MA PETTENGILL

by

HARRY LEON WILSON

Author of _Bunker Bean_, _Ruggles of Red Gap_, _Somewhere in Red Gap_, etc. 

1919

TO WILLIAM EUGENE LEWIS

CONTENTS

 I. MA PETTENGILL AND THE ANIMAL KINGDOM

 II. A LOVE STORY

 III. RED GAP AND THE BIG-LEAGUE STUFF

 IV. VENDETTA

 V. ONE ARROWHEAD DAY

 VI. THE PORCH WREN

 VII. CHANGE OF VENUS

 VIII. CAN HAPPEN!

 IX. THE TAKER-UP

 X. AS TO HERMAN WAGNER

 XI. CURLS

I

MA PETTENGILL AND THE ANIMAL KINGDOM

From the Arrowhead corrals I strolled up the poplar-bordered lane thatleads past the bunk house to the castle of the ranch's chatelaine. Itwas a still Sunday afternoon--the placid interlude, on a day of rest, between the chores of the morning and those of evening. But the calm wasfor the ear alone. To the eye certain activities, silent but swift, wereunder way. On the shaded side piazza of the ranch house I could discernmy hostess, Mrs. Lysander John Pettengill; she sat erect, even in arocking-chair, and knitted. On the kitchen steps, full in the westeringsun, sat the Chinese chef of the Arrowhead, and knitted--a yellow, smoothly running automaton. On a shaded bench by the spring house, aplaid golfing cap pushed back from one-half the amazing area of his barepate, sat the aged chore-boy, Boogles, and knitted. The ranch was on awar basis. 

And more: As I came abreast of the bunk house the Sabbath calm waspunctured by the tart and careless speech of Sandy Sawtelle, a top riderof the Arrowhead, for he, too, was knitting, or had been. On a stooloutside the doorway he held up an unfinished thing before his grievedeyes and devoutly wished it in the place of punishment of the wickeddead. The sincere passion of his tones not only arrested my steps butlured through the open doorway the languorous and yawning Buck Devine, who hung over the worker with disrespectful attention. I joined the pair. To Buck's query, voiced in a key of feigned mirth, Sandy said with simpledignity that it was going to be a darned good sweater for the boys in thetrenches. Mr. Devine offered to bet his head that it wasn't going to beanything at all--at least nothing any one would want round a trench. Mr. Sawtelle ignored the wager and asked me if I knew how to do this here, now, casting off. I did not. 

"I better sneak round and ask the Chink, " said Sandy. "He's the starknitter on the place. "

We walked on together, seemingly deaf to certain laboured pleasantries ofMr. Devine concerning a red-headed cow-puncher that had got rejected forfighting because his feet was flat and would now most likely get rejectedfor knitting because his head was flat. By way of covering the heartylaughter of Mr. Devine at his own wit I asked why Sandy should notconsult his employer rather than her cook. 

With his ball of brown wool, his needles and his work carried tenderlybefore him Sandy explained, with some embarrassment as it seemed, thatthe madam was a good knitter, all right, all right, but she was an awfulbitter-spoken lady when any little thing about the place didn't go justright, making a mountain out of a mole hill, and crying over spilt milk, and always coming back to the same old subject, and so forth, till you'dthink she couldn't talk about anything else, and had one foot in thepoorhouse, and couldn't take a joke, and all like that. I could believeit or not, but that was the simple facts of the matter when all was saidand done. And the Chink was only too glad to show off how smart he waswith a pair of needles. 

This not only explained nothing but suggested that there might indeed besomething to explain. And it was Sandy's employer after all who resolvedhis woolen difficulty. She called to him as he would have left me for thepath to the kitchen door:

"You bring that right here!"

It was the tone of one born to command, and once was enough. Sandybrought it right there, though going rather too much like a martyr tothe stake, I thought; for surely it was not shameful that he should proveinept in the new craft. 

Nor was there aught but genial kindness in the lady's reception of him. Ma Pettengill, arrayed in Sabbath bravery of apparel, as of a debutanteat a summer hotel where the rates are exorbitant, instantly laid by herown knitting and questioned him soothingly. It seemed to be a simpledifficulty. Sandy had reached the point where a sweater must have a neck, and had forgotten his instructions. Cordially the woman aided him tosubtract fourteen from two hundred and sixty-two and then to ascertainthat one hundred and twenty-four would be precisely half of theremainder. It was all being done, as I have remarked, with the gentlestconsidering kindness, with no hint of that bitterness which the neophytehad shown himself to be fearing in the lady. Was she not kindness itself?Was she not, in truth, just a shade too kind? Surely there was a purrto her voice, odd, unwonted; and surely her pupil already cringed undera lash that impended. 

Yet this visible strain, it seemed, had not to do with knitted garments. Ma Pettengill praised the knitting of Sandy; praised it to me and praisedit to him. Of course her remark that he seemed to be a born knitter andought to devote his whole time to it might have seemed invidious to asensitive cowman, yet it was uttered with flawless geniality. But whenSandy, being set right, would have taken his work and retired, as wasplainly his eager wish, his mentor said she would knit two of the newshort rows herself, just to make sure. And while she knitted these tworows she talked. She knitted them quickly, though the time must haveseemed to Sandy much longer than it was. 

"Here stands the greatest original humorist in Kulanche County, " saidthe lady, with no longer a purring note in her voice. She boomed theannouncement. Sandy, drooping above her, painfully wore the affectationof counting each stitch of the flashing needles. "And practical jokes--mysakes alive! He can think of the funniest jokes to put up on poor, unsuspecting people! Yes, sir; got a genius for it. And witty! Ofcourse it ain't just what he says that's so funny--it's the noisy wayhe says it. 

"And you wouldn't think it to look at him, but he's one of these herefinancial magnets, too. Oh, yes, indeed! Send him out with a hatful often-dollar bills any day and he won't let one of 'em go for a cent undersix dollars, not if buyers is plenty--he's just that keen and avaricious. That's his way. Never trained for it, either; just took it up natural. "

With drawn and ashen face Mr. Sawtelle received back his knitting. Hispose was to appear vastly preoccupied and deaf to insult. He was stillcounting stitches as he turned away and clattered down the steps. 

"Say!" called his employer. Sandy turned. 

"Yes, ma'am!"

"You seen the party that stopped here this morning in that big, pompoustouring car?"

"No, ma'am!"

"They was after mules. "

"Yes, ma'am!"

"They offered me five hundred dollars a span for mine. "

"No, ma'am--I mean, yes, ma'am!"

"That's all. I thought you'd rejoice to know it. " The lady turned to meas if Mr. Sawtelle had left us. "Yes, sir; he'd make you die laughingwith some of his pranks, that madcap would. I tell you, when he beginscutting up--"

But Mr. Sawtelle was leaving us rapidly. His figure seemed to be drawnin, as if he would appear smaller to us. Ma Pettengill seized her ownknitting once more, stared grimly at it, then stared grimly down at thebunk house, within which her victim had vanished. A moment later she waspouring tobacco from a cloth sack into a brown cigarette paper. She drewthe string of the sack--one end between her teeth--rolled the cigarettewith one swift motion and, as she waited the blaze of her match, remarkedthat they had found a substitute for everything but the mule. Thecigarette lighted, she burned at least a third of its length in one vastinhalation, which presently caused twin jets of smoke to issue from therather widely separated corners of a generous mouth. Upon which sheremarked that old Safety First Timmins was a game winner, about thegamest winner she'd ever lost to. 

Three other mighty inhalations and the cigarette was done. Again she tookup the knitting, pausing for but one brief speech before the needlesbegan their shrewd play. This concerned the whale. She said the whalewas the noblest beast left to us in all the animal kingdom and wouldvanish like the buffalo if treated as food. She said it was shameful toreduce this majestic creature of the deep to the dimensions of a chafingdish and a three-cornered slice of toast. Then she knitted. 

She had left numerous openings; some humorous emprise of Sandy Sawtelle, presumably distressing; the gameness of one Timmins as a winner; thewhale as a food animal; the spectacular price of mules broken to harness. Rather than choose blindly among them I spoke of my day's fishing. Departing at sunrise I had come in with a bounteous burden of rainbowtrout, which I now said would prove no mean substitute for meat at theevening meal. 

Then, as she grimly knitted, Ma Pettengill discoursed of other boastedsubstitutes for meat, none of which pleased her. Hogs and sheep wereother substitutes, there being but one genuine meat, to wit, Beef. Takehogs; mean, unsociable animals, each hog going off by himself, cursingand swearing every step of the way. Had I ever seen a hog that thoughtany other hog was good enough to associate with him? No, I hadn't; nornobody else. A good thing hogs couldn't know their present price. Stuckup enough already! And sheep? Silly. No minds of their own. Let one dieand all the rest think they got to die also. Do it too. No brain. Ofcourse the price tempted a lot of moral defectives to raise 'em, but whenyou reflected that you had to go afoot, with a dog that was smarter thanany man at it, and a flea-bitten burro for your mess wagon---not for her. Give her a business where you could set on a horse. Yes, sir; peoplewould get back to Nature and raise beef after the world had been madesafe once more for a healthy appetite. This here craze for substituteswould die out. You couldn't tell her there was any great future for thecanned jack-rabbit business, for instance--just a fad; and whales thesame. She knew and I knew that a whale was too big to eat. Peoplecouldn't get any real feeling for it, and not a chance on earth to breed'em up and improve the flesh. Wasn't that the truth? And these here dietexperts, with their everlasting talk about carbos and hydrates, were theydoing a thing but simply taking all the romance out of food? No, theywere not. Of course honest fish, like trout, were all right if a bodywas sick or not hungry or something. 

Trout reminded her of something, and here again the baleful tooth ofcalumny fleshed itself in the fair repute of one Timmins. She describedhim as "a strange growth named Timmins, that has the Lazy 8 Ranch overon the next creek and wears kind of aimless whiskers all over his facetill you'd think he had a gas mask on. " She talked freely of him. 

"You know what he does when he wants a mess of trout? Takes one ofthese old-fashioned beer bottles with patent stoppers, fills it up withunslaked lime, pours in a little water, stops it up, drops it in a likelylooking trout pool, and in one minute it explodes as good as somethingmade by a Russian patriot; all the trout in the pool are knocked outand float on the surface, where this old highbinder gathers 'em in. He'sa regular efficiency expert in sport. Take fall and spring, when the wildgeese come through, he'll soak grain in alcohol and put it out for 'emover on the big marsh. First thing you know he'll have a drunken oldgoose by the legs, all maudlin and helpless. Puts him in a coop tillhe sobers up, then butchers him. 

"Such is Safety First: never been known to take a chance yet. Why, say, a year ago when he sold off his wool there was a piece in the countypaper about him getting eighteen thousand dollars for it; so naturallythere was a man that said he was a well-known capitalist come up fromSan Francisco to sell him some stock in a rubber company. Safety admitshe has the money and he goes down to the big city for a week at thecapitalist's expense, seeing the town's night life and the blue-printmaps and the engraved stock and samples of the rubber and thecapitalist's picture under a magnificent rubber tree in South America, and he's lodged in a silk boudoir at the best hotel and wined anddined very deleteriously and everything is agreed to. And the nightbefore he's going to put his eighteen thousand into this lovely rubberstock that will net him two hundred per cent, at the very lowest, on thecapitalist's word of honour, what does he do but sneak out and take thetrain for home on his return ticket that he'd made the capitalist buyhim. 

"Ever talk to one of these rich capitalists that has rubber stock forsale in South America or a self-starting banana orchard? You know howgood they are. 

"You're certainly entitled to anything of your own that you've keptafter they get through with you. And would you think that this poor, simple-minded old rancher would be any match for their wiles? But ifyou knew he had been a match and had nicked 'em for at least threehundred dollars, would you still think something malignant might beput over on him by a mere scrub buckeroo named Sandy Sawtelle, thatnever made a cent in his life except by the most degrading manuallabour? No, you wouldn't. No fair-minded judge of criminals would. 

"But I admit I had a weak moment. Yes, sir; for a brief spell I was alltoo human. Or I guess what it was. I was all blinded up with immoraldesigns, this here snake-blooded Timmins having put things over on mein stock deals from time to time till I'd got to lying awake nightsthinking how I could make a believer of him. I wanted him to know thereis a God, even if it hadn't ever seemed so to him. 

"Of course I knew it would have to be some high-grade felony, he beingproof against common depredations. Well, then, along come this Sundaypaper, with two whole pages telling about how the meat of the commonwhale will win the war, with a picture of a whale having dotted linesshowing how to butcher it, and recipes for whale patties, and so forth. And next comes the circus to Red Gap, with old Pete, the Indian, goingdown to it and getting crazy about elephants. And so that was how ithappened. "

The lady now knitted in silence, appearing to believe that all had beentold. 

I waited a decent interval, then said I was glad indeed to know how ithad all happened; that it was a great help to know how it had happened, even if I must remain forever ignorant of what it was that had happened. Of course I couldn't expect to be told that. 

It merely brought more about mules. Five hundred dollars a span for muleslooked good until you remembered that you needed 'em worse than the otherparty did. She had to keep her twenty span of old reliables because, whatwith the sailors and section hands you got nowadays to do your haying, you had to have tame mules. Give 'em any other kind and they'd desert theship the minute a team started to run. It cost too much for wagonrepairs. 

Silence again. 

I now said I had, it was true, heard much low neighbourhood scandal aboutthe Timmins man, but that I had learned not to believe all I heard aboutpeople; there was too much prejudice in the world, and at least two sidesto every question. 

This merely evoked the item that Timmins had bought him a thrift stampon the sole ground that it had such a pretty name; then came the wishthat she might have seen him dining in public at that rich hotel wherethe capitalist paid the bills. 

She thought people must have been startled by some of his actions. 

"Yes, sir; that old outlaw will eat soup or any soft food with almost nostrategy at all. "

As we seemed to be getting nowhere I meanly rolled the lady a cigarette. She hates to stop knitting to roll one, but she will stop to light it. 

She stopped now, and as I held the match for her I said quite franklythat it had become necessary for me to be told the whole thing from startto finish. She said she had told me everything--and believed it--butwould go over it again if I didn't understand. Though not always startingat command, the lady has really a full habit of speech. 

I told you about whales, didn't I? Whales started it--whales for tableuse. It come in the Sunday paper--with the picture of a handsome whaleand the picture of a French cook kissing his fingers over the way he hascooked some of it; and the picture of a pleased young couple eating whalein a swell restaurant; and the picture of a fair young bride in herkitchenette cutting up three cents' worth of whale meat into a chafingdish and saying how glad she was to have something tasty and cheap fordearie's lunch; and the picture of a poor labouring man being told bysomeone down in Washington, D. C. , that's making a dollar a year, thata nickel's worth of prime whale meat has more actual nourishment than adollar's worth of porterhouse steak; and so on, till you'd think theworld's food troubles was going to be settled in jig time; all peoplehad to do was to go out and get a good eating whale and salt down theside meat and smoke the shoulders and grind up some sausage and be fixedfor the winter, with plenty to send a mess round to the neighbours nowand then. 

And knocking beef, you understand, till you'd think no one but criminalsand idiots would ever touch a real steak again, on account of its beingso poor in food values, like this Washington scientist says that gets adollar a year salary and earns every cent of it. It made me mad, theslanderous things they said about beef; but I read the piece over prettycarefully and I really couldn't see where the whale was going to put meout of business, at least for a couple years yet. It looked like I'd havetime, anyway, to make a clean-up before you'd be able to go into anybutcher shop and get a rib roast of young whale for six cents, with abushel or two of scraps thrown in for the dog. 

Then this Sunday paper goes out to the bunk house and the boys find thewhale piece and get excited about it. Looks like if it's true that mostof 'em will be driving ice wagons or something for a living. They wantme to send down for a mess of whale meat so they can see if it tasteslike regular food. They don't hardly believe these pictures where peopledressed up like they had money are going into spasms of delight about it. Still, they don't know--poor credulous dubs! They think things you see ina Sunday paper might be true now and then, even if it is most always apack of lies thought up by dissipated newspaper men. 

I tell 'em they can send for a whole whale if they want to pay for it, but none of my money goes that way so long as stall-fed beef retains itspresent flavour; and furthermore I expect to be doing business right herefor years after the whale fad has died out--doing the best I can withabout ten silly cowhands taking the rest cure at my expense the minute Istep off the place. I said there was no doubt they should all be added tothe ranks of the unemployed that very minute--but due to other well-knowncauses than the wiping out of the cattle industry by cold whale hash injelly, which happened to be the dish this French chef was going crazyover. 

They chewed over that pointed information for a while, then they got tomaking each other bets of a thousand dollars about what whale meat wouldtaste like; whether whale liver and bacon could be told from naturalliver and bacon, and whether whale steak would probably taste likecatfish or mebbe more like mud turtle. Sandy Sawtelle, who always knowseverything by divine right, like you might say, he says in superior tonesthat it won't taste like either one but has a flavour all its own, whicheven he can't describe, though it will be something like the meat of thewild sea cow, which roams the ocean in vast herds off the coast ofFlorida. 

