have become a great lawyer,” laughed Endicott, +“but not till then, remember. There, cut it out, son! I don’t want to +be thanked. Here’s the description of the place and directions how to +get there. It isn’t many miles away. If you’ve got a half holiday run +down and look it over. It’ll keep you out of mischief. There’s nothing +like an ambition to keep people out of mischief. Run along now, I +haven’t another minute to spare, but mind you turn up at Holt’s office +this day two weeks, and report to me afterwards how you like it. I +don’t want to lose sight of you again.” + +The entrance of another man on business cut short the interview, and +Michael, bestowing an agonizingly happy grip on Endicott’s hand and a +brilliant smile like a benediction, took his directions and hurried out +into the street. + + + + +Chapter XII + + +With the precious paper in his hand Michael took himself with all +swiftness to the DesBrosses Ferry. Would there be a train? It was +almost two o’clock. He had had no lunch, but what of that? He had that +in his heart which made mere eating seem unnecessary. The experiences +of the past two hours had lifted him above, earth and its necessities +for the time. And a farm, a real farm! Could it be true? Had his wish +come true so soon? He could scarcely wait for the car to carry him or +the boat to puff its way across the water. He felt as if he must fly to +see his new possession. And Mr. Endicott had said he might pay for it +sometime when he got to be a great lawyer. He had no doubt but that he +would get there if such a thing were possible, and anyhow he meant to +pay for that ground. Meantime it was his. He was not a poor nobody +after all. He owned land, and a house. + +His face was a mingling of delightful emotions as he stood by the rail +of the ferry-boat and let his imagination leap on ahead of him. The day +was perfect. It had rained the night before and everything, even the +air seemed newly washed for a fresh trial at living. Every little +wavelet sparkled like a jewel, and the sunlight shimmered on the water +in a most alluring way. Michael forgot for the moment the sorrow and +misery of the crowded city he was leaving behind him. For this +afternoon at least he was a boy again wandering off into the open. + +His train was being called as he stepped from the ferry-boat. The next +boat would have missed it. He hurried aboard and was soon speeding +through the open country, with now and again a glimpse of the sea, as +the train came closer to the beach. They passed almost continuously +beautiful resorts, private villas, great hotels, miles of cottages set +in green terrace with glowing autumn flowers in boxes or bordering the +paths. + +Michael watched everything with deep interest. This was the land of his +new possession. Whatever was growing here would be likely to grow on +his place if it were properly planted and cared for. Ere this flowers +had had little part in his farming scheme, but so soon as he saw the +brilliant display he resolved that he must have some of those also. And +flowers would sell as well if not better than vegetables if properly +marketed. + +That vivid hedge of scarlet and gold, great heavy-headed dahlias they +were. He did not know the name, but he would find it out somehow. They +would take up little room and would make his new place a thing of +beauty. Farther on, one great white cottage spread its veranda wings on +either side to a tall fringe of pink and white and crimson cosmos; and +again a rambling gray stone piece of quaint architecture with low +sloping roofs of mossy green, and velvet lawn creeping down even to the +white beach sands, was set about with flaming scarlet sage. It was a +revelation to the boy whose eyes had never looked upon the like before. +Nature in its wildness and original beauty had been in Florida; New +York was all pavements and buildings with a window box here and there. +He as yet knew nothing of country homes in their luxury and perfection, +save from magazine pictures. All the way along he was picking out +features that he meant some day to transfer to his own little farm. + +It was after three when he reached the station, and a good fifteen +minutes walk to the farm, but every step of it was a delight. + +Pearl Beach, they called the station. The beach was half a mile from +the railroad, and a queer little straggling town mostly cottages and a +few stores hovered between railroad and beach. A river, broad, and +shallow, wound its silver way about the village and lost itself in the +wideness of the ocean. Here and there a white sail flew across its +gleaming centre, and fishermen in little boats sat at their idle task. +What if his land should touch somewhere this bonny stream! + +Too eager to wait for investigation he stopped a passing stranger and +questioned him. Yes, the river was salt. It had tides with the sea, +too. There was great fishing and sailing, and some preferred bathing +there to the ocean. Yes, Old Orchard farm was on its bank. It had a +river frontage of several hundred feet but it was over a mile back from +the beach. + +The stranger was disposed to delay and gossip about the death of the +former owner of Old Orchard and its probable fate now that the mortgage +had been foreclosed; but Michael with a happy light in his eyes thanked +him courteously and hurried on. Wings were upon his feet, and his heart +was light and happy. He felt like a bird set free. He breathed in the +strong salt air with delight. + +And then the burden of the city came to him again, the city with all +its noise and folly and sin; with its smells and heat, and lack of air; +with its crowded, suffering, awful humanity, herded together like +cattle, and living in conditions worse than the beasts of the fields. +If he could but bring them out here, bring some of them at least; and +show them what God’s earth was like! Ah! + +His heart beat wildly at the thought! It was not new. He had harbored +it ever since his first visit to the alley. It was his great secret, +his much hoped for experiment. If he might be able to do it sometime. +This bit of a farm would open the way. There would be money needed of +course, and where was it to come from? But he could work. He was +strong. He would give his young life for his people—save them from +their ignorance and despair. At least he could save some; even one +would be worth while. + +So he mused as he hurried on, eyes and mind open to all he saw. + +There was no fence in front of Old Orchard farm. A white road bordered +with golden rod and wild asters met the scraggly grass that matted and +tangled itself beneath the gnarled apple trees. A grassy rutted wagon +track curved itself in vistas between the trees up to the house which +was set far back from the road. A man passing identified the place for +Michael, and looked him over apprizingly, wondering as did all who saw +him, at the power and strength of his beauty. + +The house was weather-beaten unpainted clapboards, its roof of curled +and mossy shingles possessing undoubted leakable qualities, patched +here and there. A crazy veranda ambled across the front. It contained a +long low room with a queer old-fashioned chimney place wide enough to +sit in, a square south room that must have been a dining-room because +of the painted cupboard whose empty shelves gazed ghastly between +half-open doors, and a small kitchen, not much more than a shed. In the +long low room a staircase twisted itself up oddly to the four rooms +under the leaky roof. It was all empty and desolate, save for an old +cot bed and a broken chair. The floors had a sagged, shaky appearance. +The doors quaked when they were opened. The windows were cobwebby and +dreary, yet it looked to the eyes of the new householder like a palace. +He saw it in the light of future possibilities and gloried in it. That +chimney place now. How would it look with a great log burning in it, +and a rug and rocking chair before it. What would—Aunt +Sally—perhaps—say to it when he got it fixed up? Could he ever coax her +to leave her dirty doorstep and her drink and come out here to live? +And how would he manage it all if he could? There would have to be +something to feed her with, and to buy the rug and the rocking chair. +And first of all there would have to be a bath-tub. Aunt Sally would +need to be purified before she could enter the portals of this ideal +cottage, when he had made it as he wanted it to be. Paint and paper +would make wonderful transformations he knew, for he had often helped +at remodelling the rooms at college during summer vacations. He had +watched and been with the workmen and finally taken a hand. This habit +of watching and helping had taught him many things. But where were +paper and paint and time to use it coming from? Ah, well, leave that to +the future. He would find a way. Yesterday he did not have the house +nor the land for it to stand upon. It had come and the rest would +follow in their time. + +He went happily about planning for a bath-room. There would have to be +water power. He had seen windmills on other places as he passed. That +was perhaps the solution of this problem, but windmills cost money of +course. Still,—all in good time. + +There was a tumbled-down barn and chicken house, and a frowzy attempt +at a garden. A strawberry bed overgrown with weeds, a sickly cabbage +lifting its head bravely; a gaunt row of currant bushes; another +wandering, out-reaching row of raspberries; a broken fence; a stretch +of soppy bog land to the right, and the farm trailed off into desolate +neglect ending in a charming grove of thick trees that stood close down +to the river’s bank. + +Michael went over it all carefully, noted the exposure of the land, +kicked the sandy soil to examine its unpromising state, walked all +around the bog and tried to remember what he had read about cranberry +bogs; wondered if the salt water came up here, and if it were good or +bad for cranberries; wondered if cow peas grew in Jersey and if they +would do for a fertilizing crop as they did in Florida. Then he walked +through the lovely woods, scenting the breath of pines and drawing in +long whiffs of life as he looked up to the green roof over his head. +They were not like the giant pines of the South land, but they were +sweeter and more beautiful in their form. + +He went down to the brink of the river and stood looking across. + +Not a soul was in sight and nothing moved save a distant sail fleeing +across the silver sheen to the sea. He remembered what the man had said +about bathing and yielding to an irresistible impulse was soon swimming +out across the water. It was like a new lease of life to feel the water +brimming to his neck again, and to propel himself with strong, graceful +strokes through the element where he would. A bird shot up into the air +with a wild sweet note, and he felt like answering to its melody. He +whistled softly in imitation of its voice, and the bird answered, and +again and again they called across the water. + +But a look toward the west where the water was crimsoning already with +the setting sun warned him that his time was short, so he swam back to +the sheltered nook where he had left his clothes, and improvising a +towel from his handkerchief he dressed rapidly. The last train back +left at seven. If he did not wish to spend the night in his new and +uninhabitable abode he must make good time. It was later than he +supposed, and he wished to go back to the station by way of the beach +if possible, though it was out of his way. As he drew on his coat and +ran his fingers through his hair in lieu of a brush, he looked +wistfully at the bright water, dimpling now with hues of violet, pink, +and gold and promising a rare treat in the way of a sunset. He would +like to stay and watch it. But there was the ocean waiting for him. He +must stand on the shore once and look out across it, and know just how +it looked near his own house. + +He hurried through the grove and across the farm to the eastern edge, +and looking beyond the broken fence that marked the bounds of the bog +land over the waste of salt grass he could see the white waves dimly +tumbling, hurrying ever, to get past one another. He took the fence at +a bound, made good time over the uncertain footing of the marsh grass +and was soon standing on the broad smooth beach with the open stretch +of ocean before him. + +It was the first time he had ever stood on the seashore and the feeling +of awe that filled him was very great. But beyond any other sensation, +came the thought that Starr, his beautiful Starr, was out there on that +wide vast ocean, tossing in a tiny boat. For now the great steamer that +had seemed so large and palatial, had dwindled in his mind to a frail +toy, and he was filled with a nameless fear for her. His little Starr +out there on that fearful deep, with only that cold-eyed mother to take +care of her. A wild desire to fly to her and bring her back possessed +him; a thrilling, awesome something, he had never known before. He +stood speechless before it; then raised his eyes to the roseate already +purpling in streaks for the sunset and looking solemnly up he said, +aloud: + +“Oh, God, I love her!” + +He stood facing the thought with solemn joy and pain for an instant, +then turned and fled from it down the purpling sands; fleeing, yet +carrying his secret with him. + +And when he came opposite the little village he trod its shabby, +straggling, ill-paved streets with glory in his face; and walking thus +with hat in hand, and face illumined toward the setting sun, folks +looked at him strangely and wondered who and what he was, and turned to +look again. In that half-light of sunset, he seemed a being from +another world. + +A native watching, dropped his whip, and climbing down from his rough +wagon spoke the thought that all the bystanders felt in common: + +“Gosh hang it! I thought he was one o’ them glass angels stepped out of +a church winder over to ’Lizabeth-town. We don’t see them kind much. I +wonder now how he’d be to live with. Think I’d feel kinder creepy +hevin’ him ’round all time, wouldn’t you?” + +All the way home the new thought came surging over him, he loved her +and she could never be his. It was deluging; it was beautiful; but it +was agonizing. He recalled how beautiful she had been as she waved +farewell. And some of her smiles had been for him, he was sure. He had +known of course that the kisses were for her father, and yet, they had +been blown freely his way, and she had looked her pleasure at his +presence. There had been a look in her eyes such as she had worn that +day in the college chapel when she had thrown precautions to the winds +and put her arms about his neck and kissed him. His young heart +thrilled with a deep joy over the memory of it. It had been wonderful +that she had done it; wonderful! when he was what he was, a _child of +the slums_! The words seemed burned upon his soul now, a part of his +very life. He was not worthy of her, not worthy to receive her favor. + +Yet he closed his eyes, leaning his head against the window frame as +the train hurried along through the gathering darkness, and saw again +the bright lovely face, the dainty fingers blowing kisses, the lips +wreathed in smiles, and knew some of the farewell had been surely meant +for him. He forgot the beautiful villas along the way, forgot to watch +for the twinkling lights, or to care how the cottages looked at +evening. Whenever the track veered toward the sea and gave a glimpse of +gray sky and yawning ocean with here and there a point of light to make +the darkness blacker, he seemed to know instinctively, and opening his +eyes strained them to look across it. Out there in the blackness +somewhere was his Starr and he might not go to her, nor she come to +him. There was a wide stretch of unfathomable sea between them. There +would always be that gray, impassable sky and sea of impossibility +between them. + +As he neared New York, however, these thoughts dropped from him; and +standing on the ferry-boat with the million twinkling lights of the +city, and the looming blackness of the huddled mass of towering +buildings against the illuminated sky, the call of the people came to +him. Over there in the darkness, swarming in the fetid atmosphere of a +crowded court were thousands like himself, yes, _like himself_, for he +was one of them. He belonged there. They were his kind and he must help +them! + +Then his mind went to the farm and his plans, and he entered back into +the grind of life and assumed its burdens with the sweet pain of his +secret locked in his inmost heart. + + + + +Chapter XIII + + +“Sam, have you ever been in the country?” + +It was Michael who asked the question. They were sitting in a small +dismal room that Michael had found he could afford to rent in a house +on the edge of the alley. Not that he had moved there, oh, no! He could +not have endured life if all of it that he could call his own had to be +spent in that atmosphere. He still kept his little fourth floor back in +the dismally respectable street. He had not gone to the place +recommended by Endicott, because he found that the difference he would +have to pay would make it possible for him to rent this sad little room +near the alley; and for his purposes this seemed to him an absolute +necessity at present. + +The weather was growing too cold for him to meet with his new-old +acquaintances of the alley out of doors, and it was little better +indoors even if he could have endured the dirt and squalor of those +apartments that would have been open to him. Besides, he had a great +longing to show them something brighter than their own forlorn homes. + +There was a settlement house three or four blocks away, but it had not +drawn the dwellers in this particular alley. They were sunken too low, +perhaps, or there were so many more hopeful quarters in which to work; +and the city was so wide and deep and dark. Michael knew little about +the settlement house. He had read of such things. He had looked shyly +toward its workers now and then, but as yet knew none of them, though +they had heard now and again of the “Angel-man of the alley,” and were +curious to find him out. + +But Michael’s enterprise was all his own, and his ways of working were +his own. He had gone back into the years of his childhood and found out +from his inner consciousness what it was he had needed, and now he was +going to try to give it to some other little “kids” who were as forlorn +and friendless as he had been. It wasn’t much that he could do, but +what he could he would do, and more as soon as possible. + +And so he had rented this speck of a room, and purified it. He had +literally compelled Sam to help him. That compelling was almost a +modern miracle, and wrought by radiant smiles, and a firm grip on Sam’s +shoulder when he told him what he wanted done. + +Together they had swept and scrubbed and literally scraped, the dirt +from that room. + +“I don’t see what you’re making sech a darned fuss about dirt fer!” +grumbled Sam as he arose from his knees after scrubbing the floor for +the fourth time. “It’s what we’re all made of, dey say, an’ nobuddy’ll +know de diffrunce.” + +“Just see if they won’t, Sam,” encouraged Michael as he polished off +the door he had been cleaning. “See there, how nice that looks! You +didn’t know that paint was gray, did you? It looked brown before, it +was so thick with dirt. Now we’re ready for paint and paper!” + +And so, in an atmosphere of soap and water they had worked night after +night till very late; and Sam had actually let a well-planned and +promising raid go by because he was so interested in what he was doing +and he was ashamed to tell Michael of his engagement. + +Sam had never assisted at the papering of a room before; in fact, it is +doubtful if he ever saw a room with clean fresh paper on its walls in +all his life, unless in some house he had entered unlawfully. When this +one stood arrayed at last in its delicate newness, he stood back and +surveyed it in awed silence. + +Michael had chosen paper of the color of the sunshine, for the court +was dark and the alley was dark and the room was dark. The souls of the +people too were dark. They must have light and brightness if he would +win them to better things. Besides, the paper was only five cents a +roll, the cheapest he could find in the city. Michael had learned at +college during vacations how to put it on. He made Sam wash and wash +and wash his hands before he was allowed to handle any of the delicate +paper. + +“De paper’ll jest git dirty right away,” grumbled Sam sullenly, albeit +he washed his hands, and his eyes glowed as they used to when a child +at a rare “find” in the gutter. + +“Wot’ll you do when it gits dirty?” demanded Sam belligerently. + +“Put on some clean,” said Michael sunnily. “Besides, we must learn to +have clean hands and keep it clean.” + +“I wish we had some curtains,” said Michael wistfully. “They had thin +white curtains at college.” + +“Are you makin’ a college fer we?” asked Sam looking at him sharply. + +“Well, in a way, perhaps,” said Michael smiling. “You know I want you +to have all the advantages I had as far as I can get them.” + +Sam only whistled and looked perplexed but he was doing more serious +thinking than he had ever done in his life before. + +And so the two had worked, and planned, and now tonight, the work was +about finished. + +The walls reflected the yellow of the sunshine, the woodwork was +painted white enamel. Michael had, just put on the last gleaming coat. + +“We can give it another coat when it looks a little soiled,” he had +remarked to Sam, and Sam, frowning, had replied: “Dey better hev dere +han’s clean.” + +The floor was painted gray. There was no rug. Michael felt its lack and +meant to remedy it as soon as possible, but rugs cost money. There was +a small coal stove set up and polished till it shone, and a fire was +laid ready to start. They had not needed it while they were working +hard. The furniture was a wooden table painted gray with a cover of +bright cretonne, two wooden chairs, and three boxes. Michael had +collected these furnishings carefully and economically, for he had to +sacrifice many little comforts that he might get them. + +On the walls were two or three good pictures fastened by brass tacks; +and some of the gray moss and pine branches from Michael’s own room. In +the central wall appeared one of Michael’s beloved college pennants. It +was understood by all who had yet entered the sacred precincts of the +room to be the symbol of what made the difference between them and “the +angel,” and they looked at it with awe, and mentally crossed themselves +in its presence. + +At the windows were two lengths of snowy cheese-cloth crudely hemmed by +Michael, and tacked up in pleats with brass-headed tacks. They were +tied back with narrow yellow ribbons. This had been the last touch and +Sam sat looking thoughtfully at the stiff angular bows when Michael +asked the question: + +“Have you ever been in the country?” + +“Sure!” said Sam scornfully. “Went wid de Fresh Air folks wen I were a +kid.” + +“What did you think of it?” + +“Don’t tink much!” shrugged Sam. “Too empty. Nothin’ doin’! Good ’nough +fer kids. Never again fer _me_.” + +It was three months since Michael had made his memorable first visit +down to Old Orchard Farm. For weeks he had worked shoulder to shoulder +every evening with Sam and as yet no word of that plan which was +nearest his heart had been spoken. This was his first attempt to open +the subject. + +That Sam had come to have a certain kind of respect and fondness for +him he was sure, though it was never expressed in words. Always he +either objected to any plan Michael suggested, or else he was extremely +indifferent and would not promise to be on hand. He was almost always +there, however, and Michael had come to know that Sam was proud of his +friendship, and at least to a degree interested in his plans for the +betterment of the court. + +“There are things in the country; other things, that make up for the +stir of the city,” said Michael thoughtfully. This was the first +unpractical conversation he had tried to hold with Sam. He had been +leading him up, through the various stages from dirt and degradation, +by means of soap and water, then paper and paint, and now they had +reached the doorway of Nature’s school. Michael wanted to introduce Sam +to the great world of out-of-doors. For, though Sam had lived all his +life out-of-doors, it had been a world of brick walls and stone +pavements, with little sky and almost no water. Not a green thing in +sight, not a bird, nor a beast except of burden. The first lesson was +waiting in a paper bundle that stood under the table. Would Sam take +it, Michael wondered, as he rose and brought it out unwrapping the +papers carefully, while Sam silently watched and pretended to whistle, +not to show too much curiosity. “What tings?” at last asked Sam. + +“Things like this,” answered Michael eagerly setting out on the table +an earthen pot containing a scarlet geranium in bloom. It glowed forth +its brilliant torch at once and gave just the touch to the little empty +clean room that Michael had hoped it would do. He stood back and looked +at it proudly, and then looked at Sam to see if the lesson had been +understood. He half expected to see an expression of scorn on the +hardened sallow face of the slum boy, but instead Sam was gazing +open-mouthed, with unmitigated admiration. + +“Say! Dat’s all right!” he ejaculated. “Where’d you make de raise? Say! +Dat makes de paper an’ de paint show up fine!” taking in the general +effect of the room. + +Then he arose from the box on which he had been sitting and went and +stood before the blossom. + +“Say! I wisht Jim eud see dat dere!” he ejaculated after a long +silence, and there was that in the expression of his face that brought +the quick moisture to Michael’s eyes. + +It was only a common red geranium bought for fifteen cents, but it had +touched with its miracle of bright life the hardened soul of the young +burglar, and opened his vision to higher things than he had known. It +was in this moment of open vision that his heart turned to his old +companion who was uncomplainingly taking the punishment which +rightfully belonged to the whole gang. + +“We will take him one tomorrow,” said Michael in a low voice husky with +feeling. It was the first time Sam had voluntarily mentioned Jim and he +had seemed so loth to take Michael to see him in jail that Michael had +ceased to speak of the matter. + +“There’s another one just like this where I bought this one. I couldn’t +tell which to take, they were both so pretty. We’ll get it the first +thing in the morning before anybody else snaps it up, and then, when +could we get in to see Jim? Would they let us in after my office hours +or would we have to wait till Sunday? You look after that will you? I +might get off at four o’clock if that’s not too late.” + +“Dey’ll let us in on Sunday ef _you_ ask, I reckon,” said Sam much +moved. “But it’s awful dark in prison. It won’t live, will it? Dere’s +only one streak o’ sun shines in Jim’s cell a few minutes every day.” + +“Oh, I think it’ll live,” said Michael hastily, a strange choking +sensation in his throat at thought of his one-time companion shut into +a dark prison. Of course, he deserved to be there. He had broken the +laws, but then no one had ever made him understand how wrong it was. If +some one had only tried perhaps Jim would never have done the thing +that put him in prison. + +“I’m sure it will live,” he said again cheerfully. “I’ve heard that +geraniums are very hardy. The man told me they would live all winter in +the cellar if you brought them up again in the spring.” + +“Jim will be out again in de spring,” said Sam softly. It was the first +sign of anything like emotion in Sam. + +“Isn’t that good!” said Michael heartily. “I wonder what we can do to +make it pleasant for him when he comes back to the world. We’ll bring +him to this room, of course, but in the spring this will be getting +warm. And that makes me think of what I was talking about a minute ago. +There’s so much more in the country than in the city!” + +“More?” questioned Sam uncomprehendingly. + +“Yes, things like this to look at. Growing things that you get to love +and understand. Wonderful things. There’s a river that sparkles and +talks as it runs. There are trees that laugh and whisper when the wind +plays in their branches. And there are wonderful birds, little live +breaths of air with music inside that make splendid friends when you’re +lonely. I know, for I made lots of bird-friends when I went away from +you all to college. You know I was pretty lonely at first.” + +Sam looked at him with quick, keen wonder, and a lighting of his face +that made him almost attractive and sent the cunning in his eyes +slinking out of sight. Had this fine great-hearted creature really +missed his old friends when he went away? Had he really need of them +yet, with all his education—and—difference? It was food for thought. + +“Then there’s the sky, so much of it,” went on Michael, “and so wide +and blue, and sometimes soft white clouds. They make you feel rested +when you look at them floating lazily through the blue, and never +seeming to be tired; not even when there’s a storm and they have to +hurry. And there’s the sunset. Sam, I don’t believe you ever saw the +sunset, not right anyway. You don’t have sunsets here in the city, it +just gets dark. You ought to see one I saw not long ago. I mean to take +you there some day and we’ll watch it together. I want to see if it +will do the same thing to you that it did to me.” + +Sam looked at him in awe, for he wore his exalted look, and when he +spoke like that Sam had a superstitious fear that perhaps after all he +was as old Sal said, more of angel than of man. + +“And then, there’s the earth, all covered with green, plenty of it to +lie in if you want to, and it smells so good; and there’s so much +air,—enough to breathe your lungs full, and with nothing disagreeable +in it, no ugly smells nor sounds. And there are growing things +everywhere. Oh, Sam! Wouldn’t you like to make things like this grow?” + +Sam nodded and put forth his rough forefinger shamedly to touch the +velvet of a green leaf, as one unaccustomed might touch a baby’s cheek. + +“You’ll go with me, Sam, to the country sometime, won’t you? I’ve got a +plan and I’ll need you to help me carry it out. Will you go?” + +“Sure!” said Sam in quite a different voice from any reluctant assent +he had ever given before. “Sure, I’ll go!” + +“Thank you, Sam,” said Michael more moved than he dared show, “And now +that’s settled I want to talk about this room. I’m going to have five +little kids here tomorrow early in the evening. I told them I’d show +them how to whittle boats and we’re going to sail them in the scrub +bucket. They’re about the age you and I were when I went away to +college. Perhaps I’ll teach them a letter or two of the alphabet if +they seem interested. They ought to know how to read, Sam.” + +“I never learned to read—” muttered Sam half belligerently. “That so?” +said Michael as if it were a matter of small moment. “Well, what if you +were to come in and help me with the boats. Then you could pick it up +when I teach them. You might want to use it some day. It’s well to know +how, and a man learns things quickly you know.” + +Sam nodded. + +“I don’t know’s I care ’bout it,” he said indifferently, but Michael +saw that he intended to come. + +“Well, after the kids have gone, I won’t keep them late you know, I +wonder if you’d like to bring some of the fellows in to see this?” + +Michael glanced around the room. + +“I’ve some pictures of alligators I have a fancy they might like to +see. I’ll bring them down if you say so.” + +“Sure!” said Sam trying to hide his pleasure. + +“Then tomorrow morning I’m going to let that little woman that lives in +the cellar under Aunt Sally’s room, bring her sewing here and work all +day. She makes buttonholes in vests. It’s so dark in her room she can’t +see and she’s almost ruined her eyes working by candle light.” + +“She’ll mess it all up!” grumbled Sam; “an’ she might let other folks +in an’ they’d pinch the picters an’ the posy.” + +“No, she won’t do that. I’ve talked to her about it. The room is to be +hers for the day, and she’s to keep it looking just as nice as it did +when she found it. She’ll only bring her work over, and go home for her +dinner. She’s to keep the fire going so it will be warm at night, and +she’s to try it for a day and see how it goes. I think she’ll keep her +promise. We’ll try her anyway.” + +Sam nodded as to a superior officer who nevertheless was awfully +foolish. + +“Mebbe!” he said. + +“Sam, do you think it would be nice to bring Aunt Sally over now a few +minutes?” + +“No,” said Sam shortly, “she’s too dirty. She’d put her fingers on de +wall first thing—” + +“But Sam, I think she ought to come. And she ought to come first. She’s +the one that helped me find you—” + +Sam looked sharply at Michael and wondered if he suspected how long +that same Aunt Sally had frustrated his efforts to find his friends. + +“We could tell her not to touch things, perhaps—” + +“Wal, you lemme tell her. Here! I’ll go fix her up an’ bring her now.” +And Sam hurried out of the room. + +Michael waited, and in a few minutes Sam returned with Aunt Sally. But +it was a transformed Aunt Sally. Her face had been painfully scrubbed +in a circle out as far as her ears, and her scraggy gray hair was +twisted in a tight knot at the back of her neck. Her hands were several +shades cleaner than Michael had ever seen them before, and her shoes +were tied. She wore a small three-cornered plaid shawl over her +shoulders and entered cautiously as if half afraid to come. Her hands +were clasped high across her breast. She had evidently been severely +threatened against touching anything. + +“The saints be praised!” she ejaculated warmly after she had looked +around in silence for a moment “To think I should ivver see the loikes +uv this in de alley. It lukes loike a palace. Mikky, ye’re a Nangel, me +b’y! An’ a rale kurtin, to be shure! I ain’t seen a kurtin in the alley +since I cummed. An’ will ye luke at the purty posy a blowin’ as foine +as ye plaze! Me mither had the loike in her cottage window when I was a +leetle gal! Aw, me pure auld mither!” + +And suddenly to Michael’s amazement, and the disgust of Sam, old Sal +sat down on the one chair and wept aloud, with the tears streaming down +her seamed and sin-scarred face. + +Sam was for putting her out at once, but Michael soothed her with his +cheery voice, making her tell of her old home in Ireland, and the kind +mother whom she had loved, though it was long years since she had +thought of her now. + +With rare skill he drew from her the picture of the little Irish +cottage with its thatched roof, its peat fire, and well-swept hearth; +the table with the white cloth, the cat in the rocking chair, the +curtain starched stiffly at the window, the bright posy on the deep +window ledge; and, lastly, the little girl with clean pinafore and +curly hair who kissed her mother every morning and trotted off to +school. But that was before the father died, and the potatoes failed. +The school days were soon over, and the little girl with her mother +came to America. The mother died on the way over, and the child fell +into evil hands. That was the story, and as it was told Michael’s face +grew tender and wistful. Would that he knew even so much of his own +history as that! + +But Sam stood by struck dumb and trying to fancy that this old woman +had ever been the bright rosy child she told about. Sam was passing +through a sort of mental and moral earthquake. + +“Perhaps some day we’ll find another little house in the country where +you can go and live,” said Michael, “but meantime, suppose you go and +see if you can’t make your room look like this one. You scrub it all up +and perhaps Sam and I will come over and put some pretty paper on the +walls for you. Would you like that? How about it, Sam?” + +“Sure!” said Sam rather grudgingly. He hadn’t much faith in Aunt Sally +and didn’t see what Michael wanted with her anyway, but he was loyal to +Michael. + +Irish blessings mingled with tears and garnished with curses in the +most extraordinary way were showered upon Michael and at last when he +could stand no more, Sam said: + +“Aw, cut it out, Sal. You go home an’ scrub. Come on, now!” and he +bundled her off in a hurry. + +Late as it was, old Sal lit a fire, and by the light of a tallow candle +got down on her stiff old knees and began to scrub. It seemed nothing +short of a miracle that her room could ever look like that one she had +just seen, but if scrubbing could do anything toward it, scrub she +would. It was ten years since she had thought of scrubbing her room. +She hadn’t seemed to care; but tonight as she worked with her trembling +old drink-shaken hands the memory of her childhood’s home was before +her vision, and she worked with all her might. + +So the leaven of the little white room in the dark alley began to work. +“The Angel’s quarters” it was named, and to be called to go within its +charmed walls was an honor that all coveted as time went on. And that +was how Michael began the salvation of his native alley. + + + + +Chapter XIV + + +Michael had been three months with the new law firm and was beginning +to get accustomed to the violent contrast between the day spent in the +atmosphere of low-voiced, quiet-stepping, earnest men who moved about +in their environment of polished floors, oriental rugs, leather chairs +and walls lined with leather-covered law books; and the evening down in +the alley where his bare, little, white and gold room made the only +tolerable spot in the neighborhood. + +He was still occupying the fourth floor back at his original boarding +house, and had seen Mr. Endicott briefly three or four times, but +nothing had been said about his lodgings. + +One morning he came to the desk set apart for him in the law office, +and found a letter lying there for him. + +“Son:” it said, “your board is paid at the address given below, up to +the day you are twenty-one. If you don’t get the benefit it will go to +waste. Mrs. Semple will make you quite comfortable and I desire you to +move to her house at once. If you feel any obligation toward me this is +the way to discharge it. Hope you are well, Yours, Delevan Endicott.’” + +Michael’s heart beat faster with varied emotions. It was pleasant to +have some one care, and of course if Mr. Endicott wished it so much he +would manage it somehow—perhaps he could get some night work or copying +to do—but he would never let him bear his expenses. That could not be. + +He hurried off at the noon hour to find his benefactor and make this +plain with due gratitude. He found, however, that it was not so easy to +change this man’s mind, once made up. Endicott would not hear to any +change in arrangements. He had paid the board for the remaining months +of Michael’s minority and maintained his right to do so if he chose. +Neither would he let Michael refund him any of the amount. + +So Michael moved, bag and baggage, and found the change good. The +regular, well-cooked meals gave zest to his appetite which had been +going back on him for sometime under his own economical regime, and the +larger room with better outlook and more air, to say nothing of a +comfortable bed with adjoining bath-room, and plenty of heat and light, +made life seem more worth while. Besides there were other boarders with +whom he now came in pleasant contact, and there was a large pleasant +parlor with easy chairs and an old-fashioned square piano which still +retained much of its original sweetness of tone. + +Mrs. Semple had a daughter Hester, an earnest, gray-eyed girl with soft +brown hair and a firm little chin, who had taken an art course in +Cooper Institute and painted very good pictures which, however, did not +sell. Hester played the piano—not very well, it is true, but well +enough to make it pleasant to a lonely boy who had known no music in +his life except the birds or his own whistle. She played hymns on +Sunday after church while they waited for the dinner to be ready; and +evenings after supper she played other things: old ballads and tender, +touching melodies from old masters simplified, for such as she. Michael +sometimes lingered a half hour before hurrying away to the alley, and +joined his rich natural tenor with her light pretty soprano. Sometimes +Will French, a young fellow who was in the same law office and also +boarded at Mrs. Semple’s, stayed awhile and sang bass. It was very +pleasant and made it seem more as if he were living in a home. + +All this time Michael was carrying on his quiet work in the alley, +saying nothing about it to anybody. In the first place he felt shy +about it because of his personal connection with the place. Not that he +wished to hide his origin from his employers, but he felt he owed it to +Mr. Endicott who had recommended him, to be as respectable in their +sight as possible; and so long as they neither knew nor cared it did +not matter. Then, it never occurred to Michael that he was doing +anything remarkable with his little white room in the blackness of the +stronghold of sin. Night after night he gathered his newsboys and +taught them whittling, basketry, reading, arithmetic and geography, +with a little philosophy and botany thrown in unawares. Night after +night the older fellows dropped in, one or two at a time, and listened +to the stories Michael told; sometimes of college life and games in +which they were of course interested; sometimes of Nature and his +experiences in finding an alligator, or a serpent, or watching some +bird. It was wonderful how interesting he managed to make those talks. +He never realized that he was preparing in the school of experience to +be a magnificent public speaker. With an audience as difficult as any +he could have found in the whole wide city, he managed to hold them +every time. + +And the favorite theme often was agriculture. He would begin by +bringing a new little plant to the room, setting it up and showing it +to them; talking about conditions of soil and how plants were being +improved. It was usually the _résumé_ of some article on agriculture +that he had taken time to read at noon and was reviewing for their +benefit. + +They heard all about Burbank and his wonderful experiments in making +plants grow and develop, and as they listened they went and stood +around the blossom that Michael had just brought to them and looked +with new wonder at it. A flower was a strange enough sight in that +court, but when they heard these stories it became filled with new +interest. For a little while they forgot their evil plotting and were +lifted above themselves. + +Another night the talk would be on fertilizers, and how one crop would +sometimes give out something that another crop planted later, needed. +Little by little, because he talked about the things in which he +himself was interested, he was giving these sons of ignorance a dim +knowledge of and interest in the culture of life, and the tilling of +the ground; getting them ready for what he had hardly as yet dared to +put into words even to himself. + +And one day he took Sam down to Old Orchard. It was the week before +Christmas. They had made their second visit to Jim the week before and +he had spoken of the spring