Then they consider the question of a whale round-up in an expert manner. It don't look none too good, going out on rodeo in water about threemiles too deep for wading, though the idea of lass'ing a whale calf andbranding it does hold a certain fascination. Sandy says it would be theonly livestock business on earth where you don't always have to befearing a dry season; and Buck Devine says that's so, and likewisethe range is practically unlimited, as any one can see from a good map, and wouldn't it be fine riding herd in a steam yacht with a high-classbartender handy, instead of on a so-and-so cayuse that was liable anyminute to trade ends and pour you out of the saddle on to your lameshoulder. 

They'd got to kidding about it by this time, when who should ride up butold Safety First Timmins. They spring the food whale on Safety with muchflourish. They show him the pictures and quote prices on the hoof--whichare low, but look what even a runt of a yearling whale that was calvedlate in the fall would weigh on the scales!--and no worry about fences orfree range or winter feeding or water holes; nothing to do but ride roundon your private steamboat with a good orchestra, and a chance to bedissolute and count your money. And look what a snap the pioneers willhave with all the mavericks; probably not a single whale in the ocean yetbranded! And does Timmins want to throw in with us? If he does mebbe theycan fix up a deal with me because I want a good business man at the headof the new outfit. 

But Safety says right off quick that it's all a pack of nonsense. He saysit's the mad dream of a visionary or feeble-minded person. He don't denythere would be money in whales if they could be handled, but you couldn'thandle anything that had the whole ocean to swim in that covers threequarters of the earth's surface, as he has often read. And how would youget a branding iron on a whale, and what good would it do you? He'd beatit out for Europe. He said they was foolish to think whales would stay ina herd, and he guessed I'd been talking just to hear myself talk, or morelikely I'd been kidding 'em to get a good laugh. 

Sandy says: "Well, I wasn't going to tell you at first, but I guess it'llbe safe with you, you being a good friend of the Arrowhead, only don'tlet it go no farther; but the fact is the boss is negotiating for thewhale privilege in Great Salt Lake. Yes, sir, she's bribing the Utahlegislature this very minute to let the bill go through! And I guess thatdon't look much like kidding. As soon as the governor has signed the billshe'll put in a couple of good three-year-old bull whales and a nicelittle herd of heifers and have the world's meat supply at her fingerends in less than five years--just killing off the yearling steers. "

Safety looks a bit startled at this, and Sandy goes on to say that thoughwhale meat is now but a fad of the idle rich it's bound to be the meat ofrich and poor alike in future. He'd bet a thousand dollars to a dime thatby the time the next war come along the first thing they'd do would be toestablish a whaleless day. He said whale meat was just that good. 

Safety chewed his gum quite a time on this--he says if a man chews gum hewon't ruin himself in pocket for tobacco--and he read the whale articleover carefully and looked at the pictures again, but he still said itdidn't sound to him like a legitimate business enterprise. He said forone thing there'd be trouble shipping the original herd up to Salt Lake. Sandy said it was true; there would be the initial expense of loading onto flat cars, and a couple of tunnels would have to be widened so thebulls wouldn't be rasped going through, but that I have already takenthis up with the railroad company. 

Safety says that may all be true, but, mark his words, the minute my herdgets into inland waters it will develop some kind of disease like anthraxor blackleg, and the whole bunch will die on me. Sandy says it will be asimple matter to vaccinate, because the animals will be as affectionateas kittens by that time through having been kindly handled, which is alla whale needs. He says they really got a very social nature and are loyalunto death. Once a whale is your friend, he says, it's for life, rain orshine, just so long as you treat him square. Even do a whale a favourjust once and he'll remember your face, make no difference if it's fiftyyears; though being the same, it is true, in his hatreds, because a whalenever forgives an injury. A sailor he happens to know once give a whalehe had made friends with a chew of tobacco just for a joke and the animalgot into an awful rage and tried to tear the ship down to get at him, andthen he followed the ship all over the world waiting for this sailor tofall off or get wrecked or something, till finally the hunted man got sonervous he quit the sea and is now running a news stand in Seattle, ifSafety don't believe it. It just goes to show that a whale as long asyou're square with him is superior in mind and morals to a steer, whichain't got sense enough to know friend from foe. 

Safety still shakes his head. He says "safe and sane" has been his mottothroughout a long and busy life and this here proposition don't soundlike neither one to him. The boys tell him he's missing a good thing bynot throwing in with us. They say I'm giving 'em each a big block ofstock, paid up and non-assessable, and they don't want him to come roundlater when they're rolling in wealth and ask why they didn't give him achance too. 

"I can just hear you talk, " said Sandy. "You'll be saying: 'I knew thatwhole fool bunch when not one ever had a dollar he could call his own theday after he was paid off, and now look at 'em--throwing their hundredsof thousands right and left; houses with pianos in every room; new bootsevery week; silver-mounted saddles at a thousand each; choice wines, liquors, and cigars; private taxicabs; and Alexander J. Sawtelle, thewealthy banker, being elected to Congress by an overwhelming majority!'That's the way you'll be talking, " said Sandy, "with regret eating intoyour vitals like some horrible acid that is fatal to man and beast. "

Safety says he thinks they're all plumb crazy, and a fool and his moneyis soon parted--this being a saying he must have learned at the age ofthree and has never forgotten a word of--and he comes up to the house tosee me. Mebbe he wanted to find out if I had really lost my mind, but hesaid nothing about whales. Just set round and talked the usual hard luck. Been in the stock business thirty years and never had a good year yet. Nothing left of his cattle but the running gear; and his land so poor youcouldn't even raise a row on it unless you went there mad; and why hekeeps on struggling in the bitter clutch of misfortune he don't know. ButI always know why he keeps on struggling. Money! Nothing but money. Sowhen he got through mourning over his ruined fortunes, and feebly saidsomething about taking some mules off my hands at a fair price, I shuthim off firmly. Whenever that old crook talks about taking anything offyour hands he's plotting as near highway robbery as they'll let him stayout of jail for. He was sad when I refused two hundred and fifty dollarsa span for my best mules. 

He went off shaking his head like he hadn't expected such inhumanity froman old friend and neighbour to one who through hard luck was now down andout. 

Well, I hear no more about whales; but a circus is coming to Red Gap andold Pete, the Indian, says he must go down to it, his mind being inflamedby some incredible posters pasted over the blacksmith shop at Kulanche. He says he's a very old man and can't be with us long, and when he doestake the one-way trail he wants to be able to tell his friends on theother side all about the strange animals that they never had a chance tosee. The old pagan was so excited about it I let him go. And he was stillmore excited when he got back two days later. Yes, sir; he'd found a wayto fortune. 

He said I'd sure think he was a liar with a crooked tongue and a falseheart, but they had an animal at that circus as big as our biggestcovered mess wagon and it would weigh as much as the six biggest steers Iever shipped. It has a nose about five feet long--he was sure I wouldn'tbelieve this part--that it fed itself with, and it carried so much meatthat just one ham would keep a family like Pete's going all winter. Hesaid of course I would think he was a liar, but I could write down to RedGap to a lawyer, and the lawyer would get plenty of people to swear to itright in the courthouse. And so now I must hurry up and stock the placewith these animals and have more meat than anybody in the world and getrich pretty quick. Forty times he stretched his arms to show me how bigone of these hams would be, and he said the best part was that thisanimal hardly ate anything at all but a little popcorn and a few peanuts. Hadn't he watched it for hours? And if I didn't hurry others would getthe idea and run prices up. 

I guess Pete's commercial mind must of been engaged by hearing the boystalk about whales. He hadn't held with the whale proposition, not for aminute, after he learned they live in the ocean. He once had a good lookat the ocean and he promptly said "Too much water!" But here was a landanimal packing nearly as much meat as a whale, eating almost nothing, andas tame as a puppy. "I think, 'Injun how you smart!'" he says when he gotthrough telling me all this in a very secret and important way. 

I told him he was very smart indeed and ought to have a job with theGovernment at a dollar a year telling people to quit beef meat for theelephant. I said I was much obliged for the tip and if I ever got togoing good in elephants I'd see he had a critter of his own to butcherevery fall. So Pete went out with all his excitement and told the boyshow I was going to stock the ranch with these new animals which wasbetter than whales because you wouldn't have to get your feet wet. Theboys made much of it right off. 

In no time at all they had all the white-faces sold off and vast herds ofpure-bred elephants roaming over the ranch with the Arrowhead brand on'em. Down on the flat lands they had waving fields of popcorn and upabove here they had a thousand acres of ripening peanuts; and SandySawtelle, the king of the humourists, he hit on another idea that wouldbring in fifty thousand dollars a year just on the side. He said if acrowd come along to a ranch and bought the rancher's own hay for the sakeof feeding it to his own steers they would be thought weak-minded. Not sowith elephants. He said people would come from far and near and bringtheir little ones to buy our own peanuts and popcorn to feed our ownelephants. All we needed to do was put the stuff up in sacks at a nickela throw. He said of course the novelty might die out in time, but if hecould only get the peanut-and-popcorn concession for the first threeyears that would be all he'd want for his simple needs of living in aswell marble house in Spokane, with a private saloon and hired help tobring him his breakfast in bed and put on another record and ministerto his lightest whim. Buck Devine said he'd be able to throw his own goodmoney right and left if he could get the ivory privilege, which is madefrom the horns of the elephant and is used for many useful purposes; andone of the other boys says they'll develop a good milk strain and get adairy herd, because the milk of this noble animal ought to be fine forprize fighters and piano movers. 

In about ten minutes they was doing quite a business for old Pete'sbenefit, and Pete very earnest about it. He says I've promised him ayoung animal to butcher every fall, and they tell him there ain't no meatso good as a prime young popcorn-fed elephant, and he'll certainly livehigh. And just then up rides old Safety First again. So they get silentand mysterious all at once and warn Pete, so Safety will hear it, not tosay a word to any one. Pete looks secretive and hostile at the visitorand goes back to his woodpile. Safety naturally says what fool thing havethey got into their heads now, and he supposes it's some more of thatwhale nonsense. 

The boys clam up. They say this is nothing like whales, but a dry-landproposition too important to talk about; that I've sworn everyone tosecrecy, but he'll see soon enough what it is when the big money beginsto roll in. They don't mind telling him it's an African proposition ofnew and nourishing food, a regular godsend to the human race, but theygot to keep quiet until I get my options bought up so I'll have thecream of the business. 

Safety sniffs in a baffled manner and tries to worm out a hint, but theysay it's a thing would go like wildfire once it got known, being so muchtastier than whale meat and easier to handle, and eating almost nothing. 

"Whales was pretty good, " says Sandy; "but since the boss got a line onthis other animal she's disposed of her whale interests for seventy-threethousand dollars. "

Buck Devine says I showed him the check, that come in yesterday's mail, and let him hold it a minute so he could say he once held seventy-threethousand dollars in his hand just like that. And the money was to be putinto this new business, with the boys being let in on the ground floor, like they had been with the whales. Sandy says that in probably a yearfrom now, or eighteen months at the most, he won't be a thing but adissipated millionaire. Nothing but that!

Safety is peculiar in his mind. If you told him you found a million golddollars up in the top of that jack pine he wouldn't believe it, yet stilland all he'd get a real thrill out of it. He certainly does cherishmoney. The very notion of it is romantic to him. And he must of beenthrilled now. He hung round, listening keenly while the boys squanderedtheir vast wealth in various reprehensible ways, trying to get some ideaabout the new animal. Finally he sniffed some more, and they was allcrazy as loons, and went off. But where does he go but over to old Peteat the woodpile and keeps him from his work for ten minutes trying to getthe new animal's name out of Pete. But he can't trap the redman into anyadmissions. All he can find out is that Pete is serious and excited. 

Then he come up to ask me once more if he couldn't take some mules offmy hands. He found out quick and short that he couldn't. Still he hunground, talking nonsense as far as I could make out, because I hadn'tyet been let in on the new elephant proposition. He says he hears I'mtaking up a new line of stock, the same not being whales nor anythingthat swims, and if it's more than I can swing by myself, why, he's a goodneighbour of long standing, and able in a pinch, mebbe, to scrape up afew thousand dollars, or even more if it's a sure cinch, and how aboutit, and from one old friend to another just what is this new line?

Being busy I acted short. I said I was sticking to cattle in spite of theinfamous gossip against 'em, and all reports to the contrary was meresociety chatter. Still he acted like I was trying to fool him. He wentout saying if I changed my mind any time I was to let him know, and he'dbe over again soon to talk mules at least, if nothing else, and anythinghe could do for me any time, just say the word, and try some of this gum, and so forth. I was right puzzled by these here refined civilities of hisuntil Pete comes in and tells me how the boys have stocked the old ranchwith elephants and how Safety has tried to get him to tell the secret. Itell Pete he's done right to keep still, and then I go down to the bunkhouse and hear the whole thing. 

By this time they're shipping thousands of steer elephants at top prices;they catch 'em up off soft feed and fatten 'em on popcorn and peanuts, and every Thanksgiving they send a nice fat calf down to the White House, for no one looks at turkey any more. Sandy is now telling what a snap itwill be to ride herd on elephants. 

"You pick out a big one, " he says, "and you build a little cupalo up ontop of him and climb up into it by means of a ladder, and set there inthis little furnished room with a good book, and smoke and pass the timeaway while your good old saddle elephant does the work. All you got to dois lean out of the front window now and then and jab him in the foreheadwith an ice pick, whichever way you want him to turn. "

I said trust a cow-puncher to think up some way where he'd have to do aslittle work with his hands as he does with his head. But I admitted theyseemed to have landed on old Timmins for once, because he had tried toget Pete to betray the secret and then come wheedling round to me aboutit. I said I could talk more intelligently next time, and he would surecome again because he had lavished two sticks of gum on me, which was anincredible performance and could not have been done except for an evilpurpose. 

"Now say, " says Sandy, "that does look like we got him believing. I wasgoing to kid him along about once more, then spring elephants on him, andwe'd all have a good laugh at the old wolf. But it looks to me like achance for better than a laugh; it looks to me like we might commit areal crime against him. "

"He never carries anything on him, " I says, "if you're meaning somethingplain, like highway robbery. "

Sandy says he don't mean that; he means real Wall Street stuff, such asone gentleman can pull on another and still keep loose; crooked, he says, but not rough. I ask what is the idea, and Sandy says get him more andmore feverish about the vast returns from this secret enterprise. Thenwe'll cut out a bunch of culls--thin stuff and runts and cripples--andmake him give about four times what they're worth on a promise to let himinto the new deal; tell him we must be rid of this stuff to make room forthe new animals, and naturally we'll favour our friends. 

"There, now!" says Sandy. "I should be in Wall Street this minute, beingable to think up a coop as pernicious as that: and I would of been there, too, only I hate city life. "

"For once in the world's history, " I says, "there may be a grain ofsense in your words. Only no cows in the deal. Even to defraud the oldcrook I wouldn't let him have hide nor hair of a beef, not since heworked on my feelings in the matter of them bull calves two years ago. Mules, yes. But the cow is too worthy a beast to be mixed up in anythingsinful I put over on that profiteer. Now I'll tell you what, " I says, very businesslike: "you boys tole him along till he gets hectic enough totake that bunch of mule runts down in the south field, and anything youget over fifty dollars a head I'll split with you. "

Sandy hollers at this. He says this bunch ain't mules but rabbits, andthat I wouldn't refuse forty a head for 'em this minute. He says even aman expecting to be let in on a sure-thing elephant ranch would knowsomething wicked was meant if asked to give even as much as fifty dollarsfor these insects. I tell him all very true; but this is just the marginfor his lasting financial genius which he displays so little reticenceabout that it'll get into the papers and make him a marked man from coastto coast if he ain't careful. He says oh, all right, if I want to take itthat way, and he'll see what he can do. Mebbe he can get fifty-five ahead, which would not only give the boys a good laugh but provide alittle torch money. 

I left 'em plotting against a man that had never been touched by any plotwhatever. I resolved to remain kind of aloof from their nefarious doings. It didn't seem quite dignified for one of my standing to be mixed up in adeal so crooked--at least no more than necessary to get my share of thepickings. 

Sure enough, the very next day here come the depraved old outcastmarauding round again at lunch time and et with the boys in the kitchen. He found 'em full of suppressed excitement and secret speech andcareless talk about large sums of money. It must of been like sweetestmusic to his ears. One says how much would it be safe to count on cuttingup the first year--how much in round numbers; and another would say thatin round numbers, what with the expense of getting started and figuringeverything down to the last cent, it wouldn't be safe to count on morethan a hundred thousand dollars; but, of course, for the second year, now, why it would be nearer two hundred thousand in round numbers, evenfiguring everything fine and making big allowance for shrinkage. Afterthat they handed money back and forth in round numbers till they gotsick of the sound of it. 

They said Safety set and listened in a trance, only waking up now andthen to see if he couldn't goad someone into revealing the name of thisnew animal. But they always foiled him. Sandy Sawtelle drew an affectingpicture of himself being cut off by high living at the age of ninety, leaving six or eight million dollars in round numbers and having his kinfolks squabble over his will till the lawyers got most of it. They saidSafety hardly et a morsel and had an evil glitter in his eyes. 

And after lunch he went out to the woodpile where old Pete was workingand offered him two bits in money to tell him the secret, and when oldPete scorned him he raised it to four bits. I guess the idea of any onerefusing money merely for a little talk had never seemed possible to him. He must of thought there was sure something in it. I was away that day, but when I got back and heard about his hellish attempt to bribe oldPete I told the boys they sure had the chance of a lifetime. I said ifthere was a mite of financial prowess in the bunch they would start theprice on them runt mules at one hundred dollars flat, because it wascertain that Safety had struck the skids. 

Next day it looked better than ever. Safety not only appeared in theafternoon but he brought me a quart jar of honey from his own bees. Anyone not having looked up his criminal record would little understandwhat this meant. I pretended to be too busy to be startled at the gift, which broke thirty years of complete inactivity in that line. I lookedworried and important with a litter of papers on my desk and seemed tohave no time to waste on callers. He mentioned mules once or twice withno effect whatever, then says he hears I'm going into a new line thatseems like it might have a few dollars in it, and he hopes I won't losemy all, because so many things nowadays look good till they're tried. I was crafty. I said I might be going into a new line, then again itmight be nothing but idle talk and he better not believe everything hehears. 

He took up the jar of honey and fondled it, with his face looking likehe was laying a loved one to rest, and said he wouldn't mind going intosomething new himself if he could be sure it was sound, because the stockbusiness at present was a dog's life. He said the war was to be won byfood, and every patriot should either go across or come across, and hewas trying to stand by the flag and save all the food he could, but bythe way his help acted at mealtime you'd think they was a gang of Germanspies. Watch 'em eat beans, he said, and you'd think they'd never heardthat beans had gone from three cents a pound to sixteen; but they hadheard it, because he'd told 'em so in plain English more than once. Butit had no effect. The way they dished into 'em you'd think we'd beenendowed with beans the same as with God's own sunlight. 

He said it was discouraging to a staunch patriot. Here was the Presidenttrying to make democracy safe for the world, and he was now going tostand by the Administration even if he had voted the Republican ticketup to now; but three of his men had quit only yesterday and the war wascertainly lost if the labouring classes kept on making gods of theirstomachs that way. And as a matter of fact now, as between old friendsand neighbours, if I had something that looked good, why not keep it alltogether just with us here in the valley, he, though a poor man, beingable to scrape up a few thousand dollars in round numbers for anyenterprise that was a cinch. 

And the old hound being worth a good half million dollars at thatinstant! But I kept control of my face and looked still more worriedand important and said I might have to take in a good man, and thenagain I might not. I couldn't tell till I got some odd lots of stockcleaned up. Then I looked at some more documents and, like I was talkingunconsciously to myself, I muttered, though distinctly: "Now that therebunch of runt mules--they'll have to go; but, of course, not for any meresong. "

Then I studied some more documents in a masterful manner and forgot mycaller entirely till at last he pussyfooted out, having caught sight ofSandy down by the corral. 

Pretty soon Sandy reports to me. He says Safety is hurt at my cold mannerto an old friend and neighbour that's always running in with a jar ofhoney or some knickknack; and he had mentioned the runt mules, sayinghe might be induced to consider 'em though I probably won't let 'em gofor any mere song, contemptible as they are. Sandy says he's right; thatit's got to be a whole opera with words and music for them mules. He saysI got a reason for acting firm about the price, the reason being thatthis new line I'm going to embark in is such a sure thing that I wantonly friends to come in, and I got to be convinced first that their heartis in the right place. 

Safety says his heart is always getting the best of his head in stockdeals, but just how foolish will I expect an old and tried friend to seemabout these scrub mules that nobody in his right mind would touch at anyprice. 

Sandy yawns like he was weary of it all and says a hundred dollars flat. He said Safety just stood still and looked at him forever without battingan eye, till he got rattled and said that mebbe ninety-five might beconsidered. That's a trick with this old robber when a party's gotsomething to sell him. They tell their price and he just keeps still andlooks at 'em--not indignant nor astonished, not even interested, butmerely fishlike. Most people can't stand it long, it's that uncanny. They get fussed and nervous, and weaken before he's said a single word. 

But it was certain now that the mystery was getting to Safety, becauseotherwise he'd have laughed his head off at the mention of a hundreddollars for these mules. Three months before he'd heard me himself offer'em for forty a head. You see, when I bought bands of mules from time totime I'd made the sellers throw in the little ones to go free with thetrade. I now had twenty-five or so, but it had begun to get to me thatmebbe those sellers hadn't been so easy as I thought at the time. Theywas knotty-headed little runts that I'd never bothered to handle. 

Last spring I had the boys chink up the cracks in the corral and put eachone of the cunning little mites into the chute and roach it so as to puta bow in its neck; then I put the bunch on good green feed where theywould fatten and shed off; but it was wasted effort. They looked so muchlike field mice I was afraid that cats would make a mistake. After theygot fat the biggest one looked as if he'd weigh close up to seven hundredand fifty. It was when they had begun to buy mules too; that is to say, mules! But no such luck as a new West Pointer coming to inspect these;nothing but wise old cavalry captains that when they put an eye on thebunch would grin friendly at me and hesitate only long enough to put somewater in the radiator. I bet there never was a bunch of three-year-oldmules that stood so much condemning. 

After offering 'em for forty a head one time to a party and having himanswer very simply by asking how the road was on beyond and which turndid he take, I quit bothering. After that when buyers come along I toldthe truth and said I didn't have any mules. I had to keep my real ones, and it wasn't worth while showing those submules. And this was the bunchSandy had told S. F. Timmins he could take away for a hundred a head--oreven ninety-five. And Safety hadn't laughed!

And would you have wondered when he sifts in a couple days later andmakes me a cold offer of sixty dollars a head for this choice livestock?Yes, sir! He says "Live and let live" is his motto, and he wants to provethat I have wronged him in the past if I ever had the faintest suspicionthat he wasn't the ideal party to have in on a deal that was going to neteveryone concerned a handsome fortune. He says the fact is money goesthrough his fingers like water if you come right down to it; and sixty oreven sixty-five if I want to push him to extremes, because he's the lastman on God's green earth to let five dollars split up old neighboursthat ought to be hand and glove in any new deal that come up. 

It like to of keeled me over, but I recovered and become busier than everand got out my bank book and begun to figure over that. I said SandySawtelle had the handling of this particular bunch of my assets andI couldn't be bothered by it. 

So he mooches down to the barn till Sandy come in with Buck Devine. They was chattering about three hundred thousand dollars in round numberswhen they got near enough for him to overhear their private conversation. They wondered why they had wasted so much of their lives in the cattlebusiness, but now them old hard-working days was over, or soon would be, with nothing to do but travel round in Pullman palace cars and seeAmerica first, and go to movies, and so forth. Safety wished to hagglesome about the mules, but Sandy says he's already stated the price inclear, ringing tones, and he has no time to waste, being that I mustsend him down that night to get an order on the wire for two carloadsof the Little Giant peanut. Safety just blinked at this, not even askingwhy the peanuts; and the boys left him cold. 

When I told 'em about the offer to me of sixty or a possible sixty-five, they at once done a medicine dance. 

"This here will be the richest coop ever pulled off west of Cheyenne, "says Buck; and Sandy says he guesses anybody not blind can now see thatwell-known street in New York he ought to have his office on. He sayshe hopes Safety don't fall too easy, because he wants more chance towork it up. 

But Sandy is doomed to disappointment. Safety holds off only two daysmore. Two days he loafs round at mealtimes, listening to their richconverse and saying he'd like to know who's a better friend of thisoutfit than he's been for twenty years. The boys tell him if he's sucha good friend to go ahead and prove it with a little barter that wouldbe sure to touch my heart. And the first day Safety offers seventy-fivea head for these here jack rabbits, which they calmly ignore and go ontalking about Liberty Bonds being a good safe investment; and the secondday he just cries like a child that he'll pay eighty-five and trust totheir honour that he's to have in on this new sure-thing deal. 

That seemed enough, so they all shook hands with the spendthrift andslapped him on the back in good fellowship, and said they knew all thetime he had a heart of gold and they feel free to say now that once themoney has passed he won't be let to go off the place till he has heardall about the new enterprise and let in on the ground floor, and theyhope he won't ever forget this moment when the money begins to roll infit to smother him in round numbers. So Safety says he knows they're agood square set of boys, as clean as a hound's tooth, and he'll be overto-morrow to take over the stock and hear the interesting details. 

The boys set up late that night figuring their share of the burglary. There was twenty-five of these ground squirrels. I was to get my fifty ahead, at least ten of which was illegitimate. Then for the thirty-five, which was the real robbery, I was to take half, and eight of the boys theother half. I begun to wonder that night just what could be done to usunder the criminal law. It looked like three years in some good jailwouldn't be a bit too harsh. 

Next day bright and early here comes frugal Safety, gangling along behindhis whiskers and bringing one of his ill-fed hirelings to help drive thestuff back. Safety is rubbing his hands and acting very sprightly, withan air of false good fellowship. It almost seems like he was afraid theyhad thought better of the trade and might try to crawl out. He wants itover quick. They all go down and help him drive his purchase out of thelower field, where they been hiding in the tall grass, and in no timeat all have the bunch headed down the lane on to the county road, withSafety's man keeping well up to protect 'em from the coyotes. 

Next there's kind of a solemn moment when the check is being made out. Safety performs that serious operation down at the bunk house. Making outany check is always the great adventure with him. He writes it with hisheart's blood, and not being the greatest scholar in the world he has tocount the letters in his name after it's written--he knows there ought tobe nine together--and then he has to wipe the ink off his hands and sighdismally and say if this thing keeps up he'll be spending his old age atthe poor farm, and so forth. It all went according to schedule, exceptthat he seemed strangely eager and under a severe nervous strain. 

Me? I'd been, sort of hanging round on the edge of events while thedastardly deed was being committed, not seeming to be responsible in anyway. My Lord! I still wanted to be able to face the bereaved man as anhonest woman and tell him it was only some nonsense of the boys for whichI could not be held under the law, no matter how good a lawyer he'd get. When they come trooping out of the bunk house I was pretending to consultAbner, the blacksmith, about some mower parts. And right off I was struckby the fact that Safety seemed to be his old self again; his air of falsegayety and nervous strain had left him and he was cold and silent anddeadly, like the poisonous cobra of India. 

But now they was going to spring the new secret enterprise on him, so Imoved off toward the house a bit, not wanting to be too near when hisscreams begun. It did seem kind of shameful, taking advantage of theold miser's grasping habits; still, I remembered a few neat things he'ddone to me and I didn't slink too far into the background. Safety wasstanding by his horse with the boys all gathered close round him, and Iheard Sandy say "Elephants--nothing but elephants--that's the new idea!"

Then they all begun to talk at once, jabbering about the peanuts andpopcorn that crowds of people will come to buy from us to feed back toour stock, and how there's more meat in an elephant than in six steers, and about how the punchers will be riding round in these little cupalosup on top of their big saddle elephants; and they kept getting swifterand more excited in their talk, till at last they just naturally explodedwhen they made sure Safety got the idea and would know he'd been made afool of. They had a grand time; threw their hats in the air and dancedround their victim and punched each other, and their yells and heartylaughter could of been heard for miles up and down the creek. Two orthree had guns they let off to add to the gleeful noise. Oh, it wasdeuces wild for about three minutes. They nearly died laughing. 

Then the whole thing kind of died a strange and painful death. Safetywasn't taking on one bit like a man that's been stung. He stood therecold and malignant and listened to the noise and didn't bat an eye tillhe just naturally quelled the disorder. It got as still as a church, andthen Safety talked a little in a calm voice. 

"Elephants?" says he, kind of amused. "Why, elephants ain't no good stockproposition because it takes 'em so long to mature! Elephants is often ahundred and twenty years old. You'd have to feed one at least forty yearsto get him fit to ship. I really am surprised at you boys, going into aproposition like that without looking up the details. It certainly ain'tanything for my money. Why, you couldn't even veal an elephant till hewas about fifteen years old, which would need at least six thousanddollars' worth of peanuts; and what kind of a stock business is that, I'dlike to know. And even if they could rustle their own feed, what kind ofa business is it where you could only ship once in a lifetime? You boysmake me tired, going hell-bent into an enterprise where you'd all be deadand forgotten before the first turnover of your stock. "

He now looked at 'em in a sad, rebuking manner. It was like an icy blastfrom Greenland the way he took it. 

Two or three tried to start the big laugh again, but their yips wasfeeble and died quickly out. They just stood there foolish. Even SandySawtelle couldn't think of anything bright to say. 

Safety now climbs on his horse, strangely cheerful, and says; "Well, I'llhave to be getting along with them new mules of mine. " Then he kind ofgiggled at the crowd and says: "I certainly got the laugh on this outfit, starting a business where this here old Methusalem hisself could hardlyget it going good before death cut him off!"

And away he rides, chuckling like it was an awful joke on us. Not asingle scream of agony about what had been done to him with them stuntedmules. 

Of course that was all I needed to know. One deadly chill of fear took mefrom head to foot. I knew perfectly well our trench was mined and thefuse lighted. Up comes this chucklehead of a Sawtelle, and for once inhis life he's puzzled. 

"Well, " he says, "you got to give old S. F. Credit for one thing. Did yousee the way he tried to switch the laugh over on to us, and me with histrusty check right here in my hand? I never would have thought it, buthe is certainly one awful good game loser!"

"Game loser nothing!" I says. "He's just a game winner. Any time you seethat old boy acting game he's won. And he's won now, no matter how muchthe known facts look against it. I don't know how, but he's won. "

They all begin to tell me I must be mistaken, because look at the pricewe got for stuff we hadn't been able to sell at any price before. I saysI am looking at that, but I'm also obliged to look at Safety after he'spaid that price, and the laws of Nature certainly ain't been suspendedall at once. I offer to bet 'em what they've made on the deal that Safetyhas run true to form. "Mark my words, " I says, "this is one sad day forthe Arrowhead! I don't know how or why, but we'll soon find out; and ifyou don't believe me, now's the time to double your money. "

But they hung off on that. They got too much respect for my judgment. Andthey admitted that Safety's way of standing the gaff had been downrightuncanny. So there was nothing to do but pay over their share of thistainted money and wait for the blow, eight hundred and seventy-fivedollars being the amount I split with 'em for their masterly headworkin the depredation. 

That very day in the mail comes a letter that has been delayed becausethis here Government of ours pinches a penny even worse than old Timminsdoes. Yes, sir; this letter had been mailed at Seattle with a two-centstamp the day after the Government had boosted the price to three cents. And what does the Government do? Does it say: "Oh, send it along! Whypinch pennies?" Not at all. It takes a printed card and a printedenvelope and the time of a clerk and an R. F. D. Mail carrier to send meword that I must forward one cent if I want this letter--spends at leasttwo cents to get one cent. Well, it takes two days for that notice toreach me; and of course I let it lie round a couple of days, thinkingit's probably an advertisement; and then two days for my one-cent stampto go back to this parsimonious postmaster; and two days for the letterto get here; making about eight days, during which things had happenedthat I should of known about. Yes, sir; it's a great Government that willworry over one cent and then meet one of these smooth profiteers andloosen up on a million dollars like a cowhand with three months' payhitting a wet town. Of course it was all over when I read this letter. 

 * * * * *

I rolled another cigarette for the injured woman it being no time forwords. 

"It just goes to show, " she observed after the first relishing draft, "that we should be honest, even with defectives like old Timmins. Thisman in Seattle that keeps track of prices for me writes that the top ofthe mule market has blown sky-high; that if I got anything looking at alllike a mule not to let it go off the place for less than two hundreddollars, because mule buyers is sure desperate. Safety must of got thesame tip, only you can bet his correspondent put the full three centson the letter. Safety would never have trusted a strange postmaster withthe excess. Anyway he sold that bunch of rabbits a week later for onehundred and seventy-five a head, thus adding twenty-two hundred and fiftydollars of my money to his tainted fortune. You can imagine the pins andneedles he'd been on for a week, scared I'd get the tip and knowing if heeven mentioned them runts at any price whatever that I'd be wise at once. That joke of the boys must of seemed heaven-sent to him. 

"You ought to heard the lecture I read them fool punchers on commonhonesty and how the biter is always bit. I scared 'em good; there hasn'tbeen an elephant on the place since that day. They're a chastened lot, all right. I was chastened myself. I admit it. I don't hardly believeI'll ever attempt anything crooked on old Safety again---and yet, I don'tknow. "

The lady viciously expelled the last smoke from her cigarette and againtook up the knitting. 