and when he should get out into the world +again. He seemed to be planning to get even with those who had confined +him for his wrongdoing. Michael’s heart was filled with anxiety for +him. + +There was something about Jim that appealed to Michael from the first. + +He had seen him first standing behind the grating of his cell, a great +unkempt hulk of a fellow with fiery red hair and brown eyes that roved +restlessly, hungrily through the corridor. He would have been handsome +but for his weak, girlish chin. Jim had melted almost to tears at sight +of the scarlet geranium they had carried him on that first visit, and +seemed to care more for the appearance of his old comrade “Mikky” than +ever Sam had cared. + +Jim was to get out in April. If only there were some place for him to +go! + +They talked of it on the way down, Sam seemed to think that Jim would +find it pretty hard to leave New York. Sam himself wasn’t much +interested in the continued, hints of Michael about going to the +country. + +“Nothin’ doin’” was his constant refrain when Michael tried to tell him +how much better it would be if some of the congested part of the city +could be spread out into the wide country: especially for the poor +people, how much greater opportunity for success in life there would be +for them. + +But Sam had been duly impressed with the wideness of the landscape, on +this his first long trip out of the city, and as Michael unfolded to +him the story of the gift of the farm, and his own hopes for it, Sam +left off his scorn and began to give replies that showed he really was +thinking about the matter. + +“Say!” said he suddenly, “ef Buck was to come back would you let him +live down to your place an’ help do all them things you’re plannin’?” + +“I surely would,” said Michael happily. “Say, Sam, do you, or do you +_not_ know where Buck is?” + +Sam sat thoughtfully looking out of the window. At this point he turned +his gaze down to his feet and slowly, cautiously nodded his head. + +“I thought so!” said Michael eagerly. “Sam, is he in hiding for +something he has done?” + +Still more slowly, cautiously, Sam nodded his head once more. + +“Sam, will you send him a message from me?” + +Another nod. + +“Tell him that I love him,” Michael breathed the words eagerly. His +heart remembered kindness from Buck more than any other lighting of his +sad childhood. “Tell him that I want him—that I need him! Tell him that +I want him to make an appointment to meet me somewhere and let us talk +this plan of mine over. I want him to go in with me and help me make +that farm into a fit place to take people who haven’t the right kind of +homes, where they can have honest work and good air and be happy! Will +you tell him?” + +And Sam nodded his head emphatically. + +“An’ Jim’ll help too ef Buck goes. That’s dead sure!” Sam volunteered. + +“And Sam, I’m counting on you!” + +“Sure thing!” said Sam. + +Michael tramped all over the place with Sam, showing him everything and +telling all his plans. He was very familiar with his land now. He had +planned the bog for a cranberry patch, and had already negotiated for +the bushes. He had trimmed up the berry bushes in the garden himself +during his various holiday trips, and had arranged with a fisherman to +dump a few haulings of shellfish on one field where he thought that +kind of fertilizer would be effective. He had determined to use his +hundred-dollar graduation present in fertilizer and seed. It would not +go far but it would be a beginning. The work he would have to get some +other way. He would have but little time to put to it himself until +late in the summer probably, and there was a great deal that ought to +be done in the early spring. He would have to be contented to go slow +of course, and must remember that unskilled labor is always expensive +and wasteful; still it would likely be all he could get. Just how he +would feed and house even unskilled labor was a problem yet to be +solved. + +It was a day of many revelations to Sam. For one thing even the bare +snowy stretch, of wide country had taken on a new interest to him since +Michael had been telling all these wonderful things about the earth. +Sam’s dull brain which up to this time had never busied itself about +anything except how to get other men’s goods away from them, had +suddenly awakened to the wonders of the world. + +It was he that recognized a little colony of cocoons on the underside +of leaves and twigs and called attention to them. + +“Say, ain’t dem some o’ de critters you was showin’ de fellers t’other +night?” + +And Michael fell upon them eagerly. They happened to be rare specimens, +and he knew from college experience that such could be sold to +advantage to the museums. He showed Sam how to remove them without +injuring them. A little further on they came to a wild growth of holly, +crazy with berries and burnished thorny foliage, and near at hand a +mistletoe bough loaded with tiny white transparent berries. + +“Ain’t dem wot dey sell fer Chris’sum greens?” Sam’s city eyes picked +them out at once. + +“Of course,” said Michael delighted. “How stupid of me not to have +found them before. We’ll take a lot back with us and see if we can get +any price for it. Whatever we get we’ll devote to making the house +liveable. Holly and mistletoe ought to have a good market about now. +That’s another idea! Why not cultivate a lot of this stuff right in +this tract of land. It seems to grow without any trouble. See! There +are lots of little bushes. We’ll encourage them, Sam. And say, Sam, if +you hadn’t come along I might never have thought of that. You see I +needed you.” + +Sam grunted in a pleased way. + +When they came to the house it looked to Michael still more desolate in +the snowy stretch of setting than it had when the grass was about it. +His heart sank. + +“I don’t know as we can ever do anything with the old shack,” he said, +shaking his head wistfully. “It looks worse than I thought.” + +“’Tain’t so bad,” said Sam cheerfully. “Guess it’s watertight.” He +placed a speculative eye at the dusty window pane he had wiped off with +his coat sleeve. “Looks dry inside. ’Twould be a heap better’n sleepin’ +on de pavement fer some. Dat dere fire hole would take in a big lot o’ +wood an’ I guess dere’s a plenty round de place without robbin’ de +woods none.” + +Michael led him to the seashore and bade him look. He wanted to see +what effect it would have upon him. The coast swept wild and bleak in +the cold December day, and Sam shivered in his thin garments. A look of +awe and fear came into his face. He turned his back upon it. + +“Too big!” he said sullenly, and Michael understood that the sea in its +vastness oppressed him. + +“Yes, there’s a good deal of it,” he admitted, “but after all it’s sort +of like the geranium flower.” + +Sam turned back and looked. + +“H’m! I don’t see nothin’ like!” he grunted despairingly. + +“Why, it’s wonderful! Its beyond us! We couldn’t make it. Look at that +motion! See the white tossing rim of the waves! See that soft green +gray! Isn’t it just the color of the little down on the geranium leaf? +See the silver light playing back and forth, and look how it reaches as +far as you can see. Now, doesn’t it make you feel a little as it did +when you first looked at the geranium?” + +Michael looked down at Sam from his greater height almost wistfully. He +wanted him to understand, but Sam looked in vain. + +“Not fer mine!” he shrugged. “Gimme the posy every time.” + +They walked in silence along the beach toward the flowing of the river, +and Sam eyed the ocean furtively as if he feared it might run up and +engulf them suddenly when they were not looking. He had seen the ocean +from wharfs of course; and once stole a ride in a pilot boat out into +the deep a little way; but he had never been alone thus with the whole +sea at once as this seemed. It was too vast for him to comprehend. +Still, in a misty way he knew what Michael was trying to make him +understand, and it stirred him uncomfortably. + +They hired a little boat for a trifle and Michael with strong strokes +rowed them back to the farm, straight into the sunset. The sky was +purple and gold that night, and empurpled the golden river, whose +ripples blended into pink and lavender and green. Sam sat huddled in +the prow of the boat facing it all. Michael had planned it so. The oars +dipped very quietly, and Sam’s small eyes changed and widened and took +it all in. The sun slipped lower in a crimson ball, and a flood of +crimson light broke through the purple and gold for a moment and left a +thin, clear line of flame behind. + +“Dere!” exclaimed Sam pointing excitedly. “Dat’s like de posy. I kin +see _thet_ all right!” + +And Michael rested on his oars and looked back at the sunset, well +pleased with this day’s work. + +They left the boat at a little landing where its owner had promised to +get it, and went back through the wood, gathering a quantity of holly +branches and mistletoe; and when they reached the city Michael found a +good market for it, and received enough for what he had brought to more +than cover the price of the trip. The best of it was that Sam was as +pleased with the bargain as if it were for his personal benefit. + +When they parted Sam wore a sprig of mistletoe in his ragged +buttonhole, and Michael carried several handsome branches of holly back +to his boarding place. + +Most of this he gave to Hester Semple to decorate the parlor with, but +one fine branch he kept and carried to his room and fastened it over +his mirror. Then after looking at it wistfully for a long time he +selected a glossy spray containing several fine large berries, cut it +off and packed it carefully in a tiny box. This without name or clue to +sender, he addressed in printing letters to Starr. Mr. Endicott had +asked him to mail a letter to her as he passed by the box the last time +he had been in the office, and without his intention the address had +been burned into his memory. He had not expected to use it ever, but +there could be no harm surely in sending the girl this bit of Christmas +greeting out of the nowhere of a world of possible people. She would +never know he had sent it, and perhaps it would please her to get a +piece of Christmas holly from home. She might think her father had sent +it. It mattered not, he knew, and it helped him to think he might send +this much of his thoughts over the water to her. He pleased himself +with thinking how she would look when she opened the box. But whether +she would be pleased or not he must only surmise, for she would never +know to thank him. Ah, well, it was as near as he dared hope for +touching life’s happiness. He must be glad for what he might have, and +try to work and forget the rest. + + + + +Chapter XV + + +Now about this time the law firm with whom Michael worked became deeply +interested in their new “boy.” He studied hard, and seemed to know what +he was about all day. They saw signs of extraordinary talent in him. +Once or twice, thinking to make life pleasant for him, they had invited +him to their club, or to some evening’s entertainment, and always +Michael had courteously declined, saying that he had an engagement for +the evening. They casually questioned Will French, the other student, +who was a happy-go-lucky; in the office because his father wished him +to study something and not because he wanted to. Will said that Michael +went out every evening and came in late. Mrs. Semple had remarked that +she often didn’t know whether he came in at all until she saw him come +down to breakfast. + +This report and a certain look of weariness about the eyes some +mornings led the senior member of the firm to look into Michael’s +affairs. The natural inference was that Michael was getting into social +life too deeply, perhaps wasting the hours in late revelry when he +should have been sleeping. Mr. Holt liked Michael, and dreaded to see +the signs of dissipation appear on that fine face. He asked Will French +to make friends with him and find out if he could where he spent his +evenings. Will readily agreed, and at once entered on his mission with +a zeal which was beyond all baffling. + +“Hello, Endicott!” called Will as Michael reached the front door on his +way to his mission that same evening. “Where’re you going? Wait, can’t +you, and I’ll walk along with you? I was going to ask you if you +wouldn’t go to a show with me this evening. I haven’t anything on for +tonight and it’s slow.” + +As he spoke he seized his coat and hat which he had purposely left in +the hall near at hand, and put them on. + +“Thank you,” said Michael, as they went out together, “I’d be glad to +go with you but I have something that can’t be put off.” + +“Well, go tomorrow night with me, will you? I like you and I think we +ought to be friends.” + +Will’s idea was that they would get to talking at a “show” and he could +find out a good deal in that way. He thought it must be a girl. He had +told the senior Holt that it was a girl of course and he wouldn’t take +long to spot her. It must be either a girl or revelry to take the +fellow out every night in the week so late. + +“Well, I’m sorry,” said Michael again, “but I’m afraid I have an +engagement every night. It’s rather a permanent job I’m engaged in. +What do you do with your evenings?” + +Will launched into a gay description of parties and entertainments to +which he had been bidden, and nice girls he knew, hinting that he might +introduce Michael if he was so inclined, and Michael talked on leading +his unsuspecting companion further and further from the subject of his +own evenings. Finally they came to a corner and Michael halted. + +“I turn here,” he said; “which way do you go?” + +“Why, I turn too,” laughed French. “That is, if you don’t object. I’m +out for a walk and I don’t care much what I do. If I’m not welcome just +tell me and I’ll clear out.” + +“Of course you’re quite welcome,” said Michael; “I’m glad to have +company, but the quarter I’m walking to is not a pleasant one for a +walk, and indeed you mightn’t like to return alone even so early in the +evening if you walk far. I had an unpleasant encounter myself once, but +I know the ways of the place now and it’s different.” + +Will eyed him curiously. + +“Is it allowable to ask where we’re going?” he asked in a comical tone. + +Michael laughed. + +“Certainly. If you’re bound to go I’ll have to tell you all about it, +but I strongly advise you to turn back now, for it isn’t a very savory +neighborhood, and I don’t believe you’ll care for it.” + +“Where thou goest I will go,” mocked Will. “My curiosity is aroused. I +shall certainly go. If it’s safe for you, it is for me. My good looks +are not nearly so valuable as yours, nor so noticeable. As I have no +valuables in the world, I can’t be knocked down for booty.” + +“You see they all know me,” explained Michael. + +“Oh, they do! And can’t you introduce me? Or don’t you like to?” + +“I suppose I can,” laughed Michael, “if you really want me to, but I’m +afraid you’ll turn and run when you see them. You see they’re not +very—handsome. They’re not what you’re used to. You wouldn’t want to +know them.” + +“But you do.” + +“I had to,” said Michael desperately. “They needed something and I had +to help them!” + +Up to this point Will French had been sure that Michael had fallen into +the hands of a set of sharpers, but something in his companion’s tone +made him turn and look, and he saw Michael’s face uplifted in the light +of the street lamp, glowing with, a kind of intent earnestness that +surprised and awed him. + +“Look here, man,” he said. “Tell me who they are, and what you are +doing, anyway.” + +Michael told him in a few words, saying little about himself, or his +reason for being interested in the alley in the first place. There were +a few neglected newsboys, mere kids. He was trying to teach them a few +things, reading and figures and a little manual training. Something to +make life more than a round of suffering and sin. + +“Is it settlement work?” asked French. He was puzzled and interested. + +“No,” explained Michael, “there’s a settlement, but it’s too far away +and got too big a district to reach this alley. It’s just my own little +work.” + +“Who pays you for it?” + +“Who pays me?” + +“Yes, who’s behind the enterprise? Who forks over the funds and pays +you for your job?” + +Michael laughed long and loud. + +“Well, now, I hadn’t thought about pay, but I guess the kiddies +themselves do. You can’t think how they enjoy it all.” + +“H’m!” said French, “I think I’ll go along and see how you do it. I +won’t scare ’em out, will I?” + +“Well, now I hadn’t thought of that,” said Michael. “In fact, I didn’t +suppose you’d care to go all the way, but if you think you do, I guess +it will be all right.” + +“Not a very warm welcome, I must say,” laughed Will, “but I’m going +just the same. You get me in and I’ll guarantee not to scare the crowd. +Have any time left over from your studies for amusement? If you do I +might come in on that. I can do tricks.” + +“Can you?” said Michael looking at his unbidden guest doubtfully. +“Well, we’ll see. I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. It’s very +informal. Sometimes we don’t get beyond the first step in a lesson. +Sometimes I have to stop and tell stories.” + +“Good!” said Will. “I’d like to hear you.” + +“Oh, you wouldn’t enjoy it, but there are a few books there. You might +read if you get tired looking around the room.” + +And so Michael and his guest entered the yellow and white room +together. Michael lit the gas, and Will looked about blinking in +amazement. + +Coming through the alley to the room had taken away Will’s exclamatory +powers and exhausted his vocabulary. The room in its white simplicity, +immaculately kept, and constantly in touch with fresh paint to hide any +stray finger marks, stood out in startling contrast with the regions +round about it. Will took it all in, paint, paper, and pictures. The +tiny stove glowing warmly, the improvised seats, the blackboard in the +corner, and the bits of life as manifested in geranium, butterfly +cocoons and bird’s nests; then he looked at Michael, tall and fine and +embarrassed, in the centre of it all. + +“Great Scott!” he exclaimed. “Is this an enchanted island, or am I in +my right mind?” + +But before he could be answered there came the sound of mattering young +feet and a tumult outside the door. Then eager, panting, but decorous, +they entered, some with clean faces, most of them with clean hands, or +moderately so, all with their caps off in homage to their Prince; and +Michael welcomed them as if he stood in a luxurious drawing room on +Fifth Avenue and these were his guests. + +He introduced them, and Will entered into the spirit of the affair and +greeted them chummily. They stood shyly off from him at first with +great eyes of suspicion, huddled together in a group near Michael, but +later when the lesson on the blackboard was over and Michael was +showing a set of pictures, Will sat down in a corner with a string from +his pocket and began showing two of the boldest of the group some +tricks. This took at once, and when he added a little sleight-of-hand +pulling pennies from the hair and pockets and hands of the astonished +youngsters and allowing them to keep them after the game was over, they +were ready to take him into their inner circle at once. + +When, however, Sam, who was most unaccountably late that night, sidled +in alone, he looked at the stranger with eyes of belligerence; and when +Michael introduced him as his friend, Sam’s eyes glinted with a jealous +light. Sam did not like Michael to have any friends of that sort. This +new man had shiny boots, fine new clothes, wore his hair nicely +brushed, and manipulated a smooth handkerchief with fingers as white as +any gentleman. To be sure Michael was like that, but then Michael was +Michael. He belonged to them, and his clothes made him no worse. But +who was this intruder? A gentleman? All gentlemen were natural enemies +to Sam. + +“Come outside,” said Sam to Michael gruffly, ignoring the white hand +Will held out cordially. Michael saw there was something on his mind. + +“Will, can you amuse these kids a minute or two while I step out? I’ll +not be long.” + +“Sure!” said Will heartily. He hadn’t had such a good time in months +and what a story he would have to tell the senior partner in the +morning. + +“Ever try to lift a fellow’s hand off the top of his head? Here, you +kid, sit in that chair and put your right hand flat on the top of your +head. Now, sonnie, you lift it off. Pull with all your might. That’s +it—” + +Michael’s eyes shone, and even Sam grinned surreptitiously. + +“He’ll do,” he said to Sam as they went out. “He was lonesome this +evening and wanted to come along with me.” + +Lonesome! A fellow like that! It gave Sam a new idea to think about. +Did people who had money and education and were used to living in +clothes like that get lonesome? Sam cast a kindlier eye back at Will as +he closed the door. + +Alone in the dark cold entry where the wind whistled up from the river +and every crack seemed a conductor of a blast, Sam and Michael talked +in low tones: + +“Say, he’s lit out!” Sam’s tone conveyed dismay as well as apology. + +It was a sign of Michael’s real eagerness that he knew at once who was +meant. + +“Buck?” + +Sam grunted assent. + +“When?” + +“Day er so ago, I tuk yer word to ’im but he’d gone. Lef’ word he had a +big deal on, an’ ef it came troo all right ’e’d send fer us. You see it +wan’t safe round here no more. The police was onto his game. Thur wan’t +no more hidin’ fer him. He was powerful sorry not to see you. He’d +always thought a heap o’ Mikky!” + +“How long had he known I was here?” Michael’s face was grave in the +darkness. Why had Buck not sent him some word? Made some appointment? + +“Since you first cum back.” + +“Why—oh, Sam, why didn’t he let me come and see him?” + +“It warn’t safe,” said Sam earnestly. “Sure thing, it warn’t! ’Sides—” + +“Besides what, Sam?” The question was eager. + +“’Sides, he knowed you’d had edicashun, an’ he knowed how you looked on +his way o’ livin’. He didn’t know but—” + +“You mean he didn’t trust me, Sam?” Sam felt the keen eyes upon him +even hi the darkness. + +“Naw, he didn’t tink you’d snitch on him ner nothin’, but he didn’t +know but you might tink you had to do some tings what might kick it all +up wid him. You’d b’en out o’ tings fer years, an’ you didn’t know de +ways o’ de city. ’Sides, he ain’t seed you like I done—” + +“I see,” said Michael, “I understand. It’s a long time and of course he +only knows what you have told him, and if there was danger,—but oh, +Sam, I wish he could go down to Old Orchard. Did you ever tell him +about it, and about my plans?” + +“Sure ting I did. Tole ’im all you tole me. He said ’twar all right. Ef +he comes out on dis deal he’ll be back in a while, an’ he’ll go down +dere ef you want him. He said he’d bring a little wad back to make +things go ef dis deal went troo.” + +“Do you know what the deal is, Sam?” + +“Sure!” + +“Is it dis—is it”—he paused for a word that would convey his meaning +and yet not offend—“is it—dangerous, Sam?” + +“Sure!” admitted Sam solemnly as though it hurt him to pain his friend. + +“Do you mean it will make more hiding for him?” + +“Sure!” emphatically grave. + +“I wish he hadn’t gone!” There was sharp pain in Michael’s voice. + +“I wisht so too!’” said Sam with a queer little choke to his voice, +“Mebbe ’twon’t come off after all. Mebbe it’ll git blocked. Mebbe he’ll +come back.” + +The anxiety in Sam’s tone touched Michael, but another thought had +struck him hard. + +“Sam,” said he plucking at the others sleeve in the darkness, “Sam, +tell me, what was Buck doing—before he went away. Was it all straight? +Was he in the same business with you?” + +Sam breathed heavily but did not answer. At last with difficulty he +answered a gruff, “Nope!” + +“What was it, Sam? Won’t you tell me?” + +“It would be snitchin’.” + +“Not to me, Sam. You know I belong to you all.” + +“But you’ve got new notions.” + +“Yes,” admitted Michael, “I can’t help that, but I don’t go back on +you, do I?” + +“No, you don’t go back on we’uns, that’s so. But you don’t like we’s +doin’s.” + +“Never mind. Tell me, Sam. I think I must know.” + +“He kep a gamein’ den—” + +“Oh, Sam!” Michael’s voice was stricken, and his great athletic hand +gripped Sam’s hard skinny one, and Sam in the darkness gripped back. + +“I knowed you’d feel thet way,” he mourned as if the fault were all in +his telling. “I wisht I hadn’t ’a tole yer.” + +“Never mind, Sam, you couldn’t help it, and I suppose I wouldn’t have +known the difference myself if I hadn’t gone away. We mustn’t judge +Buck harshly. He’ll see it the other way by and by.” + +Sam straightened perceptibly. There was something in this speech that +put him in the same class with Michael. He had never before had any +qualms of conscience concerning gambling, but now he found himself +almost unawares arrayed against it. + +“I guess mebbe!” he said comfortingly, and then seeking to change the +subject. “Say, is dat guy in dere goin’ along to de farm?” + +“Who?” + +“Why, dat ike you lef’ in de room. Is he goin’ down ’long when wees +go?” + +“Oh, Will French! No, Sam. He doesn’t know anything about it yet. I may +tell him sometime, but he doesn’t need that. He is studying to be a +lawyer. Perhaps some day if he gets interested he’ll help do what I +want for the alley, and all the other alleys in the city; make better +laws and see that they’re enforced.” + +“Laws!” said Sam in a startled voice. “What laws!” + +Laws were his natural enemies he thought. + +“Laws for better tenement houses, more room and more windows, better +air, cleaner streets, room for grass and flowers, pure milk and meat, +and less crowding and dirt. Understand?” + +It was the first time Michael had gone so deep into his plans with Sam, +and he longed now to have his comradeship in this hope too. + +“Oh, sure!” said Sam much relieved that Michael had not mentioned laws +about gambling dens and pickpockets. Sam might be willing to reform his +own course in the brilliant wake of Michael but as yet he had not +reached the point where he cared to see vice and dishonesty swept off +the globe. + +They went slowly back to the white room to find Will French leading a +chorus of small urchins in the latest popular melody while they kept +time with an awkward shuffle of their ill-shod feet. + +Sam growled: “Cut it out, kids, you scratch de floor,” and Will French +subsided with apologies. + +“I never thought of the floor, Endicott. Say, you ought to have a +gymnasium and a swimming pool here.” + +Michael laughed. + +“I wish we had,” he declared, “but I’d begin on a bath-room. We need +that first of all.” + +“Well, let’s get one,” said Will eagerly. “That wouldn’t cost so much. +We could get some people to contribute a little. I know a man that has +a big plumbing establishment. He’d do a little something. I mean to +tell him about it. Is there any place it could be put?” + +Sam followed them wondering, listening, interested, as they went out +into the hall to see the little dark hole which might with ingenuity be +converted into a bath-room, and while he leaned back against the +door-jamb, hands in his pockets, he studied the face of the newcomer. + +“Guess dat guy’s all right,” he reassured Michael as he helped him turn +the lights out a little later, while Will waited on the doorstep +whistling a new tune to his admiring following. Will had caught “de +kids.” + +“I say, Endicott,” he said as they walked up the noisy midnight street +and turned into the avenue, “why don’t you get Hester to go down there +and sing sometime? Sunday afternoon. She’d go. Ask her.” + +And that night was the beginning of outside help for Michael’s mission. + +Hester fell into the habit of going down Sunday afternoons, and soon +she had an eager following of sad-eyed women, and eager little +children; and Will French spent his leisure hours in hunting up tricks +and games and puzzles, for “the kids.” + +Meantime, the account he had given to Holt and Holt of the way Michael +spent his evenings, was not without fruit. + +About a week after French’s first visit to the alley, the senior Mr. +Holt paused beside Michael’s desk one afternoon just before going out +of the office and laid a bit of paper in his hand. + +“French tells me you’re interested in work in the slums,” he said in +the same tone he used to give Michael an order for his daily routine. +“I’d like to help a little if you can use that.” He passed on out of +the office before Michael had fully comprehended what had been said. +The young man looked down at the paper and saw it was a check made out +to himself for one hundred dollars! + +With a quick exclamation of gratitude he was on his feet and out into +the hall after his employer. + +“That’s all right, Endicott. I don’t get as much time as I’d like to +look after the charities, and when I see a good thing I like to give it +a boost. Call on me if you need money for any special scheme. And I’ll +mention it to some of my clients occasionally,” said the old lawyer, +well pleased with Michael’s gratitude. + +He did, and right royally did the clients respond. Every little while a +ten-dollar bill or a five, and now and then a check for fifty would +find its way to Michael’s desk; for Will French, thoroughly interested, +kept Holt and Holt well supplied with information concerning what was +needed. + + + + +Chapter XVI + + +Before the winter was over Michael was able to put in the bath-room and +had bought a plow and a number of necessary farm implements, and +secured the services of a man who lived near Old Orchard to do some +early plowing and planting. He was able also to buy seeds and +fertilizer, enough at least to start his experiment; and toward spring, +he took advantage of a holiday, and with Sam and a carpenter went down +to the farm and patched up the old house to keep out the rain. + +After that a few cots, some boxes for chairs and tables, some cheap +comfortables for cool nights, some dishes and cooking utensils from the +ten-cent store, and the place would be ready for his alley-colony when +he should dare to bring them down. A canvas cot and a wadded +comfortable would be luxury to any of them. The only question was, +would they be contented out of the city? + +Michael had read many articles about the feasibility of taking the poor +of the cities into the country, and he knew that experience had shown +they were in most cases miserable to get back again. He believed in his +heart that this might be different if the conditions were made right. +In the first place they must have an environment full of new interest +to supply the place of the city’s rush, and then they must have some +great object which they would be eager to attain. He felt, too, that +they should be prepared beforehand for their new life. + +To this end he had been for six months spending two or three hours a +week with five or six young fellows Sam had tolled in. He had brought +the agricultural papers to the room, and made much of the +illustrations. The boys as a rule could not read, so he read to them, +or rather translated into their own slang-ful English. He told them +what wonders had been attained by farming in the right way. As these +fellows had little notion about farming in any way, or little knowledge +of farm products save as they came to them through the markets in their +very worst forms, it became necessary to bring cabbages and apples, and +various other fruits and vegetables for their inspection. + +One night he brought three or four gnarled, little green-skinned, sour, +speckled apples, poorly flavored. He called attention to them very +carefully, and then because an apple was a treat, however poor it might +be, he asked them to notice the flavor as they ate. Then he produced +three or four magnificent specimens of apple-hood, crimson and yellow, +with polished skin and delicious flavor, and set them in a row on the +table beside some more of the little specked apples. They looked like a +sunset beside a ditch. The young men drew around the beautiful apples +admiringly, feeling of their shiny streaks as if they half thought them +painted, and listening to the story of their development from the +little sour ugly specimens they had just been eating. When it came to +the cutting up of the perfect apples every man of them took an +intelligent pleasure in the delicious fruit. + +Other nights, with the help of Will and Hester, Michael gave +demonstrations of potatoes, and other vegetables, with regular lessons +on how to get the best results with these particular products. Hester +managed in some skilful manner to serve a very tasty refreshment from +roasted potatoes, cooked just right, at the same time showing the +difference in the quality between the soggy potatoes full of dry rot, +and those that were grown under the right conditions. Occasionally a +cup of coffee or some delicate sandwiches helped out on a +demonstration, of lettuce or celery or cold cabbage in the form of +slaw, and the light refreshments served with the agricultural lessons +became a most attractive feature of Michael’s evenings. More and more +young fellows dropped in to listen to the lesson and enjoy the +plentiful “eats” as they called them. When they reached the lessons on +peas and beans the split pea soup and good rich bean soup were ably +appreciated. + +Not that all took the lessons with equal eagerness, but Michael began +to feel toward spring that his original five with Sam as their leader +would do comparatively intelligent work on the farm, the story of which +had been gradually told them from night to night, until they were quite +eager to know if they might be included in those who were to be +pioneers in the work. + +Will French faithfully reported the condition of the work, and more and +more friends and clients of the office would stop at Michael’s desk and +chat with him for a moment about the work, and always leave something +with him to help it along. Michael’s eyes shone and his heart beat high +with hopes in these days. + +But there was still a further work for him to do before his crude +apprentices should be ready to be sent down into the wilds of nature. + +So Michael began one evening to tell them of the beauty and the wonder +of the world. One night he used a cocoon as illustration and for three +evenings they all came with bated breath and watched the strange little +insignificant roll, almost doubting Michael’s veracity, yet full of +curiosity, until one night it burst its bonds and floated up into the +white ceiling, its pale green, gorgeously marked wings working a spell +upon their hearts, that no years could ever make them quite forget. It +was the miracle of life and they had never seen it nor heard of it +before. + +Another night he brought a singing bird in a cage, and pictures of +other birds who were naturally wild. He began to teach them the ways of +the birds they would see in New Jersey, how to tell their songs apart, +where to look for their nests; all the queer little wonderful things +that a bird lover knows, and that Michael because of his long habits of +roaming about the woods knew by heart. The little bird in its cage +stayed in the yellow and white room, and strange to say thrived, +becoming a joy and a wonder to all visitors, and a marvel to those who +lived in the court because of its continuous volume of brilliant song, +bursting from a heart that seemed to be too full of happiness and must +bubble over into music. The “kids” and even the older fellows felt a +proprietorship in it, and liked to come and stand beneath the cage and +call to it as it answered “peep” and peeked between the gilded bars to +watch them. + +One night, with the help of Will French who had some wealthy friends, +Michael borrowed a large picture of a sunset, and spoke to them about +the sunlight and its effects on growing things, and the wonder of its +departure for the night. + +By this time they would listen in awed silence to anything Michael +said, though the picture was perhaps one too many for most of them. +Sam, however, heard with approval, and afterwards went up reverently +and laid his finger on the crimson and the purple and the gold of the +picture. Sam knew, and understood, for he had seen the real thing. Then +he turned to the others and said: + +“Say, fellers, it’s aw-right. You wait till yer see one. Fine ez silk, +an’ twicet as nateral.” + +One big dark fellow who had lately taken to coming to the gatherings, +turned scornfully away, and replied: “Aw shucks! I don’t see nodding in +it!” but loyalty to Michael prevented others who might have secretly +favored this view from expressing it, and the big dark fellow found +himself in the minority. + +And so the work went on. Spring was coming, and with it the end of +Jim’s “term,” and the beginning of Michael’s experiment on the farm. + +Meantime Michael was working hard at his law, and studying half the +night when he came back from the alley work. If he had not had an iron +constitution, and thirteen years behind him of healthy out-door life, +with plenty of sleep and exercise and good food, he could not have +stood it. As it was, the hard work was good for him, for it kept him +from brooding over himself, and his own hopeless love of the little +girl who was far across the water. + +Some weeks after Christmas there had come a brief note from Starr, his +name written in her hand, the address in her father’s. + +Dear Michael, + I am just almost sure that I am indebted to you for the lovely + little sprig of holly that reached me on Christmas. I have tried + and tried to think who the sender might be, for you see I didn’t + know the writing, or rather printing. But today it fell down from + over the picture where I had fastened, it on the wall, and I + noticed what I had not seen before, ‘A Happy Christmas’ in the very + tiny little letters of the message cut or scratched on the under + side of the stem; and the letters reminded me of you and the + charming little surprises you used to send me long ago from Florida + when I was a little girl. Then all at once I was sure it was you + who sent the holly, and I am sitting right down to write and thank + you for it. You see I was very lonesome and homesick that Christmas + morning, for most of the girls in the school had gone home for + Christmas, and mamma, who had been intending to come and take me + away to Paris for the holidays, had written that she was not well + and couldn’t come after all, so I knew I would have to be here all + through the gay times by myself. I was feeling quite doleful even + with the presents that mamma sent me, until I opened the little box + and saw the dear little bright holly berries; that cheered me up + and made me think of home. I kept it on my desk all day so that the + bright berries would make me feel Christmassy, and just before + dinner that night what do you think happened? Why, my dear daddy + came to surprise me, and we took the loveliest trip together, to + Venice and Florence and Rome. It was beautiful! I wish you could + have been along and seen everything. I know you would have enjoyed + it. I must not take the time to write about it because I ought to + be studying. This is a very pleasant place and a good school but I + would rather be at home, and I shall be glad when I am done and + allowed to come back to my own country. + Thanking you ever so much for the pretty little Christmas reminder, + for you see I am sure you sent it, and wishing you a belated Happy + New Year, I am + Your friend, + + +STARR DELEVAN ENDICOTT. + + +Michael read and re-read the letter, treasured the thoughts and visions +it brought him, pondered the question of whether he might answer it, +and decided that he had no right. Then he put it away with his own +heartache, plunging into his work with redoubled energy, and taking an +antidote of so many pages of Blackstone when his thoughts lingered on +forbidden subjects. So the winter fled away and spring came stealing on +apace. + + + + +Chapter XVII + + +As Michael had no definite knowledge of either his exact age, or what +month his birthday came, there could be no day set for his coming of +age. The little information that could be gathered from his own memory +of how many summers and winters he had passed showed that he was +approximately seven years old at the time of the shooting affray. If +that were correct it would make him between nineteen and twenty at the +time of his graduation. + +On the first day of July following his first winter in New York Michael +received a brief letter from Mr. Endicott, containing a check for a +thousand dollars, with congratulations on his majority and a request +that he call at the office the next day. + +Michael, eager, grateful, overwhelmed, was on hand to the minute +appointed. + +The wealthy business man, whose banking affairs had long since righted +themselves, turned from his multifarious duties, and rested his eyes +upon the young fellow, listening half-amused to his eager thanks. + +The young man in truth was a sight to rest weary eyes. + +The winter in New York had put new lines into his face and deepened the +wells of his blue eyes; they were the work of care and toil and +suffering, but—they had made a man’s face out of a boy’s fresh +countenance. There was power in the fine brow, strength in the firm, +well-moulded chin, and both kindliness and unselfishness in the lovely +curves of his pleasant lips. The city barber had been artist enough not +to cut the glorious hair too short while yet giving it the latest clean +cut curve behind the ears and in the neck. By instinct Michael’s hands +were well cared for. Endicott’s tailor had looked out for the rest. + +“That’s all right, son,” Endicott cut Michael’s sentence short. “I’m +pleased with the way you’ve been doing. Holt tells me he never had a +more promising student in his office. He says you’re cut out for the +law, and you’re going to be a success. But what’s this they tell me +about you spending your evenings in the slums? I don’t like the sound +of that. Better cut that out.” + +Michael began to tell in earnest protesting words of what he was trying +to do, but Endicott put up an impatient hand: + +“That’s all very well, son, I’ve no doubt they appreciate your help and +all that, and it’s been very commendable in you to give your time, but +now you owe yourself something, and you owe the world something. You’ve +got to turn out a great lawyer and prove to the world that people from +that district are worth helping. That’s the best way in the long run to +help those people. Give them into somebody else’s hands now. You’ve +done your part. When you get to be a rich man you can give them +something now and then if you like, but it’s time to cut out the work +now. That sort of thing might be very popular in a political leader, +but you’ve got your way to make and it’s time you gave your evenings to +culture, and to going out into society somewhat. Here’s a list of +concerts and lectures for next winter. You ought to go to them all. I’m +sorry I didn’t think of it this winter, but perhaps it was as well not +to go too deep at the start. However, you ought to waste no more time. +I’ve put your application in for season tickets for those things on +that list, and you’ll receive tickets in due time. There’s an art +exhibition or two where there are good things to be seen. You’ve got to +see and hear everything if you want to be