"I don't really know but if there was some wanton, duplicity come up thatI could handle myself and not have to leave to that pack of amateurthieves out in the bunk house, and it was dead sure and I didn't riskdoing more than two years' penal servitude--yes, I really don't know. Even now mebbe all ain't over between us. "

II

A LOVE STORY

I had for some time been noting a slight theatrical tinge to theperiodical literature supported by the big table in the Arrowhead livingroom. Chiefly the table's burden is composed of trade journals of thesober quality of the _Stockbreeder's Gazette_ or _Mine, Quarry & Derrick_or the "Farmer's Almanac. " But if, for example, one really tired of avivacious column headed "Chats on Fertilizers" one could, by shufflingthe litter, come upon a less sordid magazine frankly abandoned to theinterests of the screen drama. 

The one I best recall has limned upon its cover in acceptable flesh tintsa fair young face of flawless beauty framed in a mass of curling goldenringlets. The dewy eyes, shaded to mystery by lashes of uncommon length, flash a wistful appeal that is faintly belied by the half-smiling lipsand the dimpling chin. The contours are delicate yet firm; a face ofhaunting appeal--a face in which tears can be seldom but the sprightlyrain of April, and the smile, when it melts the sensitive lips, will yetwarn that hearts are made to ache and here is one not all too merry inits gladness. It is the face of one of our famous screen beauties, and weknow, even from this tinted half-tone, that the fame has been deserved. 

On one of those tired Arrowhead nights, inwardly debating the possiblediscourtesy of an early bedding after ten wet miles of trout stream, Icame again and again to this compelling face of the sad smile and theglad tears. It recalled an ideal feminine head much looked at in mynonage. It was lithographed mostly in pink and was labeled "Tempest andSunshine. " So I loitered by the big table, dreaming upon the poignantperfections of this idol of a strange new art. I dreamed until awakenedby the bustling return of my hostess, Mrs. Lysander John Pettengill, whopaused beside me to build an after-dinner cigarette, herself glancingmeantime at the flawless face on the magazine cover. I perceivedinstantly that she also had been caught by its not too elusive charm. 

"A beautiful face, " I said. 

Ma Pettengill took the magazine from me and studied the dainty thing. 

"Yes, he's certainly beautiful, " she assented. "He's as handsome as aGreek goddess. " Thus did the woman ambiguously praise that famous screenstar, J. Harold Armytage. "And the money he makes! His salary is one ofthem you see compared with the President's so as to make the latter seema mere trifle. That's a funny thing. I bet at least eighteen milliongrown people in this country never did know how much they was payingtheir president till they saw it quoted beside some movie star's salaryin a piece that tells how he's getting about four times what we pay theman in the White House. Ain't it a great business, though! Here's thishorrible male beauty that would have to be mighty careful to escapeextermination if he was anything but an actor. Being that, however, henot only eludes the vengeance of a sickened populace, but he can comeout and be raw about it. Here, let me show you. "

She turned to the page where J. Harold Armytage began to print a choicefew of the letters he daily received from admirers of the reputedlyfrailer sex. She now read me one of these with lamentable efforts ofvoice to satirize its wooing note: "My darling! I saw that dear face ofyours again to-night in All For Love! So noble and manly you were in thesawmill scene where first you turn upon the scoundrelly millionairefather of the girl you love, then save him from the dynamite bomb of thestrikers at the risk of your own. Oh, my dearest! Something tells me yourheart is as pure and sweet as your acting, that your dear face could notmask an evil thought. Oh, my man of all the world! If only you and Itogether might--"

It seemed enough. Ma Pettengill thought so too. The others were notunlike it. The woman then read me a few of the replies of J. HaroldArmytage to his unknown worshippers. The famous star was invariablymodest and dignified in these. Tactfully, as a gentleman must in anymagazine of wide circulation, he deprecated the worship of these adoringones and kindly sought to persuade them that he was but a man--not a god, even if he did chance to receive one of the largest salaries in thebusiness. The rogue! No god--with the glorious lines of his face thereon the cover to controvert this awkward disclaimer! His beauty flauntedto famished hearts, what avail to protest weakly that they should putaway his image or even to hint, as now and again he was stern enough todo, that their frankness bordered on the unmaidenly?

I called Ma Pettengill's attention to this engaging modesty. I said itmust be an affair of some delicacy to rebuff ardent and not too reticentfair ones in a public print, and that I considered J. Harold Armytage tohave come out of it with a display of taste that could be called unusual. The woman replied, with her occasional irrelevance, that if the partiesthat hired him should read this stuff they probably wouldn't even thentake him out on the lot and have him bitterly kicked by a succession often large labouring men who would take kindly to the task. She then oncemore said that the movies was sure one great business, and turned in themagazine to pleasanter pages on which one Vida Sommers, also a screenidol, it seemed, gave warning and advice to young girls who contemplateda moving-picture career. 

Portraits of Vida Sommers in her best-known roles embellished thesepages. In all of the portraits she wept. In some the tears were visible;in others they had to be guessed, the face being drawn by anguish. Herfeminine correspondents wished particularly to be told of the snaresand temptations besetting the path of the young girl who enters thisperilous career. Many of them seemed rather vague except upon this point. They all seemed to be sure that snares and temptations would await them, and would Vida Sommers please say how these could be avoided by young andimpressionable girls of good figure and appearance who were now waitingon table at the American House in Centralia, Illinois, or acceptingtemporary employment in mercantile establishments in Chicago, or merelyliving at home in Zanesville, Ohio, amid conditions unbearably crampingto their aspirations?

And Vida Sommers told every one of them not to consider the pictures butas a final refuge from penury. She warned them that they would find thelife one of hard work and full of disappointments. It seemed that eventhe snares and temptations were disappointing, being more easily evadedthan many of her correspondents appeared to suspect. She advised them allto marry some good, true man and make a home for him. And surely none ofthem could have believed the life to be a joyous one after studying thesesorrowful portraits of Vida Sommers. 

"That's my little actress friend, " said Ma Pettengill. "Doesn't she crysomething grand!"

"You've been cheating me, " I answered. "I never knew you had a littleactress friend. How did you get her? And doesn't she ever play anythingcheerful?"

"Of course not! She only plays mothers, and you know what that means inmoving pictures. Ever see a moving-picture mother that had a chance to behappy for more than the first ten feet of film? You certainly got to cryto hold down that job. Ain't she always jolted quick in the first reel bythe husband getting all ruined up in Wall Street, or the child gettingstole, or the daughter that's just budding into womanhood running offwith a polished shoe-drummer with city ways, or the only son robbing abank, or husband taking up with a lady adventuress that lives across thehall in the same flat and outdresses mother?

"Then it's one jolt after another for her till the last ten feet of thelast reel, when everything comes right somewhere on a ranch out in thegreat clean West where husband or son has got to be a man again bymingling with the honest-hearted drunken cowboys in their barroomfrolics, or where daughter has won back her womanhood and made a name forherself by dancing the Nature dance in the Red Eye Saloon for rough buttender-hearted miners that shower their gold on her when stewed. Only, inthis glad time of the last ten feet she still has to cry a-plenty becausethe clouds have passed and she's Oh, so happy at last! Yes, sir; theyget mother going and coming. And when she ain't weeping she has to bescared or mad or something that keeps her face busy. Here--I got someprogrammes of new pieces Vida just sent me. You can see she's a greatactress; look at that one: 'Why Did You Make My Mamma Cry?' And theseother two. "

I looked and believed. The dramas were variously and pithily describedas The Picture with the Punch Powerful--The Smashing Five-ReelMasterpiece--A Play of Peculiar Problems and Tense Situations--SixGripping Reels, 7, 000 Feet and Every Foot a Punch! Vida Sommers, inthe scenes reproduced from these plays, had indeed a busy face. In thepicture captioned "Why Did You Make My Mamma Cry?" the tiny golden-hairedgirl is reproaching her father in evening dress. I read the opening linesof the synopsis: "A young business man, who has been made successfulthrough his wife's money, is led to neglect her through pressure ofaffairs, falls into the toils of a dancer in a public place and becomesa victim of her habit, that of drinking perfume in her tea--"

But I had not the heart to follow this tragedy. In another, "The WomanPays--Powerful and Picturesque, a Virile Masterpiece of Red-BloodedHearts, " Vida Sommers is powerfully hating her husband whom she hasconfronted in the den of a sneering and superbly gowned adventuresswho declares that the husband must choose between them. Of course therecan be no doubt about the husband's choice. No sane movie actor wouldhesitate a second. The caption says of Vida Sommers: "Her Love Has Turnedto Hate. " It may be good acting, but it would never get her chosen by themale of her species--the adventuress being what is known in some circlesas a pippin. 

I studied still another of these documents--"Hearts Asunder. " VidaSommers has sent her beautiful daughter to the spring for a pail ofwater, though everyone in the audience must know that Gordon Balch, thedetestable villain, is lurking outside for precisely this to occur. Thesynopsis beautiful says: "The mother now goes in search of her darling, only to find her struggling in the grasp of Gordon Balch, who is tryingto force his attentions on her. " This is where Vida Sommers has to lookfrightened, though in a later picture one sees that her fright changedto "A Mother's Honest Rage. " The result is that Gordon Balch gets his, and gets it good. The line under his last appearance is "The End of aMisspent Life. " Vida Sommers here registers pity. As Ma Pettengill hadsaid, her face seemed never to have a moment's rest. 

While I studied these exhibits my hostess had not been silent upon themerits of her little actress friend. Slowly she made me curious as to theorigin and inner life of this valued member of an exalted profession. 

"Yes, sir; there she is at the top, drawing down big money, with anice vine-clad home in this film town, furnished from a page in awoman's magazine, with a big black limousine like a hearse--all butthe plumes--and a husband that she worships the ground he walks on. Everything the heart can desire, even to being mother to some of thevery saddest persons ever seen on a screen. It shows what genius willdo for a woman when she finds out what kind of genius she's got and isfurther goaded by the necessity of supporting a husband in the style towhich he has been accustomed by a doting father. She's some person now, let me tell you. 

"She spent a week with me in Red Gap last fall, and you'd ought to seenhow certain parties kowtowed to me so they'd get to meet her. I foundthat about every woman under fifty in our town is sure she was born forthis here picture work, from Henrietta Templeton Price to Beryl MaeMacomber, who's expecting any day to be snapped up by some shrewd managerthat her type is bound to appeal to, she being a fair young thing withbig eyes and lots of teeth, like all film actresses. Metta Bigler, that teaches oil painting and burnt wood, give Vida a reception in herBohemian studio in Red Gap's Latin Quarter--the studio having a chainof Chianti bottles on the wall and an ash tray with five burnt cigaretteends on a taboret to make it look Bohemian--and that was sure the biggestthrill our town has had since the Gus Levy All Star Shamrock VaudevilleCompany stranded there five years ago. It just shows how important mylittle actress friend is--and look what she come up from!"

I said I wouldn't mind looking what she come up from if she had startedlow enough to make it exciting. 

Ma Pettengill said she had that! She had come up from the gutter. Shesaid that Vida Sommers, the idol of thousands, had been "a mere daughterof the people. " Her eyes crinkled as she uttered this phrase. So I chosea chair in the shadow while she built a second cigarette. 

Ten years ago I'm taking a vacation down in New York City. Along comes aletter from Aunt Esther Colborn, of Fredonia, who is a kind of a thirdcousin of mine about twice removed. Says her niece, Vida, has had a goodcity job as cashier of a dairy lunch in Boston, which is across the riverfrom some college, but has thrown this job to the winds to marry the onlycollege son of a rich New York magnate or Wall Street crook who has castthe boy off for contracting this low alliance with a daughter of thepeople. Aunt Esther is now afraid Vida isn't right happy and wants Ishould look her up and find out. It didn't sound too good, but I obliged. 

I go to the address in Sixty-seventh Street on the West Side and findthat Vida is keeping a boarding house. But I was ready to cheer AuntEsther with a telegram one second after she opened the door on me--ina big blue apron and a dustcap on her hair. She was the happiest youngwoman I ever did see--shining it out every which way. A very attractivegirl about twenty-five, with a slim figure and one of these faces thatain't exactly of howling beauty in any one feature, but that sure getyou when they're sunned up with joy like this one was. 

She was pleased to death when I told her my name, and of course I mustcome in and stay for dinner so I could see all her boarders that was likeone big family and, above all, meet her darling husband Clyde when he gothome from business. The cheeriest thing she was, and I adore to meetpeople that are cheery, so I said nothing would please me better. Shetook me up to her little bedroom to lay my things off and then down tothe parlour where she said I must rest and excuse her because she stillhad a few little things to supervise. She did have too. In the next hourand a half she run up and down two flights of stairs at least ten times. I could hear her sweeping overhead and jamming things round on the stovewhen she raced down to the kitchen. Yes, she had several little things tosupervise and one girl to help her. I peeked into the kitchen once whileI was wandering through the lower rooms, and she seemed to be showingthis girl how to boil potatoes. I wondered if she never run down and ifher happy look was really chronic or mebbe put on for my benefit. Still, I could hear her singing to herself and she moved like a happy person. 

In looking round the parlour I was greeted on every wall by picturesof a charming youth I guessed was darling Clyde. A fine young face hehad, and looked as happy as Vida herself. There was pictures of himwith a tennis racket and on a sailboat and with a mandolin and standingup with his college glee club and setting on a high-powered horse andso forth, all showing he must be a great social favourite and one bornto have a good time. I wondered how he'd come to confer himself onthe cashier of a quick-lunch place. I thought it must be one of theseromances. Then--I'm always remembering the foolishest things--I recalleda funny little absent look in Vida's eyes when she spoke of her darlingcoming home from business. I thought now it must of been pride; that hewas performing some low job in a factory or store while she run theboarding house, and she didn't want me to know it. I thought he mustbe a pretty fine rich man's son to stand the gaff this way when castoff by his father for mixing up with a daughter of the people. 

It come dinnertime; about a dozen boarders straggling in, with Vida ina pretty frock anxious because darling Clyde was ten minutes late andof course something fatal must of happened to him in crossing a crowdedstreet. But nothing had. He showed up safe and sound and whistling inanother ten minutes, and became the life of the party. He looked near ashappy as Vida did when she embraced him out in the hall, a fine handsomeyoung fellow, the best-natured in the world, jollying the boarders andjollying me and jollying Vida that he called Baby Girl, or Babe. I saw, too, that I must of been mistaken about the job he was holding down. Hewas dressed in a very expensive manner, with neat little gold trinketshalf concealed about him, the shirt and collar exactly right and thesilk socks carefully matching the lavender tie. 

He kept the table lively all through dinner with jokes and quips from thelatest musical comedies and anecdotes of his dear old college days, andhow that very afternoon he had won a silver cup and the pool championshipof his college club--and against a lot of corking good players, too, hedidn't mind saying. Also I noticed we was eating a mighty good dinner; sodarned good you didn't see how Vida could set it up at the price boardersusually pay. 

After dinner Clyde sat down to the piano in the parlour and entertainedone and all with songs of a comic or sentimental character. He knew apiano intimately, and his voice was one of these here melting tenors thatget right inside of you and nestle. He was about the most ingratiatingyoung man I'd ever met, and I didn't wonder any more about Vida's lookof joy being permanent. She'd look in on the party every once in a whilefrom the kitchen or the dining room where she was helping her Swede dothe dishes for fifteen people and set the table for breakfast. 

She was about an hour at this, and when at last she'd slipped out of herbig apron and joined us she was looking right tuckered but still joyous. Clyde patted his Baby Girl's hand when she come in, and she let herselfgo into an easy-chair near him that one of the boarders got up to giveher. I got the swift idea that this was the first time all day she'd setdown with any right feeling of rest. 

Then Clyde sung to her. You could tell it was a song he meant for her andnever sung till she'd got the work done up. A right pretty old song itwas, Clyde throwing all the loving warmth of his first-class tenor voiceinto the words:

Good night, good night, beloved!I come to watch o'er thee, To be near thee, to be near thee. 

I forget the rest, but there was happy tears in Vida's eyes when hefinished in one climbing tenor burst. Then Clyde gets up and says hehas an engagement down to his college club because some of his dear oldclassmates has gathered there for a quiet little evening of reminiscenceand the jolly old rascals pretend they can't get along without him. Vidabeams on him brighter than ever and tells him to be sure and have a goodtime, which I'd bet money he'd be sure to. 

It was a very pretty scene when they said good night. Vida pretendedthat Clyde's voice was falling off from smoking too many cigarettes atthis club. "I wouldn't mind you're going there, but I just know you spendmost of the time in the club's horrid old smoking room!" She tells himthis with a pout. Smoking room of a club! The knowing little minx! AndClyde chided her right back in a merry fashion. He lifted one of herhands and said his Baby Girl would have to take better care of thembecause the cunnun' little handies was getting all rough. Then theyboth laughed and went out for a long embrace in the hall. 