a thoroughly educated man. I +said a word or two about you here and there, and I think you’ll receive +some invitations worth accepting pretty soon. You’ll need a dress suit, +and I had word sent to the tailor about it this morning when it +occurred to me—” + +“But,” said Michael amazed and perturbed, “I do not belong in society. +People do not want one like me there. If they knew they would not ask +me.” + +“Bosh! All bosh! Didn’t I tell you to cut that out? People don’t know +and you’ve no need to tell them. They think you are a distant relative +of mine if they think anything about it, and you’re not to tell them +you are not. You owe it to me to keep still about it. If I guarantee +you’re all right that ought to suit anybody.” + +“I couldn’t go where people thought I was more than I was,” said +Michael, head up, eyes shining, his firmest expression on his mouth, +but intense trouble in his eyes. It was hard to go against his +benefactor. + +“You got all those foolish notions from working down there in the +slums. You’re got a false idea of yourself and a false notion of right +and wrong. It’s high time you stopped going there. After you’ve been to +a dance or two and a few theatre suppers, and got acquainted with some +nice girls who’ll invite you to their house-parties you’ll forget you +ever had anything to do with the slums. I insist that you give that +work up at once. Promise me you will not go near the place again. Write +them a letter—” + +“I couldn’t do that!” said Michael, his face expressive of anguish +fighting with duty. + +“Couldn’t! Nonsense. There is no such word. I say I want you to do it. +Haven’t I proved my right to make that request?” + +“You have,” said Michael, dropping his sorrowing eyes slowly, and +taking out the folded check from his pocket. “You have the right to ask +it, but I have no right to do what you ask. I have begun the work, and +it would not be right to stop it. Indeed, I couldn’t. If you knew what +it means to those fellows—but I cannot keep this if you feel that way! +I was going to use it for the work—but now—” + +Michael’s pauses were eloquent. Endicott was deeply touched but he +would not show it. He was used to having his own way, and it irritated, +while it pleased him in a way, to have Michael so determined. As +Michael stopped talking he laid the check sadly on the desk. + +“Nonsense!” said Endicott irritably, “this has nothing to do with the +check. That was your birthday present. Use it as you like. What I have +given I have given and I won’t take back even if I have nothing more to +do with you from this time forth. I have no objection to your giving +away as much money as you can spare to benevolent institutions, but I +say that I do object to your wasting your time and your reputation in +such low places. It will injure you eventually, it can’t help it. I +want you to take your evenings for society and for lectures and +concerts—” + +“I will go to the concerts and lectures gladly,” said Michael gravely. +“I can see they will be fine for me, and I thank you very much for the +opportunity, but that will not hinder my work. It begins always rather +late in the evening, and there are other times—” + +“You’ve no business to be staying out in places like that after the +hour of closing of decent places of amusement.” + +Michael refrained from saying that he had several times noticed society +ladies returning from balls and entertainments when he was on his way +home. + +“I simply can’t have it if I’m to stand back of you.” + +“I’m, sorry,” said Michael. “You won’t ever know how sorry I am. It was +so good to know that I had somebody who cared a little for me. I shall +miss it very much. It has been almost like having a real father. Do you +mean that you will have to give up the—fatherliness?” + +Endicott’s voice shook with mingled emotions. It couldn’t be that this +young upstart who professed to be so grateful and for whom he had done +so much would actually for the sake of a few wretched beings and a +sentimental feeling that he belonged in the slums and ought to do +something for them, run the risk of angering him effectually. It could +not be! + +“It means that I shall not do any of the things I had planned to do for +you, if you persist in refusing my most reasonable request. Listen, +young man—” + +Michael noticed with keen pain that he had dropped the customary “son” +from his conversation, and it gave him a queer choky sensation of +having been cut off from the earth. + +“I had planned”—the keen eyes searched the beautiful manly face before +him and the man’s voice took on an insinuating tone; the tone he used +when he wished to buy up some political pull; the tone that never +failed to buy his man. Yet even as he spoke he felt an intuition that +here was a man whom he could not buy— + +“I had planned to do a good many things for you. You will be through +your studies pretty soon and be ready to set up for yourself. Had you +thought ahead enough to know whether you would like a partnership in +some old firm or whether you want to set up for yourself?” + +Michael’s voice was grave and troubled but he answered at once: + +“I would like to set up for myself, sir. There are things I must do, +and I do not know if a partner would feel as I do about them.” + +“Very well,” said Endicott with satisfaction. He could not but be +pleased with the straightforward, decided way in which the boy was +going ahead and shaping his own life. It showed he had character. There +was nothing Mr. Endicott prized more than character—or what he called +character: “Very well, when you get ready to set up for yourself, and I +don’t think that is going to be so many years off from what I hear, I +will provide you an office, fully furnished, in the most desirable +quarter of the city, and start you off as you ought to be started in +order to win. I will introduce you to some of my best friends, and put +lucrative business in your way, business with the great corporations +that will bring you into immediate prominence; then I will propose your +name for membership in two or three good clubs. Now those things I will +do because I believe you have it in you to make good; but you’ll need +the boosting. Every man in this city does. Genius alone can’t work you +up to the top; but I can give you what you need and I mean to do it, +only I feel that you on your part ought to be willing to comply with +the conditions.” + +There was a deep silence in the room. Michael was struggling to master +his voice, but when he spoke it was husky with suppressed feeling: + +“It is a great plan,” he said. “It is just like you. I thank you, sir, +for the thought, with all my heart. It grieves me more than anything I +ever had to do to say no to you, but I cannot do as you ask. I cannot +give up what I am trying to do. I feel it would be wrong for me. I feel +that it is imperative, sir!” + +“Cannot! Humph! Cannot! You are like all the little upstart reformers, +filled with conceit of course. You think there is no one can do the +work but yourself! I will pay some one to do what you are doing! Will +that satisfy you?” + +Michael slowly shook his head. + +“No one could do it for pay,” he said with conviction. “It must be done +from—perhaps it is love—I do not know. But anyway, no one was doing it, +and I must, for THEY ARE MY PEOPLE!” + +As he said this the young man lifted his head with that angel-proud +look of his that defied a universe to set him from his purpose, and +Endicott while he secretly reveled in the boy’s firmness and purpose, +yet writhed that he could not control this strength as he would. + +“Your people! Bosh! You don’t even know that! You may be the son of the +richest man in New York for all you know.” + +“The more shame mine, then, if he left me where you found me! Mr. +Endicott, have you ever been down in the alley where I used to live? Do +you know the conditions down there?” + +“No, nor I don’t want to go. And what’s more I don’t want you to go +again. Whatever you were or are, you ought to see that you are mine +now. Why, youngster, how do you know but you were kidnapped for a +ransom, and the game went awry? There are a thousand explanations of +your unknown presence there. You may have been lost—” + +“Then have I not a debt to the people with whom I lived!” + +“Oh, poppycock!” exclaimed the man angrily. “We’d better close the +conversation. You understand how I feel. If you think it over and +change your mind come back and tell me within the week. I sail Saturday +for Europe. I may not be back in three or four months. If you don’t +make up your mind before I go you can write to me here at the office +and my secretary will forward it. You have disappointed me beyond +anything I could have dreamed. I am sure when you think it over you +will see how wrong you are and change your mind. Until then, good-bye!” + +Michael arose dismissed, but he could not go that way. + +“I shall not change my mind,” he said sadly, “but it is terrible not to +have you understand. Won’t you let me tell you all about it? Won’t you +let me explain?” + +“No, I don’t want to hear any explanations. There is only one thing for +me to understand and that is that you think more of a set of vagabonds +in an alley than you do of my request!” + +“No! That is not true!” said Michael. “I think more of you than of any +living man. I do not believe I could love you more if you were my own +father. I would give my life for you this minute—” + +“There is an old word somewhere that says, ‘To obey is better than +sacrifice.’ Most people think they would rather be great heroes than do +the simple every-day things demanded of them. The test does not always +prove that they would—” + +Michael’s head went up almost haughtily, but there were great tears in +his eyes. Endicott dropped his own gaze from that sorrowful face. He +knew his words were false and cruel. He knew that Michael would not +hesitate a second to give his life. But the man could not bear to be +withstood. + +“If you feel that way I cannot take this!” Michael sadly, proudly held +out the check. + +“As you please!” said Endicott curtly. “There’s the waste-basket. Put +it in if you like. It isn’t mine any longer. You may spend it as you +please. My conditions have nothing to do with what is past. If you do +not prize my gift to you by all means throw it away.” + +With a glance that would have broken Endicott’s heart if he had not +been too stubborn to look up, Michael slowly folded the check and put +it back into his pocket. + +“I do prize it,” he said, “and I prize it because you gave it to me. It +meant and always will mean a great deal to me.” + +“H’m!” + +“There is one more thing perhaps I ought to tell you,” hesitated +Michael “The farm. I am using it in my work for those people. Perhaps +you will not approve of that—” + +“I have nothing further to do with the farm. You bought it, I believe. +You desired to pay for it when you were earning enough money to be able +to do so. That time has not yet come, therefore nothing further need be +said. It is your farm and you may use it as a pleasure park for pigs if +you like. I don’t go back on my bargains. Good afternoon.” + +Endicott turned to the ’phone, took up the receiver and called up a +number. Michael saw that the conversation was ended. Slowly, with heavy +step and heavier heart, he went out of the office. + +There were new lines of sadness on Michael’s face that day, and when he +went down to the alley that evening his gentleness with all the little +“kids,” and with the older ones, was so great that they looked at him +more than once with a new kind of awe and wonder. It was the gentleness +of sacrifice, of sacrifice for them, that was bringing with it the pain +of love. + +Old Sal who came over to “look in” that evening, as she put it, shook +her head as she stumped back to her rejuvenated room with its gaudy +flowered wall, bit of white curtain and pot of flowers in the window, +all the work of Michael and his follower Sam. + +“I’m thinkin’ he’ll disuppeer one o’ these days. Ye’ll wake up an’ +he’ll be gahn. He’s not of this worrld. He’ll sprid his wings an’ away. +He’s a man-angel, thet’s wot he is!” + +Michael went home that night and wrote a letter to Mr. Endicott that +would have broken a heart of stone, telling his inmost thought; showing +his love and anguish in every sentence; and setting forth simply and +unassumingly the wonderful work he was doing in the alley. + +But though he waited in anxiety day after day he received not a word of +reply. Endicott read the letter every word, and fairly gloated over the +boy’s strength, but he was too stubborn to let it be known. Also he +rather enjoyed the test to which he was putting him. + +Michael even watched the outgoing vessels on Saturday, looked up the +passenger lists, went down to the wharf and tried to see him before he +sailed, but for some reason was unable to get in touch with him. + +Standing sadly on the wharf as the vessel sailed he caught sight of +Endicott, but though he was sure he had been seen he received no sign +of recognition, and he turned away sick at heart, and feeling as if he +had for conscience’s sake stabbed one that loved him. + + + + +Chapter XVIII + + +Those were trying days for Michael. + +The weather had turned suddenly very warm. The office was sometimes +stifling. The daily routine got upon his nerves, he who had never +before known that he had nerves. There was always the aching thought +that Starr was gone from him—forever—and now he had by his own word cut +loose from her father—forever! His literal heart saw no hope in the +future. + +About that time, too, another sorrow fell upon him. He was glancing +over the paper one morning on his way to the office, and his eye fell +on the following item: + +LONE TRAIN BANDIT HURT IN FIGHT AFTER GETTING LOOT + + +Captured by Conductor After He Had Rifled Mail Bags on Union Pacific +Express + + +Topeka, Kan., July—. A daring bandit was captured last night a he had +robbed the mail car on Union Pacific train No. —— which left Kansas +City for Denver at 10 o’clock. + The train known as the Denver Express, carrying heavy mail, was + just leaving Kansas City, when a man ran across the depot platform + and leaped into the mail car through the open door. The clerk in + charge faced the man, who aimed a revolver at him. He was commanded + to bind and gag his five associates, and obeyed. The robber then + went through all the registered pouches, stuffing the packages into + his pockets. Then he commanded the clerk to untie his comrades. + At Bonner Springs where the train made a brief stop the bandit + ordered the men to continue their work, so as not to attract the + attention of persons at the station. When Lawrence was reached the + robber dropped from the car and ran toward the rear of the train. + The conductor summoned two Lawrence policemen and all three + followed. After a quick race, and a struggle during which the + bandit’s arm was broken, he was captured. It appears that the + prisoner is an old offender, for whom the police of New York have + been searching in vain for the past ten months. He is known in the + lower districts of New York City as “Fighting Buck,” and has a list + of offenses against him too numerous to mention. + + +Michael did not know why his eye had been attracted to the item nor why +he had read the article through to the finish. It was not the kind of +thing he cared to read; yet of late all crime and criminals had held a +sort of sorrowful fascination for him. “It is what I might have done if +I had stayed in the alley,” he would say to himself when he heard of +some terrible crime that had been committed. + +But when he reached the end of the article and saw Buck’s name his +heart seemed to stand still. + +Buck! The one of all his old comrades whom he had loved the most, who +had loved him, and sacrificed for him; to whom he had written and sent +money; whose brain was brighter and whose heart bigger than any of the +others; for whom he had searched in vain, and found only to lose before +he had seen him; whom he had hoped yet to find and to save. Buck had +done this, and was caught in his guilt. And a government offense, too, +robbing the mail bags! It would mean long, hard service. It would mean +many years before Michael could help him to the right kind of life, +even if ever. + +He asked permission to leave the office that afternoon, and took the +train down to the farm where Sam had been staying for some weeks. He +read the article to him, hoping against hope that Sam would say there +was some mistake; would know somehow that Buck was safe. But Sam +listened with lowering countenance, and when the reading was finished +he swore a great oath, such as he had not uttered before in Michael’s +presence, and Michael knew that the story must be true. + +Nothing could be done now. The law must have its course, but Michael’s +heart was heavy with the weight of what might have been if he could but +have found Buck sooner. The next day he secured permission to begin his +vacation at once, and in spite of great need of his presence at Old +Orchard he took the train for Kansas. He felt that he must see Buck at +once. + +All during that long dismal ride Michael’s heart was beating over and +over with the story of his own life. “I might have done this thing. I +would have dared and thought it brave if I had not been taught better. +I might be even now in jail with a broken arm and a useless life: the +story of my crime might be bandied through the country in the +newspapers if it had not been for Mr. Endicott—and little Starr! And +yet I have hurt his feelings and alienated his great kindness by +refusing his request. Was there no other way? Was there no other way?” +And always his conscience answered, “There was no other way!” + +Michael, armed with a letter from the senior Holt to a powerful member +of western municipal affairs, found entrance to Buck in his miserable +confinement quite possible. He dawned upon his one-time friend, out of +the darkness of the cell, as a veritable angel of light. Indeed, Buck, +waking from a feverish sleep on his hard little cot, moaning and +cursing with the pain his arm was giving him, started up and looked at +him with awe and horror! The light from the corridor caught the gold in +Michael’s hair and made his halo perfect; and Buck thought for the +moment that some new terror had befallen him, and he was in the hands +of the angel of death sent to summon him to a final judgment for all +his misdeeds. + +But Michael met his old friend with tenderness, and a few phrases that +had been wont to express their childish loyalty; and Buck, weakened by +the fever and the pain, and more than all by his own defeat and +capture, broke down and wept, and Michael wept with him. + +“It might have been me instead of you, Buck. If I had stayed behind, +I’d have done all those things. I see it clearly. I might have been +lying here and you out and free. Buck, if it could give you my chance +in life, and help you see it all as I do I’d gladly lie here and take +your place.” + +“Mikky! Mikky!” cried Buck. “It’s me own Mikky! You was allus willin’ +to take de rubs! But, Mikky, ef you’d hed de trainin’ you’d hev made de +fine robber! You’d hev been a peach an’ no mistake!” + +Michael had found a soft spot in the warden’s heart and succeeded in +doing a number of little things for Buck’s comfort. He hunted up the +chaplain and secured a promise from him to teach Buck to read and +write, and also to read to him all letters that Buck received, until +such a time as he should be able to read them for himself. He sent a +pot of roses with buds and full bloom to perfume the dark cell, and he +promised to write often; while Buck on his part could only say over and +over; “Oh, Mikky! Mikky! Ef we wos oney kids agin! Oh, Mikky, I’ll git +out o’ here yit an’ find ye. Ye’ll not be ashamed o’ me. Ef I oney +hadn’t a bungled de job. It were a bum job! Mikky! A bum job!” + +Michael saw that there was little use in talking to Buck about his sin. +Buck had nothing whatever to build upon in the line of morals. To be +loyal to his friends, and to do his “work” so that he would not get +caught were absolutely the only articles in his creed. To get ahead of +the rich, to take from them that which was theirs if he could, +regardless of life or consequences, that was virtue; the rich were +enemies, and his daring code of honor gave them the credit of equal +courage with himself. They must outwit him or lose. If they died it was +“all in the day’s work” and their loss. When his turn came he would +take his medicine calmly. But the trouble with Buck now was that he had +“bungled the job.” It was a disgrace on his profession. Things had been +going against him lately, and he was “down on his luck.” + +Michael went back from the West feeling that the brief time allowed him +with Buck was all too short for what he wanted to do for him; yet he +felt that it had been worth the journey. Buck appreciated his sympathy, +if he did not have an adequate sense of his own sinfulness. Michael had +talked and pitied and tried to make Buck see, but Buck saw not, and +Michael went home to hope and write and try to educate Buck through +sheer love. It was all he saw to do. + +It was about this time that Michael began to receive money in small +sums, anonymously, through the mail. “For your work” the first was +labelled and the remittances that followed had no inscriptions. They +were not always addressed in the same hand, and never did he know the +writing. Sometimes there would be a ten-dollar bill, sometimes a +twenty, and often more, and they came irregularly, enclosed in a thin, +inner envelope of foreign looking paper. Michael wondered sometimes if +Starr could have sent them, but that was impossible of course, for she +knew nothing of his work, and they were always postmarked New York. He +discovered that such thin foreign-looking envelopes could be had in New +York, and after that he abandoned all idea of trying to solve the +mystery. It was probably some queer, kind person who did not wish to be +known. He accepted the help gladly and broadened his plans for the farm +accordingly. + +Sam and his five friends had gone down early in the spring, bunking in +the old house, and enjoying the outing immensely. Under Sam’s +captaincy, and the tutelage of an old farmer whom Michael had found, +who could not work much himself but could direct, the work had gone +forward; Michael himself coming down Saturdays, and such of the tail +ends of the afternoons as he could get. It is true that many mistakes +were made through ignorance, and more through stupidity. It is true +that no less than five times the whole gang went on a strike until +Michael should return to settle some dispute between the new scientific +farming that he had taught them, and some old superstition, or clumsy +practice of the farmer’s. But on the whole they did tolerably good +work. + +The farm colony had been meantime increasing. Michael picked them up in +the alley; they came to him and asked to be taken on for a trial. They +had heard of the experiment through Sam, or one of the other boys who +had come back to the city for a day on some errand for the farm. + +One glorious summer morning Michael took ten small eager newsboys down +to pick wild strawberries for the day, and they came back dirty, tired, +strawberry streaked, and happy, and loudly sang the praises of Old +Orchard as though it had been a Heaven. After that Michael had no +trouble in transplanting any one he wished to take with him. + +He found a poor wretch who had lately moved with his family to one of +the crowded tenements in the alley. He was sodden in drink and going to +pieces fast. Michael sobered him down, found that he used to be a +master carpenter, and forthwith transplanted him to Old Orchard, family +and all. + +Under the hand of the skilled carpenter there sprang up immediately a +colony of tents and later small one-roomed shacks or bungalows. Michael +bought lumber and found apprentices to help, and the carpenter of the +colony repaired barns and outhouses, fences, or built shacks, whenever +the head of affairs saw fit to need another. + +The only person in the whole alley whom Michael had invited in vain to +the farm was old Sally. She had steadily refused to leave her gaily +papered room, her curtained window and her geranium. It was a symbol of +“ould Ireland” to her, and she felt afraid of this new place of +Michael’s. It seemed to her superstitious fancy like an immediate door +to a Heaven, from which she felt herself barred by her life. It assumed +a kind of terror to her thoughts. She was not ready to leave her little +bit of life and take chances even for Michael. And so old Sal sat on +her doorstep and watched the alley dwellers come and go, listening with +interest to each new account of the farm, but never willing to see for +herself. Perhaps the secret of her hesitation after all went deeper +than superstition. She had received private information that Old +Orchard had no Rum Shop around the corner. Old Sally could not run any +risks, so she stayed at home. + +But the carpenter’s wife was glad to cook for the men when the busy +days of planting and weeding and harvesting came, and the colony grew +and grew. Two or three other men came down with their families, and +helped the carpenter to build them little houses, with a bit of garden +back, and a bed of flowers in front. They could see the distant sea +from their tiny porches, and the river wound its salty silver way on +the other hand. It was a great change from the alley. Not all could +stand it, but most of them bore the summer test well. It would be when +winter set its white distance upon them, chilled the flowers to +slumber, and stopped the labor that the testing time would come; and +Michael was thinking about that. + +He began hunting out helpers for his purposes. + +He found a man skilled in agricultural arts and secured his services to +hold a regular school of agriculture during the winter for the men. He +found a poor student at Princeton who could run up on the train daily +and give simple lessons in reading and arithmetic. He impressed it upon +Sam and the other young men that unless they could read for themselves +enough to keep up with the new discoveries in the science other farmers +would get ahead of them and grow bigger potatoes and sweeter ears of +corn than they did. He kept up a continual sunny stream of eager +converse with them about what they were going to do, and how the place +was going to grow, until they felt as if they owned the earth and meant +to show the world how well they were running it. In short, he simply +poured his own spirit of enthusiasm into them, and made the whole hard +summer of unaccustomed labor one great game; and when the proceeds from +their first simple crops came in from the sale of such products as they +did not need for their own use in the colony, Michael carefully divided +it among his various workmen and at his wish they went in a body and +each started a bank account at the little National Bank of the town. It +was a very little of course, absurdly little, but it made the workers +feel like millionaires, and word of the successes went back to the +city, and more and more the people were willing to come down, until by +fall there were thirty-eight men, women and children, all told, living +on the farm. + +Of course that made little appreciable difference in the population of +the alley, for as soon as one family moved out another was ready to +move in, and there was plenty of room for Michael’s work to go on. +Nevertheless, there were thirty-eight souls on the way to a better +knowledge of life, with clean and wholesome surroundings and a chance +to learn how to read and how to work. + +The carpenter was set to get ready more tiny houses for the next +summer’s campaign, the tents were folded away, the spring wheat was all +in; the fall plowing and fertilizing completed and whatever else ought +to be done to a farm for its winter sleep; half a dozen cows were +introduced into the settlement and a roomy chicken house and run +prepared. Sam set about studying incubators, and teaching his helpers. +Then when the cranberries were picked the colony settled down to its +study. + +The Princeton student and the agricultural student grew deeply +interested in their motley school, and finally produced a young woman +who came down every afternoon for a consideration, and taught a +kindergarten, to which many of the prematurely grown-up mothers came +also with great delight and profit, and incidentally learned how to be +better, cleaner, wiser mothers. The young woman of her own accord added +a cooking school for the women and girls. + +Once a week Michael brought down some one from New York to amuse these +poor childish people. And so the winter passed. + +Once a wealthy friend of Mr. Holt asked to be taken down to see the +place, and after going the rounds of the farm and making himself quite +friendly roasting chestnuts around the great open fire in the “big +house,” as the original cottage was called, returned to New York with +many congratulations for Michael. A few days afterward he mailed to +Michael the deed of the adjoining farm of one hundred acres, and +Michael, radiant, wondering, began to know that his dreams for his poor +downtrodden people were coming true. There would be room enough now for +many a year to come for the people he needed to bring down. + +Of course this had not all been done without discouragements. Some of +the most hopeful of the colonists had proved unmanageable, or unwilling +to work; some had run away, or smuggled in some whiskey. There had been +two or three incipient rows, and more than double that number of +disappointing enterprises, but yet, the work was going on. + +And still, there came no word from Mr. Endicott. + +Michael was holding well with his employers, and they were beginning to +talk to him of a partnership with them when he was done, for he had far +outstripped French in his studies, and seemed to master everything he +touched with an eagerness that showed great intellectual appetite. + +He still kept up his work in the little white room in the alley, +evenings, though he divided his labors somewhat with Will French, Miss +Semple and others who had heard of the work and had gradually offered +their services. It had almost become a little settlement or mission in +itself. The one room had become two and a bath; then the whole first +floor with a small gymnasium. French was the enthusiastic leader in +this, and Hester Semple had done many things for the little children +and women. The next set of colonists for Michael’s farm were always +being got ready and were spoken of as “eligibles” by the workers. + +Hester Semple had proved to be a most valuable assistant, ever ready +with suggestions, tireless and as enthusiastic as Michael himself. +Night after night the three toiled, and came home happily together. The +association with the two was very sweet to Michael, whose heart was +famished for friends and relations who “belonged,” But it never +occurred to Michael to look on Miss Semple in any other light than +friend and fellow worker. + +Will French and Michael were coming home from the office one afternoon +together, and talking eagerly of the progress at the farm. + +“When you get married, Endicott,” said Will, “you must build a handsome +bungalow or something for your summer home, down there on that knoll +just overlooking the river where you can see the sea in the distance.” + +Michael grew sober at once. + +“I don’t expect ever to be married, Will,” he said after a pause, with +one of his far-away looks, and his chin up, showing that what he had +said was an indisputable fact. + +“The Dickens!” said Will stopping in his walk and holding up Michael. +“She hasn’t refused you, has she?” + +“Refused me? Who? What do you mean?” asked Michael looking puzzled. + +“Why, Hester—Miss Semple. She hasn’t turned you down, old chap?” + +“Miss Semple! Why, Will, you never thought—you don’t think she ever +thought—?” + +“Well, I didn’t know,” said Will embarrassedly, “it looked pretty much +like it sometimes. There didn’t seem much show for me. I’ve thought +lately you had it all settled and were engaged sure.” + +“Oh, Will,” said Michael in that tone that showed his soul was moved to +its depth. + +“I say, old chap!” said Will, “I’m fiercely sorry I’ve butted in to +your affairs. I never dreamed you’d feel like this. But seeing I have, +would you mind telling me if you’ll give me a good send off with +Hester? Sort of ‘bless-you-my-son,’ you know; and tell me you don’t +mind if I go ahead and try my luck.” + +“With all my heart, Will. I never thought of it, but I believe it would +be great for you both. You seem sort of made for each other.” + +“It’s awfully good of you to say so,” said Will, “but I’m afraid Hester +doesn’t think so. She’s all taken up with you.” + +“Not at all!” said Michael eagerly. “Not in the least. I’ve never +noticed it. I’m sure she likes you best.” + +And it was so from that night that Michael almost always had some +excuse for staying later at the room, or for going somewhere else for a +little while so that he would have to leave them half way home; and +Hester and Will from that time forth walked together more and more. +Thus Michael took his lonely way, cut off from even this friendly +group. + +And the summer and the winter made the second year of the colony at Old +Orchard. + +Then, the following spring Starr Endicott and her mother came home and +things began to happen. + + + + +Chapter XIX + + +Starr was eighteen when she returned, and very beautiful. Society was +made at once aware of her presence. + +Michael, whose heart was ever on the alert to know of her, and to find +out where Mr. Endicott was, saw the first notice in the paper. + +Three times had Endicott crossed the water to visit his wife and +daughter during their stay abroad, and every time Michael had known and +anxiously awaited some sign of his return. He had read the society +columns now for two years solely for the purpose of seeing whether +anything would be said about the Endicott family, and he was growing +wondrously wise in the ways of the society world. + +Also, he had come to know society a little in another way. + +Shortly after his last interview with Endicott Miss Emily Holt, +daughter of the senior member of the firm of Holt and Holt, had invited +Michael to dine with her father and herself; and following this had +come an invitation to a house party at the Holts’ country seat. This +came in the busy season of the farm work; but Michael, anxious to +please his employers, took a couple of days off and went. And he +certainly enjoyed the good times to the full. He had opportunity to +renew his tennis in which he had been a master hand, and to row and +ride, in both of which he excelled. Also, he met a number of pleasant +people who accepted him for the splendid fellow he looked to be and +asked not who he was. Men of his looks and bearing came not in their +way every day and Michael was good company wherever he went. + +However, when it came to the evenings, Michael was at a loss. He could +not dance nor talk small talk. He was too intensely in earnest for +society’s ways, and they did not understand. He could talk about the +books he had read, and the things he had thought, but they were great +thoughts and not at all good form for a frivolous company to dwell +upon. One did not want a problem in economics or a deep philosophical +question thrust upon one at a dance. Michael became a delightful but +difficult proposition for the girls present, each one undertaking to +teach him how to talk in society, but each in turn making a miserable +failure. At last Emily Holt herself set out to give him gentle hints on +light conversation and found herself deep in a discussion of +Wordsworth’s poems about which she knew absolutely nothing, and in +which Michael’s weary soul had been steeping itself lately. + +Miss Holt retired in laughing defeat, at last, and advised her protégé +to take a course of modern novels. Michael, always serious, took her at +her word, and with grave earnestness proceeded to do so; but his course +ended after two or three weeks. He found them far from his taste, the +most of them too vividly portraying the sins of his alley in a setting +of high life. Michael had enough of that sort of thing in real life, +and felt he could not stand the strain of modern fiction, so turned +back to his Wordsworth again and found soothing and mental stimulus. + +But there followed other invitations, some of which he accepted and +some of which he declined. Still, the handsome, independent young +Adonis was in great demand in spite of his peculiar habit of always +being in earnest about everything. Perhaps they liked him and ran after +him but the more because of his inaccessibility, and the fact that he +was really doing something in the world. For it began to be whispered +about among those who knew—and perhaps Emily Holt was the +originator—that Michael was going to be something brilliant in the +world of worth-while-things one of these days. + +The tickets that Endicott promised him had arrived in due time, and +anxious to please his benefactor, even in his alienation, Michael +faithfully attended concerts and lectures, and enjoyed them to the +full, borrowing from his hours of sleep to make up what he had thus +spent, rather than from his work or his study. And thus he grew in +knowledge of the arts, and in love of all things great, whether music, +or pictures, or great minds. + +Matters stood thus when Starr appeared on the scene. + +The young girl made her début that winter, and the papers were full of +her pictures and the entertainments given in her honor. She was dined +and danced and recepted day after day and night after night, and no +débutante had ever received higher praise of the critics for beauty, +grace, and charm of manner. + +Michael read them all, carefully cut out and preserved a few pleasant +things that were written about her, looked at the pictures, and turned +from the pomp and pride of her triumph to the little snapshot of +herself on horseback in the Park with her groom, which she had sent to +him when she was a little girl. That was his, and his alone, but these +others belonged to the world, the world in which he had no part. + +For from all this gaiety of society Michael now held aloof. Invitations +he received, not a few, for he was growing more popular every day, but +he declined them all. A fine sense of honor kept him from going +anywhere that Starr was sure to be. He had a right, of course, and it +would have been pleasant in a way to have her see that he was welcome +in her world; but always there was before his mental vision the memory +of her mother’s biting words as she put him down from the glorified +presence of her world, into an existence of shame and sin and sorrow. +He felt that Starr was so far above him that he must not hurt her by +coming too near. And so, in deference to the vow that he had taken when +the knowledge of his unworthiness had first been presented to him, he +stayed away. + +Starr, as she heard more and more of his conquests in her world, +wondered and was piqued that he came not near her. And one day meeting +him by chance on Fifth Avenue, she greeted him graciously and invited +him to call. + +Michael thanked her with his quiet manner, while his heart was in a +tumult over her beauty, and her dimpled smiles that blossomed out in +the old childish ways, only still more beautifully, it seemed to him. +He went in the strength of that smile many days: but he did not go to +call upon her. + +The days passed into weeks and months, and still he did not appear, and +Starr, hearing more of his growing inaccessibility, determined to show +the others that she could draw him out of his shell. She humbled her +Endicott pride and wrote him a charming little note asking him to call +on one of the “afternoons” when she and her mother held court. But +Michael, though he treasured the note, wrote a graceful, but decided +refusal. + +This angered the young woman, exceedingly, and she decided to cut him +out of her good graces entirely. And indeed the whirl of gaiety in +which she was involved scarcely gave her time for remembering old +friends. In occasional odd moments when she thought of him at all, it +was with a vague kind of disappointment, that he too, with all the +other things of her childhood, had turned out to be not what she had +thought. + +But she met him face to face one bright Sunday afternoon as she walked +on the avenue with one of the many courtiers who eagerly attended her +every step. He was a slender, handsome young fellow, with dark eyes and +hair and reckless mouth. There were jaded lines already around his +youthful eyes and lips. His name was Stuyvesant Carter. Michael +recognized him at once. His picture had been in the papers but the week +before as leader with Starr of the cotillion. His presence with her in +the bright sunny afternoon was to Michael like a great cloud of trouble +looming out of a perfect day. He looked and looked again, his +expressive eyes searching the man before him to the depths, and then +going to the other face, beautiful, innocent, happy. + +Michael was walking with Hester Semple. + +Now Hester, in her broadcloth tailored suit, and big black hat with +plumes, was a pretty sight, and she looked quite distinguished walking +beside Michael, whose garments seemed somehow always to set him off as +if they had been especially designed for him; and after whom many eyes +were turned as he passed by. + +Had it been but the moment later, or even three minutes before, Will +French would have been with them and Michael would have been obviously +a third member of the party, for he was most careful in these days to +let them both know that he considered they belonged together. But Will +had stopped a moment to speak to a business acquaintance, and Hester +and Michael were walking slowly ahead until he should rejoin them. + +“Look!” said Hester excitedly. “Isn’t that the pretty Miss Endicott +whose picture is in the papers so much? I’m sure it must be, though +she’s ten times prettier than any of her pictures.” + +But Michael needed not his attention called. He was already looking +with all his soul in his eyes. + +As they came opposite he lifted his hat with, such marked, deference to +Starr that young Stuyvesant Carter turned and looked at him insolently, +with a careless motion of his own hand toward his hat. But Starr, with +brilliant cheeks, and eyes that looked straight at Michael, continued +her conversation with her companion and never so much as by the flicker +of an eyelash recognized her former friend. + +It was but an instant in the passing, and Hester was so taken up with +looking at the beauty of the idol of society that she never noticed +Michael’s lifted hat until they were passed. Then Will French joined +them breezily. + +“Gee whiz, but she’s a peach, isn’t she?” he breathed as he took his +place beside Hester, and Michael dropped behind, “but I suppose it’ll +all rub off. They say most of those swells aren’t real.” + +“I think she’s real!” declared Hester. “Her eyes are sweet and her +smile is charming. The color on her cheeks wasn’t put on like paint. I +just love her. I believe I’d like to know her. She certainly is +beautiful, and she doesn’t look a bit spoiled. Did you ever see such +eyes?” + +“They aren’t half as nice as a pair of gray ones I