Vida come back with a glowing countenance, and the boarders havingdropped off to their rooms when the life of the party went to his clubwe had a nice chat. All about Clyde. She hoped I did like him, and Ifrankly said he was about the most taking young brat I'd ever been closeto. She explained how their union had been a dream; that during theirentire married life of a year and a half he had never spoken one crossword to her. She said I couldn't imagine his goodness of heart nor hissunny disposition nor how much everyone admired him. But the tired thinggot so sleepy in ten minutes, even talking about her husband, that shecouldn't keep back the yawns, so I said I'd had a wonderful evening andwould have to go now. 

But up in the bedroom, while I'm putting my things on, she gets waked upand goes more into detail about her happiness. I've never been able tofigure out why, but women will tell each other things in a bedroom thatthey wouldn't dream of telling in any other room. Not that Vida went veryfar. Just a few little points. Like how Clyde's father had cast him offwhen they married and how she had felt herself that she was nothing buta bad woman taking advantage of this youth, she being a whole year olderthan he was; but Clyde had acted stunning in the matter, telling hisfather he had chosen the better part. Also it turned out this fatherhadn't cast him off from so much after all, because the old man went flatbroke in Wall Street a couple of months later, perishing of heart failureright afterward, and about the only thing Clyde would of drawn from theestate anyway was an old-fashioned watch of his grandfather's with achain made from his grandmother's hair when she was a bride. 

I gathered they had been right up against it at this time, except forthe two thousand dollars that had been left Vida by her Uncle Gideonin the savings bank at Fredonia. Clyde, when she drew this out, wantedthey should go to Newport with it where they could lead a quiet lifefor a couple of months while he looked about for a suitable openingfor himself. But Vida had been firm, even ugly, she said, on this point. She'd took the two thousand and started a boarding house that would bemore like a home than a boarding house, though Clyde kept saying he'dnever be able to endure seeing the woman bearing his name reduced to suchignoble straits. 

Still he had swallowed his foolish pride and been really very nice aboutit after she got the business started. Now he was always telling her tobe sure and set a good table. He said if you were going to do a thing, even if it was only keeping a boarding house, to do it well. That was hismotto--do it well or don't do it at all! So she was buying the best cutsof meats and all fresh vegetables because of his strict ideas in thismatter, and it didn't look as if they'd ever really make a fortune atit--to say nothing of there being more persons than I'd believe that hadhard luck and got behind in their payments, and of course one couldn't bestern to the poor unfortunates. 

I listened to this chatter till it seemed about time to ask what businessClyde had took up. It seemed that right at the moment he was disengaged. It further seemed that he had been disengaged at most other moments sincehe had stooped to this marriage with a daughter of the people. I mustn'tthink it was the poor boy's fault, though. He was willing at all timesto accept a situation and sometimes would get so depressed that he'dactually look for work. Twice he had found it, but it proved to besomething confining in an office where the hours were long and conditionsfar from satisfactory. 

That's how she put it, with glowing eyes and flushed cheeks: "Itproved to be mere dull routine work not in the least suited to darlingClyde's talents and the conditions were far from satisfactory. I had thehardest time prevailing on him to give the nasty old places up and waitpatiently for a suitable opening. He was quite impatient with me when heconsented--but, of course, he's only a boy of twenty-four, a whole yearyounger than I am. I tell him every day a suitable opening is bound tooccur very soon. You see, he had so many grand friends, people of theright sort that are wealthy. I insist on his meeting them constantly. Just think; only last week he spent Saturday and Sunday at one of thebiggest country houses on Long Island, and had such a good time. He's aprime favourite with a lot of people like that and they're always havinghim to dine or to the opera or to their balls and parties. I miss himhorribly, of course, and the poor dear misses me, but I tell him it willsurely lead to something. His old college chums all love him too--a boymakes so many valuable friends in college, don't you think? A lot of themtry to put things in his way. I couldn't bear to have him accept asituation unworthy of him--I know it would kill him. Why, he wilts likea flower under the least depression. "

Well, I set and listened to a long string of this--and not a word forme to say. What could any one of said? Wasn't it being told to me bythe happiest woman I ever set eyes on? Yes, sir; I'd never believe howgentle natured the boy was. Why, that very morning, being worried aboutsomething that went wrong with breakfast, which she had to turn out atfive A. M. To get started hadn't she clean forgot to change his studs toa fresh shirt? And, to make it worse, hadn't she laid out a wrong colorof socks with his lavender tie? But had he been cross to her, as most menwould of been? Not for one second! He'd simply joked her about it whenshe brought up his breakfast tray, just as he'd joked her to-night abouther hands getting rough from the kitchen work. And so forth and so forth!

The poor thing had got so dead for sleep by this time that she was merelybabbling. She'd probably of fallen over in her clothes if I hadn't beenthere. Anyway, I got her undressed and into bed. She said Clyde'sgoodnight song always rung in her ears till she slept. It didn't ringlong this night. She was off before I got out the door. Darned if Ihadn't been kind of embarrassed by her talk, knowing it would neverdo for me to bust in with anything bordering on the vicious, such assuggesting that if Clyde now and then went into the kitchen and helpedBaby Girl with the dishes it would make a very attractive differencein him. I took another good look at his pictures in the parlour beforeI let myself out of the house. He still looked good--but hell!

I wrote Aunt Esther the same evening not to worry one minute about Vida'shappiness, because I wished we could all be as happy as she was. All thesame I took pains to go round to that boarding house a couple times morebecause it seemed like the girl's happiness might have a bum foundation. Darling Clyde was as merry and attentive as ever and Vida was stilljoyous. I guess she kept joyous at her work all day by looking forward tothat golden moment after dinner when her boy would sing Good night, goodnight, beloved--he'd come to watch o'er her! How that song did light herface up!

She confided to me one of these times that the funny men are alwaysmaking jokes about how much it costs a woman for clothes, and shewondered why they didn't make some of their old jokes about how much itcosts for men's clothes too. She said I wouldn't believe how much theyhad to lay out on Clyde's clothes so he'd be sure to look right when asuitable opening occurred. I could take the item of shirts alone that hadto be made to order and cost seven-fifty each, to say nothing of collarsand ties and suits from what Clyde said was the only tailor in New Yorkthat could dress a gentleman so he looked like one. She said if thesefunny humourists could see what they spent on her clothes and what theyhad to spend on Clyde's, she bet they'd feel mighty cheap. She laughedlike she had a bully joke on the poor things. 

She was glad, too, for Clyde's sake that a suitable opening was justabout to occur any moment, because the poor chap said himself it was adog's life he was leading, with nothing much to do every day but go tothe club and set round. And how thankful she'd ought to be that he neverdrank--the least bit of liquor made him ill--and so many young men ofhis class nowadays drank to excess. 

No; nothing for me to say and nothing to do. Here was one happy lovematch. So I come home, making Vida promise to write often. 

She did write about six times in the next three years. The chief factstanding out was that the right opening for Clyde hadn't opened yet--andhe was getting more impatient every day. He always had something in view. But I judged he was far-sighted. And some way when he had got his ropeover a job the hondoo wouldn't seem to render. He couldn't cinchanything. He was as full of blandishment as ever, though, and not a oneof his staunch old friends had dropped him on account of his unfortunatemarriage. He was a great diner-out and spent lots of week-ends, and justnow was on a jolly houseboat in Florida for three months with an oldcollege mate worth nine million dollars, and wasn't that nice! She couldjust see him keeping the whole party gay with his mandolin and his songs. The summer before that this same friend had let Clyde have an elegantmotor car for his own use, and the foolish boy had actually took her outin it one Sunday, there being a pongee motor coat in the car that fit herbeautifully so that none of his rich friends could have told she wasn'tdressed as smartly as they was. He not only kept her out all afternoon, but would have took her to dinner some place only she had to get back tothe boarding house because you couldn't trust these raw Swedes. 

And there was one thing she was going to bring herself to confess tome, no matter if it did sound disloyal--a dreadful thing about Clyde. It was ugly of her to breathe a word against him, but she was greatlyworried and mebbe I could help her. The horrible truth was that her boywas betraying an inclination to get fat, and he'd only laugh at her whenshe warned him. Many a night her pillow had been wet with tears on thisaccount, and did I believe in any of these remedies for reducing? Wasn'tthere something she could slip into his pudding that would keep him downwithout his knowing it, because otherwise, though it was a thing no truewife ought to say, her beloved would dig his grave with his teeth. 

I thought that was about enough and even ample. I started a hot answer tothis letter, saying that if darling Clyde was digging his grave with histeeth it was her own fault because she was providing the spade and theburial plot, and the quickest way to thin her darling down would be forher to quit work. But shucks! Why insult the poor thing? I got back mycomposure and wrote her a nice letter of sympathy in her hour of greattrouble. I didn't say at all that if I had been in her place Mr. Clydewould of long since had my permission to go to the devil. Yes, sir; I'dhave had that lad going south early in the second year. Mebbe not atthat! A woman never really knows how some other man might of made afool of her. 

Two more years drug on, with about two letters from Vida, and then Iget a terrible one announcing the grand crash. First, the boarding househad died a lingering death, what from Vida buying the best the marketafforded and not having learned to say "No!" to parties that got behind, and Clyde having had to lend a couple hundred dollars to a fraternitybrother that was having a little hard luck. She'd run the business on anarrow trail for the last two months, trying to guard every penny, butit got so she and Clyde actually had to worry over his next club dues, to say nothing of a new dress suit he was badly needing. Then someparties she owed bills to come along and pushed her over the cliff bytaking her furniture. She was at first dreadfully worried about how herboy would stand the blow, but he'd took it like the brave, staunch manhe was, being such a help to her when they had to move to a furnishedroom near the old home where they both had been so happy. He'd fairlymade the place ring with his musical laughter and his merry jestingabout their hardships. 

Then she'd got a good job as cashier in a big grocery she'd dealtwith, not getting a million dollars a year, to be sure, but they weredoing nicely, because Clyde took most of his meals with his thoughtfulfriends--and then crash out of a clear sky a horrible tragedy happenedthat for a minute darkened the whole world. 

Yes, it was a bitter tragedy. Clyde's two-year-old dress suit, thathe was bravely wearing without a murmur, had needed pressing and shepromised to do it; but she overslept herself till seven-thirty thatmorning, which made her late at the store, so she'd asked the girl inthis rooming house to do it down in the kitchen. The girl had beenwilling but weak-minded. She started with too hot an iron and didn'tput a damp cloth between the iron and the goods. In the midst of thejob something boiled over on the stove. She got rattled and jumped forthat, and when she come back the dress coat of darling Clyde was brandedfor fair in the middle of the back--a nifty flatiron brand that you couldof picked him out of a bunch of animals by in one second. The girl wasscared stiff and hung the clothes back in the closet without a word. Andpoor Clyde discovered the outrage that night when he was dressing for aclass reunion of his dear old Alvah Mater. 

I had to read between the lines some, but I gathered that he now brokedown completely at this betrayal of his trusting nature. Vida must ofbeen suffering too keenly herself to write me all the pitiful details. And right on top of this blow comes the horrible discovery, when he takeshis mandolin out of the case, that it has been fatally injured in themoving. One blow right on another. How little we realize the sufferingthat goes on all about us in this hard world. Imagine the agony in thatfurnished room this night!

Clyde wasn't made of iron. When the first flood of grief subsided heseems to of got cold and desperate. Said Vida in this letter: "My heartstopped when he suddenly declared in cool, terrible tones: 'There'salways the river!' I could see that he had resolved to end it all, andthrough the night I pleaded with my boy. "

I bet she made mistakes as a grocer's cashier next day, but it was worthit because her appeals to Clyde's better nature had prevailed. He diddisappear that day, getting his trunks from the house while she was atthe store and not being able to say good-bye because he couldn't rememberwhich store she was accepting a situation at. But he left her a nicenote. He wasn't going to end it all in the river. He was going off on theprivate steamboat of one of his dearest friends for a trip round theworld that might last a year--and she mustn't worry about the silly olddress coat, because his new dinner-jacket suit would be ample for a boattrip. Also she'd be glad to know that he had a new mandolin, though shewasn't to worry about the bill for it, because the man didn't expect hispay on time and, anyway, he could wait, so with fondest love!

And Vida was so relieved at this good fortune. To think that herdespondent boy was once more assured of his rightful position for awhole year, while she was saving her princely wages till she got enoughto start another boarding house that would be more like a home. Wasn'tit all simply too good to be true--wasn't it always darkest just beforedawn!

I didn't trust myself to answer that letter, beyond wiring her that ifshe ever felt she was having any really hard luck to be sure and call onme. And she went on working and putting her money by. It was two yearslater when I next saw her. I looked her up the first thing when I got toNew York. 

She was still accepting a position in this grocery, but of course hadchanged to a much smaller furnished room where she could be cozy and feedherself from a gas stove on the simple plain foods that one just can'tseem to get at high-priced restaurants. 

She'd changed a lot. Lines in her face now, and streaks in her brownhair, and she barely thirty. I made up my mind to do something harsh, but couldn't just tell how to start. She'd had a picture card from herboy the first year, showing the Bay of Naples and telling how he longedfor her; but six months later had come a despondent letter from Japanspeaking again of the river and saying he often felt like ending itall. Only, he might drag out his existence a bit longer because anotherwealthy old chum was in port and begging him to switch over to his yachtand liven up the party, which was also going round the world--and maybehe would, because "after all, does anything in life really matter?"

That was the last line. I read it myself while Vida watched me, settingon her little iron bed after work one night. She had a plain little roomwith no windows but one in the roof, though very tastefully furnishedwith photos of Clyde on every wall. The only other luxury she'd indulgedin was a three-dollar revolver because she was deathly afraid ofburglars. She'd also bought a hammer to shoot the revolver off with, keeping 'em both on the stand at the head of her bed. Yes; she said thatwas the way the man was firing it off in the advertisement--hitting it ona certain spot with a hammer. She was a reckless little scoundrel. Shetold me all about how to shoot a revolver while I was thinking up whatto say about Clyde. 

I finally said if he had ended it all she must cheer up, because itmight be for the best. She considered this sadly and said she didn'tbelieve dear Clyde had been prepared to die. I could see she wasremembering old things that had been taught her in Sabbath school aboutGod and wickedness and the bad place, so I cheered her on that point. Itold her they hadn't been burning people for about thirty years now, thesame not being considered smart any longer in the best religious circles. I also tried in a delicate manner to convince her that her boy wouldnever end it all by any free act of his. I offered to bet her a large sumof money on this at any odds she wanted--she could write her own ticket. I said I knew men well enough to be certain that with this one it wouldbe a long life but a merry one. Gee! The idea of this four-carder hurtinghimself!

And I had to cheer her up on another point. This was that she didn'thave about three babies, all the image of their father. Yes, sir; shewas grieving sorely about that. It give me a new line on her. I sawall at once she was mostly mother--a born one. Couldn't ever be anythingelse and hadn't ever really felt anything but mothersome to this herewandering treasure of hers. It give me kind of a shock. It made mefeel so queer I wanted to swear. 

Well, I wrastled with that mulish female seven straight days to makeher leave that twelve-hour job of hers and come out here with me. I triedeverything. I even told her what with long hours and bum food she wasmaking herself so old that her boy wouldn't give her a second look whenhe got back. That rattled her. She took hold of her face and said thatmassage cream would take all those silly lines out when she got timeto rub it in properly; and as for the gray in her hair, she could neverbring herself to use a dye, but if Clyde come back she might apply alittle of the magic remedy that restores the natural colour. She alsosaid in plain words that to come out here with me would look likedeserting her boy. Do you get that?

"Dear Clyde is so sensitive, " she says. "I couldn't bear the thought ofhis coming back and finding that I had left our home. "

My work was cut for me, all right. I guess I'd failed if I hadn't beenhelped by her getting a sick spell from worry over what the good Godwould do to Clyde if he should end it all in some nasty old river, andfrom the grocery being sold to a party that had his own cashier. But Iwon, she being too sick to hunt another job just then. A least I got afair compromise. 

She wouldn't come here to live with me, but she remembered that Clyde hadoften talked of Southern California, where he had once gone with genialfriends in a private car. He had said that some day when he had acquiredthe means he would keep a home there. So she was willing to go thereherself and start a home for him. I saw it was the best I could get fromher, so I applauded. 

I says: "That's fine. You take this three hundred and eighty dollars yougot saved and I'll put a few dollars more with it and get you a littlecountry place down there where you can be out of doors all day and raiseoranges and chickens, and enough hogs for table use, and when the dearboy comes back he'll be awful proud of you. "

"Oh, he always was that, " says Vida. "But I'll go--and I'll always keepa light in the window for him. "

And a lot of folks say women ought to vote!

So we start for Los Angeles, deserting Clyde just as mean as dirt. Sure, I went with her! I didn't trust her to finish the trip. As it was, shewanted to get off the train twice before we got to Chicago--thinkingof the shock to her boy's tender heart if he should come back and findhimself deserted. 

But then, right after we left Chicago, she got interested. In the sectionacross from us was a fifty-five-year-old male grouch with a few graybristles on his head who had been snarling at everyone that come nearhim ever since the train left New York. The porters and conductors hadgot so they'd rush by him like they was afraid of getting bit on the arm. He had a gray face that seemed like it had been gouged out of stone. Itwas like one of these gargles you see on rare old churches in Europe. Hewas just hating everyone in the world, not even playing himself afavourite. And Vida had stood his growling as long as she could. Havingat last give up the notion of tracking back to New York, she plumpedherself down in the seat with this raging wild beast and begged for histroubles. I looked to see her tore limb from limb, instead of which inthree minutes he was cooing to her in a rocky bass voice. His troublewas lumbago or pleurisy or some misery that kept him every minute inthis pernickety state. 

That was all old mother Vida needed to know. She rustled a couplehot-water bags and kept 'em on the ribs of this grouch for about twothousand miles, to say nothing of doping him with asperin and quinineand camphor and menthol and hot tea and soothing words. He was the onlyson in sight, so he got it good. She simply has to mother something. 

The grouch got a little human himself the last day out and begun toask Vida questions about herself. Being one that will tell any personanything at all, she told him her life history and how her plans was nowunsettled, but she hoped to make a home out on this coast. The grouchcome right out and asked her how big her roll was, saying he lived outhere and it cost something to make a home. Vida told him she had her twoyears' savings of three hundred and eighty good dollars and that I hadpromised to loan her a few dollars to piece out with. At this the old boylooked me over carefully and could see no signs of vast wealth because Inever wear such in Pullman cars, so he warns her that I'll have to pieceout her savings with a few thousand instead of a few dollars if she's tostart anything worth keeping, because what they do to you in taxes downthere is a-plenty. 

After which he goes to sleep. 

Vida moves over and asks what I meant by saying I'd only have to put in afew dollars when I must of known it would take a few thousand, and didn'tI realize that Clyde would be hurt to the quick if he come back and foundshe hadn't been independent? She indignantly said she'd have to give upthe country place and work till she had enough to start another home forpaying guests. 

I was so mad at this truthful grouch for butting in on my game thatI up and told her flat she could never run a boarding house and makeit pay; that no woman could who hadn't learned to say "No!" and she wastoo much of a mush-head for that. She was quite offended by this and saysfirmness has always been considered a strong point in her personality. Afirst-class palmist had told her this only two weeks before. While we aresquabbling back and forth the grouch wakes up again and says that he's inthe moving-picture business and will give her a good job in the wardrobedepartment of the company he's with, so she must show up there at eighto'clock the next morning. Just like that! He didn't ask her. He told her. 

Vida is kind of took off her feet, but mumbles "Yes, sir!" and puts hiscard in her bag. Me? I was too mad to talk, seeing the girl get into themill again when I'd tried so hard to get her out. But I swore to myselfI'd stick round and try to get some sense into the cup-custard she calledher brain. 

So the next morning I took her out to this moving-picture joint that theycall a studio--not a bit like Metta Bigler's studio in Red Gap--and sureenough here's the grouch ready to put Vida on a job. The job is in a roomabout ninety feet long filled with boxes and sewing machines and shelvesfull of costumes, and Vida is to be assistant wardrobe mistress. Yes, sir; a regular title for the job. And the pay is twenty-five a week, which is thirteen more than she'd ever dreamed of making before. Thegrouch is very decent to her and tells everybody she's a friend of his, and they all pay polite attention to him because he's someone importantin the works. It seems he's a director. He stands round and yells at theactors how to act, which I had always supposed they knew already but itseems not. Anyway, I left Vida there to get on to her new duties. 

She was full of good reports that night about how well she'd got along, and how interesting the work was, and how she'd helped doctor up anotherboy. She said he was one of the world's greatest actors, because if theygive him four or five stiff drinks first he would fall off a forty-footcliff backwards into the ocean. She'd helped bandage a sprained wrist forhim that he got by jumping out of a second-story window in a grippingdrama replete with punch and not landing quite right. 

I said to myself it must be a crazy joint and she'd soon give up andlet me get her a nice little place on the edge of town that I'd alreadylooked over. So I let her go three days more, but still she stuckthere with great enthusiasm. Then I had to be leaving for home, so theafternoon of the fourth day I went out to see for myself how thingslooked. 

Vida is tickled to see me and takes me right in where they're beginningto act a gripping feature production. Old Bill Grouch is there in frontof a three-legged camera barking at the actors that are waiting roundin their disguises--with more paint on 'em than even a young girl willuse if her mother don't watch her. The grouch is very polite to Vida andme and shows us where to stand so we won't get knocked over by otheractors that are carrying round furniture and electric light stands andthings. 

They got a parlour in a humble home where the first scene is to be. There's a mother and a fair-haired boy of twenty and a cop that's cometo pinch him for a crime. The play at this point is that the mother hasto plead with the cop not to drag her boy off to a prison cell, and shehas to do it with streaming eyes. It was darned interesting. The boy isstanding with bowed head and the cop is looking sympathetic but firm, andmother is putting something into her eyes out of a medicine dropper. Iwhisper to Vida and she says it's glycerine for the tears. She holds herhead back when she puts 'em in and they run down her cheeks very lifelikewhen she straightens up. 

So mother comes forward with her streaming face and they're all readyto act when the grouch halts things and barks at the boy that he ain'tstanding right. He goes up and shows him how to stand more shamefully. But the tears on mother's face have dripped away and have to be renewed. She was a nice, kind-appearing mother all right, but I noticed she lookedpeeved when this delay happened. Vida explains that glycerine don'tdamage the eyes really, but it makes 'em smart a lot, and this actress, Miss St. Clair, has a right to feel mad over having to put in some more. 

But she does it, though with low muttering when the grouch calls "Allright, Miss St. Clair!" and is coming forward to act with this heresecond batch of tears when the grouch stops it with another barking fit. He barks at the policeman this time. He says the policeman must do moreacting. 

"You know you have a boy of your own, " says he, "and how you'd hate tohave him arrested for this crime, but you're also remembering that lawis law and you're sworn to uphold it. Try to get that now. All ready, Miss St. Clair--we're waiting for you, Miss St. Clair!"

I'd watched this actress the second time her tears was spoiled and herexpression didn't fit a loving mother's face one bit. Her breath come asin scenes of tense emotion, but she hotly muttered something that mademe think I must of misunderstood her, because no lady actress would sayit, let alone a kind old mother. However, she backs off and for the thirdtime has this medicine dropper worked on her smarting eyes. Once moreshe comes forward with streaming eyes of motherly love, and I'm darnedif this grouch don't hold things up again. 

This time he's barking about a leather sofa against the far wall of thehumble home. He says it's an office sofa and where in something is thered plush one that belongs to the set? He's barking dangerously ateveryone round him when all at once he's choked off something grand bythe weeping mother that has lost her third set of tears. She was wipingglycerine off her face and saying things to the grouch that must of givehim a cold chill for a minute. I'm sometimes accused of doing things withlanguage myself, but never in my life have I talked so interestingly--atleast not before ladies. Not that I blamed her. 

Everyone kept still with horror till she run down; it seems it's a fiercecrime in that art to give a director what's coming to him. The policemanand the erring son was so scared they just stood there acting theirparts and the grouch was frozen with his mouth half open. Probably hehadn't believed it at first. Then all at once he smiled the loveliestsmile you ever seen on a human face and says in chilled tones: "Thatwill be all, Miss St. Clair! We will trouble you no further in thisproduction. " His words sounded like cracking up a hunk of ice for thecocktail shaker. Miss St. Clair then throws up her arms and rushes off, shrieking to the limit of a bully voice. 

It was an exciting introduction for me to what they call the silentdrama. 

Then I looked at Vida and she was crying her eyes out. I guessed it wasfrom sympathy with the mother actress, but the grouch also stares at herwith his gimlet eyes and says:

"Here, don't you waste any tears on her. That's all in the day's work. "

"I--wasn't thinking of her, " sobs Vida. 

"Then what you crying for?" says he. 

"For that poor dear boy that's being dragged from his mother to prisonfor some childish prank, " she blubbers. 

Me, I laughed right out at the little fool, but the director didn'tlaugh. 

"Well, I'll be damned!" says he in low, reverent tones. 

Then he begins to look into her face like he'd lost something there. Thenhe backed off and looked into it a minute more. Then he went crazy allover the place. 

"Here, " he barks at another actress, "get this woman into your dressingroom and get the number five on her quick. Make her up for this part, understand? You there, Eddie, run get that calico skirt and black-satinwaist off Miss St. Clair and hustle 'em over to Miss Harcourt's room, where this lady will be making up. Come on now! Move! Work quick! Wecan't be on this scene all day. "

Then, when everybody run off, he set down on the red plush sofa that wasnow in place, relighted a cigar that smelled like it had gone out threedays before, and grinned at me in an excited manner. 

"Your little friend is a find, " he says. "Mark my words, Mrs. Pettijohn, she's got a future or I don't know faces. She'll screen well, and she'sone of the few that can turn on the tears when she wants to. I alwaysdid hate glycerine in this art. Now if only I can get her camerawise--and I'll bet I can! Lucky we'd just started on this piece when St. Clair blew up. Only one little retake, where she's happy over her boy'spromotion in the factory. She's bound to get away with that; then if shecan get the water again for this scene it will be all over but signingher contract. "

I was some excited myself by this time, you'd better believe. Nervous asa cat I found myself when Vida was led out in the sad mother's costume bythis other actress that had made her up. But Vida wasn't nervous theleast bit. She was gayly babbling that she'd always wanted to act, andonce she had played a real part in a piece they put on at Odd Fellows'Hall in Fredonia, and she had done so well that even the Methodistminister said she was as good as the actress he saw in Lawrence Barrett'scompany before he was saved; and he had hoped she wouldn't be led away byher success and go on the real stage, because he could not regard it as asafe pursuit for young persons of her sex, owing to there being so littlehome life--and now what did she do first?

This director had got very cold and businesslike once more. 

"Stop talking first, " says he. "Don't let me hear another word from you. And listen hard. You're sitting in your humble home sewing a button onyour boy's coat. He's your only joy in life. There's the coat and thebutton half sewed on with the needle and thread sticking in it. Sit downand sew that button on as if you were doing it for your own son. Nopretending, mind you. Sew it on as if--"

He hesitated a minute and got a first-class inspiration. 

"Sew it on as if it was a button on your husband's coat that you told meabout. Every two or three stitches look up to show us how happy you are. When you get it sewed, take the coat up this way and hug it. You lookstill happier at that. Then you walk over to the mantel, pick up thephotograph of your boy that's there by that china dog and kiss it. Iwon't tell you how to do that. Remember who he is and do it your ownway, only let us see your face. Then put back the picture slowly, go getthe coat, and start to the left as if you were going to hang it up in hisroom; but you hear steps on the stair outside and you know your boy hascome home from work. We see that because your face lights up. Stand happythere till he comes in. 

"You expect him to rush over to you as usual, but he's cast down;something has happened. You get a shock of fright. Walk over tohim--slow; you're scared. Get your arms round him. He stiffens atfirst, then leans on you. He's crying himself now, but you ain't--notyet. You're brave because you don't know about this fight he's had withthe foreman that's after your boy's sweetheart for no good purpose. 

"Now go through it that far and see if you remember everything I toldyou. When we get down to the crying scene after the officer comes on, I'll rehearse you in that too, only for God's sake don't cry in therehearsal! You'll go dry. Now then! Coat--button--sewing. Goon!"

Well, sir, I stood there trembling like a leaf while she went throughwhat he'd told her like she'd been at it all her life--or rather like itwas her dear Clyde's coat and her dear Clyde's photo and her dear Clydethat come in the door. Then he rehearsed her in the end of the scenewhere the cop comes on, and she got that, too, though alarming himbecause she couldn't even rehearse it without crying. I could see thisdirector was nervous himself by this time, thinking she was too good tobe true. But he got her into the chair sewing again, all ready for thereal work. 

"Remember only three things, " he says: "Don't look at this machine, moveslowly when you move at all, and don't try to act. Now then! Camera!"

It was a historic occasion, all right. The lad at the camera begun toturn a crank and Vida begun to act like she wasn't acting at all. Thedirector just give her a low word when she had to move. He didn't barknow. And say, that crying scene! Darned if I didn't near cry myselflooking at her, and I heard this stonefaced director breathing mightyshort when she had to stand there with her hands clenched and watchher boy go out the door with this cop. 

Vida was too excited to sleep that night. She said the director hadadvised her privately not to make a contract just yet, because she wouldget better terms when she'd showed 'em what she could really do. Forthis picture she would get paid seventy-five dollars a week. A week, mindyou, to a girl that had been thinking herself lucky to get twelve in NewYork. 

She was very let down and happy, and cried a little bit out of workinghours for me because it was all so wonderful, and her drowned boy mightbe resting on some river bottom at that very moment. I said it was a safebet he was resting, wherever he was; but she didn't get it and I didn'tsay it twice. 

And such was the beginning of Vida Sommers' glittering sob career inthe movies. She's never had but one failure and they turned that into asuccess. It seems they tried her in one of these "Should a Wife Forgive?"pieces in which the wife did not forgive, for a wonder, and she made ahorrible mess of it. She was fine in the suffering part, of course, onlywhen it come to not forgiving at the end--well, she just didn't know howto not forgive. They worked with her one whole day, then had to changethe ending. She's said to be very noble and womanly in it. 

I went home next day, leaving her in pursuit of her art. But I gotglowing letters from her about every week, she doing new pictures and hersalary jumping because other film parties was naturally after so gooda weeper. And the next year I run down to see her. She was a changedwoman all right. She had a home or bungalow, a car, a fashionable dog, aJap cook, a maid and real gowns for the first time in her life. But thechanges was all outside. She was still the same Vida that wanted tomother every male human on earth. She never seemed to worry about girlsand women; her idea is that they're able to look out for themselves, butthat men are babies needing a mother's protection as long as they live. 

And of course one of these men she had mothered down there had took abase advantage of her--this same ugly old grouch of a director. Shelocked the bedroom door and told me about it in horrified whispers thefirst night I got there. She said it might of been her fault, that hemight of misunderstood something she had said about Clyde. And anywayshe'd ought to of remembered that some men are beasts at heart. 

Anyway, this infamous brute had come to the house one night and insultedher in the grossest manner, and it was all true about moving-picturedirectors having designs on unprotected females that work for 'em. Yielding to his lowest brute instincts he had thrown decency to the windsand made her such an evil proposition that she could hardly bear to putit in words. But she did. It seems that the scoundrel had listened tosome studio gossip to the effect that she had divorced the husband whodeserted her, and so he come right out and said he had been deeply inlove with her ever since that first day on the train, and now that shewas free, would she marry him?

Of course she was insulted to the limit and told him so in what wouldprobably of made a gripping scene of a good woman spurning the advancesof a moral leper. She overwhelmed him with scorn and horror for his foulwords. How dared he say her Clyde had deserted her, or think she wouldever divorce him! That showed, what a vile mind he must have. She said hegot awful meek and apologetic when he learned that she still clung to thememory of Clyde, who would one day fight his way back to her if he hadn'tended it all. She told him fully what a perfect man Clyde was, and shesaid at last the ugly old wretch just grinned weakly at her in a verypainful way, like it hurt him, and said: "Oh, my dearest, you must try toforgive me. I didn't know--I didn't know half the truth. " Then he pattedher hand and patted her cheek and choked up and swallowed a couple oftimes, and says he:

"I was an old man dreaming and dreams make fools of old men!"

Then he swallowed again and stumbled out through her garden where theorange blossoms had just come. She said he'd never been offensive sincethat time, barking as nasty to her as to any of the others when she wasacting, so that no one would dream what a foul heart he had, except thathe always kept a bunch of white roses in her dressing room. But shehadn't cared to make him trouble about that because maybe he washonestly trying to lead a better life. 

Some entertainment Vida give me, telling this, setting on her bed under alight that showed up more lines than ever in her face. She was lookingclose to forty now--I guess them crying scenes had told on her, and heryearning for the lost Clyde--anyway she was the last woman on earth couldof got herself insulted even if she had tried her prettiest, only shedidn't know that. And she'd had her little thrill. We've all dreamed ofhow we'd some day turn down some impossible party who was overcome by ourmere beauty. 

I said I'd always known this director was an unspeakable scoundrel, because he insisted on calling me Mrs. Pettijohn. 

Then we had a nice talk about Clyde. She'd had no word for a year now, the last being a picture card saying he would spend the winter in Egyptwith some well-known capitalists that wouldn't take no for an answer. And did I believe he might now be wandering over the face of the earth, sick and worn, and trying to get back to her; didn't I think some day hewould drag himself to her door, a mere wreck of his former self, to besoothed at last on her breast? That was why she kept a light burning inthe front window of this here bungalow. He would know she had waited. 

Well, I'd never said a word against Clyde except in conversation withmyself, and I wasn't going to break out now. I did go so far as to hintthat an article that had come out about her in this same magazine mightdraw Clyde back a little quicker than the light in the window. Thearticle said her salary was enormous. I thought its rays might carry. 