know,” said Will +looking meaningfully at them as they were lifted smiling to his. + +“Will, you mustn’t say such things—on the street—anyway—and Michael +just behind—Why, where is Michael? See! He has dropped away behind and +is walking slowly. Will, does Michael know Miss Endicott? I never +thought before about their names being the same. But he lifted his hat +to her—and she simply stared blankly at him as if she had never seen +him before.” + +“The little snob!” said Will indignantly. “I told you they were all +artificial. I believe they are some kind of relation or other. Come to +think of it I believe old Endicott introduced Michael into our office. +Maybe she hasn’t seen him in a long time and has forgotten him.” + +“No one who had once known Michael could ever forget him,” said Hester +with conviction. + +“No, I suppose that’s so,” sighed Will, looking at her a trifle +wistfully. + +After the incident of this meeting Michael kept more and more aloof +from even small entrances into society; and more and more he gave his +time to study and to work among the poor. + +So the winter passed in a round of gaieties, transplanted for a few +weeks to Palm Beach, then back again to New York, then to Tuxedo for +the summer, and Michael knew of it all, yet had no part any more in it, +for now she had cut him out of her life herself, and he might not even +cherish her bright smiles and words of the past. She did not wish to +know him. It was right, it was just; it was best; but it was agony! + +Michael’s fresh color grew white that year, and he looked more like the +man-angel than ever as he came and went in the alley; old Sally from +her doorstep, drawing nearer and nearer to her own end, saw it first, +and called daily attention to the spirit-look of Michael as he passed. + +One evening early in spring, Michael was starting home weary and +unusually discouraged. Sam had gone down to the farm with Jim to get +ready for the spring work, and find out just how things were going and +what was needed from the city. Jim was developing into a tolerably +dependable fellow save for his hot temper, and Michael missed them +from, the alley work, for the rooms were crowded now every night. True +Hester and Will were faithful, but they were so much taken up with one +another in these days that he did not like to trouble them with unusual +cases, and he had no one with whom to counsel. Several things had been +going awry and he was sad. + +Hester and Will were ahead walking slowly as usual. Michael locked the +door with a sigh and turned to follow them, when he saw in the heavy +shadows on the other side of the court two figures steal from one of +the openings between the houses and move along toward the end of the +alley. Something in their demeanor made Michael watch them +instinctively. As they neared the end of the alley toward the street +they paused a moment and one of the figures stole back lingeringly. He +thought he recognized her as a girl cursed with more than the usual +amount of beauty. She disappeared into the darkness of the tenement, +but the other after looking back a moment kept on toward the street. +Michael quickened his steps and came to the corner at about the same +time, crossing over as the other man passed the light and looking full +in his face. + +To his surprise he saw that the man was Stuyvesant Carter! + +With an exclamation of disgust and horror Michael stepped full in the +pathway of the man and blocked, his further passage. + +“What are you doing here?” He asked in tones that would have made a +brave man tremble. + +Stuyvesant Carter glared at the vision that had suddenly stopped his +way, drew his hat down over his evil eyes and snarled: “Get out of my +way or you’ll be sorry! I’m probably doing the same thing that you’re +doing here!” + +“Probably not!” said Michael with meaning tone. “You know you can mean +no good to a girl like that one you were just with. Come down here +again at your peril! And if I hear of you’re having anything to do with +that girl I’ll take means to have the whole thing made public.” + +“Indeed!” said young Carter insolently. “Is she your girl? I think not! +And who are you anyway?” + +“You’ll find out if you come down here again!” said Michael his fingers +fairly aching to grip the gentlemanly villain before him. “Now get out +of here at once or you may not be able to walk out.” + +“I’ll get out when I like!” sneered the other, nevertheless backing +rapidly away through the opening given him. When he had reached a safe +distance, he added, tantalizingly: “And I’ll come back when I like, +too.” + +“Very well, I shall be ready for you, Mr. Carter!” + +Michael’s tones were clear and distinct and could be heard two blocks +away in the comparative stillness of the city night. At sound of his +real name spoken fearlessly in such environment, the leader of society +slid away into the night as if he had suddenly been erased from the +perspective; nor did sound of footsteps linger from his going. + +“Who was dat guy?” + +It was a small voice that spoke at Michael’s elbow. Hester and Will +were far down the street in the other direction and had forgotten +Michael. + +Michael turned and saw one of his smallest “kids” crouching in the +shadow beside him. + +“Why, Tony, are you here yet? You ought to have been asleep long ago.” + +“Was dat de ike wot comes to see Lizzie?” + +“See here, Tony, what do you know about this?” + +Whereupon Tony proceeded, to unfold a tale that made Michael’s heart +sick. “Lizzie, she’s got swell sence she went away to work to a +res’trant at de sheeshole. She ain’t leavin’ her ma hev her wages, an’ +she wears fierce does, like de swells!” finished Tony solemnly as if +these things were the worst of all that he had told. + +So Michael sent Tony to his rest and went home with a heavy heart, to +wake and think through the night long what he should do to save Starr, +his bright beautiful Starr, from the clutches of this human vampire. + +When morning dawned Michael knew what he was going to do. He had +decided to go to Mr. Endicott and tell him the whole story. Starr’s +father could and would protect her better than he could. + +As early as he could get away from the office he hurried to carry out +his purpose, but on arriving at Mr. Endicott’s office he was told that +the gentleman had sailed for Austria and would be absent some weeks, +even months, perhaps, if his business did not mature as rapidly as he +hoped. Michael asked for the address, but when he reached his desk +again and tried to frame a letter that would convey the truth +convincingly to the absent father, who could not read it for more than +a week at least, and would then be thousands of miles away from the +scene of action, he gave it up as useless. Something more effectual +must be done and done quickly. + +In the first place he must have facts. He could not do anything until +he knew beyond a shadow of doubt that what he feared was true +absolutely. If he could have told Mr. Endicott all would have been +different; he was a man and could do his own investigating if he saw +fit. Michael might have left the matter in his hands. But he could not +tell him. + +If there was some other male member of the family to whom he could go +with the warning, he must be very sure of his ground before he spoke. +If there were no such man friend or relative of the family he must do +something else—what? He shrank from thinking. + +And so with the sources open to a keen lawyer, he went to work to +ferret out the life and doings of Stuyvesant Carter; and it is needless +to say that he unearthed a lot of information that was so sickening in +its nature that he felt almost helpless before it. It was appalling—and +the more so because of the rank and station of the man. If he had been +brought up in the slums one might have expected—but this! + +The second day, Michael, haggard and worn with the responsibility, +started out to find that useful male relative of the Endicott family. +There seemed to be no such person. The third morning he came to the +office determined to tell the whole story to Mr. Holt, senior, and ask +his advice and aid in protecting Starr; but to his dismay he found that +Mr. Holt, senior, had been taken seriously ill with heart trouble, and +it might be weeks before he was able to return to the office. + +Deeply grieved and utterly baffled, the young man tried to think what +to do next. The junior Mr. Holt had never encouraged confidences, and +would not be likely to help in this matter. He must do something +himself. + +And now Michael faced two alternatives. + +There were only two people to whom the story could be told, and they +were Starr herself, and her mother! + +Tell Starr all he knew he could not. To tell her anything of this story +would be gall and wormwood! To have to drop a hint that would blacken +another man’s character would place him in a most awkward position. To +think of doing it was like tearing out his heart for her to trample +upon. + +Yet on the other hand Michael would far rather go into battle and face +a thousand bristling cannon mouths than meet the mother on her own +ground and tell her what he had to tell, while her steel-cold eyes +looked him through and through or burned him with scorn and unbelief. +He had an instinctive feeling that he should fail if he went to her. + +At last he wrote a note to Starr: + +Dear Miss Endicott: + Can you let me have a brief interview at your convenience and just + as soon as possible? I have a favor to ask of you which I most + earnestly hope you will be willing to grant. + + +Sincerely yours, +Michael. + + +He sent the note off with fear and trembling. Every word had been +carefully considered and yet it haunted him continually that he might +have written differently. Would she grant the interview? If she did not +what then should he do? + +The next day he received a ceremonious little note on creamy paper +crested with a silver star monogramed in blue: + +Miss Endicott will receive Mr. Endicott tomorrow morning at eleven. + + +A shiver ran through him as he read, and consigned the elegant +communication to his waste-basket. It was not from his Starr. It was +from a stranger. And yet, the subtle perfume that stole forth from the +envelope reminded him of her. On second thought he drew it forth again +and put it in his pocket. After all she had granted the interview, and +this bit of paper was a part of her daily life; it had come from her, +she had written it, and sent it to him. It was therefore precious. + +Starr had been more than usually thoughtful when she read Michael’s +note. It pleased her that at last she had brought him to her feet, +though not for the world would she let him know it. Doubtless he wished +her influence for some position or other that he would have asked her +father instead if he had been at home. Starr knew nothing of the +alienation between her father and Michael. But Michael should pay for +his request, in humility at least. Therefore she sent her cool little +stab of ceremony to call him to her. + +But Michael did not look in the least humiliated as he entered the +luxurious library where Starr had chosen to receive him. His manner was +grave and assured, and he made no sign of the tumult it gave him to see +her thus in her own home once more where all her womanliness and charm +were but enhanced by the luxury about her. + +He came forward to greet her just as if she had not cut him dead the +very last time they met; and Starr as she regarded him was struck with +wonder over the exalted beauty of manhood that was his unique dower. + +“Thank you for letting me come,” he said simply. “I will not intrude +long upon your time—” + +Starr had a strange sensation of fear lest he was going to slip away +from her again before she was willing. + +“Oh, that is all right,” she said graciously; “won’t you sit down. I am +always glad to do a favor for a friend of my childhood.” + +It was a sentence she had rehearsed many times in her mind, and it was +meant to convey reproach and indifference in the extreme, but somehow +as she fluttered into a great leather chair she felt that her voice was +trembling and she had miserably failed in what she had meant to do. She +felt strangely ashamed of her attitude, with those two dear soulful +eyes looking straight at her. It reminded her of the way he had looked +when he told her in the Florida chapel long ago that nobody but herself +had ever kissed him—and she had kissed him then. Suppose he should be +going to ask her to do it again! The thought made her cheeks rosy, and +her society air deserted her entirely. But of course he would not do +that. It was a crazy thought. What was the matter with her anyway, and +why did she feel so unnerved? Then Michael spoke. + +“May I ask if you know a man by the name of Stuyvesant Carter?” + +Starr looked startled, and then stiffened slightly. + +“I do!” she answered graciously. “He is one of my intimate friends. Is +there anything he can do for you that you would like my intercession?” + +Starr smiled graciously. She thought she understood the reason for +Michael’s call now, and she was pleased to think how easily she could +grant his request. The idea of introducing the two was stimulating. She +was pondering what a handsome pair of men they were, and so different +from each other. + +But Michael’s clear voice startled her again out of her complacence. + +“Thank God there is not!” he said, and his tone had that in it that +made Starr sit up and put on all her dignity. + +“Indeed!” she said with asperity, her eyes flashing. + +“Pardon me, Miss Endicott,” Michael said sadly. “You do not understand +my feeling, of course!” + +“I certainly do not.” All Starr’s icicle sentences were inherited from +her mother. + +“And I cannot well explain,” he went on sadly. “I must ask you to take +it on trust. The favor I have come to ask is this, that you will not +have anything further to do with that young man until your father’s +return. I know this may seem very strange to you, but believe me if you +understood you would not hesitate to do what I have asked.” + +Michael held her with his look and with his earnest tones. For a moment +she could not speak from sheer astonishment at his audacity. Then she +froze him with a look copied from her mother’s haughty manner. + +“And what reason can you possibly give for such an extraordinary +request?” she asked at last, when his look compelled an answer. + +“I cannot give you a reason,” he said gravely. “You must trust me that +this is best. Your father will explain to you when he comes.” + +Another pause and then Starr haughtily asked: + +“And you really think that I would grant such a ridiculous request +which in itself implies a lack of trust in the character of one of my +warmest friends?” + +“I most earnestly hope that you will,” answered Michael. + +In spite of her hauteur she could not but be impressed by Michael’s +manner. His grave tones and serious eyes told hear heart that here was +something out of the ordinary, at least she gave Michael credit for +thinking there was. + +“I certainly shall not do anything of the kind without a good reason +for it.” Starr’s tone was determined and cold. + +“And I can give you no reason beyond telling you that he is not such a +man as a friend of yours should be.” + +“What do you mean?” + +“Please do not ask me. Please trust me and give me your promise. At +least wait until I can write to your father.” + +Starr rose with a look of her father’s stubbornness now in her pretty +face. + +“I wish to be told,” she demanded angrily. + +“You would not wish to be told if you knew,” he answered. + +She stood looking at him steadily for a full moment, then with a +graceful toss of her lovely head, she said haughtily: + +“I must decline to accede to your request, Mr. Endicott. You will +excuse me, I have a luncheon engagement now.” + +She stood aside for him to go out the door, but as he rose with +pleading still in his eyes, he said: + +“You will write to your father and tell him what I have said? You will +wait until you hear from him?” + +“It is impossible, Mr. Endicott.” Starr’s tone was freezing now, and he +could see that she was very angry. “Mr. Carter is my friend!” she flung +at him as he passed her and went out into the hall. + +Another night of anguish brought Michael face to face with the +necessity for an interview with Starr’s mother. + +Taking his cue from the hour Starr had set for his call, he went a +little before eleven o’clock and sent up the card of the firm with his +own name written below; for he had very serious doubts of obtaining an +interview at all if the lady thought he might be there on his own +business. + +It is doubtful whether Mrs. Endicott recognized the former “Mikky” +under the title written below his most respectable law firm’s name. Any +representative of Holt and Holt was to be recognized of course. She +came down within a half hour, quite graciously with lorgnette in her +hand, until she had reached the centre of the reception room where he +had been put to await her. Then Michael arose, almost from the same +spot where she had addressed him nearly four years before, the halo of +the morning shining through the high window on his hair, and with a +start and stiffening of her whole form she recognized him. + +“Oh, it is _you_!” There was that in her tone that argued ill for +Michael’s mission, but with grave and gentle bearing he began: + +“Madam, I beg your pardon for the intrusion. I would not have come if +there had been any other way. I tried to find Mr. Endicott but was told +he had sailed—” + +“You needn’t waste your time, and mine. I shall do nothing for you. As +I told you before, if I remember, I think far too much already has been +done for you and I never felt that you had the slightest claim upon our +bounty. I must refuse to hear any hard luck stories.” + +Michael’s face was a study. Indignation, shame and pity struggled with +a sudden sense of the ridiculousness of the situation. + +What he did was to laugh, a rich, clear, musical laugh that stopped the +lady’s tirade better than he could have done it in any other way. + +“Well! Really! Have you come to insult me?” she said angrily. “I will +call a servant,” and she stepped curtly toward the bell. + +“Madam, I beg your pardon,” said Michael quickly, grave at once. “I +intended no insult and I have come to ask no favor of you. I came +because of a serious matter, perhaps a grave danger to your home, which +I thought you should be made acquainted with.” + +“Indeed! Well, make haste,” said Mrs. Endicott, half mollified. “My +time is valuable. Has some one been planning to rob the house?” + +Michael looked straight in her face and told her briefly a few facts, +delicately worded, forcefully put, which would have convinced the heart +of any true mother that the man before her had none but pure motives. + +Not so this mother. The more Michael talked the stiffer, haughtier, +more hateful, grew her stare; and when he paused, thinking not to +utterly overwhelm her with his facts, she remarked, superciliously: + +“How could you possibly know all these things, unless you had been in +the same places where you claim Mr. Carter has been? But, oh, of course +I forgot! Your former home was there, and so of course you must have +many friends among—ah—_those people_!” She drew her mental skirts away +from contaminating contact as she spoke the last two words, and +punctuated them with a contemptuous look through the lorgnette. + +“But, my dear fellow,” she went on adopting the most outrageously +patronizing manner, “you should never trust those people. Of course you +don’t understand that, having been away from them so many years among +respectable folks, but they really do not know what the truth is. I +doubt very much whether there is a grain of foundation for all that you +have been telling me.” + +“Madam, I have taken pains to look into the matter and I know that +every word which I have been telling you is true. Two of the most noted +detectives of the city have been making an investigation. I would not +have ventured to come if I had not had indisputable facts to give you.” + +Mrs. Endicott arose still holding the lorgnette to her eyes, though she +showed that the interview was drawing to a close: + +“Then young man,” she said, “it will be necessary for me to tell you +that the things you have been saying are not considered proper to speak +of before ladies in respectable society. I remember of course your low +origin and lack of breeding and forgive what otherwise I should +consider an insult. Furthermore, let me tell you, that it is not +considered honorable to investigate a gentleman’s private life too +closely. All young men sow their wild oats of course, and are probably +none the worse for it. In fact, if a man has not seen life he really is +not worth much. It is his own affair, and no business of yours. I must +ask you to refrain from saying anything of this matter to anyone. +Understand? Not a word of it! My husband would be deeply outraged to +know that a young friend of his daughter’s, a man of refinement and +position, had been the object of scandal by one who should honor anyone +whom he honors. I really cannot spare any more time this morning.” + +“But madam! You certainly do not mean that you will not investigate +this matter for yourself? You would not let your daughter accept such a +man as her friend—?” + +The lorgnette came into play again but its stare was quite ineffectual +upon Michael’s white earnest face. His deep eyes lit with horror at +this monstrous woman who seemed devoid of mother-love. + +“The time has come for you to stop. It is none of your business what I +mean. You have done what you thought was your duty by telling me, now +put the matter entirely out of your mind. Desist at once!” + +With a final stare she swept out of the room and up the broad staircase +and Michael, watching her until she was out of sight, went out of the +house with bowed head and burdened heart. Went out to write a letter to +Starr’s father, a letter which would certainly have performed its +mission as his other efforts had failed; but which because of a sudden +and unexpected change of address just missed him at every stopping +place, as it travelled its silent unfruitful way about the world after +him, never getting anywhere until too late. + + + + +Chapter XX + + +Starr was very angry with Michael when he left her. There was perhaps +more hurt pride and pique in her anger than she would have cared to +own. He had failed to succumb to her charms, he had not seemed to +notice her as other men did; he had even lost the look of admiration he +used to wear when they were boy and girl. He had refused utterly to +tell her what she had a great curiosity to know. + +She had been sure, was sure yet, that if Michael would tell her what he +had against Stuyvesant Carter she could explain it satisfactorily. Her +flattered little head was almost turned at this time with the adoration +she had received. She thought she knew almost everything that +Stuyvesant Carter had ever done. He was a fluent talker and had spent +many hours detailing to her incidents and anecdotes of his eventful +career. He had raced a good deal and still had several expensive racing +cars. There wasn’t anything very dreadful about that except, of course, +it was dangerous. He used to gamble a great deal but he had promised +her he would never do it any more because she thought it unrefined. Of +course it wasn’t as though he hadn’t plenty of money; and her mother +had told her that all young men did those things. No, not her father of +course, for he had been unusual, but times were different nowadays. +Young men were expected to be a little wild. It was the influence of +college life and a progressive age she supposed. It didn’t do any harm. +They always settled down and made good husbands after they were +married. Michael of course did not understand these things. He had +spent a great many years in Florida with a dear old professor and a lot +of good little boys. Michael was unacquainted with the ways of the +world. + +Thus she reasoned, yet nevertheless Michael’s warning troubled her and +finally she decided to go to the best source of information and ask the +young man himself. + +Accordingly three days after Michael’s visit when he dropped in to ask +if she would go to the opera that evening with him instead of something +else they had planned to do together, she laughingly questioned him. + +“What in the world can you ever have done, Mr. Carter, that should make +you unfit company for me?” + +She asked the question lightly yet her eyes watched his face most +closely as she waited for the answer. + +The blood rolled in dark waves over his handsome face and his brows +grew dark with anger which half hid the start of almost fear with which +he regarded her. + +“What do you mean, Starr?” He looked at her keenly and could not tell +if she were in earnest or not. + +“Just that,” she mocked half gravely. “Tell me what you have been doing +that should make you unfit company for me? Some one has been trying to +make me promise to have nothing to do with you, and I want to know what +it means.” + +“Who has been doing that?” There were dangerous lights in the dark +eyes, lights that showed the brutality of the coward and the evildoer. + +“Oh, a man!” said Starr provokingly; “but if you look like that I +shan’t tell you anything more about it, I don’t like you now. You look +as if you could eat me. You make me think there must be something in it +all.” + +Quick to take the warning the young man brought his face under control +and broke into a hoarse artificial laugh. A sudden vision of +understanding had come to him and a fear was in his heart. There was +nothing like being bold and taking the bull by the horns. + +“I’ll wager I can explain the riddle for you,” he said airily. “I lost +my way the other evening coming home late. You see there had been some +mistake and my car didn’t come to the club for me. I started on foot, +leaving word for it to overtake me—” He lied as he went along. He had +had a short lifetime of practice and did it quite naturally and easily, +“and I was thinking about you and how soon I dared ask you a certain +question, when all at once I noticed that things seemed sort of +unfamiliar. I turned to go back but couldn’t for the life of me tell +which way I had turned at the last corner—you see what a dangerous +influence you have over me—and I wandered on and on, getting deeper and +deeper into things. It wasn’t exactly a savory neighborhood and I +wanted to get out as soon as possible for I suspected that it wasn’t +even very safe down there alone at that hour of the night. I was +hesitating under a street light close to a dark alley, trying to decide +which would be the quickest way out, and meditating what I should do to +find a policeman, when suddenly there loomed up beside me in the dark +out of the depths of the alley a great tall brute of a fellow with the +strangest looking yellow hair and a body that looked as if he could +play football with the universe if he liked, and charged me with having +come down there to visit his girl. + +“Well, of course the situation wasn’t very pleasant. I tried to explain +that I was lost; that I had never been down in that quarter of the city +before and didn’t even know his girl. But he would listen to nothing. +He began to threaten me. Then I took out my card and handed it to him, +most unwisely of course, but then I am wholly unused to such +situations, and I explained to him just who I was and that of course I +wouldn’t want to come to see _his_ girl, even if I would be so mean, +and all that. But do you believe me, that fellow wouldn’t take a word +of it. He threw the card on the sidewalk, ground his heel into it, and +used all sorts of evil language that I can’t repeat, and finally after +I thought he was going to put me in the ditch and pummel me he let me +go, shouting after me that if I ever came near his girl again he would +publish it in the newspapers. Then of course I understood what a +foolish thing I had done in giving him my card. But it was too late. I +told him as politely as I knew how that if he would show me the way to +get home I would never trouble him again, and he finally let me go.” + +Starr’s eyes were all this time quizzically searching his face. “Was +the man intoxicated?” she asked. + +“Oh, I presume so, more or less. They all are down there, though he was +not of the slums himself I should say. He was rather well dressed, and +probably angry that I had discovered him in such haunts.” + +“When did this happen?” + +“About a week ago.” + +“Why didn’t you tell me about it before?” + +“Oh I didn’t want to distress you, and besides, I’ve had my mind too +full of other things. Starr, darling, you must have seen all these +weeks how much I love you, and how I have only been waiting the proper +opportunity to ask you to be my wife—” + +Starr was in a measure prepared for this proposal. Her mother had +instructed her that the alliance was one wholly within the pale of +wisdom; and her own fancy was quite taken up with this handsome new +admirer who flattered her hourly and showered attentions upon her until +she felt quite content with herself the world and him. There was a +spice of daring about Starr that liked what she thought was the +wildness and gaiety of young Carter, and she had quite made up her mind +to accept him. + +One week later the society papers announced the engagement, and the +world of gaiety was all in a flutter, over the many functions that were +immediately set agoing in their honor. + +Michael, at his desk in the busy office, read, and bowed his head in +anguish. Starr, his bright beautiful Starr, to be sacrificed to a beast +like that! Would that he might once more save her to life and +happiness! + +For the next few days Michael went about in a state that almost +bordered on the frantic. His white face looked drawn, and his great +eyes burned in their clear setting like live coals. People turned to +look after him on the street and exclaimed: “Why, look at that man!” +and yet he seemed more like an avenging angel dropped down for some +terrible errand than like a plain ordinary man. + +Mr. Holt noticed it and spoke to him about it. + +“You ought to drop work and take a good vacation, Endicott,” he said +kindly. “You’re in bad shape. You’ll break down and be ill. If I were +in your place I’d cancel the rent of that office and not try to start +out for yourself until fall. It’ll pay you in the end. You’re taking +things too seriously.” + +But Michael smiled and shook his head. He was to open his own office +the following week. It was all ready, with its simple furnishings, in +marked contrast to the rooms that would have been his if he had acceded +to his benefactor’s request. But Michael had lost interest in office +and work alike, and the room seemed now to him only a refuge from the +eyes of men where he might hide with his great sorrow and try to study +out some way to save Starr. Surely, surely, her father would do +something when he received his letter! It was long past, time for an +answer to have come. But then there was the hope that he was already +doing something, though he was unwilling to afford Michael the +satisfaction of knowing it. + +He gave much thought to a possible cablegram, that he might send, that +would tell the story to the father while telling nothing to the world, +but abandoned the idea again and again. + +Sam came up from the farm and saw Michael’s face and was worried. + +“Say, pard, wot yer bin doin’ t’yersef? Better come down t’ th’ farm +an’ git a bit o’ fresh air.” + +The only two people who did not notice the change in Michael’s +appearance were Hester and Will. They were too much engrossed in each +other by this time to notice even Michael. + +They had fallen into the habit of leaving the rooms in the alley +earlier than Michael and going home by themselves. + +They left him thus one night about three weeks after Starr’s engagement +had been announced. Michael stayed in the room for an hour after all +the others had gone. He was expecting Sam to return. Sam had been up +from the farm several times lately and this time without any apparent +reason he had lingered in the city. He had not been to the room that +night save for ten minutes early in the evening when he had mumbled +something about a little business, and said he would be back before +Michael left. + +Michael sat for a long time, his elbow on the table, his head in his +hands, trying to think. A way had occurred to him which might or might +not do something to prevent Starr from throwing away her happiness. The +morning paper had hinted that plans for a speedy wedding were on foot. +It was rumored that Miss Endicott was to be married as soon as her +father reached home. Michael was desperate. He feared that now the +father would arrive too late for him to get speech with him. He had +begun to know that it was hard to convince people of the evil of those +they had chosen as friends. It would take time. + +There was a way. He might have the whole story published in the papers. +A public scandal would doubtless delay if not altogether put a stop to +this alliance; but a public scandal that touched Mr. Carter would now +also touch and bring into publicity the girl whose life was almost +linked with his. Not until the very last resort would Michael bring +about that publicity. That such a move on his part would beget him the +eternal enmity of the entire Endicott family he did not doubt, but that +factor figured not at all in Michael’s calculations. He was not working +for himself in this affair. Nothing that ever happened could make +things right for him, he felt, and what was his life, or good name +even, beside Starr’s happiness? + +Wearily, at last, his problem unsolved, he got up and turned out the +lights. As he was locking the door his attention was arrested by two +figures standing between himself and the street light at the end of the +alley. It was a man and a woman, and the woman seemed to be clinging to +the man and pleading with him. + +Such sights were not uncommon in the alley; some poor woman often thus +appealed to all that used to be good in the man she married, to make +him stay away from the saloon, or to give her a little of his money to +buy food for the children. + +More than once in such instances Michael had been able successfully to +add his influence to the wife’s and get the man to go quietly home. + +He put the key hastily in his pocket and hurried toward the two. + +“You shan’t! You shan’t! You shan’t never go back to her!” he heard the +woman cry fiercely. “You promised me—” + +“Shut up, will you? I don’t care what I promised—” said the man in a +guarded voice that Michael felt sure he had heard before. + +“I shan’t shut up! I’ll holler ef you go, so the police’ll come. You’ve +got a right to stay with me. You shan’t do me no wrong ner you shan’t +go back to that stuck-up piece. You’re mine, I say, and you promised—!” + +With a curse the man struck her a cruel blow across the mouth, and +tried to tear her clinging hands away from his coat, but they only +clung the more fiercely. + +Michael sprang to the woman’s side like a panther. + +“Look out!” he said in clear tones. “You can’t strike a woman!” His +voice was low and calm, and sounded as it used to sound on the ball +field when he was giving directions to his team at some crisis in the +game. + +“Who says I can’t?” snarled the man, and now Michael was sure he knew +the voice. Then the wretch struck the woman between her eyes and she +fell heavily to the ground. + +Like a flash Michael’s great arm went out and felled the man, and in +the same breath, from the shadows behind there sprang out the slender, +wiry figure of Sam and flung itself upon the man on the ground who with +angry imprecations was trying to struggle to his feet. His hand had +gone to an inner pocket, as he fell and in a moment more there was a +flash of light and Michael felt a bullet whiz by his ear. Nothing but +the swerving of the straggling figures had saved it from going through +his brain. It occurred to Michael in that instant that that was what +had been intended. The conviction that the man had also recognized him +gave strength to his arm as he wrenched the revolver from the hand of +the would-be assassin. Nobody knew better than Michael how easy it +would be to plead “self-defense” if the fellow got into any trouble. A +man in young Carter’s position with wealth and friends galore need not +fear to wipe an unknown fellow out of existence; a fellow whose friends +with few exceptions were toughs and jail birds and ex-criminals of all +sorts. + +It was just as he gave Carter’s wrist the twist that sent the revolver +clattering to the ground beside the unconscious woman that Michael +heard the hurried footsteps of the officer of the law accompanied by a +curious motley crowd who had heard the pistol shot and come to see what +new excitement life offered for their delectation. He suddenly realized +how bad matters would look for Sam if he should be found in the embrace +of one of Society’s pets who would all too surely have a tale to tell +that would clear himself regardless of others. Michael had no care for +himself. The police all about that quarter knew him well, and were +acquainted with his work. They looked upon him with almost more respect +than they gave the priests and deaconesses who went about their errands +of mercy; for Michael’s spirit-look of being more than man, and the +stories that were attached to his name in the alley filled them with a +worshipful awe. There was little likelihood of trouble for Michael with +any of the officers he knew. But Sam was another proposition. His life +had not all been strictly virtuous in the past, and of late he had been +away in New Jersey so much that he was little known, and would be at +once suspected of having been the cause of the trouble. Besides, the +woman lay unconscious at their feet! + +With a mighty effort Michael now reached forth and plucked Sam, +struggling fiercely, from the arms of his antagonist and put him behind +him in the doorway, standing firmly in front. Carter thus released, +sprawled for an instant in the road, then taking advantage of the +momentary release struggled to his feet and fled in the opposite +direction from that in which the officers were approaching. + +“Let me go! I must get him!” muttered Sam pushing fiercely to get by +Michael. + +“No, Sam, stay where you are and keep quiet. You’ll gain nothing by +running after him. You’ll only get into trouble yourself.” + +“I don’t care!” said Sam frantically, “I don’t care what happens to me. +I’ll kill him. He stole my girl!” + +But Michael stood before him like a wail of adamant in the strength +that was his for the extremity. + +“Yes, Sam, my poor fellow. I know,” said Michael gently, sadly. “I +know, Sam. He stole mine too!” + +Sam subsided as if he had been struck, a low awful curse upon his lips, +his face pale and baleful. + +“You, too?” The yearning tenderness went to Michael’s heart like sweet +salve, even in the stress of the moment. They were brothers in sorrow, +and their brotherhood saved Sam from committing a crime. + +Then the police and crowd swept up breathless. + +“What does all this mean?” panted a policeman touching his cap +respectfully to Michael. “Some one been shooting?” + +He stooped and peered into the white face of the still unconscious +woman, and then looked suspiciously toward Sam who was standing +sullenly behind Michael. + +“He’s all right,” smiled Michael throwing an arm across Sam’s shoulder, +“He only came in to help me when he saw I was having a hard time of it. +The fellow made off in that direction.” Michael pointed after Carter +whose form had disappeared in the darkness. + +“Any of the gang?” asked the officer as he hurried away. + +“No!” said Michael. “He doesn’t belong here!” + +One officer hurried away accompanied by a crowd, the other stayed to +look after the woman. He touched the woman with his foot as he might +have tapped a dying dog to see if there was still life there. A low +growl like a fierce animal came from Sam’s closed lips. + +Michael put a warning hand upon, his arm. + +“Steady, Sam, steady!” he murmured, and went himself and lifted the +poor pretty head of the girl from its stony pillow. + +“I think you’d better send for the ambulance,” he said to the officer. +“She’s had a heavy blow on her head. I arrived just in time to see the +beginning of the trouble—” + +“Ain’t she dead?” said the officer indifferently. “Best get her into +her house. Don’t reckon they want to mess up the hospital with such +cattle as this.” + +Michael caught the fierce gleam in Sam’s eyes. A second more would have +seen the officer lying beside the girl in the road and a double tragedy +to the record of that night; for Sam was crouched and moving stealthily +like a cat toward the officer’s back, a look of almost insane fury upon +his small thin face. It was Michael’s steady voice that recalled him to +sanity once more, just as many a time in the midst of a game he had put +self-control and courage into the hearts of his team. + +“Sam, could you come here and hold her head a minute, while I try to +get some water? Yes, officer, I think she is living, and she should be +got to the hospital as soon as possible. Please give the call at once.” + +The officer sauntered off to do his bidding. Michael and Sam began +working over the unconscious girl, and the crowd stood idly round +waiting until the ambulance rattled up. They watched with awe as the +form of the woman was lifted in and Michael and Sam climbed up on the +front seat with the driver and rode away; then they drifted away to +their several beds and the street settled into its brief night respite. + +The two young men waited at the hospital for an hour until a +white-capped nurse came to tell them that Lizzie had recovered +consciousness, and there was hope of her life. Then they went out into +the late night together. + +“Sam, you’re coming home with me tonight!” Michael put his arm +affectionately around Sam’s shoulders, “You never would come before, +but you must come tonight.” + +And Sam, looking into the other’s face for an instant, saw that in +Michael’s suffering eyes that made him yield. + +“I ain’t fit!” Sam murmured as they walked along silently together. It +was the first hint that Sam had ever given that he was not every whit +as good as Michael; and Michael with rare tact had never by a glance +let Sam know how much he wished to have him cleaner, and more suitably +garbed. + +“Oh, we’ll make that all right!” said Michael fervently thankful that +at last the time had come for the presentation of the neat and fitting +garments which he had purchased some weeks before for a present for +Sam, and which had been waiting for a suitable opportunity of +presentation. + +The dawn was hovering in the East when Michael led Sam up to his own +room, and throwing wide the door of his own little private bath-room +told Sam to take a hot bath, it would make him feel better. + +While Sam was thus engaged Michael made a compact bundle of Sam’s old +garments, and stealing softly to the back hall window, landed them by a +neat throw on the top of the ash barrel in the court below. Sam’s +clothes might see the alley again by way of the ash man, but never on +Sam’s back. + +Quite late that very same morning, when Sam, clothed and in a new and +righter mind than ever before in his life, walked down with Michael to +breakfast, and