So I come home again and near a year later I get a telegram from Vida:"Happy at last--my own has come home to me. " I threw up my hands andswore when I read this. The article had said her salary was seven hundredand fifty dollars a week. 

The next winter I run down to see the happy couple. Vida was now lookinga good forty, but Clyde was actually looking younger than ever; not aline nor a wrinkle to show how he had grieved for her, and not a sign ofwriter's cramp from these three picture cards he had sent her in fiveyears. She'd been afraid he'd come back worn to the bone. 

But listen! By the time I got there Clyde was also drawing money. He'dfelt a little hurt at first to find his wife a common actress, and askedto see her contract because you couldn't believe what you see in thesemagazines. Then he'd gone round the lot and got to be an actor himself. I gathered that he hadn't been well liked by the men at first, and two orthree other directors, when Vida insisted he should have a chance to act, had put him into rough-house funny plays where he got thrown downstairsor had bricks fall on him, or got beat up by a willing ex-prize fighter, or a basket of eggs over his head, or custard pies in his perfectfeatures, with bruises and sprains and broken bones and so forth--Ibelieve the first week they broke everything but his contract. 

Anyway, when he begun to think he wasn't meant for this art, who steps inbut this same director that had made such a beast of himself with Vida?He puts Clyde into a play in which Vida is the mother and Clyde is thenoble son that takes the crime on his shoulders to screen the brother ofthe girl he loves, and it was an awful hit. Naturally Vida was never sogood before and Clyde proved to be another find. He can straighten up andlook nobler when he's wrongfully accused of a crime than any still actorI ever see. He's got now to where they have to handle him with glovesor he'd leave 'em flat and go with another company. Vida wrote me onlylast week that they had a play for him where he's cast off on a desertisland with a beautiful but haughty heiress, and they have to live therethree months subsisting on edible foods which are found on all desertislands. But Clyde had refused the part because he would have to growwhiskers in this three months. He said he had to think of his public, which would resent this hideous desecration. He thought up a bully wayto get out of it. He said he'd let the whiskers grow for a few scenes andthen find a case of safety razors washed ashore, so he could shavehimself just before the haughty millionaire's daughter confessed that shehad loved him from the first and the excursion steamer come up to rescue'em. I believe he now admits frankly that he wrote most of the play, orat least wrote the punch into it. A very happy couple they are, Clydehaving only one vice, which is candy that threatens his waistline. Vidakeeps a sharp watch on him, but he bribes people to sneak chocolatecreams into his dressing room. The last night I was there he sung"Good-night, Good-night, Beloved!" so well that I choked up myself. 

Of course women are crazy about him; but that don't bother Vida a littlebit. She never wanted a husband anyway--only a son. And Clyde must havehad something wake up in his brain them years he was away. He had a queerlook in his eyes one night when he said to me--where Vida couldn't hear:"Yes, other women have loved me, but she--she knows me and loves me!"It's the only thing I ever heard him utter that would show he might beabove a pet kitten in intellect. 

And, of course, these letters he gets don't mean anything in his life butadvertising--Oh, yes! I forgot to tell you that his stage name is J. Harold Armytage. He thought it up himself. And the letters coming inby the bushel really make Vida proud. In her heart she's sorry for thepoor fools because they can't have as much of dear Clyde as she has. Shesays she's never deserved her present happiness. I never know whether Iagree with her or not. 

She's a queer one. Darned if she don't make a person thinksometimes--listening to her chatter--that there must be somethingkind of decent about human nature after all!

III

RED GAP AND THE BIG-LEAGUE STUFF

I waited beside Ma Pettengill at the open door of the Arrowhead ranchhouse. It was a moment of tranquil expectancy; presently we would besummoned to the evening meal. Down by the barn a tired janizary pumpedwater into a trough for two tired mules still in harness. Halfway downthe lane, before a mirror tacked to the wall beside the bunk-house door, two men hurriedly combed their damp hair. Blackbirds were still noisy inthe poplars. In the field at our left a lazy lot of white-faced cattle, large and placid, lolled or grazed on the new spring grass. 

Surveying these cattle with a fond eye--had she not that day refused allof three hundred and twenty-five dollars a head for a score of thesepure-bred cows?--my hostess read me a brief lecture on the superiorfleshing disposition of the Hereford. No better rustler under rangeconditions, said she, accumulating flesh at all ages, storing it inseasons of plenty to draw on in seasons of want. Hadn't I noticed howcommon cows got paunchy and how well the fat was distributed on thepure-breds?

I had not noticed, cows being more or less cows to me, but I was preparedto look with deep respect upon any cow for which three hundred andtwenty-five dollars could be sanely refused, and I now did so. I wastold that I forgot their calves, which would be worth a hundred and sixtydollars the day they were weaned. This made it all more impressive. Ilooked respectfully again at the bulky creatures, though listening, too, for the stealthy-stepping Lew Wee; a day in the thin spring air along arocky trout stream had made even cattle on the hoof suggestive. 

Ma Pettengill, with a last proud look at her jewels, swept the panoramiccamera of her eye round to the blacksmith shop on our right. Before itwere strewn the mutilated remains of four wood wagons. I had lately heardthe lady have words with Abner, the blacksmith, concerning repairs tothese. Abner himself had few of the words. They were almost entirely hisemployer's. They were acutely to the effect that these here wagons wouldbe running again before the week was out or she would know the reasonwhy. The aggrieved Abner had tried to suggest that this reason she wouldknow would not be the right reason at all, because wasn't he alreadyworking like a beaver? Possibly, said the lady. And beavers might be allright in their place. What she needed at this precise time was someoneworking like a blacksmith--someone!

Over her shoulder she had flung the word at him, blackened with emphasis. 

"Any one hurt in the runaway?" I asked, observing her glance to lingerupon this snarl of wagon parts. 

"Four wagons was mortally hurt, " said the lady, "but of course not amule skinner touched. Talk about charmed lives! Besides, they wasn'taccidents; they was just incidents. It was part of our winter sports. "

"I didn't know you had winter sports up here. "

"I didn't either till I got down to Red Gap last winter and found outthat was what we had been having. Here I been gritting along winter afterwinter, calling it work, and come to find out it's what parties go a longdistance to indulge in and have to wear careful clothes for it. Yes, sir;society is mad about it. Red Gap itself was mad about it last winter, when it got a taste of the big-league stuff. Next winter I'll try to getthe real sporting spirit into this gang of sedentaries up here; buy 'emuniforms and start a winter-sports club. Their ideal winter sport so faris to calk up every chink in the bunk house, fill the air-tight stovefull of pitch pine and set down with a good book by Elinor Glyn. Theynever been at all mad about romping out in the keen frosty air that setsthe blood tingling and brings back the roses to their wan cheeks. 

"Take last winter. Not knowing it was sport it seemed at times liketoil. First it snowed early and caught a lot of my cows and calves inthe mountains. While we sported round with these, working 'em down intothe valley, the weather changed. It snowed harder. Just oodles of themost perfectly darling snow. Then distemper broke out among the saddlehorses. Then being already shorthanded, what does the fool vaquero bossdo but pick a splinter out of his thumb with a pin and get blood poisonenough to lay him off? Too much trouble for cussing. I tried that outscientifically. So I had to get out and make a hand. If I heard someonesay I did as much as any three of these mollycoddles up here I'd justsimper in silence and look down. Only I wish I'd known it was afashionable winter sport. I'd of been more carefree. 

"Then come the best of our winter sports--wood hauling through the driftsover a rocky road down the mountains. My lands, but it was jolly! On aquiet day there'd be only one runaway, one wagon fetched to the shop insections, like a puzzle. Then another day all hands would seem to bequite mad about the sport, and nothing but the skinners and the muleswould get back to camp that night--with the new outfit of harness andthe hoodlum wagon going back next morning to see what could be salvaged. 

"Finally we got the cows and calves home, got our wood in and started ageneral rodeo for the dry stock--Nature's fleecy mantle getting thickerevery minute. And none of us ever suspecting that it was a sport onlythe wealthy have a right to. If I'd suggested building an ice palace asa sporty wind-up I'll bet the help wouldn't of took it right. Anyway, Ididn't. With everything under shelter or fence at last I fled down to RedGap, where I could lead a quiet life suitable to one of my years--whereI thought I could. "

From the doorway Lew Wee softly called, "You come now!" We both heardhim. Inside my hostess stealthily closed the door upon the gentle springnight; closed and locked it. Furtively she next drew curtains over thetwo windows. Then, candle in hand, she went lightly across the big livingroom to a stern and businesslike safe that stands against the fartherwall. Kneeling before this she rapidly twirled the lock to a series ofmystic numbers and opened the formidable doors. 

"Leave us keep the home fires burning, " said she impressively, andwithdrew from an exposed cavern a bottle of Scotch whisky. Standingbefore the safe we drank chattily. We agreed that prohibition was a goodthing for the state of Washington. We said we were glad to deny ourselvesfor the sake of those weaker natures lacking self-control, including Mr. Bryan, whom the lady characterized as "just a water-spout. "

The bottle restored to security my hostess shut the thick doors upon itand twirled the lock. Then she raised the curtains and reopened the doorto the innocent spring night, after which we sat to our meatless andwheatless repast. In place of meat we sternly contented ourselves withstewed chicken, certain of the Arrowhead fowls having refused to do theirbit in eggs and now paying the penalty in a crisis when something isexpected from everyone. In place of wheat we merely had corn muffins of avery coaxing perfection. Even under these hardships I would patrioticallypractice the gospel of the clean plate. 

As her exploring spoon wandered over the platter of half-submergedchicken Ma Pettengill casually remarked that carefree Bohemians wasalways the first to suffer under prohibition, and that you couldn't havea really good Latin Quarter in a dry town. I let it go. I must alwayspermit her certain speeches of seeming irrelevance before she willconsent to tell me all. Thus a moment later as she lavished valuablebutter fat upon one of the spirituelle muffins she communicated thefurther item that Cousin Egbert Floud still believed Bohemians was glassblowers, he having seen a troupe of such at the World's Fair. He had, itis true, known some section hands down on the narrow gauge that was alsoBohemians, but Bohemians of any class at all was glass blowers, and thatwas an end of it. No use telling him different, once he gets an idea intohis poor old head. 

This, too, I let pass, overcome for the moment by the infatuatingqualities of the chicken stew. But when appetites, needlessly inflamed bythe lawless tippling, had at last been appeased and the lady had builther first cigarette I betrayed a willingness to hear more of the hintedconnection between winter sports and Latin Quarters peopled by Bohemians, glass-blowing or otherwise. The woman chuckled privately through thefirst cigarette, adeptly fashioned another, removed to a rocking-chairbefore the open fire and in a businesslike fervour seized a half-knittedwoollen sock, upon which she fell to work. 

She now remarked that there must be along the Front millions of sweatersand wristlets and mufflers and dewdads that it looked well to knit inpublic, so it seemed to be up to her to supply a few pairs of socks. Shesaid you naturally couldn't expect these here society dames that knittedin theatres and hotel corridors to be knitting anything so ugly as socks, even if they would know how to handle four needles, which they mostlywouldn't; but someone had to do it. Without the slightest change of keyshe added that it was a long story and painful in spots, but had a happyending, and she didn't know as she minded telling me. 

So I come down to Red Gap about December first hoping to hole up forthe winter and get thoroughly warmed through before spring. Little didI know our growing metropolis was to be torn by dissension until youdidn't know who was speaking to who. And all because of a lady Bohemianfrom Washington Square, New York City, who had crept into our midstand started a Latin Quarter overnight. The first day I was downtown Ioverheard two ladies saying something about the new Latin Quarter. Thatmystified me, because I knew the town had been lidded tight since LonPrice went out of office as mayor. Then I meet Mrs. Judge Ballard in theBoston Cash Store and she says have I met a Miss Smith from New York whois visiting here. I said I had not. It didn't sound exciting. Some way "aMiss Smith" don't excite you overly, no matter where she hails from. So Idismissed that and went on with my shopping. Next I meet Egbert Floud, who is also down for the winter to rest beside a good coal stove, and weask each other what's the good word and is anything new. Cousin Egbertsays nothing is new in Red Gap except a Bohemian glass blower fromGrinitch Village, New York. He says he ain't seen her blow glass yet, but he's going some night, because them Bohemian glass blowers down tothe fair was right fascinating, and don't I think Grinitch is a bum namefor a town? He says when I see this glass blower I'll feel like askinganimal, vegetable, or mineral, because he has seen her in the post officewith Metta Bigler and she looks like a nut. 

I tell the poor old zany he sounds simple-minded himself and I can't makea lick of sense out of what he's said, except I know this village ain'tspelled that way. He's telling me that's the way it's spoken anyway, andabout how he brought home a glass watch chain that these Bohemians blowedat the fair, when along come Metta Bigler herself and stops to shakehands, so Cousin Egbert slinks off. 

I got to tell you about Metta. She's our artist; gives lessons in oilpainting and burnt wood and other refinements. People can take sixlessons off Metta and go home and burn all the Indian heads on leathersofa pillows that you'd ever want to see. Also she can paint a pink fishand a copper skillet and a watermelon with one slice cut out as good asany one between here and Spokane. She's a perfectly good girl, falling onthirty, refers to herself without a pang as a bachelor girl, and dressesas quiet as even a school-teacher has to in a small town. 

Well, Metta rushes up to me now, all glowing and girlish, and saysI must come to her studio that very afternoon and meet her dear oldchum, Vernabelle Smith, that is visiting her from Washington Square, New York. She and Vernabelle met when they were completing their arteducation in the Latin Quarter of Chicago, and Vernabelle had gone downto New York and got into all the new movements and among people who wasdoing things, and was now very, very advanced being what you might callan intellectual; but I would be sure to like her because she was sodelightfully Bohemian, not standing on ceremony but darting straightto the heart of life, which is so complex to most of us who live withinconvention's shell and never get in touch with the great throbbing centreof things. She didn't say what things. It was a new line of chatter fromMetta. Usually she'd have been telling me her troubles with Chinese help, or what a robber the Square Deal meat market was, or, at the most, howher fruit-and-fish piece had carried off the first prize of twentydollars at the Kulanche County Fair. 

So I say I'll be sure to look in on her and her new friend. I reckonedshe must be the Miss Smith and the glass blower I'd already heard aboutthat morning. Of course "Miss Smith" didn't sound like much, butVernabelle Smith was different. That name Vernabelle made all thedifference in the world. You sort of forgot the ensuing Smith. 

That same afternoon about four P. M. I dropped round to the Bigler house. Metta's mother let me in. She's a neat and precise old lady with carefulhair, but she looked scared as she let me in and led me to the door ofMetta's studio, which is a big room at the back of the house. She didn'tgo in herself. She pulled it open and shut it on me quick, like it was alion's den or something. 

All the curtains was down, candles lighted, and the room not only hot butfull of cigarette smoke and smoke from about forty of these here punksticks that smoldered away on different perches. It had the smell of anice hot Chinese laundry on a busy winter's night. About eight or tenpeople was huddled round the couch, parties I could hardly make outthrough this gas attack, and everyone was gabbling. Metta come forwardto see who it was, then she pulled something up out of the group and said"Meet dear Vernabelle. "

Well, she was about Metta's age, a short thirty, a kind of a slaty blondewith bobbed hair--she'd been reached fore and aft--and dressed mostly ina pale-blue smock and no stockings. Nothing but sandals. I could hardlyget my eyes off her feet at first. Very few of our justly famous sex canafford to brave the public gaze without their stockings on. Vernabellecould ill afford it. She was skinny, if you know what I mean, lots oftendons and so forth, though I learned later that Vernabelle called itbeing willowy. She had slaty-gray eyes and a pale, dramatic face withlong teeth and a dignified and powerful-looking nose. She was kind ofhungry-looking or soulful or something. And she wore about two yards ofcrockery necklace that rattled when she moved. Sounded like that Chinamanwith his dishes out there in the kitchen. I learned later that this wasart jewellery. 

Vernabelle greeted me with many contortions like she was taking anexercise and said she had heard so much about me and how interestingit was to meet one who did things. I said I was merely in the cattlebusiness. She said "How perfect!" and clasped her hands in ecstasy overthe very idea. She said I was by way of being the ideal type for it. Anddid I employ real cowboys; and they, too, must be fascinating, becausethey did things. I said they did if watched; otherwise not. And did Iacquire an ascendancy over their rough natures. I said we quickly partedforever if I didn't do that. Then she clanked across to the couch, whereshe set down on her feet. I give her credit for that much judgment. Thatgirl never did just plain set down. It was either on one foot or on bothfeet, or she draped herself along the furniture to show how willowy shecould be without its hurting. 