was introduced as “my friend Mr. Casey” to the landlady, +who was hovering about the now deserted breakfast table; he looked +every inch of him a respectable citizen. Not handsome and distinguished +like Michael, of course, but quite unnoticeable, and altogether proper +as a guest at the respectable breakfast table of Mrs. Semple. + +Michael explained that they had been detained out late the night before +by an accident, and Mrs. Semple gave special orders for a nice +breakfast to be served to Mr. Endicott and his friend, and said it +wasn’t any trouble at all. + +People always thought it was no trouble to do things for Michael. + +While they ate, Michael arranged with Sam to take a trip out to see +Buck. + +“I was expecting to go this morning,” he said. “I had my plans all +made. They write me that Buck is getting uneasy and they wish I’d come, +but now”—he looked meaningly at Sam—“I think I ought to stay here for a +little. Could you go in my place? There are things here I must attend +to.” + +Sam looked, and his face grew dark with sympathy. He understood. + +“I’ll keep you informed about Lizzie,” went on Michael with delicate +intuition, “and anyway you couldn’t see her for sometime, I think if +you try you could help Buck as much as I. He needs to understand that +breaking laws is all wrong. That it doesn’t pay in the end, and that +there has got to be a penalty—you know. You can make him see things in +a new way if you try. Are you willing to go, Sam?” + +“I’ll go,” said Sam briefly, and Michael knew he would do his best. It +might be that Sam’s change of viewpoint would have more effect upon +Buck than anything Michael could say. For it was an open secret between +Sam and Michael now that Sam stood for a new order of things and that +the old life, so far as he was concerned, he had put away. + +And so Sam was got safely away from the danger spot, and Michael stayed +to face his sorrow, and the problem of how to save Starr. + + + + +Chapter XXI + + +The papers the next morning announced that Mr. Stuyvesant Carter while +taking a short cut through the lower quarter of the city, had been +cruelly attacked, beaten and robbed, and had barely escaped with his +life. + +He was lying in his rooms under the care of a trained nurse, and was +recovering as rapidly as could be expected from the shock. + +Michael reading it next morning after seeing Sam off to Kansas, lifted +his head with that quiet show of indignation. He knew that the message +must have been telephoned to the paper by Carter himself shortly after +he had escaped from the police. He saw just how easy it was for him to +give out any report he chose. Money and influence would buy even the +public press. It would be little use to try to refute anything he chose +to tell about himself. + +The days that followed were to Michael one long blur of trouble. He +haunted Mr. Endicott’s office in hopes of getting some news of his +return but they told him the last letters had been very uncertain. He +might come quickly, and he might be delayed a month yet, or even +longer; and a cablegram might not reach him much sooner than a letter, +as he was travelling from place to place. + +After three days of this agony, knowing that the enemy would soon be +recovering from his bruises and be about again, he reluctantly wrote a +note to Starr: + +My dear Miss Endicott: + At the risk of offending you I feel that I must make one more + attempt to save you from what I feel cannot but be great misery. + The young man of whom we were speaking has twice to my knowledge + visited a young woman of the slums within the last month, and has + even since your engagement been maintaining an intimacy with her + which can be nothing but an insult to you. Though you may not + believe me, it gives me greater pain to tell you this than anything + I ever had to do before, I have tried in every way I know to + communicate with your father, but have thus far failed. I am + writing you thus plainly and painfully, hoping that though you will + not take my word for it, you will at least be willing to find some + trustworthy intimate friend of your family in whom you can confide, + who will investigate this matter for you, and give you his candid + opinion of the young man. I can furnish such a man with information + as to where to go to get the facts. I know that what I have said is + true. I beg for the sake of your future happiness that you will + take means to discover for yourself. + + +Faithfully yours, +Michael + + +To this note, within two days, he received a condescending, patronizing +reply: + +Michael: + I am exceedingly sorry that you have lent yourself to means so low + to accomplish your end, whatever that may be. It is beyond me to + imagine what possible motive you can have for all this ridiculous + calumny that you are trying to cast on one who has shown a most + noble spirit toward you. + Mr. Carter has fully explained to me his presence at the home of + that girl, and because you seem to really believe what you have + written me, and because I do not like to have _anyone_ think evil + of the man whom I am soon to marry, I am taking the trouble to + explain to you. The young woman is a former maid of Mr. Carter’s + mother, and she is deeply attached to her. She does up Mrs. + Carter’s fine laces exquisitely, and Mr. Carter has twice been the + bearer of laces to be laundered, because his mother was afraid to + trust such valuable pieces to a servant. I hope you will now + understand that the terrible things you have tried to say against + Mr. Carter are utterly false. Such things are called blackmail and + bring terrible consequences in court I am told if they become + known, so I must warn you never to do anything of this sort again. + It is dangerous. If my father were at home he would explain it to + you. Of course, having been in that out-of-the-way Florida place + for so long you don’t understand these things, but for papa’s sake + I would not like you to get into trouble in any way. + There is one more thing I must say. Mr. Carter tells me that he saw + you down in that questionable neighborhood, and that you are + yourself interested in this girl. It seems strange when this is the + case, that you should have thought so ill of him. + Trusting that you will cause me no further annoyance in this + matter, + + +S.D. Endicott. + + +When Michael had read this he bowed himself upon his desk as one who +had been stricken unto death. To read such words from her whom he loved +better than his own soul was terrible! And he might never let her know +that these things that had been said of him were false. She would +probably go always with the idea that his presence in that alley was a +matter of shame to him. So far as his personal part in the danger to +herself was concerned, he was from this time forth powerless to help +her. If she thought such things of him,—if she had really been made to +believe them,—then of course she could credit nothing he told her. Some +higher power than his would have to save her if she was to be saved. + +To do Starr justice she had been very much stirred by Michael’s note, +and after a night of wakefulness and meditation had taken the letter to +her mother. Not that Starr turned naturally to her most unnatural +mother for help in personal matters usually; but there seemed to be no +one else to whom she could go. If only her father had been home! She +thought of cabling him, but what could she say in a brief message? How +could she make him understand? And then there was always the world +standing by to peer curiously over one’s shoulder when one sent a +message. She could not hope to escape the public eye. + +She considered showing Michael’s note to Morton, her faithful nurse, +but Morton, wise in many things, would not understand this matter, and +would be powerless to help her. So Starr had gone to her mother. + +Mrs. Endicott, shrewd to perfection, masked her indignation under a +very proper show of horror, told Starr that of course it was not true, +but equally of course it must be investigated; gave her word that she +would do so immediately and her daughter need have no further thought +of the matter; sent at once for young Carter with whom she held a brief +consultation at the end of which Starr was called and cheerfully given +the version of the story which she had written to Michael. + +Stuyvesant Carter could be very alluring when he tried, and he chose to +try. The stakes were a fortune, a noble name, and a very pretty girl +with whom he was as much in love at present as he ever had been in his +checkered career, with any girl. Moreover he had a nature that held +revenge long. He delighted to turn the story upon the man who pretended +to be so righteous and who had dared to give him orders about a poor +worthless girl of the slums. He set his cunning intellect to devise a +scheme whereby his adversary should be caught in his own net and +brought low. He found a powerful ally in the mother of the girl he was +to marry. + +For reasons of ambition Mrs. Endicott desired supremely an alliance +with the house of Carter, and she was most determined that nothing +should upset her plans for her only daughter’s marriage. + +She knew that if her husband should return and hear any hint of the +story about Carter he would at once put an end to any relations between +him and Starr. He had always been “queer” about such things, and +“particular,” as she phrased it. It would be mortifying beyond anything +to have any balk in the arrangements after things had gone thus far; +and there was that hateful Mrs. Waterman, setting her cap for him so +odiously everywhere even since the engagement had been announced. Mrs. +Endicott intended to risk nothing. Therefore she planned with the young +people for an early marriage. She was anxious to have everything so +thoroughly cut and dried, and matters gone so far that her husband +could not possibly upset them when he returned. Finally she cabled him, +asking him to set a positive date for his home-coming as the young +people wished to arrange for an early wedding. He cabled back a date +not so very far off, for in truth, though he had received none of +Michael’s warnings he was uneasy about this matter of his daughter’s +engagement. Young Carter had of course seemed all right, and he saw no +reason to demur when his wife wrote that the two young people had come +to an understanding, but somehow it had not occurred to him that the +marriage would be soon. He was troubled at thought of losing the one +bright treasure of his home, when he had but just got her back again +from her European education. He felt that it was unfortunate that +imperative business had called him abroad almost as soon as she +returned. He was in haste to be back. + +But when his wife followed her cable message with a letter speaking of +an immediate marriage and setting a date but four days after the time +set for his arrival, he cabled to her to set no date until his return, +which would be as soon as he could possibly come. + +However, Mrs. Endicott had planned well. The invitations had been sent +out that morning. She thought it unnecessary to cable again but wrote, +“I’m sorry, but your message came too late. The invitations are all out +now, and arrangements going forward. I knew you would not want to stop +Starr’s plans and she seems to have her heart set on being married at +once. Dear Stuyvesant finds it imperative to take an ocean trip and he +cannot bear the thought of going without his wife. I really do not see +how things could possibly be held off now. We should be the laughing +stock of society and I am sure you would not want me to endure that. +And Starr, dear child, is quite childishly happy over her arrangements. +She is only anxious to have you properly home in time, so do hurry and +get an earlier boat if possible.” + +Over this letter Mr. Endicott frowned and looked troubled. His wife had +ever taken things in her own hands where she would; but concerning +Starr they had never quite agreed, though he had let her have her own +way about everything else. It was like her to get this marriage all +fixed up while he was away. Of course it must be all right, but it was +so sudden! And his little Starr! His one little girl! + +Then, with his usual abrupt action he put the letter in his inner +pocket and proceeded to hurry his business as much as possible that he +might take an earlier boat than the one he had set. And he finally +succeeded by dint of working night as well as day, and leaving several +important matters to go as they would. + +The papers at last announced that Mr. Delevan Endicott who had been +abroad for three months on business had sailed for home and would reach +New York nearly a week before the date set for the wedding. The papers +also were filled with elaborate foreshadowings of what that event was +likely to mean to the world of society. + +And Michael, knowing that he must drink every drop of his bitter cup, +knowing that he must suffer and endure to the end of it, if perchance +he might yet save her in some miraculous way, read every word, and knew +the day and the hour of the boat’s probable arrival. He had it all +planned to meet that boat himself. If possible he would go out on the +pilot and meet his man before he landed. + +Then the silence of the great deep fell about the traveller; and the +days went by with the waiting one in the city; the preparations hurried +forward by trained and skilful workers. The Endicott home was filled +with comers and goers. Silks and satins and costly fabrics, laces and +jewels and rare trimmings from all over the world were brought together +by hands experienced in costuming the great of the earth. + +Over the busy machinery which she had set going, Mrs. Endicott presided +with the calmness and positive determination of one who had a great +purpose in view and meant to carry it out. Not a detail escaped, her +vigilant eye, not an item was forgotten of all the millions of little +necessities that the world expected and she must have forthcoming. +Nothing that could make the wedding unique, artistic, perfect, was too +hard or too costly to be carried out. This was her pinnacle of +opportunity to shine, and Mrs. Endicott intended to make the most of +it. Not that she had not shone throughout her worldly career, but she +knew that with the marriage of her daughter her life would reach its +zenith point and must henceforth begin to decline. This event must be +one to be remembered in the annals of the future so long as New York +should continue to marry and be given in marriage. Starr’s wedding must +surpass all others in wonder and beauty and elegance. + +So she planned, wrought, carried out; and day by day the gleam in her +eyes told that she was nearing her triumph. + +It did not disturb her when the steamer was overdue one whole day, and +then two. Starr, even amid the round of gaieties in her young set, all +given in her honor, found time to worry about her father; but the wife +only found in this fact a cause for congratulation. She felt +instinctively that her crucial time was coming when her husband reached +home. If Michael had dared to carry out his threats, or if a breath of +the stories concerning young Carter’s life should reach him there would +be trouble against which she had no power. + +It was not until the third morning with still no news of the vessel +that Mrs. Endicott began to feel uneasy. It would be most awkward to +have to put off the ceremony, and of course it would not do to have it +without the bride’s father when he was hurrying to be present. If he +would arrive just in time so much the better; but late—ah—that would be +dreadful! She tightened her determined lips, and looked like a Napoleon +saying to herself, “There shall be no Alps!” In like manner she would +have said if she could: “There shall be no sea if I wish it.” + +But the anxiety she felt was only manifested by her closer vigilance +over her helpers as swiftly and hourly the perfected preparations +glided to their finish. + +Starr grew nervous and restless and could not sleep, but hovered from +room to room in the daytime looking out of the windows, or fitfully +telephoning the steamship company for news. Her fiancé found her most +unsatisfactory and none of the plans he proposed for her diversion +pleased her. Dark rings appeared under her eyes, and she looked at him +with a troubled expression sometimes when she should have been laughing +in the midst of a round of pleasures. + +Starr deeply loved her father, and some vague presentiment of coming +trouble seemed to shadow all the brightness of life. Now and then +Michael’s face with its great, true eyes, and pleading expression came +between her and Carter’s face, and seemed to blur its handsome lines; +and then indefinite questions haunted her. What if those terrible +things Michael had said were true? Was she sure, _sure_? And at times +like that she fancied she saw a weakness in the lines about Carter’s +eyes and mouth. + +But she was most unused to studying character, poor child, and had no +guide to help her in her lonely problem of choosing; for already she +had learned that her mother’s ways and hers were not the same; and—her +father—did not come. When he came it would be all right. It had to be, +for there was no turning back, of course, now. The wedding was but two +days off. + +Michael, in his new office, frankly acknowledged to himself these days +that he could not work. He had done all that he could and now was +waiting for a report of that vessel. When it landed he hoped to be the +first man on board; in fact, he had made arrangement to go out to meet +it before it landed. But it did not come! Was it going to be prevented +until the day was put off? Would that make matters any better? Would he +then have more time? And could he accomplish anything with Mr. +Endicott, even, supposing he had time? Was he not worse than foolish to +try? Mr. Endicott was already angry with him for another reason. His +wife and Starr, and that scoundrel of a Carter, would tell all sorts of +stories. Of course he would believe them in preference to his! He +groaned aloud sometimes, when, he was alone in the office: and wished +that there were but a way he could fling himself between Starr and all +evil once for all; give his life for hers. Gladly, gladly would he do +it if it would do any good. Yet there was no way. + +And then there came news. The vessel had been heard from still many +miles out to sea, with one of her propellers broken, and laboring along +at great disadvantage. But if all went well she would reach her dock at +noon of the following day—eight hours before the time set for the +wedding! + +Starr heard and her face blossomed, into smiles. All would go well +after all. She telephoned again to the steamship company a little while +later and her utmost fears were allayed by their assurances. + +Mrs. Endicott heard the news with intense relief. Her husband would +scarcely have time to find out anything. She must take pains that he +had no opportunity to see Michael before the ceremony. + +The young man heard and his heart beat wildly. Would the time be long +enough to save her? + +Noon of the next day came, but the steamer had not yet landed, though +the news from her was good. She would be in before night, there was no +doubt of it now. Mr. Endicott would be in time for the wedding, but +just that and no more. He had sent reassurances to his family, and they +were going forward happily in the whirl of the last things. + +But Michael in his lonely office hung up the telephone receiver with a +heavy heart. There would be no time now to save Starr. Everything was +against him. Even if he could get speech of Mr. Endicott which was +doubtful now, was it likely the man would listen at this the last +minute? Of course his wife and daughter and her fiancé could easily +persuade him all was well, and Michael a jealous fool! + +As he sat thus with bowed head before his desk, he heard footsteps +along the stone floor of the corridor outside. They halted at his door, +and hesitating fingers fumbled with the knob. He looked up frowning and +was about to send any chance client away, with the explanation that he +was entirely too much occupied at present to be interrupted, when the +face of the woman who opened the door caught his attention. + + + + +Chapter XXII + + +It was Lizzie, with her baby in her arms; the girl he had defended in +the alley, and whose face he had last seen lying white and unconscious +in the moonlight, looking ghastly enough with the dark hair flung back +against the harsh pillow of stone. + +The face was white now, but softened with the beauty of motherhood. The +bold, handsome features had somehow taken on a touch of gentleness, +though there glowed and burned in her dark eyes a fever of passion and +unrest. + +She stood still for a moment looking at Michael after she had closed +the door, and was holding the baby close as if fearing there might be +some one there who was minded to take it from her. + +As Michael watched her, fascinated, cut to the heart by the dumb +suffering in her eyes, he was reminded of one of the exquisite Madonnas +he had seen in an exhibition not long ago. The draperies had been +dainty and cloud-like, and the face refined and wonderful in its +beauty, but there had been the same sorrowful mother-anguish in the +eyes. It passed through his mind that this girl and he were kin because +of a mutual torture. His face softened, and he felt a great pity for +her swelling in his heart. + +His eyes wandered to the little upturned face of the baby wrapped close +in the shabby shawl against its mother’s breast. It was a very +beautiful little sleeping face, with a look still of the spirit world +from which it had but recently come. There was something almost +unearthly in its loveliness, appealing even in its sleep, with its +innocent baby curves and outlines. A little stranger soul, whose +untried feet had wandered into unwelcome quarters where sorrows and +temptations were so thickly strewn that it could not hope to escape +them. + +What had the baby come for? To make one more of the swarming mass of +sinful wretches who crowded the alley? Would those cherub lips +half-parted now in a seraphic smile live to pour forth blasphemous +curses as he had heard even very small children in the alley? Would +that tiny sea-shell hand, resting so trustingly against the coarse +cloth of its mother’s raiment, looking like a rosebud gone astray, live +to break open safes and take their contents? Would the lovely little +soft round body whose tender curves showed pitifully beneath the thin +old shawl, grow up to lie in the gutter some day? The problem of the +people had never come to Michael so forcibly, so terribly as in that +moment before Lizzie spoke. + +“Be you a real lawyer?” she asked. “Kin you tell what the law is ’bout +folks and thin’s?” + +Michael smiled and rose to give her a chair as courteously as though +she had been a lady born. + +“Sit down,” he said. “Yes, I am a lawyer. What can I do for you?” + +“I s’pose you charge a lot,” said the girl with a meaning glance around +the room. “You’ve got thin’s fixed fine as silk here. But I’ll pay +anythin’ you ast ef it takes me a lifetime to do it, ef you’ll jest +tell me how I kin git my rights.” + +“Your rights?” questioned Michael sadly. Poor child! _Had_ she any +rights in the universe that he could help her to get? The only rights +he knew for such as she were room in a quiet graveyard and a chance to +be forgotten. + +“Say, ain’t it against the law fer a man to marry a woman when he’s +already got one wife?” + +“It is,” said Michael, “unless he gets a divorce.” + +“Well, I ain’t goin’ to give him no divorce, you bet!” said the girl +fiercely. “I worked hard enough to get a real marriage an’ I ain’t +goin’ to give up to no fash’nable swell. I’m’s good’s she is, an’ I’ve +got my rights an I’ll hev ’em. An’ besides, there’s baby—!” Her face +softened and took on a love light; and immediately Michael was reminded +of the madonna picture again. “I’ve got to think o’ him!” Michael +marvelled to see that the girl was revelling in her possession, of the +little helpless burden who had been the cause of her sorrow. + +“Tell me about it.” His voice was very gentle. He recalled suddenly +that this was Sam’s girl. Poor Sam, too! The world was a terribly +tangled mess of trouble. + +“Well, there ain’t much to tell that counts, only he kep’ comp’ny with +me, an’ I wouldn’t hev ennythin’ else but a real marriage, an’ so he +giv in, an’ we hed a couple o’ rooms in a real respectable house an’ +hed it fine till he had to go away on business, he said. I never +b’leeved that. Why he was downright rich. He’s a real swell, you know. +What kind o’ business cud he have?” Lizzie straightened herself proudly +and held her head high. + +“About whom are you talking?” asked Michael. + +“Why, my husband, ’course, Mr. Sty-ve-zant Carter. You ken see his name +in the paper real often. He didn’t want me to know his real name. He +hed me call him Dan Hunt fer two months, but I caught on, an’ he was +real mad fer a while. He said his ma didn’t like the match, an’ he +didn’t want folks to know he’d got married, it might hurt him with some +of his swell friends—” + +“You don’t mean to tell me that Mr. Stuyvesant Carter ever really +married you!” said Michael incredulously. + +“Sure!” said Lizzie proudly, “married me jest like enny swell; got me a +dimon ring an’ a silk lined suit an’ a willer plume an everythin’.” +Lizzie held up a grimy hand on which Michael saw a showy glitter of +jewelry. + +“Have you anything to show for it?” asked Michael, expecting her of +course to say no. “Have you any certificate or paper to prove that you +were married according to law?” + +“Sure!” said Lizzie triumphantly, drawing forth a crumpled roll from +the folds of her dress and smoothing it out before his astonished eyes. + +There it was, a printed wedding certificate, done in blue and gold with +a colored picture of two clasped hands under a white dove with a gold +ring in its beak. Beneath was an idealized boat with silken sails +bearing two people down a rose-lined river of life; and the whole was +bordered with orange blossoms. It was one of those old-fashioned +affairs that country ministers used to give their parishioners in the +years gone by, and are still to be had in some dusty corners of a +forgotten drawer in country book stores. But Michael recognized at once +that it was a real certificate. He read it carefully. The blanks were +all filled in, the date she gave of the marriage was there, and the +name of the bridegroom though evidently written in a disguised hand +could be deciphered: “Sty. Carter.” Michael did not recognize the names +of either the witnesses or the officiating minister. + +“How do you happen to have Mr. Carter’s real name here when you say he +married you under an assumed name?” he asked moving his finger +thoughtfully over the blurred name that had evidently been scratched +out and written over again. + +“I made him put it in after I found out who he was,” said Lizzie. “He +couldn’t come it over me thet-a-way. He was awful gone on me then, an’ +I cud do most ennythin’ with him. It was ’fore she cum home from +Europe! She jes’ went fer him an’ turned his head. Ef I’d a-knowed in +time I’d gone an’ tole her, but land sakes! I don’t ’spose ’twould a +done much good. I would a-ben to her before, only I was fool ’nough to +promise him I wouldn’t say nothin’ to her ef he’d keep away from her. +You see I needed money awful bad fer baby. He don’t take to livin’ +awful good. He cries a lot an’ I hed to hev thin’s fer ’im, so I +threatened him ef he didn’t do sompin’ I’d go tell her; an’ he up an’ +forked over, but not till I promised. But now they say the papers is +tellin’ he’s to marry her tonight, an’ I gotta stop it somehow. I got +my rights an’ baby’s to look after, promise er no promise, Ken I get +him arrested?” + +“I am not sure what you can do until I look into the matter,” Michael +said gravely. Would the paper he held help or would it not, in his +mission to Starr’s father? And would it be too late? His heavy heart +could not answer. + +“Do you know these witnesses?” + +“Sure.” said Lizzie confidently. “They’re all swells. They come down +with him when he come to be married. I never seen ’em again, but they +was real jolly an’ nice. They give me a bokay of real roses an’ a +bracelet made like a snake with green glass eyes.” + +“And the minister? Which is his church?” + +“I’m sure I donno,” said Lizzie. “I never ast. He Come along an’ was ez +jolly ez enny of ’em. He drank more’n all of ’em put together. He was +awful game fer a preacher.” + +Michael’s heart began to sink. Was this a genuine marriage after all? +Could anything be proved? He questioned the girl carefully, and after a +few minutes sent her on her way promising to do all in his power to +help her and arranging to let her know as soon as possible if there was +anything she could do. + +That was a busy afternoon for Michael. The arrival of the steamer was +forgotten. His telephone rang vainly on his desk to a silent room. He +was out tramping over the city in search of the witnesses and the +minister who had signed Lizzie’s marriage certificate. + +Meantime the afternoon papers came out with a glowing account of the +wedding that was to be, headed by the pictures of Starr and Mr. Carter, +for the wedding was a great event in society circles. + +Lizzie on her hopeful way back to the alley, confident that Michael, +the angel of the alley, would do something for her, heard the boys +crying the afternoon edition of the paper, and was seized with a desire +to see if her husband’s picture would be in again. She could ill spare +the penny from her scanty store that she spent for it, but then, what +was money in a case like this? Michael would do something for her and +she would have more money. Besides, if worst came to worst she would go +to the fine lady and threaten to make it all public, and she would give +her money. + +Lizzie had had more advantages than most of her class in the alley. She +had worked in a seashore restaurant several summers and could read a +little. From the newspaper account she gathered enough to rouse her +half-soothed frenzy. Her eyes flashed fire as she went about her dark +little tenement room making baby comfortable. His feeble wail and his +sweet eyes looking into hers only fanned the fury of her flame. She +determined not to wait for Michael, but to go on her own account at +once to that girl that was stealing away her husband, her baby’s +father, and tell her what she was doing. + +With the cunning of her kind Lizzie dressed herself in her best; a +soiled pink silk shirtwaist with elbow sleeves, a spotted and torn +black skirt that showed a tattered orange silk petticoat beneath its +ungainly length, a wide white hat with soiled and draggled willow plume +of Alice blue, and high-heeled pumps run over on their uppers. If she +had but known it she looked ten times better in the old Madonna shawl +she had worn to Michael’s office, but she took great satisfaction in +being able to dress appropriately when she went to the swells. + +The poor baby she wrapped in his soiled little best, and pinned a large +untidy pink satin bow on the back of his dirty little blanket. Then she +started on her mission. + +Now Starr had just heard that her father’s vessel would be at the dock +in a trifle over an hour and her heart was light and happy. Somehow all +her misgivings seemed to flee away, now that he was coming. She flew +from one room to another like a wild bird, trilling snatches of song, +and looking prettier than ever. + +“Aw, the wee sweet bairnie!” murmured the old Scotch nurse. “If only +her man will be gude to her!” + +There was some special bit of Starr’s attire for the evening that had +not arrived. She was in a twitter of expectancy about it, to be sure it +pleased her, and when she heard the bell she rushed to the head of the +stairs and was half-way down to see if it had come, when the servant +opened the door to Lizzie and her baby. + +One second more and the door would have closed hopelessly on poor +Lizzie, for no servant in that house would have thought of admitting +such a creature to the presence of their lady a few hours before her +wedding; but Starr, poised half-way on the landing, called, “What is +it, Graves, some one to see me?” + +“But she’s not the sort of person—Miss Starr!” protested Graves with +the door only open a crack now. + +“Never mind, Graves, I’ll see her for a minute. I can’t deny anyone on +my wedding day you know, and father almost safely here. Show her into +the little reception room.” She smiled a ravishing smile on the devoted +Graves, so with many qualms of conscience and misgivings as to what the +mistress would say if she found out, Graves ushered Lizzie and her baby +to the room indicated and Starr fluttered down to see her. So it was +Starr’s own doings that Lizzie came into her presence on that eventful +afternoon. + +“Oh, what a sweet baby!” exclaimed Starr eagerly, “is he yours?” +Lizzie’s fierce eyes softened. + +“Sit down and tell me who you are. Wait, I’ll have some tea brought for +you. You look tired. And won’t you let me give that sweet baby a little +white shawl of mine. I’m to be married tonight and I’d like to give him +a wedding present,” she laughed gaily, and Morton was sent for the +shawl and another servant for the tea, while Starr amused herself by +making the baby crow at her. + +Lizzie sat in wonder. Almost for the moment she forgot her errand +watching this sweet girl in her lovely attire making much of her baby. +But when the tea had been brought and the soft white wool shawl wrapped +around the smiling baby Starr said again: + +“Now please tell me who you are and what you have come for. I can’t +give you but a minute or two more. This is a busy day, you know.” + +Lizzie’s brow darkened. + +“I’m Mrs. Carter!” she said drawing herself up with conscious pride. + +“Carter?” said Starr politely. + +“Yes, I’m the wife of the man you’re goin’ to marry tonight, an’ this +is his child, I thought I’d come an’ tell you ’fore ’twas too late. I +thought ef you had enny goodness in you you’d put a stop to this an’ +give me my rights, an’ you seem to hev some heart. Can’t you call it +off? You wouldn’t want to take my husband away from me, would you? You +can get plenty others an’ I’m jest a plain workin’ girl, an’ he’s mine +anyhow, an’ this is his kid.” + +Starr had started to her feet, her eyes wide, her hand fluttering to +her heart. + +“Stop!” she cried. “You must be crazy to say such things. My poor girl, +you have made a great mistake. Your husband is some other Mr. Carter I +suppose. My Mr. Carter is not that kind of a man. He has never been +married—” + +“Yes, he has!” interposed Lizzie fiercely, “He’s married all right, an’ +I got the c’tif’ct all right too, only I couldn’t bring it this time +cause I lef’ it with my lawyer; but you can see it ef you want to, with +his name all straight, “Sty-Vee-Zant Carter,” all writ out. I see to it +that he writ it himself. I kin read meself, pretty good, so I knowed.” + +“I am very sorry for you,” said Starr sweetly, though her heart was +heating violently in spite of her efforts to be calm and to tell +herself that she must get rid of this wretched impostor without making +a scene for the servants to witness: “I am very sorry, but you have +made some great mistake. There isn’t anything I can do for you now, but +later when I come back to New York if you care to look me up I will try +to do something for baby.” + +Lizzie stood erect in the middle of the little room, her face slowly +changing to a stony stare, her eyes fairly blazing with anger. + +“De’yer mean ter tell me yer a goin’ t’go on an’ marry my husban’ jes’ +ez ef nothin’ had happened? Ain’t yer goin’ ter ast him ef it’s true +ner nothin’? Ain’t yer goin’ t’ find out what’s true ’bout him? R d’ye +want ’im so bad ye don’t care who yer hurt, or wot he is, so long’s he +makes a big splurge before folks? Ain’t you a-goin’ ter ast him ’bout +it?” + +“Oh, why certainly, of course,” said Starr as if she were pacifying a +frantic child, “I can ask him. I will ask him of course, but I _know_ +that you are mistaken. Now really, I shall have to say good afternoon. +I haven’t another minute to spare. You must go!” + +“I shan’t stir a step till you promise me thet you’ll ast him right +straight away. Ain’t you all got no telyphone? Well, you kin call him +up an’ ast him. Jest ast him why he didn’t never speak to you of his +wife Lizzie, and where he was the evenin’ of Augus’ four. That’s the +date on the c’tif’ct! Tell him you seen me an’ then see wot he says. +Tell him my lawyer is a goin’ to fix him ef he goes on. It’ll be in all +the papers tomorrer mornin’ ef he goes on. An’ you c’n say I shan’t +never consent to no _di_-vorce, they ain’t respectable, an’ I got to +think o’ that on baby’s account.” + +“If you will go quietly away now and say nothing more about this to +anyone I will tell Mr. Carter all about you,” said Starr, her voice +trembling with the effort at self-control. + +“D’ye promus you will?” + +“Certainly,” said Starr with dignity. + +“Will ye do it right off straight?” + +“Yes, if you will go at once.” + +“Cross yer heart?” + +“What?” + +“Cross yer heart ye will? Thet’s a sort o’ oath t’ make yer keep yer +promus,” explained Lizzie. + +“A lady needs no such thing to make her keep her promise. Don’t you +know that ladies always keep their promises?” + +“I wasn’t so sure!” said Lizzie, “You can’t most allus tell, ’t’s bes’ +to be on the safe side. Will yer promus me yer won’t marry him ef ye +find out he’s my husband?” + +“Most certainly I will not marry him if he is already married. Now go, +please, at once. I haven’t a minute to spare. If you don’t go at once I +cannot have time to call him up.” + +“You sure I kin trust you?” + +Starr turned on the girl such a gaze of mingled dignity and indignation +that her eye quailed before it. + +“Well, I s’pose I gotta,” she said, dropping her eyes before Starr’s +righteous wrath. “But ‘no weddin’ bells’ fer you tonight ef yeh keep +yer promus. So long!” + +Starr shuddered as the girl passed her. The whiff of unwashed garments, +stale cooking, and undefinable tenement odor that reached her nostrils +sickened her. Was it possible that she must let this creature have a +hold even momentarily upon her last few hours? Yet she knew she must. +She knew she would not rest until she had been reassured by Carter’s +voice and the explanation that he would surely give her. She rushed +upstairs to her own private ’phone, locking the door on even her old +nurse, and called up the ’phone in Carter’s private apartments. + +Without owning it to herself she had been a little troubled all the +afternoon because she had not heard from Carter. Her flowers had +come,—magnificent in their costliness and arrangement, and everything +he was to attend to was done, she knew, but no word had come from +himself. It was unlike him. + +She knew that he had given a dinner the evening before to his old +friends who were to be his ushers, and that the festivities would have +lasted late. He had not probably arisen very early, of course, but it +was drawing on toward the hour of the wedding now. She intended to +begin to dress at once after she had ’phoned him. It was strange she +had not heard from him. + +After much delay an unknown voice answered the ’phone, and told her Mr. +Carter could not come now. She asked who it was but got no response, +except that Mr. Carter couldn’t come now. The voice had a muffled, +thick sound. “Tell him to call me then as soon as possible,” she said, +and the voice answered, “Awright!” + +Reluctantly she hung up the receiver and called Morton to help her +dress. She would have liked to get the matter out of the way before she +went about the pretty ceremony, and submitted herself to her nurse’s +hands with an ill grace and troubled thoughts. The coarse beauty of +Lizzie’s face haunted her. It reminded her of an actress that Carter +had once openly admired, and she had secretly disliked. She found +herself shuddering inwardly every time she recalled Lizzie’s harsh +voice, and uncouth sentences. + +She paid little heed to the dressing process after all and let Morton +have her way in everything, starting nervously when the ’phone bell +rang, or anyone tapped at her door. + +A message came from her father finally. He hoped to be with her in less +than an hour now, and as yet no word had come from Carter! Why did he +not know she would be anxious? What could have kept him from his usual +greeting of her, and on their wedding day! + +Suddenly, in the midst of Morton’s careful draping of the wedding veil +which she was trying in various ways to see just how it should be put +on at the last minute, Starr started up from her chair. + +“I cannot stand this, Mortie. That will do for now. I must telephone +Mr. Carter. I can’t understand why he doesn’t call me.” + +“Oh, but the poor man is that busy!” murmured Morton excusingly as she +hurried obediently out of the room. “Now, mind you don’t muss that +beautiful veil.” + +But after a half hour of futile attempt to get into communication with +Carter, Starr suddenly appeared in her door calling for her faithful +nurse again. + +“Mortie!” she called excitedly. “Come here quick! I’ve ordered the +electric. It’s at the door now. Put on your big cloak and come with me! +I’ve got to see Mr. Carter at once and I can’t get him on the ’phone.” + +“But Miss Starr!” protested Morton. “You’ve no time to go anywhere now, +and look at your pretty veil!” + +“Never mind the veil, Mortie, I’m going. Hurry. I can’t stop to +explain. I’ll tell you on the way. We’ll be back before anyone has +missed us.” + +“But your mamma, Miss Starr! She will be very angry with me!” + +“Mamma must not know. And anyway I must go. Come, if you won’t come +with me I’m going alone.” + +Starr with these words grasped a great cloak of dark green velvet, soft +and pliable as a skin of fur, threw it over her white bridal robes, and +hurried down the stairs. + +“Oh, Miss Starr, darlin’,” moaned Morton looking hurriedly around for a +cloak with which to follow. “You’ll spoil yer veil sure! Wait till I +take it off’n ye.” + +But Starr had opened the front door and was already getting into the +great luxurious car that stood outside. + + + + +Chapter XXIII + + +Michael, as he went about on his search kept crying over and over again +in his heart: “Oh, God! Do something to save her! Do something to save +my little Starr!” + +Over and over the prayer prayed itself without seeming thought or +volition on his part, as he went from place to place, faithfully, +keenly, step by step, searching out what he needed to know. At last +toward six o’clock, his chain of evidence led him to the door of +Stuyvesant Carter’s apartments. + +After some delay the door was opened reluctantly a little way by a +servant with an immobile mask of a face who stared at him stupidly, but +finally admitted that the three men whose names he mentioned were +inside. He also said that Mr. Carter was in, but could not be seen. + +He closed the door on the visitor and went inside again to see if any +of the others would come out. There ensued an altercation in loud and +somewhat unsteady tones, and at last the door opened again and a fast +looking young man who admitted himself to be Theodore Brooks slid out +and closed it carefully behind him. The air that came with him was +thick with tobacco smoke and heavy with liquor, and the one glimpse +Michael got of the room showed a strange radiance of some peculiar +light that glowed into the dusky hall weirdly. + +The heavy-eyed youth who stood braced against the wall uncertainly +looked into Michael’s face with an impudent laugh. + +“Well, parson, what’s the grouch? Are you the devil or an angel sent to +bring retribution?” He ended with a silly laugh that told the +experienced ear of the young lawyer that the young man had been +drinking heavily. And this was the man whose name was signed as Rev. +Theodore Brooks, D.D., on the tawdry little marriage certificate that +Michael held in his hand. His heart sank at the futility of the task +before him. + +“Are you a minister?” asked Michael briefly. + +“Am I a minister?” drawled young Brooks. “M-my-m-m-mnster! Well now +that get’s my goat! Say, boys, he wants t’ kno’ ’f I’m a m-min’ster! +Min-ster of what? Min-ster plen-p’ten’sherry?” + +“Did you ever perform a marriage?” asked Michael sharply to stop the +loud guffaw that was re-echoing through the polished corridors of the +apartment. + +“P’form a m’riage, d’ye say? No, but I’m goin’ perform ’t a marriage +tonight ’f the dead wakes up in time. Goin’ t’ be bes’ man. Say, boys! +Got ’im ’wake yet? Gettin’ late!” + +Michael in despair took hold of the other’s arm and tried to explain +what he wanted to know. Finally he succeeded in bringing the matter +into the fellow’s comprehension. + +“Wedding, oh, yes, I ’member, peach of a girl! Stuyvy awfully fond of +her. No harm meant. Good joke! Yes,—I borr’wed Grand’F’ther Brooks’s +old gown’n ban’s. Awf’lly good disguise! No harm meant—on’y good +joke—girl awf’lly set on getting married. Stuyvy wanted t’ please +’er—awfully good, joke—!” + +“A ghastly joke, I should say, sir!” said Michael sternly and then the +door was flung open by hands from inside, loud angry voices protesting +while another hand sought unavailingly to close the door again, but +Michael came and planted himself in the open door and stood like an +avenging angel come to call to judgment. The scene that was revealed to +him was too horrifying for words. + +A long banquet table stood in the midst of the handsome room whose +furnishings were of the costliest. Amid the scattered remains of the +feast, napkins lying under the table, upset glasses still dripping +their ruby contents down the damask of the tablecloth, broken china, +scattered plates and silver, stood a handsome silver bound coffin, +within which, pallid and deathlike, lay the handsome form of the +bridegroom of the evening. All about the casket in high sconces burned +tall tapers casting their spectral light over the scene. + +Distributed about the room lounging in chairs, fast asleep on the +couches, lying under the table, fighting by the doorway, one standing +on a velvet chair raising an unsteady glass of wine and making a flabby +attempt at a drinking song, were ten young men, the flower of society, +the expected ushers of the evening’s wedding. + +Michael with his white face, his golden hair aflame in the flickering +candle light, his eyes full of shocked indignation, stood for a moment +surveying the scene, and all at once he knew that his prayer was +answered. There would be no wedding that night. + +“Is this another of your ghastly jokes?” he turned to Brooks who stood +by as master of ceremonies, not in the least disturbed by the presence +of the stranger. + +“That’s just what it is,” stuttered Brooks, “a j-j-joke, a +p-p-p-pract’cal joke. No harm meant, only Stuyvy’s hard to wake up. +Never did like gettin’ up in the mornin’. Wake ’im up boys! Wake ’im +up! Time to get dressed for the wedding!” + +“Has anyone sent word to Miss Endicott?” + +“Sent word to Mish Endicott? No, I’d ’no’s they have. Think she’d care +to come? Say, boys, that’s a good joke. This old fellow—don’t know who +he is—devil’n all his angels p’raps—he s’gests we send word to Mish +Endicott t’ come’ th’ fun’ral—” + +“I said nothing of the kind,” said Michael fiercely. “Have you no sense +of decency? Go and wash your face and try to realize what you have been +doing. Have some one telephone for a doctor. I will go and tell the +family,” and Michael strode out of the room to perform the hardest task +that had ever yet fallen to his lot. + +He did not wait for the elevator but ran down the flights of stairs +trying to steady his thoughts and realize the horror through which he +had just passed. + +As he started down the last flight he heard the elevator door clang +below, and as it shot past him he caught a glimpse of white garments +and a face with eyes that he knew. He stopped short and looked upward. +Was it—could it be? But no, of course not. He was foolish. He turned +and compelled his feet to hurry down the rest of the stairs, but at the +door his worst fears were confirmed, for there stood the great electric +car, and the familiar face of the Endicott chauffeur assured him that +some one of the family had just gone to the ghastly spectacle upstairs. + +In sudden panic he turned and fled up the stairs. He could not wait for +elevators now. He fain would have had wings, the wings of a protecting +angel, that he might reach her ere she saw that sight of horror. + +Yet even as he started he knew that he must be too late. + +Starr stopped startled in the open doorway, with Morton, protesting, +apprehensive, just behind her. The soft cloak slid away from her down +the satin of her gown, and left her revealed in all her wedding +whiteness, her eyes like stars, her beautiful face flushed excitedly. +Then the eyes rested on the coffin and its death-like occupant and her +face went white as her dress, while a great horror grew in her eyes. + +Brooks, more nearly sober than the rest, saw her first, and hastened to +do the honors. + +“Say, boys, she’s come,” he shouted. “Bride’s come. Git up, Bobby +Trascom. Don’t yer know ye mustn’t lie down, when there’s a lady +present—Van—get out from under that table. Help me pick up these +things. Place all in a mess. Glad to see you, Mish Endicott—” He bowed +low and staggered as he recovered himself. + +Starr turned her white face toward him: + +“Mr. Brooks,” she said in a tone that sobered him somewhat, “what does +it mean? Is he dead?” + +“Not at all, not at all, Mish Endicott,” he tried to say gravely. “Have +him all right in plenty time. Just a little joke, Mish Endicott. He’s +merely shlightly intoxicated—” + +But Starr heard no more. With a little stifled cry and a groping motion +of her white-clad arms, she crumpled into a white heap at the feet of +her horrified nurse. It was just as she fell that Michael appeared at +the door, like the rescuing angel that he was, and with one withering +glance at the huddled group of men he gathered her in his arms and sped +down the stairs, faithful Morton puffing after him. Neither of them +noticed a man who got out of the elevator just before Starr fell and +walking rapidly toward the open door saw the whole action. In a moment +more Mr. Endicott stood in the door surveying the scene before him with +stern, wrathful countenance. + +Like a dash of cold water his appearance brought several of the +participants in the disgraceful scene to their senses. A few questions +and he was possessed of the whole shameful story; the stag dinner +growing into a midnight orgy; the foolish dare, and the reckless +acceptance of it by the already intoxicated bridegroom; the drugged +drinks; and the practical joke carried out by brains long under the +influence of liquor. Carter’s man who had protested had been bound and +gagged in the back room. The jokers had found no trouble in securing +the necessary tools to carry out their joke. Money will buy anything, +even an undertaker for a living man. The promise of secrecy and +generous fees brought all they needed. Then when the ghastly work was +completed and the unconscious bridegroom lying in state in his coffin +amid the debris of the table, they drowned the horror of their deed in +deeper drinking. + +Mr. Endicott turned from the scene, his soul filled with loathing and +horror. + +He had reached home to find the house in a tumult and Starr gone. +Morton, as she went out the door after her young mistress, had +whispered to the butler their destination, and that they would return +at once. She had an innate suspicion that it would be best for some one +to know. + +Mr. Endicott at once ordered the runabout and hastened after them, +arriving but a moment or two later. Michael had just vanished up the +Apartment stairs as he entered the lower hallway. The vague indefinite +trouble that had filled his mind concerning his daughter’s marriage to +a man he little knew except by reputation, crystallized into trouble, +dear and distinct, as he hurried after his daughter. Something terrible +must have come to Starr or she would never have hurried away +practically alone at a time like this. + +The electric car was gone by the time Mr. Endicott reached the lower +hall again, and he was forced to go back alone as he came, without +further explanation of the affair than what he could see; but he had +time in the rapid trip to become profoundly thankful that the +disgraceful scene he had just left had occurred before and not after +his daughter’s marriage. Whatever alleviating circumstances there were +to excuse the reckless victim of his comrade’s joke, the fact remained +that a man who could fall victim to a joke like that was not the +companion for his daughter’s life; she who had been shielded and +guarded at every possible point, and loved as the very apple of his +eye. His feelings toward the perpetrators of this gruesome sport were +such that he dared not think about them yet. No punishment seemed too +great for such. And she, his little Starr, had looked upon that +shameful scene; had seen the man she was expecting to marry lying as +one dead—! It was too awful! And what had it done to her? Had it killed +her? Had the shock unsettled her mind? The journey to his home seemed +longer than his whole ocean voyage. Oh, why had he not left business to +go to the winds and come back long ago to shield his little girl! + +Meantime, Michael, his precious burden in his arms, had stepped into +the waiting car, motioning Morton to follow and sit in the opposite +seat. The delicate Paris frock trailed unnoticed under foot, and the +rare lace of the veil fell back from the white face, but neither +Michael nor the nurse thought of satin and lace now, as they bent +anxiously above the girl to see if she still breathed. + +All the way to her home Michael held the lovely little bride in his +arms, feeling her weight no more than a feather; fervently thankful +that he might bear her thus for the moment, away from the danger that +had threatened her life. He wished with all his heart he might carry +her so to the ends of the earth and never stop until he had her safe +from all harm that earth could bring. His heart thrilled wildly with +the touch of her frail sweetness, even while his anxious face bent over +her to watch for signs of returning consciousness. + +But she did not become conscious before she reached the house. His +strong arms held her as gently as though she had been a baby as he +stepped carefully out and carried her to her own room; laying her upon +the white bed, where but two hours before the delicate wedding garments +had been spread ready for her to put on. Then he stood back, reverently +looked upon her dear face, and turned away. It was in the hall that he +met her mother, and her face was fairly disfigured with her sudden +recognition of him. + +“What! Is it you that have dared come into this house? The +impertinence! I shall report all your doings to my husband. He will be +very angry. I believe that you are at the bottom of this whole +business! You shall certainly be dealt with as you deserve!” + +She hissed the words after him as Michael descended the stairs with +bowed head and closed lips. It mattered not now what she said or +thought of him. Starr was saved! + +He was about to pass out into the world again, away from her, away even +from knowledge of how she came out of her swoon. He had no further +right there now. His duty was done. He had been allowed to save her in +her extremity! + +But just as he reached it the door opened and Mr. Endicott hurried in. + +He paused for an instant. + +“Son!” said he, “it was you who brought her home!” It was as if that +conviction had but just been revealed to his perturbed mind. “Son, I’m +obliged. Sit here till I come. I want to speak with you.” + +The doctor came with a nurse, and Michael sat and listened to the +distant voices in her room. He gathered from the sounds by and by that +Starr was conscious, was better. + +Until then no one had thought of the wedding or of the waiting guests +that would be gathering. Something must be done. And so it came about +that as the great organ sounded forth the first notes of the wedding +march—for by some blunder the bride’s signal had been given to the +organist when the Endicott car drew up at the church—that Michael, bare +headed, with his hat in his hand, walked gravely up the aisle, +unconscious of the battery of eyes, and astonished whispers of “Who is +he? Isn’t he magnificent? What does it mean? I thought the ushers were +to come first?” until he stood calmly in the chancel and faced the +wondering audience. + +If an angel had come straight down from heaven and interfered with +their wedding they could not have been more astonished. For, as he +stood beneath the many soft lights in front of the wall of living green +and blossoms, with his white face and grave sweet dignity, they forgot +for once to study the fashion of his coat, and sat awed before his +beautiful face; for Michael wore tonight the look of transport with +chin uplifted, glowing eyes, and countenance that showed the spirit +shining through. + +The organist looked down, and instinctively hushed his music. Had he +made some mistake? Then Michael spoke. Doubtless he should have gone to +the minister who was to perform the ceremony, and given him the +message, but Michael little knew the ways of weddings. It was the first +one he had ever attended, and he went straight to the point. + +“On account of the sudden and serious illness of the groom,” he said, +“it will be impossible for the ceremony to go on at this time. The +bride’s family ask that you will kindly excuse them from further +intrusion or explanation this evening.” + +With a slight inclination of his head to the breathless audience +Michael passed swiftly down the aisle and out into the night, and the +organist, by tremendous self-control, kept on playing softly until the +excited people who had drifted usherless into the church got themselves +out into their carriages once more. + +Michael walked out into the night, bareheaded still, his eyes lifted to +the stars shining so far away above the city, and said softly, with +wondering, reverent voice: “Oh, God! Oh, God!” + + + + +Chapter XXIV + + +Following hard upon the interrupted wedding came other events that not +only helped to hush matters up, but gave the world a plausible reason +why the ceremony did not come off as soon as the groom was convalescent +from what was reported in the papers to be an attack of acute +indigestion, easily accounted for by the round of banquets and +entertainments which usually precede a society wedding. + +During that eventful night while Starr still lay like a crushed lily +torn rudely from its stem, her mother, after a stormy scene with her +husband, in which he made it plain to her just what kind of a man she +was wanting her daughter to marry, and during which she saw the fall of +her greatest social ambitions, was suddenly stricken with apoplexy. + +The papers next morning told the news as sympathetically as a paper can +tell one’s innermost secrets. It praised the wonderful ability of the +woman who had so successfully completed all the unique arrangements for +what had promised to be the greatest wedding of the season, if not of +all seasons; and upon whose overtaxed strength, the last straw had been +laid in the illness of the bridegroom. It stated that now of course the +wedding would be put off indefinitely, as nothing could be thought of +while the bride’s mother lay in so critical a state. + +For a week there were daily bulletins of her condition published always +in more and more remote corners of the paper, until the little ripple +that had been made in the stream of life passed; and no further mention +was made of the matter save occasionally when they sent for some famous +specialist: when they took her to the shore to try what sea air might +do; or when they brought her home again. + +But all the time the woman lay locked in rigid silence. Only her cold +eyes followed whoever came into her room. She gave no sign of knowing +what they said, or of caring who came near her. Her husband’s earnest +pleas, Starr’s tears, drew from her no faintest expression that might +have been even imagined from a fluttering eyelash. There was nothing +but that stony stare, that almost unseeing gaze, that yet followed, +followed wherever one would move. It was a living death. + +And when one day the release came and the eyes were closed forever from +the scenes of this world, it was a sad relief to both husband and +daughter. Starr and her father stole away to an old New England +farm-house where Mr. Endicott’s elderly maiden sister still lived in +the old family homestead; a mild-eyed, low-voiced woman with plain gray +frocks and soft white laces at wrists and neck and ruched about her +sweet old face above the silver of her hair. + +Starr had not been there since she was a little child, and her sad +heart found her aunt’s home restful. She stayed there through the fall +and until after the first of the year; while her father came and went +as business dictated; and the Endicott home on Madison Avenue remained +closed except for the caretakers. + +Meanwhile young Carter had discreetly escorted his mother to Europe, +and was supposed by the papers to be going to return almost +immediately. Not a breath of gossip, strange to say, stole forth. +Everything seemed arranged to quiet any suspicion that might arise. + +Early in the fall he returned to town but Starr was still in New +England. No one knew of the estrangement between them. Their immediate +friends were away from town still, and everything seemed perfectly +natural in the order of decency. Of course people could not be married +at once when there had been a death in the family. + +No one but the two families knew of Carter’s repeated attempts to be +reconciled to Starr; of his feeble endeavor at explanation; of her +continued refusal even to see him; and the decided letter she wrote him +after he had written her the most abject apology he knew how to frame; +nor of her father’s interview with the young man wherein he was told +some facts about himself more plainly than anyone, even in his +babyhood, had ever dared to tell him. Mr. Endicott agreed to keep +silence for Starr’s sake, provided the young man would do nothing to +create any gossip about the matter, until the intended wedding had been +forgotten, and other events should have taken the minds of society, +from their particular case. Carter, for his own sake, had not cared to +have the story get abroad and had sullenly acceded to the command. He +had not, however, thought it necessary to make himself entirely +miserable while abroad; and there were those who more than once spoke +his name in company with that of a young and dashing divorcée. Some +even thought he returned to America sooner than he intended in order to +travel on the same steamer that she was to take. However, those +whispers had not as yet crossed the water; and even if they had, such +things were too common to cause much comment. + +Then, one Monday morning, the papers were filled with horror over an +unusually terrible automobile accident; in which a party of seven, of +whom the young divorcée was one and Stuyvesant Carter was another, went +over an embankment sixty feet in height, the car landing upside down on +the rocks below, and killing every member of the party. The paper also +stated that Mr. Theodore Brooks, intimate friend of Carter’s, who was +to have been best man at the wedding some months previous, which was +postponed on account of the sudden illness and death of the bride’s +mother, was of the party. + +Thus ended the career of Stuyvesant Carter, and thus the world never +knew exactly why Starr Endicott did not become Mrs. Carter. + +Michael, from the moment that he went forth from delivering his message +in the church, saw no more of the Endicotts. He longed inexpressibly to +call and enquire for Starr; to get some word of reconciliation from her +father; to ask if there was not some little thing that he might be +trusted to do for them; but he knew that his place was not there, and +his company was not desired. Neither would he write, for even a note +from him could but seem, to Starr, a reminder of the terrible things of +which he had been witness, that is if anybody had ever told her it was +he that brought her home. + +One solace alone he allowed himself. Night after night as he went home +late he would walk far out of his way to pass the house and look up at +her window; and always it comforted him a little to see the dim +radiance of her soft night light; behind the draperies of those +windows, somewhere, safe, she lay asleep, the dear little white-faced +girl that he had been permitted to carry to her home and safety, when +she had almost reached the brink of destruction. + +About a week after the fateful wedding day Michael received a brief +note from Starr. + +My dear Mr. Endicott: + I wish to thank you for your trouble in bringing me home last week. + I cannot understand how you came to be there at that time. Also I + am deeply grateful for your kindness in making the announcement at + the church. Very sincerely, S.D.E. + + +Michael felt the covert question in that phrase: “I cannot understand +how you came to be there at that time.” She thought, perhaps, that to +carry his point and stop the marriage he had had a hand in that +miserable business! Well, let her think it. It was not his place to +explain, and really of course it could make little difference to her +what she believed about him. As well to let it rest. He belonged out of +her world, and never would he try to force his way into it. + +And so with the whiteness of his face still lingering from the hard +days of tension, Michael went on, straining every nerve in his work; +keeping the alley room open nightly even during hot weather, and in +constant touch with the farm which was now fairly on its feet and +almost beginning to earn its own living; though the contributions still +kept coming to him quietly, here and there, and helped in the many new +plans that grew out of the many new necessities. + +The carpenter had built and built, until there were pretty little +bungalows of one and two and three rooms dotted all about the farm to +be rented at a low price to the workers. It had come to be a little +community by itself, spoken of as “Old Orchard Farms,” and well +respected in the neighborhood, for in truth the motley company that +Michael and Sam gathered there had done far better in the way of +law-and-orderliness than either had hoped. They seemed to have a pride +that nothing that could hurt “the boss’s” reputation as a landowner +should be laid to their charge. If by chance there came into their +midst any sordid being who could not see matters in that light the rest +promptly taught him better, or else put him out. + +And now the whole front yard was aflame with brilliant flowers in their +season. The orchard had been pruned and trimmed and grafted, and in the +spring presented a foreground of wonderful pink and white splendor; and +at all seasons of the year the grassy drive wound its way up to the old +house, through a vista of branches, green, or brown. + +It had long been in Michael’s heart to build over the old house—for +what he did not know. Certainly he had no hope of ever using it himself +except as a transitory dwelling; yet it pleased his fancy to have it as +he dreamed it out. Perhaps some day it might be needed for some supreme +reason, and now was the time to get it ready. So one day he took a +great and simple-hearted architect down to the place to stay over night +and get an idea of the surroundings; and a few weeks later he was in +possession of a plan that showed how the old house could be made into a +beautiful new house, and yet keep all the original outlines. The +carpenter, pleased with the prospect of doing something really fine, +had undertaken the work and it was going forward rapidly. + +The main walls were to be built around with stone, old stone bought +from the ruins of a desolated barn of forgotten years, stone that was +rusty and golden and green in lovely mellow tones; stone that was gray +with age and mossy in place; now and then a stone that was dead black +to give strength to the coloring of the whole. There were to be +windows, everywhere, wide, low windows, that would let the sunlight in; +and windows that nestled in the sloping, rambling roofs that were to be +stained green like the moss that would grow on them some day. There was +to be a piazza across the entire front with rough stone pillars, and a +stone paved floor up to which the orchard grass would grow in a gentle +terrace. Even now Sam and his helpers were at work starting rose vines +of all varieties, to train about the trellises and twine about the +pillars. Sam had elected that it should be called “Rose Cottage.” Who +would have ever suspected Sam of having any poetry in his nature? + +The great stone fireplace with its ancient crane and place to sit +inside was to be retained, and built about with more stone, and the +partitions between the original sitting-room and dining-room and hall +were to be torn down, to make one splendid living-room of which the old +fireplace should be the centre, with a great window at one side looking +toward the sea, and a deep seat with book cases in the corner. Heavy +beams were somehow to be put in the ceiling to support it, and fine +wood used in the wainscoting and panelling, with rough soft-toned +plaster between and above. The floors were to be smooth, wide boards of +hard wood well fitted. + +A little gable was to be added on the morning-side of the house for a +dining-room, all windows, with a view of the sea on one side and the +river on the other. Upstairs there would be four bedrooms and a +bath-room, all according to the plan to be white wainscoting half-way +up and delicately vined or tinted papers above. + +Michael took great pleasure in going down to look at the house, and +watching the progress that was made with it, as indeed the whole colony +did. They called it “The Boss’s Cottage,” and when they laid off work +at night always took a trip to see what had been done during the day, +men, women and children. It was a sort of sacred pilgrimage, wherein +they saw their own highest dreams coming true for the man they loved +because he had helped them to a future of possibilities. Not a man of +them but wistfully wondered if he would ever get to the place where he +could build him a house like that, and resolved secretly to try for it; +and always the work went better the next day for the visit to the +shrine. + +But after all, Michael would turn from his house with an empty ache in +his heart. What was it for? Not for him. It was not likely he would +ever spend happy hours there. He was not like other men. He must take +his happiness in making others happy. + +But one day a new thought came to him, as he watched the laborers +working out the plan, and bringing it ever nearer and nearer to the +perfect whole. A great desire came to him to have Starr see it some +day, to know what she would think about it, and if she would like it. +The thought occurred to him that perhaps, some time, in the changing of +the world, she might chance near that way, and he have opportunity to +show her the house that he had built—for her! Not that he would ever +tell her that last. She must never know of course that she was the only +one in all the world he could ever care for. That would seem a great +presumption in her eyes. He must keep that to himself. But there would +be no harm in showing her the house, and he would make it now as +beautiful as if she were to occupy it. He would take his joy in making +all things fair, with the hope that she might one day see and approve +it. + +So, as the work drew near its completion he watched it more and more +carefully, matching tints in rooms, and always bringing down some new +idea, or finding some particular bit of furniture that would some day +fit into a certain niche. In that way he cheated the lonely ache in his +heart, and made believe he was happy. + +And another winter drew its white mantle about its shoulders and +prepared to face the blast. + +It bade fair to be a bitter winter for the poor, for everything was +high, and unskilled labor was poorly paid. Sickness and death were +abroad, and lurked in the milk supply, the food supply, the unsanitary +tenements about the alley; which, because it had not been so bad as +some other districts had been left uncondemned. Yet it was bad enough, +and Michael’s hands were full to keep his people alive, and try to keep +some of them from sinning. For always where there is misery, there is +the more sinning. + +Old Sal sat on her doorstep shivering with her tattered shawl about her +shoulders, or when it grew too cold peered from her little muslin +curtained window behind the geranium, to see the dirty white hearse +with its pink-winged angel atop, pass slowly in and out with some +little fragment of humanity; and knew that one day her turn would come +to leave it all and go—! Then she turned back to her little room which +had become the only heaven she knew, and solaced herself with the +contents of a black bottle! + + + + +Chapter XXV + + +During the years of his work in the alley Michael had become known more +and more among workers for the poor, and he found strength in their +brotherhood, though he kept mainly to his own little corner, and had +little time to go out into other fields. But he had formed some very +pleasant distant friendships among workers, and had met prominent men +who were interested in reforms of all sorts. + +He was hurrying back to his boarding place one evening late in January +with his mind full of the old problem of how to reach the mass of +humanity and help them to live in decency so that they might stand some +little chance of being good as well as being alive. + +At the crossing of another avenue he met a man whose eloquence as a +public speaker was only equalled by his indefatigable tirelessness as a +worker among men. + +“Good evening, Endicott,” he said cordially, halting in his rapid walk, +“I wonder if you’re not the very man I want? Will you do me a favor? +I’m in great straits and no time to hunt up anybody.” + +“Anything I can do, Doctor, I am at your service,” said Michael. + +“Good! Thank you!” said the great man. “Are you free this evening for +an hour?” + +“I can be,” said Michael smiling. The other man’s hearty greeting and +warm “thank you” cheered his lonely heart. + +“Well, then you’ll take my place at Madison Square Garden tonight, +won’t you? I’ve just had a telegram that my mother is very ill, perhaps +dying, and I feel that I must go at once. I’m on my way to the station +now. I thought Patton would be at his rooms perhaps and he might help +me out, but they tell me he is out of town on a lecture tour.” + +“Take your place?” said Michael aghast. “That I’m sure I could never +do, Doctor. What were you going to do?” + +“Why, there’s a mass meeting at Madison Square Garden. We’re trying to +get more playgrounds and roof gardens for poor children, you know. I +was to speak about the tenement district, give people a general idea of +what the need is, you know. I’m sure you’re well acquainted with the +subject. They’re expecting some big men there who can be big givers if +they’re touched in the right way. You’re very good to help me out. +You’ll excuse me if I hurry on, it’s almost train time. I want to catch +the six o’clock express West—” + +“But, Doctor,” said Michael in dismay, striding along by his side down +the street, “I really couldn’t do that. I’m not a public speaker, you +know—I never addressed a big audience in my life! Isn’t there some one +else I could get for you?” + +It was odd that while he was saying it the vision of the church filled +with the fashionable world, waiting for a wedding which did not +materialize, came to his thoughts. + +“Oh, that doesn’t make the slightest difference in the world!” said the +worried man. “You know the subject from _a_ to _z_, and I don’t know +another available soul tonight who does. Just tell them what you know, +you needn’t talk long; it’ll be all right anyway. Just smile your smile +and they’ll give all right. Good night, and thank you from my heart! I +must take this cab,” and he hailed a passing cab and sprang inside, +calling out above the city’s din, “Eight o’clock the meeting is. Don’t +worry! You’ll come out all right. It’ll be good practice for your +business.” + +Michael stood still in the middle of the crowded pavement and looked +after the departing cab in dismay. If ever in all his life had he come +to a spot where he felt so utterly inadequate to fill a situation. +Frantically he tried as he started down the street again, to think of +some one else to ask. There seemed to be no one at all who was used to +speaking that knew the subject. The few who knew were either out of +town or at a great distance. He did not know how to reach them in time. +Besides, there was something about Michael that just would not let him +shirk a situation no matter how trying it was to him. It was one of the +first principles he had been taught with football, and before he +reached his boarding place, his chin was up, and his lips firmly set. +Anyone who knew him well would have felt sure Michael was going into a +scrimmage and expected the fighting to be hard. + +It was Will French who dug it out of him after dinner, and laughed and +slapped him gleefully on the shoulder. Will was engaged to Hester now +and he was outrageously happy. + +“Good work, old fellow! You’ve got your chance, now give it to ’em! I +don’t know anybody can do it better. I’d like to bring a millionaire or +two to hear you. You’ve been there, now tell ’em! Don’t frown like +that, old fellow, I tell you you’ve got the chance of your life. Why +don’t you tell ’em about the tenement in the alley?” + +Michael’s face cleared. + +“I hadn’t thought of it, Will. Do you think I could? It isn’t exactly +on the subject. I understood him I was to speak of the tenement in +relation to the Playground.” + +“The very thing,” said Will. “Didn’t he tell you to say what you knew? +Well, give it to ’em straight, and you’ll see those rich old fellows +open their eyes. Some of ’em own some of those old rickety shacks, and +probably don’t know what they own. Tell ’em. Perhaps the old man who +owns our tenement will be there! Who knows?” + +“By the way,” said Michael, his face all alight, “did I tell you that +Milborn told me the other day that they think they’re on track of the +real owner of our tenement? The agent let out something the last time +they talked with him and they think they may discover who he is, though +he’s hidden himself well behind agents for years. If we can find out +who he is we may be able to help him understand what great need there +is for him to make a few changes—” + +“Yes, a few changes!” sneered Will. “Tear down the whole rotten +death-trap and build a new one with light and air and a chance for +human beings to live! Give it to ’em, old man! He may be there +tonight.” + +“I believe I will,” said Michael thoughtfully, the look of winning +beginning to dawn on his speaking face; and he went up to his room and +locked his door. + +When he came out again, Will who was waiting to accompany him to the +meeting saw in his eyes the look of the dreamer, the man who sees into +the future and prophesies. He knew that Michael would not fail in his +speech that night. He gave a knowing look to Hester as she came out to +go with them and Hester understood. They walked behind him quietly for +the most part, or speaking in low tones. They felt the pride and the +anxiety of the moment as much as if they had been going to make the +speech themselves. The angel in the man had dominated them also. + +Now it happened that Starr had come down with her father for a week’s +shopping the last time he ran up to his sister’s and on this particular +evening she had claimed her father’s society. + +“Can’t you stay at home, Daddy dear?” she asked wistfully. “I don’t +want to go to Aunt Frances’ ‘quiet little evening’ one bit. I told her +you needed me tonight as we’ve only a day or two more left before I go +back.” + +Aunt Frances was Starr’s mother’s sister, and as the servants of the +two families agreed mutually, “Just like her, only more so.” Starr had +never been quite happy in her company. + +“Come with me for a little while, daughter. I’m sorry I can’t stay at +home all the evening, but I rather promised I’d drop into a charitable +meeting at Madison Square for a few minutes this evening. They’re +counting on my name, I believe. We won’t need to stay long, and if +you’re with, me it will be easier to get away.” + +“Agreed!” said Starr eagerly, and got herself ready in a twinkling. And +so it came about that as the roll of martial music poured forth from +the fine instruments secured for the occasion, and the leaders and +speakers of the evening, together with the presidents of this Society, +and that Army, or Settlement, or Organization for the Belief and +Benefit of the Poor, filed on to the great platform, that Starr and her +father occupied prominent seats in the vast audience, and joined in the +enthusiasm that spread like a wave before the great American Flag that +burst out in brilliant electric lights of red and white and blue, a +signal that the hour and the moment was come. + +Michael came in with the others, as calmly as though he had spent his +life preparing for the public platform. There was fire in his eyes, the +fire of passion for the people of the slums who were his kin. He looked +over the audience with a throb of joy to think he had so mighty an +opportunity. His pulses were not stirred, because he had no +consciousness of self in this whole performance. His subject was to +live before the people, he himself was nothing at all. He had no fear +but he could tell them, if that was all they wanted. Burning sentences +hot with the blood of souls had been pouring through his mind ever +since he had decided to talk of his people. He was only in a hurry to +begin lest they would not give him time to tell all he knew! All he +knew! Could it ever be told? It was endless as eternity. + +With a strange stirring of her heart Starr recognized him. She felt the +color stealing into her face. She thought her father must notice it, +and cast a furtive glance at him, but he was deep in conversation about +some banking business, so she sat and watched Michael during the +opening exercises and wondered how he came to be there and what was his +office in this thing. Did lawyers get paid for doing something to help +along charitable institutions? She supposed so. He was probably given a +seat on the platform for his pains. Yet she could not help thinking how +fine he looked sitting there in the centre, the place of honor it would +seem. How came he there? He was taller than all the others, whether +sitting or standing, and his fine form and bearing made him exceedingly +noticeable. Starr could hear women about her whispering to their +escorts: “Who is he?” and her heart gave strange little throbs to think +that she knew. It seemed odd to her that she should be taken back by +the sight of him now through all the years to that morning in Florida +when she had kissed him in the chapel. Somehow there seemed something +sweet and tender in the memory and she dwelt upon it, while she watched +him looking calmly over the audience, rising and moving to let another +pass him, bowing and smiling to a noted judge who leaned over to grasp +his hand. Did young lawyers like that get to know noted judges? And +wherever did he get his grace? There was rhythm and beauty in his every +motion. Starr had never had such a splendid opportunity to look at him +before, for in all that sea of faces she knew hers would be lost to +him, and she might watch him at her will. + +“Daddy, did you know that Michael was up there?” she asked after a +while when her father’s friend went back to his seat. + +“Michael? No, where? On the platform? I wonder what in the world he is +doing there? He must be mixed up in this thing somehow, I understand +he’s stuck at his mission work. I tried to stop him several years ago. +Told him it would ruin his prospects, but he was too stubborn to give +up. So he’s here!” + +And Mr. Endicott searched out Michael and studied the beautiful face +keenly, looking in vain for any marks of degradation or fast living. +The head was lifted with its conquering look; the eyes shone forth like +jewels. Michael was a man, a son—to be proud of, he told himself, and +breathed a heavy sigh. That was one time when his stubbornness had not +conquered, and he found himself glad in spite of himself that it had +not. + +The opening exercises were mere preliminary speeches and resolutions, +mixed with music, and interspersed by the introduction of the mayor of +the city and one or two other notables who said a few apathetic words +of commendation for the work in hand and retired on their laurels. “I +understand this Dr. Glidden who is to speak is quite an eloquent +fellow,” said Starr’s father as the President got up to introduce the +speaker of the evening whom all had come to hear. “The man who was just +talking with me says he is really worth hearing. If he grows tiresome +we will slip out. I wonder which one he is? He must be that man with +the iron-gray hair over there.” + +“Oh, I don’t want to go out,” said Starr. “I like it. I never was in a +great meeting like this. I like to hear them cheer.” + +Her cheeks were rosy, for in her heart she was finding out that she had +a great longing to stay there and watch Michael a little longer. + +“I am sorry to have to tell you that our friend and advertised speaker +for the evening was called away by the sudden and serious illness of +his mother, and left for the West on the six o’clock express,” said the +chairman in his inadequate little voice that seemed always straining +beyond its height and never accomplishing anything in the way of being +heard. + +A sigh of disappointment swept over the part of the audience near +enough to the platform to hear, and some men reached for their hats. + +“Well, now that’s a pity,” whispered Endicott. “I guess we better go +before they slip in any dry old substitutes. I’ve been seen here, +that’s enough.” + +But Starr laid a detaining hand on her father’s arm. + +“Wait a little, Daddy,” she said softly. + +“But he has sent a substitute,” went on the chairman, “a man whom he +says is a hundred per cent. better able to talk on the subject than +himself. He spoke to me from the station ’phone just before he left and +told me that he felt that you would all agree he had done well to go +when you had heard the man whom he has sent in his place. I have the +pleasure to introduce to you Mr. Michael Endicott who will speak to you +this evening on the “Needs of the Tenement Dwellers”—Mr. Endicott.” + +Amid the silence that ensued after the feebly-polite applause Michael +rose. For just an instant he stood, looking over the audience and a +strange subtle thrill ran over the vast assemblage. + +Then Michael, insensibly measuring the spacious hall, flung his clear, +beautiful voice out into it, and reached the uttermost bounds of the +room. + +“Did you know that there are in this city now seventy-one thousand +eight hundred and seventy-seven totally dark rooms; some of them +connected with an air-shaft twenty-eight inches wide and seventy feet +deep; many of them absolutely without access to even a dark shaft; and +that these rooms are the only place in the whole wide, beautiful world +for thousands of little children, unless they stay in the street?” + +The sentence shot through the audience like a great deliberate bolt of +lightning that crashed through the hearts of the hearers and tore away +every vestige of their complacency. The people sat up and took notice. +Starr thrilled and trembled, she knew not why. + +“There is a tenement with rooms like this, a ‘dumb-bell’ tenement, it +is called, in the alley where, for aught I know, I was born—” + +“Oh!” The sound swept over the listeners in a great wave like a sob of +protest. Men and women raised their opera glasses and looked at the +speaker again. They asked one another: “Who is he?” and settled quiet +to hear what more he had to say. + +Then Michael went on to tell of three dark little rooms in “his” +tenement where a family of eight, accustomed to better things, had been +forced by circumstances to make their home; and where in the dark the +germs of tuberculosis had been silently growing, until the whole family +were infected. He spoke of a little ten-year-old girl, living in one of +these little dark rooms, pushed down on the street by a playmate, an +accident that would have been thought nothing of in a healthy child, +but in this little one it produced tubercular meningitis and after two +days of agony the child died. He told of a delicate girl, who with her +brother were the sole wage earners of the family, working all day, and +sewing far into the night to make clothes for the little brothers and +sisters, who had fallen prey to the white plague. + +He told instance after instance of sickness and death all resulting +from the terrible conditions in this one tenement, until a delicate, +refined looking woman down in the audience who had dropped in with her +husband for a few minutes on the way to some other gathering, drew her +soft mantle about her shoulders with a shiver and whispered: “Really, +Charles, it can’t be healthy to have such a terrible state of things in +the city where we live. I should think germs would get out and float +around to us. Something ought to be done to clean such low creatures +out of a decent community. Do let’s go now. I don’t feel as if I could +listen to another word. I shan’t be able to enjoy the reception.” + +But the husband sat frowning and listening to the end of the speech, +vouchsafing to her whisper only the single growl: + +“Don’t be a fool, Selina!” + +On and on Michael went, literally taking his audience with him, through +room after room of “his” tenement, showing them horrors they had never +dreamed; giving them now and again a glimmer of light when he told of a +curtained window with fifteen minutes of sun every morning, where a +little cripple sat to watch for her sunbeam, and push her pot of +geraniums along the sill that it might have the entire benefit of its +brief shining. He put the audience into peals of laughter over the wit +of some poor creatures in certain trying situations, showing that a +sense of humor is not lacking in “the other half”; and then set them +weeping over a little baby’s funeral. + +He told them forcibly how hard the workers were trying to clean out and +improve this terrible state of things. How cruelly slow the owner of +this particular tenement was even to cut windows into dark air shafts; +how so far it had been impossible to discover the name of the true +owner of the building, because he had for years successfully hidden +behind agents who held the building in trust. + +The speech closed in a mighty appeal to the people of New York to rise +up in a mass and wipe out this curse of the tenements, and build in +their places light, airy, clean, wholesome dwellings, where people +might live and work and learn the lessons of life aright, and where sin +could find no dark hole in which to hatch her loathsome offspring. + +As Michael sat down amid a burst of applause such as is given to few +speakers, another man stepped to the front of the platform; and the +cheers of commendation were hushed somewhat, only to swell and break +forth again; for this man was one of the city’s great minds, and always +welcome on any platform. He had been asked to make the final appeal for +funds for the playgrounds. It had been considered a great stroke of +luck on the part of the committee to secure him. + +“My friends,” said he when the hush came at last and he could be heard, +“I appreciate your feelings. I would like to spend the remainder of the +night in applauding the man who has just finished speaking.” + +The clamor showed signs of breaking forth again: + +“This man has spoken well because he has spoken from his heart. And he +has told us that he knows whereof he speaks, for he has lived in those +tenement rooms himself, one of the little children like those for whom +he pleads. I am told that he has given almost every evening for four +years out of a busy life which is just opening into great promise, to +help these people of his. I am reminded as I have been listening to him +of Lanier’s wonderful poem, ‘The Marshes of Glynn.’ Do you recall it? + +“‘Ye spread and span like the catholic man who hath mightily won +God out of knowledge, and good out of infinite pain, +And sight out of blindness, and purity out of a stain.’ + + +“Let us get to work at once and do our duty. I see you do not need +urging. My friends, if such a man as this, a prince among men, can come +out of the slums, then the slums are surely worth redeeming.” + +The audience thundered and clamored and thundered again; women sobbed +openly, while the ushers hurried about collecting the eager offerings +of the people, for Michael had won the day and everybody was ready to +give. It sort of helped to get the burden of such a state of things off +their consciences. + +Starr had sat through the whole speech with glowing cheeks and lashes +wet. Her heart throbbed with wonder and a kind of personal pride in +Michael. Somehow all the years that had passed between seemed to have +dropped away and she saw before her the boy who had told her of the +Florida sunset, and filled her with childish admiration over his +beautiful thoughts. His story appealed to her. The lives of the little +ones about whom he had been telling were like his poor neglected +existence before her father took him up; the little lonely life that +had been freely offered to save her own. + +She forgot now all that had passed between, her anger at his not coming +to ride; and after her return from abroad, not coming to call; nor +accepting her invitations; her rage at his interference in her affairs. +Her persistence in her own folly seemed now unspeakable. She was +ashamed of herself. The tears were streaming down her cheeks, but of +this she was quite unaware. + +When the speeches were over and the uproar of applause had somewhat +subsided, Starr turned to her father her face aglow, her lashes still +dewy with tears. Her father had been silent and absorbed. His face was +inscrutable now. He had a way of masking his emotions even to those who +knew him best. + +“Daddy, dear,” whispered Starr, “couldn’t we buy that tenement and +build it over? I should so love to give those little children happy +homes.” + +Endicott turned and looked at his treasured child, her lovely face all +eagerness now. She had infinite faith in her father’s ability to +purchase anything she wanted. The father himself had been deeply +stirred. He looked at her searchingly at first; then yearningly, +tenderly, but his voice was almost gruff as he said: + +“H’m! I’ll see about it!” + +“Couldn’t you let Michael know now, daddy? I think it would be such a +help to him to know that his speech has done some good.” The voice was +very sweet and appealing. “Couldn’t you send him word by one of the +ushers?” + +“H’m! I suppose I could.” Endicott took out his fountain pen and a +business card, and began to write. + +“You don’t suppose, daddy, that the owner will object to selling? There +won’t be any trouble about it that way, will there?” + +“No, I don’t think there’ll be any trouble.” + +Endicott slipped the card into an envelope he found in his pocket and +calling an usher asked him to take it to the platform to Michael. What +he had written was this: + +I suppose you have been talking about my property. Pull the tenement +down if you like and build a model one. I’ll foot the bills. D.E. + + +When Michael, surprised at receiving a communication on the platform, +tore the envelope open and read, his face fairly blazed with glory. +Starr was watching him, and her heart gave a queer little throb of +pleasure at the light in his eyes. The next instant he was on his feet, +and with a whispered word to the chairman, came to the front of the +platform. His raised hand brought instant silence. + +“I have good news. May I share it with you? The owner of that tenement +is in this house, and has sent me word that he will tear it down and +build a model one in its place!” + +The ring in Michael’s voice, and the light on his face was equivalent +to a dozen votes of thanks. The audience rose to its feet and cheered: + +“Daddy! Oh, daddy! Are you the owner?” There was astonishment, reproof, +excuse, and forgiveness all mingled in Starr’s voice. + +“Come Starr,” said her father abruptly, “we’d better go home. This is a +hot noisy place and I’m tired.” + +“Daddy dear! Of course you didn’t know how things were!” said Starr +sweetly. “You didn’t, did you, daddy?” + +“No, I didn’t know,” said Endicott evasively, “that Michael has a great +gift of gab! Would you like to stop and have an ice somewhere, +daughter?” + +“No, daddy, I’d rather go home and plan how to make over that tenement. +I don’t believe I’d enjoy an ice after what I’ve heard tonight. Why is +it some people have so much more than others to start with?” + +“H’m! Deep question, child, better not trouble your brains with it,” +and Starr saw that her father, though deeply moved, did not wish to +discuss the matter. + +The next day Michael called at Endicott’s office but did not find him +in, and wrote a letter out of the overwhelming joy of his heart, asking +permission to call and thank his benefactor and talk over plans. The +following day he received the curt reply: + +Son:—Make your plans to suit yourself. Don’t spare expense within +reason. No thanks needed. I did it for Starr. You made a good speech. + + +Michael choked down his disappointment over this rebuff, and tried to +take all the joy of it. He was not forgiven yet. He might not enter the +sacred precincts of intercourse again; but he was beloved. He could not +help feeling that, because of that “Son” with which the communication +began. And the grudging praise his speech received was more to Michael +than all the adulation that people had been showering upon him since +the night of the mass meeting. But Starr! Starr knew about it. He did +it for Starr! She had wanted it! She had perhaps been there! She must +have been there, or how else would she have known? The thought thrilled +him, and thrilled him anew! Oh, if he might have seen her before him! +But then perhaps he would not have been able to tell his story, and so +it was just as well. But Starr was interested in his work, his plans! +What a wonderful thing to have her work with him even in this indirect +way. Oh, if some day! If—! + +But right here Michael shut down his thoughts and went to work. + + + + +Chapter XXVI + + +Late in January Michael was taking his nightly walk homeward by way of +the Endicott home. He was convinced that Starr was still away from +home, for he had seen no lights now for several weeks in the room that +he knew was her own, but there was always the chance that she might +have returned. + +He was nearing the house when he saw from the opposite direction a man +turn the corner and with halting gait come slowly toward the house and +pause before the steps uncertainly. Something familiar in the man’s +attitude caused Michael to hasten his steps, and coming closer he found +that it was Mr. Endicott himself, and that he stood looking up the +steps of his home as though they had been a difficult hill which he +must climb. + +Michael stopped beside him, saying good evening, the thrill of his +voice conveying his own joy in the meeting in addition to a common +greeting. + +“Is that you, Son?” asked the older man swaying slightly toward him. +“I’m glad you came. I feel strangely dizzy. I wish you’d help me in.” + +Michael’s arm was about the other’s shoulders at once and his ready +strength almost lifted his benefactor up the steps. His steady hand +with the key made short work of the night latch, and without waiting to +call a servant he helped Mr. Endicott up to his room and to his bed. + +The man sank back wearily with a sigh and closed his eyes, then +suddenly roused himself. + +“Thank you, Son; and will you send a message to Starr that I am not +able to come on tonight as I promised? Tell her I’ll likely be all +right tomorrow and will try to come then. You’ll find the address at +the head of the telephone list in the hall there. I guess you’ll have +to ’phone for the doctor. I don’t seem to feel like myself. There must +be something the matter. I think I’ve taken a heavy cold.” + +Michael hurried to the ’phone and called up the physician begging him +to come at once, for he could see that Mr. Endicott was very ill. His +voice trembled as he gave the message to the Western Union over the +’phone. It seemed almost like talking to Starr, though he sent the +telegram in her father’s name. + +The message sent, he hurried back to the sick man, who seemed to have +fallen in a sort of stupor. His face was flushed and hot, the veins in +his temples and neck were throbbing rapidly. In all his healthy life +Michael had seen little of illness, but he recognized it now and knew +it must be a violent attack. If only he knew something to do until the +doctor should arrive! + +Hot water used to be the universal remedy for all diseases at college. +The matron always had some one bring hot water when anyone was ill. +Michael went downstairs to find a servant, but they must all be asleep, +for he had been unusually late in leaving the alley that night. + +However, he found that the bath-room would supply plenty of hot water, +so he set to work to undress his patient, wrap him in a blanket and +soak his feet in hot water. But the patient showed signs of faintness, +and was unable to sit up. A footbath under such conditions was +difficult to administer. The unaccustomed nurse got his patient into +bed again with arduous labor, and was just wondering what to do next +when the doctor arrived. + +Michael watched the grave face of the old doctor as he examined the +sick man, and knew that his intuitions had been right. Mr. Endicott was +very seriously ill. The doctor examined his patient with deliberation, +his face growing more and more serious. At last he stepped out of the +room and motioned Michael to follow him. + +“Are you a relative, young man?” he asked looking at Michael keenly. + +“No, only one who is very much indebted to him.” + +“Well, it’s lucky for him if you feel that indebtedness now. Do you +know what is the matter with him?” + +“No,” said Michael. “He looks pretty sick to me. What is it?” + +“Smallpox!” said the doctor laconically, “and a tough case at that.” +Then he looked keenly at the fine specimen of manhood before him, +noting with alert eye that there had been no blanching of panic in the +beautiful face, no slightest movement as if to get out of the room. The +young man was not a coward, anyway. + +“How long have you been with him?” he asked abruptly. + +“Since I telephoned you,” said Michael, “I happened to be passing the +house and saw him trying to get up the steps alone. He was dizzy, he +said, and seemed glad to have me come to his help.” + +“Have you ever been vaccinated?” + +“No,” said Michael indifferently. + +“The wisest thing for you to do would be to get out of the room at once +and let me vaccinate you. I’ll try to send a nurse to look after him as +soon as possible. Where are the family? Not at home? And the servants +will probably scatter as soon as they learn what’s the matter. A pity +he hadn’t been taken to the hospital, but it’s hardly safe to move him +now. The fact is he is a very sick man, and there’s only one chance in +a hundred of saving him. You’ve run some big risks, taking care of him +this way—” + +“Any bigger than you are running, doctor?” Michael smiled gravely. + +“H’m! Well, it’s my business, and I don’t suppose it is yours. There +are people who are paid for those things. Come get out of this room or +I won’t answer for the consequences.” + +“The consequences will have to answer for themselves, doctor. I’m going +to stay here till somebody better comes to nurse him.” + +Michael’s eyes did not flinch as he said this. + +“Suppose you take the disease?” + +Michael smiled, one of his brilliant smiles that you could almost hear +it was so bright. + +“Why, then I will,” said Michael, “but I’ll stay well long enough to +take care of him until the nurse comes anyway.” + +“You might die!” + +“Of course.” In a tone with not a ruffle in the calm purpose. + +“Well, it’s my duty to tell you that you’d probably be throwing your +life away, for there’s only a chance that he won’t die.” + +“Not throwing it away if I made him suffer a little less. And you said +there was a chance. If I didn’t stay he might miss that chance, +mightn’t he?” + +“Probably.” + +“Can I do anything to help or ease him?” + +“Yes.” + +“Then I stay. I should stay anyway until some one came. I couldn’t +leave him so.” + +“Very well, then. I’m proud to know a man like you. There’s plenty to +be done. Let’s get to work.” + +The hour that followed was filled with instructions and labor. Michael +had no time to think what would become of his work, or anything. He +only knew that this was the present duty and he went forward in it step +by step. Before the doctor left he vaccinated Michael, and gave him +careful directions how to take all necessary precautions for his own +safety; but he knew from the lofty look in the young man’s face, that +these were mere secondary considerations with him. If the need came for +the sake of the patient, all precautions would be flung aside as not +mattering one whit. + +The doctor roused the servants and told them what had happened, and +tried to persuade them to stay quietly in their places, and he would +see that they ran no risks if they obeyed his directions. But to a man +and a woman they were panic stricken; gathering their effects, they, +like the Arabs of old, folded their tents and silently stole away in +the night. Before morning dawned Michael and his patient were in sole +possession of the house. + +Early in the morning there came a call from the doctor. He had not been +able to secure the nurse he hoped to get. Could Michael hold the fort a +few hours longer? He would relieve him sooner if possible, but +experienced nurses for contagious cases were hard to get just now. +There was a great deal of sickness. He might be able to get one this +morning but it was doubtful. He had telephoned everywhere. + +Of course Michael would hold the fort. + +The doctor gave explicit directions, asked a number of questions, and +promised to call as soon as possible. + +Michael, alone in the great silence that the occasional babble of a +delirious person emphasizes in an otherwise empty house, began to think +of things that must be done. Fortunately there was a telephone in the +room. He would not have to leave his patient alone. He called up Will +French and told him in a few words what had happened; laughed +pleasantly at Will’s fears for him; asked him to look after the alley +work and to attend to one or two little matters connected with his +office work which could not be put off. Then he called up Sam at the +farm, for Michael had long ago found it necessary to have a telephone +put in at Old Orchard. + +The sound of Sam’s voice cheered his heart, when, after Michael’s brief +simple explanation of his present position as trained nurse for the +head of the house of Endicott who lay sick of smallpox, Sam responded +with a dismayed “Fer de lub o’ Mike!” + +When Michael had finished all his directions to Sam, and received his +partner’s promise to do everything just as Michael would have done it, +Sam broke out with: + +“Say, does dat ike know what he’s takin’ off’n you?” + +“Who? Mr. Endicott? No, Sam, he doesn’t know anything. He’s delirious.” + +“Ummm!” grunted Sam deeply troubled. “Well, he better fin’ out wen he +gets hisself agin er there’ll be sompin’ comin’ to him.” + +“He’s done a great deal for me, Sam.” + +“Ummm! Well, you’re gettin’ it back on him sure thing now, all right. +Say, you t’ care o’ yer’se’f, Mikky! We-all can’t do nothin’ w’th’ut +yer. You lemme know every day how you be.” + +“Sure Sam!” responded Michael deeply touched by the choking sound of +Sam’s voice. “Don’t you worry. I’m sound as a nut. Nothing’ll happen to +me. The doctor vaccinated me, and I’ll not catch it. You look after +things for me and I’ll be on deck again some day all the better for the +rest.” + +Michael sat back in the chair after hanging up the receiver, his eyes +glistening with moisture. To think the day had come when Sam should +care like that! It was a miracle. + +Michael went back again to the bed to look after his patient, and after +he had done everything that the doctor had said, he decided to +reconnoitre for some breakfast. There must be something in the house to +eat even if the servants had all departed, and he ought to eat so that +his strength should be equal to his task. + +It was late in the morning, nearly half-past ten. The young man hurried +downstairs and began to ransack the pantry. He did not want to be long +away from the upper room. Once, as he was stooping to search the +refrigerator for butter and milk he paused in his work and thought he +heard a sound at the front door, but then all seemed still, and he +hurriedly put a few things on a tray and carried them upstairs. He +might not be able to come down again for several hours. But when he +reached the top of the stairs he heard a voice, not his patient’s, but +a woman’s voice, sweet and clear and troubled: + +“Daddy! Oh, daddy dear! Why don’t you speak to your little girl? What +is the matter? Can’t you understand me? Your face and your poor hands +are so hot, they burn me. Daddy, daddy dear!” + +It was Starr’s voice and Michael’s heart stood still with the thrill of +it, and the instant horror of it. Starr was in there in the room of +death with her father. She was exposed to the terrible contagion; she, +the beautiful, frail treasure of his heart! + +He set the tray down quickly on the hall table and went swiftly to the +door. + +She sat on the side of the bed, her arms about her father’s unconscious +form and her head buried in his neck, sobbing. + +For an instant Michael was frozen to the spot with horror at her +dangerous situation. If she had wanted to take the disease she could +not have found a more sure way of exposing herself. + +The next instant Michael’s senses came back and without stopping to +think he sprang forward and caught her up in his arms, bearing her from +the room and setting her down at the bath-room door. + +“Oh, Starr! what have you done!” he said, a catch in his voice like a +sob, for he did not know what he was saying. + +Starr, frightened, struggling, sobbing, turned and looked at him. + +“Michael! How did you come to be here? Oh, what is the matter with my +father?” + +“Go wash your hands and face quickly with this antiseptic soap,” he +commanded, all on the alert now, and dealing out the things the doctor +had given him for his own safety, “and here! rinse your mouth with this +quickly, and gargle your throat! Then go and change your things as +quick as you can. Your father has the smallpox and you have been in +there close to him.” + +“The smallpox!” + +“Hurry!” commanded Michael, handing her the soap and turning on the hot +water. + +Starr obeyed him because when Michael spoke in that tone people always +did obey, but her frightened eyes kept seeking his face for some +reassurance. + +“The smallpox! Oh, Michael! How dreadful! But how do you know? Has the +doctor been here? And how did you happen to be here?” + +“I was passing last night when your father came home and he asked me to +help him in. Yes, the doctor was here, and will soon come again and +bring a nurse. Now hurry! You must get away from the vicinity of this +room!” + +“But I’m not going away!” said Starr stubbornly. “I’m going to stay by +my father. He’ll want me.” + +“Your father would be distressed beyond measure if he knew that you +were exposed to such terrible danger. I know that he would far rather +have you go away at once. Besides, he is delirious, and your presence +cannot do him any good now. You must take care of yourself, so that +when he gets well you will be well too, and able to help him get back +into health again.” + +“But you are staying.” + +“It does not matter about me,” said Michael, “there is no one to care. +Besides, I am a man, and perfectly strong. I do not think I will take +the disease. Now please take off those things you wore in there and get +something clean that has not been in the room and go away from here as +quickly as you can.” + +Michael had barely persuaded her to take precautions when the doctor +arrived with a nurse and the promise of another before night. + +He scolded Starr thoroughly for her foolhardiness in going into her +father’s room. He had been the family physician ever since she was +born, knew her well; and took the privilege of scolding when he liked. +Starr meekly succumbed. There was just one thing she would not do, and +that was to go away out of the house while her father remained in so +critical a condition. The doctor frowned and scolded, but finally +agreed to let her stay. And indeed it seemed as if perhaps it was the +only thing that could be done; for she had undoubtedly been exposed to +the disease, and was subject to quarantine. There seemed to be no place +to which she could safely go, where she could be comfortable, and the +house was amply large enough for two or three parties to remain in +quarantine in several detachments. + +There was another question to be considered. The nurses would have +their hands full with their patient. Some one must stay in the house +and look after things, see that they needed nothing, and get some kind +of meals. Starr, of course, knew absolutely nothing about cooking, and +Michael’s experience was limited to roasting sweet potatoes around a +bonfire at college, and cooking eggs and coffee at the fireplace on the +farm. But a good cook to stay in a plague-stricken dwelling would be a +thing of time, if procurable at all; so the doctor decided to accept +the willing services of these two. Starr was established in her own +room upstairs, which could be shut away from the front part of the +house by a short passage-way and two doors, with access to the lower +floor by means of the back stairs; and Michael made a bed of the soft +couch in the tiny reception room where he had twice passed through +trying experiences. Great curtains kept constantly wet with antiseptics +shut away the sick room and adjoining apartments from the rest of the +house. + +It was arranged that Michael should place such supplies as were needed +at the head of the stairs, just outside the guarding curtains, and the +nurses should pass all dishes through an antiseptic bath before sending +them downstairs again. The electric bells and telephones with which the +house was well supplied made it possible for them to communicate with +one another without danger of infection. + +Starr was at once vaccinated and the two young people received many +precautions, and injunctions, with medicine and a strict régime; and +even then the old doctor shook his head dubiously. If those two +beautiful faces should have to pass through the ordeal of that dread +disease his old heart would be quite broken. All that skill and science +could do to prevent it should be done. + +So the house settled down to the quiet of a daily routine; the busy +city humming and thundering outside, but no more a part of them than if +they had been living in a tomb. The card of warning on the door sent +all the neighbors in the block scurrying off in a panic to Palm Beach +or Europe; and even the strangers passed by on the other side. The +grocery boy and the milkman left their orders hurriedly on the front +steps and Michael and Starr might almost have used the street for an +exercise ground if they had chosen, so deserted had it become. + +But there was no need for them to go farther than the door in front, +for there was a lovely side and back yard, screened from the street by +a high wall, where they might walk at will when they were not too busy +with their work; which for their unskilled hands was hard and +laborious. Nevertheless, their orders were strict, and every day they +were out for a couple of hours at least. To keep from getting chilled, +Michael invented all sorts of games when they grew tired of just +walking; and twice after a new fall of snow they went out and had a +game of snowballing, coming in with glowing faces and shining eyes, to +change wet garments and hurry back to their kitchen work. But this was +after the first few serious days were passed, and the doctor had given +them hope that if all went well there was a good chance of the patient +pulling through. + +They settled into their new life like two children who had known each +other a long time. All the years between were as if they had not been. +They made their blunders; were merry over their work; and grew into +each other’s companionship charmingly. Their ideas of cooking were most +primitive and had it not been possible to order things sent in from +caterers they and the nurses might have been in danger of starving to +death. But as it was, what with telephoning to the nurses for +directions, and what with studying the recipes on the outside of boxes +of cornstarch and farina and oatmeal and the like that they found in +the pantry, they were learning day by day to do a little more. + +And then, one blessed day, the dear nurse Morton walked in and took off +her things and stayed. Morton had been on a long-delayed visit to her +old father in Scotland that winter; but when she saw in the papers the +notice of the calamity that had befallen the house of her old employer, +she packed her trunk and took the first steamer back to America. Her +baby, and her baby’s father needed her, and nothing could keep Morton +away after that. + +Her coming relieved the situation very materially, for though she had +never been a fancy cook, she knew all about good old-fashioned Scotch +dishes, and from the first hour took up her station in the kitchen. +Immediately comfort and orderliness began to reign, and Starr and +Michael had time on their hands that was not spent in either eating, +sleeping, working or exercise. + +It was then that they began to read together, for the library was +filled with all the treasures of literature, to many of which Michael +had never had access save through the public libraries, which of course +was not as satisfactory as having books at hand when one had a bit of +leisure in a busy life. Starr had been reading more than ever before +this winter while with her aunt, and entered into the pleasant +companionship of a book together with zest. + +Then there were hours when Starr played softly, and sang, for the piano +was far from the sick room and could not be heard upstairs. Indeed, if +it had not been for the anxious struggle going on upstairs, these two +would have been having a beautiful time. + +For all unknowing to themselves they were growing daily into a dear +delight in the mere presence of one another. Even Michael, who had long +ago laid down the lines between which he must walk through life, and +never expected to be more to Starr than a friend and protector, did not +realize whither this intimate companionship was tending. When he +thought of it at all he thought that it was a precious solace for his +years of loneliness; a time that must be enjoyed to the full, and +treasured in memory for the days of barrenness that must surely follow. + +Upstairs the fight went on day after day, until at last one morning the +doctor told them that it had been won, that the patient, though very +much enfeebled, would live and slowly get back his strength. + +That was a happy morning. The two caught each, other’s hands and +whirled joyously round the dining-room when they heard it; and Morton +came in with her sleeves rolled up, and her eyes like two blue lakes +all blurred with raindrops in the sunlight. Her face seemed like a +rainbow. + +The next morning the doctor looked the two over before he went upstairs +and set a limit to their quarantine. If they kept on doing well they +would be reasonably safe from taking the disease. It would be a +miracle, almost, if neither of them took it; but it began to look as if +they were going to be all right. + +Now these two had been so absorbed in one another that they had thought +very little about the danger of their taking the disease themselves. If +either had been alone in the house with nothing to do but brood it +would have probably been the sole topic of thought, but their healthy +busy hours had helped the good work on, and so they were coming safely +out from under the danger. + +It was one bright morning when they were waiting for the doctor to come +that Michael was glancing over the morning paper, and Starr trying a +new song she had sent for that had just come in the mail the evening +before. She wanted to be able to play it for Michael to sing. + +Suddenly Michael gave a little exclamation of dismay, and Starr, +turning on the piano stool, saw that his face was white and he was +staring out of the window with a drawn, sad look about his mouth and +eyes. + +“What is it?” she asked in quick, eager tones of sympathy, and Michael +turning to look at her vivid beauty, his heart thrilling with the sound +of her voice, suddenly felt the wide gulf that had always been between +them, for what he had read in the paper had shaken him from his happy +dream and brought him back to a sudden realization of what he was. + +The item in the paper that had brought about this rude awakening was an +account of how Buck had broken jail and escaped. Michael’s great heart +was filled with trouble about Buck; and instantly he remembered that he +belonged to the same class with Buck; and not at all in the charmed +circle where Starr moved. + +He looked at the girl with grave, tender eyes, that yet seemed to be +less intimate than they had been all these weeks. Her sensitive nature +felt the difference at once. + +He let her read the little item. + +Starr’s face softened with ready sympathy, and a mingling of +indignation. “He was one of those people in your tenements you have +been trying to help?” she questioned, trying to understand his look. +“He ought to have been ashamed to get into jail after you had been +helping him. Wasn’t he a sort of a worthless fellow?” + +“No,” said Michael in quick defense, “he never had a chance. And he was +not just one of those people, he was _the_ one. He was the boy who took +care of me when I was a little fellow, and who shared everything he +had, hard crust or warm cellar door, with me. I think he loved me—” + +There was something in Michael’s face and voice that warned Starr these +were sacred precincts, where she must tread lightly if she did not wish +to desecrate. + +“Tell me about him,” she breathed softly. + +So Michael, his eyes tender, his voice gentle, because she had cared to +know, told her eloquently of Buck, till when he had finished her eyes +were wet with tears; and she looked so sweet that he had to turn his +own eyes away to keep from taking the lovely vision into his arms and +kissing her. It was a strange wild impulse he had to do this, and it +frightened him. Suppose some day he should forget himself, and let her +see how he had dared to love her? That must never be. He must put a +watch upon himself. This sweet friendship she had vouchsafed him must +never be broken by word, look or action of his. + +And from that morning there came upon his manner a change, subtle, +intangible,—but a change. + +They read and talked together, and Michael opened his heart to her as +he had not yet done, about his work in the alley, his farm colony, and +his hopes for his people; Starr listened and entered eagerly into his +plans, yet felt the change that had come upon him, and her troubled +spirit knew not what it was. + + + + +Chapter XXVII + + +All this while Michael had been in daily communication with Sam, as +well as with Will French, who with Hester’s help had kept the rooms in +the alley going, though they reported that the head had been sorely +missed. + +Sam had reported daily progress with the house and about two weeks +before Michael’s release from quarantine announced that everything was +done, even to the papering of the walls and oiling of the floors. + +A fire had been burning in the furnace and fireplaces for several +weeks, so the plaster was thoroughly dry, and it was Michael’s plan +that Starr and her father were to go straight down to the farm as soon +as they were free to leave the house. + +To this end Hester and Will had been given daily commissions to +purchase this and that needful article of furniture, until now at last +Michael felt that the house would be habitable for Starr and her +precious invalid. + +During the entire winter Michael had pleased himself in purchasing rugs +here and there, and charming, fitting, furniture for the house he was +building. A great many things,—the important things,—had already been +selected, and Michael knew he could trust Hester’s taste for the rest. +For some reason he had never said much to Starr about either Hester or +Will, perhaps because they had always seemed to him to belong to one +another, and thus were somewhat set apart from his own life. + +But one morning, Starr, coming into the library where Michael was +telephoning Hester about some last purchases she was making, overheard +these words: “All right Hester, you’ll know best of course, but I think +you better make it a dozen instead of a half. It’s better to have too +many than too few; and we might have company, you know.” + +Now, of course, Starr couldn’t possibly be supposed to know that it was +a question of dishes that was being discussed so intimately. In fact, +she did not stop to think what they were talking about; she only knew +that he had called this other girl “Hester”; and she suddenly became +aware that during all these weeks of pleasant intercourse, although she +had addressed him as Michael, he had carefully avoided using any name +at all for her, except on one or two occasions, substituting pronouns +wherever possible. She had not noticed this before, but when she heard +that “Hester” in his pleasant tones, her heart, brought the fact before +her at once for invoice. Who was this girl Hester? And why was she +Hestered so carelessly as though he had a right? Could it be possible +that Michael was engaged to her? Why had she never thought of it +before? Of course it would be perfectly natural. This other girl had +been down in his dear alley, working shoulder to shoulder with him all +these years, and it was a matter of course that he must love her, +Starr’s bright morning that but a moment before had been filled with so +much sunshine seemed suddenly to cloud over with a blackness that +blotted out all the joy; and though she strove to hide it even from +herself, her spirit was heavy with something she did not understand. + +That evening Michael came into the library unexpectedly. He had been +out in the kitchen helping Morton to open a box that was refractory. He +found the room entirely dark, and thought he heard a soft sound like +sobbing in one corner of the room. + +“Starr!” he said. “Starr, is that you?” nor knew that he had called her +by her name, though she knew it very well indeed. She kept quite still +for an instant, and then she rose from the little crumpled heap in the +corner of the leather couch where she had dropped for a minute in the +dark to cry out the strange ache of her heart when she thought Michael +was safely in the kitchen for a while. + +“Why, yes, Michael!” she said, and her voice sounded choky, though she +was struggling to make it natural. + +Michael stepped to the doorway and turned on the hall lights so that he +could dimly see her little figure standing in the shadow. Then he came +over toward her, his whole heart yearning over her, but a mighty +control set upon himself. + +“What is the matter—dear?” He breathed the last word almost under his +breath. He actually did not realize that he had spoken it aloud. It +seemed to envelope her with a deep tenderness. It broke her partial +self-control entirely and she sobbed again for a minute before she +could speak. + +Oh, if he but dared to take that dear form into his arms and comfort +her! If he but dared! But he had no right! + +Michael stood still and struggled with his heart, standing quite near +her, yet not touching her. + +“Oh, my dear!” he breathed to himself, in an agony of love and +self-restraint. But she did not hear the breath. She was engaged in a +struggle of her own, and she seemed to remember that Hester-girl, and +know her duty. She must not let him see how she felt, not for anything +in the world. He was kind and tender. He had always been. He had denied +himself and come here to stay with them in their need because of his +gratitude toward her father for all he had done for him; and he had +breathed that “dear” as he would have done to any little child of the +tenement whom he found in trouble. Oh, she understood, even while she +let the word comfort her lonely heart. Why, oh why had she been left to +trifle with a handsome scoundrel? Why hadn’t she been worthy to have +won the love of a great man like this one? + +These thoughts rushed through her brain so rapidly that they were not +formulated at all. Not until hours afterward did she know they had been +thought; but afterwards she sorted them out and put them in array +before her troubled heart. + +A minute she struggled with her tears, and then in a sweet little +voice, like a tired, naughty child she broke out: + +“Oh, Michael, you’ve been so good to me—to us, I mean—staying here all +these weeks and not showing a bit of impatience when you had all that +great work in the world to do—and I’ve just been thinking how perfectly +horrid I was to you last winter—the things I said and wrote to you—and +how I treated you when you were trying to save me from an awful fate! +I’m so ashamed, and so thankful! It all came over me tonight what I +owed you, and I can’t ever thank you. Can you forgive me for the horrid +way I acted, and for passing you on the street that Sunday without +speaking to you—I’m so ashamed! Will you forgive me?” + +She put out her little hands with a pathetic motion toward him in the +half light of the room, and he took them in both his great warm ones +and held them in his firm grasp, his whole frame thrilling with her +sweet touch. “Forgive you, little Starr!” he breathed—“I never blamed +you—” And there is no telling what might not have happened if the +doctor had not just then unexpectedly arrived to perfect the +arrangements for their going to the farm. + +When Michael returned from letting the doctor out, Starr had fled +upstairs to her room; when they met the next morning it was with the +bustle of preparation upon them; and each cast shy smiling glances +toward the other. Starr knew that she was forgiven, but she also knew +that there was a wall reared between them that had not been there +before, and her heart ached with the knowledge. Nevertheless, it was a +happy morning, and one could not be absolutely miserable in the company +of Michael, with a father who was recovering rapidly, and the prospect +of seeing him and going with him into the beautiful out-of-doors within +a few hours. + +Michael went about the work of preparing to go with a look of solemn +joy. Solemn because he felt that the wonderful companionship he had had +alone with Starr was so soon to end. Joyful because he could be with +her still and know she had passed through the danger of the terrible +disease and come safely out of the shadow with her beauty as vivid as +ever. Besides, he might always serve her, and they were friends now, +not enemies—that was a great deal! + +The little world of Old Orchard stood on tiptoe that lovely spring +morning when the party came down. The winding road that led to the +cottage was arched all over with bursting bloom, for the apple trees +had done their best at decorating for the occasion and made a wondrous +canopy of pink and white for Starr to see as she passed under. + +Not a soul was in sight as they drove up to the cottage save Sam, +standing respectfully to receive them in front of the piazza, and +Lizzie, vanishing around the corner of the cottage with her pretty boy +toddling after—for Lizzie had come down to be a waitress at Rose +Cottage for the summer;—but every soul on the farm was watching at a +safe distance. For Sam, without breathing a word, had managed to convey +to them all the knowledge that those who were coming as their guests +were beloved of Michael, their angel-hearted man. As though it had been +a great ceremony they stood in silent, adoring groups behind a row of +thick hedges and watched them arrive, each one glorying in the beauty +of her whom in their hearts they called “the boss’s girl.” + +The room stood wide and inviting to receive them. There was a fire of +logs on the great hearth, and a deep leather chair drawn up before it, +with a smaller rocker at one side, and a sumptuous leather coach for +the invalid just to the side of the fireplace, where the light of the +flames would not strike the eyes, yet the warmth would reach him. Soft +greens and browns were blended in the silk pillows that were piled on +the couch and on the seats that appeared here and there about the walls +as if they grew by nature. The book-case was filled with Michael’s +favorites, Will French had seen to this, and a few were scattered on +the big table where a green shaded lamp of unique design, a freshly cut +magazine, and a chair drawn at just the right angle suggested a +pleasant hour in the evening. There were two or three pictures—these +Michael had selected at intervals as he learned to know more about art +from his study at the exhibitions. + +“Oh!” breathed Starr. “How lovely! It is a real home!” and the thought +struck her that it would probably be Michael’s and Hester’s some day. +However, she would not let shadows come spoiling her good time now, for +it _was_ her good time and she had a right to it; and she too was happy +in the thought that she and Michael were friends, the kind of friends +that can never be enemies again. + +The invalid sank into the cushions of the couch with a pleased light in +his eyes and said: “Son, this is all right. I’m glad you bought the +farm,” and Michael turned with a look of love to the man who had been +the only father he had ever known. It was good, good to be reconciled +with him, and to know that he was on the road to health once more. + +The doctor who had come down with them looked about with satisfaction. + +“I don’t see but you are fixed,” he said to Endicott. “I wouldn’t mind +being in your shoes myself. Wish I could stay and help you enjoy +yourself. If I had a pair of children like those I’d give up work and +come buy a farm alongside, and settle down for life.” + +The days at the farm passed in a sort of charmed existence for Starr +and her father. Everything they needed seemed to come as if by magic. +Every wish of Starr’s was anticipated, and she was waited upon +devotedly by Lizzie, who never by so much as a look tried to win +recognition. Starr, however, always keen in her remembrances, knew and +appreciated this. + +After the first two days Michael was back and forth in the city. His +business, which had been steadily growing before his temporary +retirement from the world, had piled up and was awaiting his attention. +His work in the alley called loudly for him every night, yet he managed +to come down to the farm often and spent all his Sundays there. + +It was one Saturday evening about three weeks after their arrival at +the farm, when they were all seated cosily in the living room of the +cottage, the invalid resting on the couch in the shadow, Starr seated +close beside him, the firelight glowing on her face, her hand in her +father’s; and Michael by the table with, a fresh magazine which he was +about to read to them, that a knock came at the door. + +Opening the door, Michael found Sam standing on the piazza, and another +dark form huddled behind Him. + +“Come out here, can’t yer, Buck’s here!” whispered Sam. + +“Buck!” Michael spoke the word with a joyful ring that thrilled Starr’s +heart with sympathy as she sat listening, her ears alert with interest. + +“I’m so glad! So glad!” said Michael’s voice again, vibrant with real +welcome. “Come in, Buck, I’ve a friend in here who knows all about you. +No, don’t be afraid. You’re perfectly safe. What? Through the windows? +Well, we’ll turn the light out and sit in the firelight. You can go +over in that corner by the fireplace. No one will see you. The shades +are down.” + +Michael’s voice was low, and he stood within the doorway, but Starr, +because she understood the need, heard every word. + +There was dissent in a low whisper outside, and then Sam’s voice +growled, “Go on in, Buck, ef he says so.” and Buck reluctantly entered, +followed by Sam. + +Buck was respectably dressed in an old suit of Sam’s, with his hands +and face carefully washed and his hair combed. Sam had imbibed ideas +and was not slow to impart them. But Buck stood dark and frowning +against the closed door, his hunted eyes like black coals in a setting +of snow, went furtively around the room in restless vigilance. His body +wore the habitual air of crouching alertness. He started slightly when +anyone moved or spoke to him. Michael went quickly over to the table +and turned down the lamp. + +“You won’t mind sitting in the firelight, will you?” he said to Starr +in a low tone, and her eyes told him that she understood. + +“Come over here, Buck,” said Michael motioning toward the sheltered +corner on the other side of the fireplace from where Starr was sitting. +“This is one of my friends, Miss Endicott, Mr. Endicott. Will you +excuse us if we sit here and talk a few minutes? Miss Endicott, you +remember my telling you of Buck?” + +Starr with sudden inspiration born of the moment, got up and went over +to where the dark-browed Buck stood frowning and embarrassed in the +chimney corner and put out her little roseleaf of a hand to him. Buck +looked at it in dismay and did not stir. + +“Why don’t yer shake?” whispered Sam. + +Then with a grunt of astonishment Buck put out his rough hand and +underwent the unique experience of holding a lady’s hand in his. The +hunted eyes looked up startled to Starr’s and like a flash he saw a +thought. It was as if her eyes knew Browning’s poem and could express +his thought to Buck in language he could understand: + +“All I could never be, +All men ignored in me, +This, I was worth to God, whose wheel the pitcher shaped.” + + +Somehow, Starr, with her smile and her eyes, and her gentle manner, +unknowingly conveyed that thought to Buck! Poor, neglected, sinful +Buck! And Michael, looking on, knew what she had done, and blessed her +in his heart. + +Buck sat down in the chimney corner, half in shadow with the lights +from the great log flaring over his face. The shades were all drawn +down, the doors were closed. He was surrounded by friendly faces. For a +few minutes the hunted eyes ceased their roving round the room, and +rested on Starr’s sweet face as she sat quietly, holding her father’s +hand. It was a sight such as poor Buck’s eyes had never rested upon in +the whole of his checkered existence, and for the moment he let the +sweet wonder of it filter into his dark, scarred soul, with blessed +healing. Then he looked from Starr to Michael’s fine face near by, +tender with the joy of Buck’s coming, anxious with what might be the +outcome; and for a moment the heavy lines in forehead and brow that +Buck had worn since babyhood softened with a tender look. Perhaps ’tis +given, once to even the dullest soul to see, no matter how low fallen, +just what he might have been. + +They had been sitting thus for about fifteen minutes, quietly talking. +Michael intended to take Buck upstairs soon and question him, but, +first he wanted time to think what he must do. Then suddenly a loud +knock startled them all, and as Michael rose to go to the door there +followed him the resounding clatter of the tongs falling on the hearth. + +A voice with a knife edge to it cut through the room and made them all +shiver. + +“Good evening, Mr. Endicott!” it said. “I’m sorry to trouble you, but +I’ve come on a most unpleasant errand. We’re after an escaped criminal, +and he was seen to enter your door a few minutes ago. Of course I know +your goodness of heart. You take ’em all in, but this one is a jail +bird! You’ll excuse me if I take him off your hands. I’ll try to do it +as quietly and neatly as possible.” + +The big, blustery voice ceased and Michael, looking at the sinister +gleam of dull metal in the hands of the men who accompanied the county +sheriff, knew that the crisis was upon him. The man, impatient, was +already pushing past him into the room. It was of no sort of use to +resist. He flung the door wide and turned with the saddest look Starr +thought she ever had seen on the face of a man: + +“I know,” he said, and his voice was filled with sorrow, “I know—but—he +was one whom I loved!” + +“Wasted love! Mr. Endicott. Wasted love. Not one of ’em worth it!” +blustered the big man walking in. + +Then Michael turned and faced the group around the fireplace and +looking from one to another turned white with amazement, for Buck was +not among them! + +Starr sat beside her father in just the same attitude she had held +throughout the last fifteen minutes, his hand in hers, her face turned, +startled, toward the door, and something inscrutable in her eyes. Sam +stood close beside the fireplace, the tongs which he had just picked up +in his hands, and a look of sullen rage upon his face. Nowhere in the +whole wide room was there a sign of Buck, and there seemed no spot +where he could hide. The door into the dining-room was on the opposite +wall, and behind it the cheerful clatter of the clearing off of the +table could be plainly heard. If Buck had escaped that way there would +have been an outcry from Morton or the maid. Every window had its shade +closely drawn. + +The sheriff looked suspiciously at Michael whose blank face plainly +showed he had no part in making way with the outlaw. The men behind him +looked sharply round and finished with a curious gaze at Starr. Starr, +rightly interpreting the scene, rose to the occasion. + +“Would they like to look behind this couch?” she said moving quickly to +the other side of the fireplace over toward the window, with a warning +glance toward Sam. + +Then while the men began a fruitless search around the room, looking in +the chimney closet, and behind the furniture, she took up her stand +beside the corner window. + +It had been Michael’s thoughtfulness that had arranged that all the +windows should have springs worked by the pressing of a button like +some car windows, so that a touch would send them up at will. + +Only Sam saw Starr’s hand slide under the curtain a second, and +unfasten the catch at the top; then quickly down and touch the button +in the window sill. The window went up without a noise, and in a moment +more the curtain was moving out gently puffed by the soft spring +breeze, and Starr had gone back to her father’s side. “I cannot +understand it,” said Michael, “he was here a moment ago!” + +The sheriff who had been nosing about the fireplace turned and came +over to the window, sliding up the shade with a motion and looking out +into the dark orchard. + +“H’m! That’s where he went, boys,” he said. “After him quick! We ought +to have had a watch at each window as well as at the back. Thank you, +Mr. Endicott! Sorry to have troubled you. Good night!” and the sheriff +clattered after his men. + +Sam quickly pulled down the window, fastening it, and turned a look of +almost worshipful understanding on Starr. + +“Isn’t that fire getting pretty hot for such a warm night?” said Starr +pushing back the hair from her forehead and bright cheeks. “Sam, +suppose you get a little water and pour over that log. I think we will +not need any more fire tonight anyway.” + +And Sam, quickly hastened to obey, his mouth stretching in a broad grin +as he went out the door. + +“She’d make a peach of a burglar,” he remarked to himself as he filled +a bucket with water and hurried back with it to the fire. + +Michael, in his strait betwixt law and love, was deeply troubled and +had followed the men out into the dark orchard. + +“Daddy, I think you’d better get up to your room. This excitement has +been too much for you,” said Starr decidedly. + +But Mr. Endicott demurred. He had been interested in the little drama +that had been enacted before him, and he wanted to sit up and see the +end of it. He was inclined to blame Michael for bringing such a fellow +into Starr’s presence. + +But Starr laughingly bundled him off to bed and sat for an hour reading +to him, her heart all the time in a flutter to know how things came +out, wondering if Sam surely understood, and put out the fire; and if +it would be safe for her to give him any broader hint. + +At midnight, Michael lay broad awake with troubled spirit, wondering +over and over if there was anything he might have done for Buck if he +had only done it in time—anything that would have been right to do. + +Softly, cautiously a man stole out of the darkness of the orchard until +he came and stood close to the old chimney, and then, softly stealing +on the midnight summer air there came a peculiar sibilant sound, clear, +piercing, yet blending with the night, and leaving no trace behind of +its origin. One couldn’t tell from whence it came. But Michael, keeping +vigil, heard, and rose upon his elbow, alert, listening. Was that Buck +calling him? It came again, softer this time, but distinct. Michael +sprang from his bed and began hastily throwing on his garments. That +call should never go unanswered! + +Stealthily, in the light of the low, late moon, a dark figure stole +forth from the old chimney top, climbed down on the ladder that had +been silently tilted against it, helped to lay the ladder back +innocently in the deep grass again, and joining the figure on the +ground crept away toward the river where waited a boat. + +Buck lay down, in the bottom of the boat, covered with a piece of +sacking, and Sam took up the oars, when a long, sibilant whistle like a +night bird floated keenly through the air. Buck started up and turned +suspicious eyes on Sam: + +“What’s that?” + +“It’s Mikky, I reckon,” said Sam softly, reverently. “He couldn’t +sleep. He’s huntin’ yer!” + +Buck lay down with a sound that was almost a moan and the boat took up +its silent glide toward safety. + +“It’s fierce ter leave him this ’a’way!” muttered Buck, “Yous tell him, +won’t yer, an’ her—she’s a ly-dy, she is. She’s all white! Tell her +Buck’ll do ez much fer her some day ef he ever gits the chanct.” + +“In doin’ fer her you’d be doin’ fer him, I spekullate,” said Sam after +a long pause. + +“So?” said Buck + +“So,” answered Sam. And that was the way Sam told Buck of the identity +of Starr. + +Now Starr, from her darkened window beside the great chimney, had +watched the whole thing. She waited until she saw Michael come slowly, +sadly back from his fruitless search through the mist before the +dawning, alone, with bowed head; and her heart ached for the problem +that was filling him with sorrow. + + + + +Chapter XXVIII + + +Starr was coming up to the city for a little shopping on the early +morning train with Michael. The summer was almost upon her and she had +not prepared her apparel. Besides, she was going away in a few days to +be bridesmaid at the wedding of an old school friend who lived away out +West; and secretly she told herself she wanted the pleasure of this +little trip to town with Michael. + +She was treasuring every one of these beautiful days filled with +precious experiences, like jewels to be strung on memory’s chain, with +a vague unrest lest some close-drawing future was to snatch them from +her forever. She wished with all her heart that she had given a decided +refusal to her friend’s pleading, but the friend had put off the +wedding on her account to wait until she could leave her father; and +her father had joined his insistance that she should go away and have +the rest and change after the ordeal of the winter. So Starr seemed to +have to go, much as she would rather have remained. She had made a +secret vow to herself that she would return at once after the wedding +in spite of all urgings to remain with the family who had invited her +to stay all summer with them. Starr had a feeling that the days of her +companionship with Michael might be short. She must make the most of +them. It might never be the same again after her going away. She was +not sure even that her father would consent to remain all summer at the +farm as Michael urged. + +And on this lovely morning she was very happy at the thought of going +with Michael. The sea seemed sparkling with a thousand gems as the +train swept along its shore, and Michael told her of his first coming +down to see the farm, called her attention to the flowers along the +way: and she assured him Old Orchard was far prettier than any of them, +now that the roses were all beginning to bud. It would soon be Rose +Cottage indeed! + +Then the talk fell on Buck and his brief passing. + +“I wonder where he can be and what he is doing,” sighed Michael. “If he +only could have stayed, long enough for me to have a talk with him. I +believe I could have persuaded him to a better way. It is the greatest +mystery in the world how he got away with those men watching the house. +I cannot understand it.” + +Starr, her cheeks rosy, her eyes shining mischievously, looked up at +him. + +“Haven’t you the least suspicion where he was hiding?” she asked. + +Michael looked down at her with a sudden start, and smiled into her +lovely eyes. + +“Why, no. Have you?” he said, and could not keep the worship from his +gaze. + +“Of course. I knew all the time. Do you think it was very dreadful for +me not to tell? I couldn’t bear to have him caught that way before +you’d had a chance to help him; and when he used to be so good to you +as a little boy; besides, I saw his face, that terrible, hunted look; +there wasn’t anything really wrong in my opening that window and +throwing them off the track, was there?” + +“Did you open the window?” + +Starr nodded saucily. “Yes, and Sam saw me do it. Sam knew all about +it. Buck went up the chimney right through that hot fire. Didn’t you +hear the tongs fall down? He went like a flash before you opened the +door, and one foot was still in sight when that sheriff came in. I was +so afraid he’d see it. Was it wrong?” + +“I suppose it was,” he said sadly. “The law must be maintained. It +can’t be set aside for one fellow who has touched one’s heart by some +childhood’s action. But right or wrong I can’t help being glad that you +cared to do something for poor Buck.” + +“I think I did it mostly for—you?” she said softly, her eyes still +down. + +For answer, Michael reached out his hand and took her little gloved one +that lay in her lap in a close pressure for just an instant. Then, as +if a mighty power were forcing him, he laid it gently down again and +drew his hand away. + +Starr felt the pressure of that strong hand and the message that it +gave through long days afterward, and more than once it gave her +strength and courage and good cheer. Come what might, she had a +friend—a friend strong and true as an angel. + +They spoke no more till the train swept into the station and they had +hurried through the crowd and were standing on the front of the +ferryboat, with the water sparkling before their onward gliding and the +whole, great, wicked, stirring city spread before their gaze, the light +from the cross on Trinity Church steeple flinging its glory in their +faces. + +“Look!” said Michael pointing. “Do you remember the poem we were +reading the other night: Wordsworth’s ‘Upon Westminster Bridge.’ +Doesn’t it fit this scene perfectly? I’ve often thought of it when I +was coming across in the mornings. To look over there at the beauty one +would never dream of all the horror and wickedness and suffering that +lies within those streets. It is beautiful now. Listen! Do you remember +it? + +“‘Earth has not anything to show more fair: +Dull would he be of soul who could pass by +A sight so touching in its majesty: +This City now doth like a garment wear +The beauty of the morning: silent, bare, +Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie +Open unto the fields, and to the sky, +All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. +Never did sun more beautifully steep +In his first splendour valley, rock, or hill; +Ne’er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! +The river glideth at its own sweet will: +Dear God! The very houses seem asleep; +And all that mighty heart is lying still!’” + + +Starr looked long at the picture before her, and then at the face of +her companion speaking the beautiful lines word by word as one draws in +the outlines of a well-loved picture. + +Michael’s hat was off and the beauty of the morning lay in sunlight on +his hair and cheek and brow. Her heart swelled within her as she looked +and great tears filled her eyes. She dared not look longer lest she +show her deep emotion. The look of him, the words he spoke, and the +whole wonderful scene would linger in her memory as long as life should +last. + +Two days later Starr started West, and life seemed empty for Michael. +She was gone from him, but still she would come back. Or, would she +come back after all? How long could he hope to keep her if she did? Sad +foreboding filled him and he went about his work with set, strained +nerves; for now he knew that right or wrong she was heart of his heart, +part of his consciousness. He loved her better than himself; and he saw +no hope for himself at all in trying to forget. Yet, never, never, +would he ask her to share the dishonor of his heritage. + +The day before Starr was expected to come back to Old Orchard Michael +took up the morning paper and with rising horror read: + +BANDIT WOUNDED AS FOUR HOLD UP TRAIN. + + +Express Messenger Protects Cash During Desperate Revolver Duel in Car. + + +Fort Smith, Ark.—Four bandits bungled the hold-up of a Kansas City +passenger train, between Hatfield and Mena, Ark., early today. One was +probably fatally wounded and captured and the others escaped after a +battle with the Express Messenger in which the messenger exhausted his +ammunition and was badly beaten. + When the other robbers escaped the wounded bandit eluded the + conductor, and made his way into the sleeper, where he climbed into + an empty berth. But he was soon traced by the drops of blood from + his wound. The conductor and a brakeman hauled him out and battled + with him in the aisle amid the screams of passengers. + The bandit aimed his revolver at the conductor and fired, but a + sudden unsteady turn of his wrist sent the bullet into himself + instead of the conductor. The wounded bandit received the bullet in + his left breast near the heart and will probably die. The Express + Messenger is in the hospital at Mena and may recover. + Had the bullet of the bandit gone as intended it would more than + likely have wounded one or two women passengers, who at the sound + of trouble had jumped from their berths into the aisle and were + directly in the path of the bullet. + There is some likelihood that the captured bandit may prove to be + the escaped convict, named “Buck,” who was serving long sentence in + the state penitentiary, and for whom the police have been searching + in vain for the last three months. + + +Michael was white and trembling when he had finished reading this +account. And was this then to be the end of Buck. Must he die a death +like that? Disgrace and sin and death, and no chance to make good? +Michael groaned aloud and bowed his head upon the table before him, his +heart too heavy even to try to think it out. + +That evening a telegram reached him from Arkansas. + +“A man named ‘Buck’ is dying here, and calls incessantly for you. If +you wish to see him alive come at once.” + +Michael took the midnight train. Starr had telegraphed her father she +would reach Old Orchard in the morning. It was hard to have to go when, +she was just returning. Michael wondered if it would always be so now. + +Buck roused at Michael’s coming and smiled feebly. + +“Mikky! I knowed you’d come!” he whispered feebly. “I’m done for, +pardner. I ain’t long fer here, but I couldn’t go ’thout you knowin’. +I’d meant to git jes’ this one haul an’ git away to some other country +where it was safe, ’nen I was goin’ to try’n keep straight like you +would want. I would a’got trough all right, but I seen her,—the pretty +lady,—your girl,—standing in the aisle right ahin’ the c’ndct’r, jes’ +es I wuz pullin’ the trigger knowed her right off, ’ith her eyes +shinin’ like two stars; an’ I couldn’t run no resks. I ain’t never bin +no bungler at my trade, but I hed to bungle this time ’cause I couldn’t +shoot your girl! So I turned it jes’ in time an’ took it mese’f. She +seen how ’twas ’ith me that time at your house, an’ she he’ped me git +away. I sent her word I’d do the same fer her some day, bless her—an’ +now—you tell her we’re square! I done the bunglin’ fer her sake, but I +done it fer you too, pard—little pard—Mikky!” + +“Oh, Buck!” Michael knelt beside the poor bed and buried his face in +the coverlet. “Oh, Buck! If you’d only had my chance!” he moaned. + +“Never you mind, Mikky! I ain’t squealin’. I knows how to take my dose. +An’ mebbe, they’ll be some kind of a collidge whar I’m goin’, at I kin +get a try at yet—don’t you fret, little pard—ef I git my chancet I’ll +take it fer your sake!” + +The life breath seemed to be spent with the effort and Buck sank slowly +into unconsciousness and so passed out of a life that had been all +against him. + +Michael after doing all the last little things that were permitted him, +sadly took his way home again. + +He reached the city in the morning and spent several hours putting to +rights his business affairs; but by noon he found himself so +unutterably weary that he took the two o’clock train down to the farm. +Sam met him at the station. Sam somehow seemed to have an intuition +when to meet him, and the two gripped hands and walked home together +across the salt grass, Michael telling in low, halting tones all that +Buck had said. Sam kept his face turned the other way, but once Michael +got a view of it and he was sure there were tears on his cheeks. To +think of Sam having tears for anything! + +Arrived at the cottage Sam told him he thought that Mr. Endicott was +taking his afternoon nap upstairs, and that Miss Endicott had gone to +ride with “some kind of a fancy woman in a auto” who had called to see +her. + +Being very weary and yet unwilling to run the risk of waking Mr. +Endicott by going upstairs, Michael asked Sam to bolt the dining-room +door and give orders that he should not be disturbed for an hour; then +he lay down on the leather couch in the living-room. + +The windows were open all around and the sweet breath of the opening +roses stole in with the summer breeze, while the drone of bees and the +pure notes of a song sparrow lulled him to sleep. + + + + +Chapter XXIX + + +Michael had slept perhaps an hour when he was roused by the sound of +voices, a sharp, hateful one with an unpleasant memory in it, and a +sweet, dear one that went to his very soul. + +“Sit down here, Aunt Frances. There is no one about: Papa is asleep and +Michael has not yet returned from a trip out West. You can talk without +fear of being heard.” + +“Michael, Michael!” sniffed the voice. “Well, that’s what I came to +talk to you about. I didn’t want to say anything out there where the +chauffeur could hear; he is altogether too curious and might talk with +the servants about it. I wouldn’t have it get out for the world. Your +mother would have been mortified to death about all this, and I can’t +see what your father is thinking about. He never did seem to have much +sense where you were concerned—!” + +“Aunt Frances!” + +“Well, I can’t help it. He doesn’t. Now take this matter of your being +down here, and the very thought of you’re calling that fellow +Michael,—as if he were a cousin or something! Why, it’s simply +disgusting! I hoped you were going to stay out West until your father +was well enough to go away somewhere with you; but now that you have +come back I think you ought to leave here at once. People will begin to +talk, and I don’t like it. Why, the fellow will be presuming on it to +be intimate with you—” + +Michael was suddenly roused to the fact that he was listening to a +conversation not intended for his ears, and yet he had no way of +getting out of hearing without passing the door in the front of which +the two women were seated. Both the dining-room, door and the stairs +were on the other side of the room from him and he would have to run +the risk of being seen, by either or both of them if he attempted to +cross to them. The windows were screened by wire nailed over the whole +length, so he could not hope to get successfully out of any of them. +There was nothing for it but to lie still, and pretend to be asleep if +they discovered him afterwards. It was an embarrassing situation but it +was none of his choosing. + +There was a slight stir outside, Starr had risen, and was standing with +her back to the doorway. + +“Aunt Frances! What do you mean? Michael is our honored and respected +friend, our protector—our—host. Think what he did for papa! Risked his +life!” + +“Stuff and nonsense! Risked his life. He took the risk for perfectly +good reasons. He knew how to worm himself into the family again—” + +“Aunt Frances! I will not hear you say such dreadful things. Michael is +a gentleman, well-educated, with the highest ideals and principles. If +you knew how self-sacrificing and kind he is!” + +“Kind, yes kind!” sniffed the aunt, “and what will you think about it +when he asks you to marry him? Will you think he is kind to offer you a +share in the inheritance of a nobody—a charity—dependent—a child of the +slums? If you persist in your foolishness of staying here you will +presently have all New York gossiping about you, and then when you are +in disgrace—I suppose you will turn to me to help you out of it.” + +“Stop!” cried Starr. “I will not listen to another word. What do you +mean by disgrace? There could be no disgrace in marrying Michael. The +girl who marries him will be the happiest woman in the whole world. He +is good and true and unselfish to the heart’s core. There isn’t the +slightest danger of his ever asking me to marry him, Aunt Frances, +because I am very sure he loves another girl and is engaged to marry +her; and she is a nice girl too. But if it were different, if he were +free and asked me to marry him I would feel as proud and glad as if a +prince of the highest realm had asked me to share his throne with him. +I would rather marry Michael than any man I ever met, and I don’t care +in the least whether he is a child of the slums or a child of a king. I +know what he is, and he is a prince among men.” + +“Oh, really! Has it come to this? Then you are in love with him already +and my warning comes too late, does it? Answer me! Do you fancy +yourself in love with him.” + +“Aunt Frances, you have no right to ask me that question,” said Starr +steadily, her cheeks very red and her eyes very bright. + +Michael was sitting bolt upright on the couch now, utterly forgetful of +the dishonor of eavesdropping, fairly holding his breath to listen and +straining his ears that he might lose no slightest word. He was +devouring the dear, straight, little form in the doorway with his eyes, +and her every word fell on his tired heart like raindrops in a thirsty +land, making the flowers of hope spring forth and burst into lovely +bloom. + +“Well, I do ask it!” snapped the aunt hatefully. “Come, answer me, do +you love him?” + +“That, Aunt Frances, I shall never answer to anybody but Michael. I +must refuse to hear another word on this subject.” + +“Oh, very well, good-bye. I’ll leave you to your silly fate, but don’t +expect me to help you out of trouble if you get into it. I’ve warned +you and I wash my hands of you,” and the angry woman flouted out to her +waiting car, but the girl stood still in the doorway and said with +dignity: + +“Good afternoon, Aunt Frances. I shall never ask your help in any way.” + +Starr watched the car out of sight, great tears welling into her eyes +and rolling down her cheeks. Michael sat breathless on the couch and +tried to think what he ought to do; while his very being was rippling +with the joy of the words she had spoken. + +Then she turned and saw him, and he stood up and held out his arms. + +“Starr, my little Starr! My darling! Did you mean all you said? Would +you really marry me? I’ve loved you always, Starr, since first I saw +you a tiny little child; I’ve loved your soft baby kisses and those +others you gave me later when you were a little girl and I an awkward +boy. You never knew how dear they were, nor how I used to go to sleep +at night dreaming over and over again, those kisses on my face. Oh, +Starr! answer me? Did you mean it all? And could you ever love me? You +said you would answer that question to no one else but me. Will you +answer it now, darling?” + +For answer she came and stood within his arms, her eyes down-drooped, +her face all tears and smiles, and he folded her within his strong +clasp and stooping, whispered softly: + +“Starr, little darling—my life—my love—my—_wife_!” + +And then he laid his lips against hers and held her close. + + +Three weeks later when the roses were all aburst of bloom over the +porch at Rose Cottage and June was everywhere with her richness and +perfection of beauty, Starr and Michael were married on the piazza +under an arch of roses; and a favored few of society’s cream motored +down to Old Orchard to witness the ceremony. In spite of all her +disagreeable predictions and ugly threats Aunt Frances was among them, +smiling and dominating. + +“Yes, so sensible of her not to make a fuss with her wedding just now, +when her father is getting his strength back again. Of course she could +have come to my house and been married. I begged her to—naturally she +shrank from another wedding in connection with the old home you +know—but her father seemed to dread coming into town and so I advised +her to go ahead and be married here. Isn’t it a charming place? So +rustic you know, and quite simple and artistic too in its way. Michael +has done it all, planned the house and everything, of course with +Starr’s help. You know it’s quite a large estate, belonged to Michael’s +great grandfather once, several hundred acres, and he has used part of +it for charitable purposes; has a farm school or something for poor +slum people, and is really teaching them to be quite decent. I’m sure I +hope they’ll be duly grateful. See those roses? Aren’t they perfectly +_dear_?” + +It was so she chattered to those in the car with her all the way down +to the farm; and to see her going about among the guests and smiling +and posing to Michael when he happened to come near her, you would have +thought the match all of her making, and never have dreamed that it was +only because Michael’s great forgiving heart had said: “Oh, forgive her +and ask her down. She is your mother’s sister, you know, and you’ll be +glad you did it afterwards. Never mind what she says. She can’t help +her notions. It was her unfortunate upbringing, and she’s as much to be +pitied as I for my slum education.” + +The pretty ceremony under the roses was over, and Starr had gone +upstairs to change the simple embroidered muslin for her travelling +frock and motor coat, for Michael and Starr were to take their +honeymoon in their own new car, a wedding gift from their father; and +Endicott himself was to go to his sister’s by rail in the company of +Will French, to stay during their absence and be picked up by them on +their homeward route. + +Michael stood among his friends on the piazza giving last directions to +French who was to look after his law business also during his absence, +and who was eager to tell his friend how he and Hester had planned to +be married early in the fall and were to go to housekeeping in a +five-roomed flat that might have been a palace from the light in Will’s +eyes. Hester was talking with Lizzie who had edged near the porch with +her pretty boy hiding shyly behind her, but the smile that Hester threw +in Will’s direction now and then showed she well knew what was his +subject of conversation. + +All the little colony had been gathered in the orchard in front of the +rose arch, to watch the wedding ceremony, and many of them still +lingered there to see the departure of the beloved bride and groom. +Aunt Frances levelled her lorgnette at them with all the airs of her +departed sister, and exclaimed “Aren’t they picturesque? It’s quite +like the old country to have so many servants and retainers gathered +about adoring, now isn’t it!” And a young and eager debutante who was a +distant cousin of Starr’s. replied: + +“I think it’s perfectly peachy, Aunt Frances.” + +Suddenly in one of Will’s eager perorations about the flat and its +outlook Michael noticed the shy, eager look of Sam’s face as he waited +hungrily for notice. + +“Excuse me, Will, I must see Sam a minute,” said Michael hurrying over +to where the man stood. + +“Say, Mikky,” said Sam shyly, grasping Michael’s hand convulsively, “me +an’ Lizzie sort o’ made it up as how we’d get tied, an’ we thought we’d +do it now whiles everybody’s at it, an’ things is all fixed Lizzie she +wanted me to ask you ef you ’sposed _she’d_ mind, ef we’uns stood thur +on the verandy whur yous did, arter you was gone?” Sam looked at him +anxiously as though he had asked the half of Michael’s kingdom and +scarcely expected to get it, but Michael’s face was filled with glory +as he clasped the small hard hand of his comrade and gripped it with +his mighty hearty grip. + +“Mind! She’d be delighted, Sam! Go ahead. I’m sorry we didn’t know it +before. We’d have liked to give you a present, but I’ll send you the +deed of the little white cottage at the head of the lane, the one that +looks toward the river and the sunset, you know. Will you two like to +live there?” + +Sam’s eyes grew large with happiness, and a mist came over them as he +held tight to the great hand that enclosed his own, and choked and +tried to answer. + +Amid a shower of roses and cheers Michael and Starr rode into the sweet +June afternoon, alone together at last. And when they had gone beyond +the little town, and were on a stretch of quiet woodsy road, Michael +stopped the car and took his bride into his arms. + +“Dear,” he said as he tenderly kissed her, “I’ve just been realizing +what might have happened if Buck hadn’t seen you in time and taken the +shot himself that I might have you, my life, my dear, precious wife!” + +Then Starr looked up with her eyes all dewy with tears and said, +“Michael, we must try to save a lot of others for his sake.” And +Michael smiled and pressed his lips to hers again, with deep, sweet +understanding. + +Then, when they were riding along again Michael told her of what Sam +had asked, and how another wedding was to follow theirs. + +“Oh, Michael!” said Starr, all eagerness at once, “Why didn’t you tell +me sooner! I would have liked to stay and see them married. Couldn’t we +turn around now and get there in time if you put on high speed?” + +“We’ll try,” said Michael reversing the car; and in an instant more it +was shooting back to Old Orchard, arriving on the scene just as Sam and +Lizzie were shyly taking their place, hand in hand, under the roses, in +as near imitation of Michael and Starr as their unaccustomedness could +compass. + +It was Jim who discovered the car coming up the orchard lane. + +“For de lub o’ Mike!” he exclaimed aloud. “Ef here don’t come Mikky +hisse’f, and _her_! Hold up dar, Mister preacher. Don’t tie de knot +till dey gits here!” + +And a cheer arose loud and long and echoed through the trees and over +the river to the sea. Three cheers for the love of Michael! + +Sam and Lizzie bloomed forth with smiles, and the ceremony went forward +with, alacrity now that the real audience was present. + +An hour later, having done their part to make the wedding festivities +as joyous as their own had been, Michael and Starr started out again +into the waning day, a light on their faces and joy in their hearts. + +Starr, her heart very full, laid her hand upon Michael’s and said with +shining eyes: + +“Michael, do you know, I found a name for you. Listen: ‘And at that +time shall Michael stand up, the great prince which standeth for the +children of thy people: and at that time thy people shall be delivered, +every one that shall be found written in the book.’ Michael, you are +_my prince_!” + +And Michael as he stooped and kissed her, murmured, “My Starr.” + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LO, MICHAEL! *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law 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. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ +concept and trademark. 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