She now lighted a new cigarette from her old one and went on telling thefish-faces about her how little colour she had found here. She said wewas by way of being a mere flat expanse in dull tints. But what couldbe expected of a crude commercialism where the arts was by way of beingstarved. Ah, it was so different from dear old Washington Square, whereone was by way of being at the heart of life. It took me some time toget this by-way-of-being stuff, but the others was eating it up. MettaBigler hovered round proud as Lucifer and trying to smoke for the firsttime in her life, though making poor work of it, like she was eatingthe cigarette and every now and then finding bits she couldn't swallow, and holding it off at arm's length in between bites. Mrs. HenriettaTempleton Price was making better work of the cigarettes, and Beryl MaeMacomber, a wealthy young society heiress and debutante, aged seventeen, was saying that she had always felt this lack in Red Gap and would ofbeen in the movies long since if her aunt had listened to reason. Theonly man present was Edgar Tomlinson, who is Red Gap's most prominentfirst-nighter and does the Lounger-in-the-Lobby column for the Recorder, reviewing all the new films in an able and fearless manner. Edgar waslooking like he had come into his own at last. He was wearing a flowingtie and a collar that hardly come higher than his chest and big windshields on a black cord, and had his hair mussed up like a regularBohemian in a Sunday paper. Vernabelle was soon telling him howrefreshing it was to meet away out here one who was by way of doingthings, and she had read that very morning his review of the filmentitled A Sister of Sin, and had found it masterly in its clear-cutanalysis, but why did he waste himself here when the great world layopen. Edgar thrust back his falling hair with a weary hand and tried tolook modest, but it was useless. Vernabelle devoted most of her chat toEdgar. She was an incessant person but it seemed to take a man to bringout all that was best in her. 

Pretty soon Metta went over to a table and brought back some glassesof wine on a tray, of which all partook with more or less relish. Irecognized it from the bottle. It was elderberry wine that Metta'smother had put up. You have to be resourceful in a dry state. 

"I'm afraid you'll all think me frightfully Bohemian, " said Mettaproudly. 

Beryl Mae held her glass up to the light and said, "After all, doesanything in life really matter?" She appeared very blase in all herdesperate young beauty. She and Edgar Tomlinson looked as near right asanything you'd see in Washington Square. Vernabelle said the true spiritof Bohemia knew neither time nor place; it was wherever those gatheredwho were doing things, and wasn't it splendid that even here in thiscrude Western town a few of the real sort could meet and make theirown little quarter and talk about the big things, the lasting things!Everyone said yes, quite so; and they all tried to handle their wine likeit was a rare old vintage. But you can't hold much wassail on the juiceof the elderberry; it ain't the most jocund stuff the world as fermentedby Metta's mother. 

However, it livened things up a bit and Vernabelle set down her glass andchattered some more. She said after all life was anything but selective, but didn't we think that all the arts rounded out one's appreciationof the beautiful. Several said "How true--how true indeed!" and sighedimportantly. Then Metta said Vernabelle must show us some of her work andVernabelle said she could hardly bring herself to do that; but yet shecould and did, getting up promptly. She had designs for magazine coversand designs for war posters and designs for mural decorations and designsfor oil paintings and so forth--"studies; crude, unfinished bits" shecalled 'em, but in a tone that didn't urge any one else to call 'em that. 

It was mostly clouds and figures of females, some with ladies' wearingapparel and many not, engaged in dancing or plucking fruit or doing uptheir hair. Quite different stuff from Metta's innocent pictures ofkittens and grapes and daffodils. After everyone was put on the easelHenrietta Templeton Price would stick her thumb up in the air and sightacross it with one eye shut and say "A stunning bit, that!" and theothers would gasp with delight and mutter to each other about its beingsimply wonderful. 

Vernabelle listened in an all-too-negligent manner, putting in a tiredword or two now and then. She admitted that one or two was by way ofbeing precious bits. "Rather precious in an elemental way, " she wouldsay. "Of course I am trying to develop the psychology of the line. "Everyone said "Oh, of course!"

While she had one up showing part of a mottled nude lady who was smilingand reaching one hand up over to about where her shoulder blades wouldmeet in the back, who should be let in on the scene but Lon Price andCousin Egbert Floud. Lon had called for Henrietta, and Cousin Egbert hadtrailed along, I suppose, with glass blowing in mind. Vernabelle forgother picture and fluttered about the two new men. I guess Lon Price is anatural-born Bohemian. He took to her at once. 

"Sit here and tell me all about yourself, " says Vernabelle, and Lon didso while the girl hung breathless on his words. In no time at all he wastelling her about Price's Addition to Red Gap, how you walk ten blocksand save ten dollars a block and your rent money buys a home in this, the choicest villa site on God's green earth. Vernabelle had sort of kepthold of Cousin Egbert's sleeve with an absent hand--that girl was a manhound if ever there was one--and pretty soon she turned from Lon toEgbert and told him also to tell her all about himself. 

Cousin Egbert wasn't so glib as Lon. He looked nervous. He'd comeexpecting a little glass blowing and here was something strange. Hedidn't seem to be able to tell her all about himself. He couldn't startgood. 

"Tell me what you are reading, then, " says Vernabelle; and Cousin Egbertkind of strangled at this, too. He finally manages to say that he triedto read Shakespere once but it was too fine print. The old liar! Hewouldn't read a line of Shakespere in letters a foot high. It just showedthat he, too, was trying to bluff along with the rest of 'em on thisBohemian chatter. 

Vernabelle continued full of blandishment for the two men and poured 'emout stiff hookers of this demon elderberry wine and lighted cigarettesfor 'em from hers. I don't know whether this beverage got to Lon Priceor not, but in a minute he was telling her that beauty in her sex was acommon-enough heritage, but how all-too rare it was to find beauty andbrains in the same woman! Vernabelle called him comrade after that, andthen she was telling Cousin Egbert that he was of the great outdoors--aman's man! Egbert looked kind of silly and puzzled at this. He didn'tseem to be so darned sure about it. 

Then Vernabelle worked over by the easel--it took her about six attitudesleaning against things, to get there--and showed her oil paintings to thenewcomers. Lon Price was full of talk and admiration and said she mustdo a poster for him showing a creature of rare beauty up in the cloudsbeckoning home-buyers out to Price's Addition, where it was Big Lots, Little Payments, and all Nature seemed to smile. He said this figure, however, had better have something in the shape of a garment on itbecause the poster would go into homes where art in its broader extentwas still regarded in a suspicious or even hostile manner, if she caughtwhat he meant. The artist says she can readily understand, and that lifeafter all is anything but selective. 

Cousin Egbert just looked at the pictures in an uncomfortable manner. He spoke only once and that was about the mottled lady reaching overher shoulder and smiling. "Grinitch, " says he with a knowing leer. ButVernabelle only says, yes, it was painted in the dear old village. 

Then the crowd sort of got together on the couch and in chairs andVernabelle talked for one and all. She said how stimulating it was for afew of the real people who did things to come together in this way afterthe day's turmoil--to get away from it all! Beryl Mae said she had oftenwanted to get away from it all, but her aunt was narrow-minded. HenriettaPrice lighted her ninth cigarette and said how it reminded her of theLatin Quarter of Paris, which she had never been to, but her cousin hadspent a whole afternoon there once and had been simply wild about it. Vernabelle said it was times like this, with a few real people, that shegot her biggest ideas; that life in the rough was too terribly alabyrinth, didn't we think, stunning one with its immensity, while inthese dear little half-lighted moments the real came out unafraid, ifwe understood what she meant. Many of us said we did. 

It was when we got up to go that Vernabelle told me things about CousinEgbert. She said he must have great reserve strength in his personality. She said he fairly frightened her, he was so superbly elemental. 

"It is not so much Mr. Floud that frightens me, " says she, "as theinevitability of him--just beautifully that! And such sang fraw!"

Poor Egbert was where he had to overhear this, and I had never seen himless sang fraw--if that's the word. He looked more like a case of nettlerash, especially when Vernabelle gripped his hand at parting and calledhim comrade!

We finally groped our way through the smoke of the door and said what alovely time we'd had, and Metta said we must make a practice of droppingin at this hour. Vernabelle called us all comrade and said the time hadbeen by way of being a series of precious moments to her, even if theselittle studio affairs did always leave poor her like a limp lily. Yep;that's the term she used and she was draped down a bookcase when she saidit, trying to look as near as possible like a limp lily. 

The awestruck group split up outside. Nothing like this had ever enteredour dull lives, and it was too soon to talk about it. Cousin Egbertwalked downtown with me and even he said only a few little things. Hestill called the lady a glass blower, and said if she must paint at allwhy not paint family pictures that could be hung in the home. He said, what with every barroom in the state closed, there couldn't be muchdemand for them Grinitch paintings. He also said, after another block, that if he owned this lady and wanted to get her in shape to sell he'dput her out on short sand grass, short almost to the roots, where she'dwear her teeth down. And a block later he said she hadn't ought to becalling everyone comrade that way--it sounded too much like a German. Still and all, he said, there was something about her. He didn't saywhat. 

So now the Latin Quarter had begun, and in no time at all it was goingstrong. It seemed like everybody had long been wanting to get away fromit all but hadn't known how. They gathered daily in Metta's studio, thewomen setting round in smocks, they all took to wearing smocks, ofcourse, while hungry-eyed Vernabelle got the men to tell her all aboutthemselves, and said wasn't it precious that a few choice spirits couldthus meet in the little half-lighted hour, away from it all, and be byway of forgetting that outer world where human souls are bartered in themarket place. 

Of course the elderberry wine was by way of giving plumb out afterthe second half-lighted hour, but others come forward with cherishedofferings. Mrs. Dr. Percy Hailey Martingale brought round some currantwine that had been laid down in her cellar over a year ago, and Beryl MaeMacomber pilfered a quart of homemade cherry brandy that her aunt hadbeen saving against sickness, and even Mrs. Judge Ballard kicked in withsome blackberry cordial made from her own berries, though originallymeant for medicine. 

Lon Price was a feverish Bohemian from the start, dropping in almostevery day to tell Vernabelle all about himself and get out ofconvention's shell into the raw throb of life, as it was now beingcalled. Lon always was kind of light-minded, even after the statewent dry. He told Vernabelle he had a treasured keepsake hid away whichhe would sacrifice to Bohemia at the last moment, consisting of one quartbottle of prime old rye. And he was going to make over to her a choicebuilding lot in Price's Addition, right near the proposed site of theCarnegie library, if Vernabelle would put up something snappy on it inthe way of a Latin Quarter bungalow. 

Lon also added Jeff Tuttle to the Bohemians the day that old horned toadgot down from his ranch. After going once Jeff said darned if he hadn'tbeen a Bohemian all his life and never knew what was the matter with him. Vernabelle had him telling her all about himself instantly. She said hewas such a colourful bit, so virile and red-blooded, and she just knewthat when he was in his untamed wilderness he put vine leaves in hishair and went beautifully barefoot. She said it wasn't so much him as theinevitability of him. She'd said this about Cousin Egbert, too, but shewas now saying of this old silly that he had a nameless pathos that cutto her artist's heart. It seems Cousin Egbert had gone round a coupletimes more looking for glass blowing and getting disappointed. 

And there was new Bohemians every day. Otto Gashwiler, that keeps booksfor the canning factory, and Hugo Jennings, night clerk of the OccidentalHotel, was now prominent lights of the good old Latin Quarter passingtheir spare moments there where they could get away from it all, insteadof shaking dice at the Owl cigar store, like they used to. And OswaldCummings of the Elite Bootery, was another. Oswald is a big fair-hairedlummox that sings tenor in the Presbyterian choir and has the young men'sBible class in the Sabbath School. Vernabelle lost no time in tellinghim that he was oh, so frankly a pagan creature, born for splendid sins;and Otto seemed to believe it for a couple of weeks, going round absentlike as if trying to think up some sins that would be splendid, thoughif any one but a Bohemian had told him this he'd have blushed himself todeath. It shows you what a hold Vernabelle was by way of getting on RedGap. 

It was sure one season of triumph for Metta Bigler, who lurked proudlyin the background as manager. Metta's mother wasn't near so thrilled asMetta, though. She confided to me that Bohemians was a messy lot to cleanup after, raining cigarette ashes over everything; and also it was prettyhard to have raised a child to Metta's age only to see her become acigarette fiend overnight, and having these mad revels with currantwine and other intoxicants--and Metta was even using a lip stick!

And Metta's mother wasn't the only one in town looking sidewise at theseBohemian doings. There was them that held aloof from the beginning andwould give their bitter reasons at every opportunity. These was theultra-conservative element of the North Side set, and what they saidabout the new Latin Quarter was a plenty. They said it was mostly anexcuse for drunken orgies in which all sense of decency was cast aside, to say nothing of cigarettes being brazenly smoked by so-called ladies. They said this here talk about getting away from it all meant the ruinof the home upon which all durable civilization must be built; and asfor wives and mothers going round without their stockings look at whatbefell proud Rome! And it was time something was done to stem this tideof corruption. 

Mrs. Cora Wales and Mrs. Tracy Bangs, president and vice-president of ouranti-tobacco league, was the leaders of this movement and sent in a longcomplaint to the chamber of commerce urging instant action or a foul blotwould be splashed on the fair name of our city, to say nothing of homesbeing broken up. They was ably backed up in this move by a committee fromthe civic purity league. 

And of course this added to the attractions of the Latin Quarter, givingeach Bohemian a new thrill. Vernabelle said it was by way of beingancient history; that from time immemorial these little groups of choicespirits who did things had been scorned and persecuted, but that everytrue Bohemian would give a light laugh and pursue his carefree way, regardless of the Philistine And so it went, venomous on both sides, butwith Vernabelle holding the bridge. She'd brought new stuff to town andhad a good working majority in favour of it. 

Downtown one day I met Metta in the Red Front grocery buying olives andsardines in an excited way. I suppose it's for one of her unspeakableorgies, but she tells me it's something special and I must be sure tocome. 

"Dear Vernabelle, " she says, "has consented to give an evening cycle ofdance portrayals for just a few of the choicer spirits. I know there hasbeen dreadful talk about our little group, but this will be a stunningbit and you are broad-minded, so do come. "

I could just see Vernabelle consenting, almost peevishly; but it soundedlike it might be disorderly enough, so I says I'll come if she promisesto leave at least one window down at the top, me not having a gas mask. 

Metta thinks a minute, then says she guesses she can leave one windowdown a mite; not much, on account of the nature of Vernabelle's dancecostume. I says if such is to be the nature of her costume I'll comeanyway and risk being gassed. Metta chides me gravely. She says thecostume is perfectly proper to the artist eye, being a darling littleearly Greek thing; built on simple lines that follow the figure, it istrue, yet suggest rather than reveal, and if the early Greeks saw no harmin it why should we? I tell her to say no more, but reserve me a ringsideseat, though near a window if one can be opened; say, as far as the earlyGreeks would have done at such a time, on account of the punk sticks. 

And of course I wouldn't miss it. I'm there at eight-thirty and findquite a bunch of Latin Quarter denizens already gathered and full ofsuppressed emotion. The punk sticks, of course, are going strong. Vernabelle in a pink kimono says they supply atmosphere; which is theonly joke I ever heard her get off, if she knew it was one. BohemiansLon Price and Jeff Tuttle are hanging over the punch bowl, into whichsomething illegal has been poured. Jeff is calling Vernabelle littlewoman and telling her if worse comes to worst they might try beingBohemians on a mixture his men up on the ranch thought of for a NewYear's celebration. He says they took a whole case of vanilla extractand mixed it with one dozen cans of condensed milk, the vanilla havinga surprising kick in it and making 'em all feel like the good old daysnext morning. 

Vernabelle says he reminds her of some untamed creature of the open, some woodsy monster of the dells, and Jeff says that's just what he feelslike. He's going on to tell her some more about what he feels like, butVernabelle is now greeting Oswald Cummings, the pagan of splendid sins, from the Elite Bootery. She tells Oswald there is a cold cruelty in thelines of his face that reminds her of the emperor Nero. 

Finally about twenty choice spirits who did things was gathered for thishalf-lighted hour, so everybody set down on chairs and the couch and thefloor, leaving a clear space for Vernabelle; and Professor Gluckstein, our music teacher, puts down his meerschaum pipe and goes to the pianoand plays a soft piece. The prof is a German, but not a pro-German, andplays first rate in the old-fashioned way, with his hands. Then, whenall the comrades get settled and their cigarettes lighted, the profdrifted into something quite mournful and Vernabelle appeared frombehind a screen without her kimono. 

The early Greeks must of been strong on art jewellery. Vernabelle clankedat every step with bracelets and anklets and necklaces. She had apriceless ruby weighing half a pound fastened to the middle of herbony forehead. Her costume was spangled, but not many spangles had beenneeded. The early Greeks couldn't of been a dressy lot. If Vernabelle hadbeen my daughter I could of give her what she deserved with almost notrouble. The costume, as Metta had said, not only followed the linesof the figure, so far as it went anywhere at all, but it suggested andalmost revealed that Vernabelle had been badly assembled. The Bohemianskind of gasped and shivered, all except Jeff Tuttle, who applaudedloudly. They seemed to feel that Vernabelle was indeed getting awayfrom it all. 

Then came this here cycle-of-dance portrayals. The first one wasn't muchdance; it was mostly slow, snaky motions with the arms and other things, and it was to portray a mother cobra mourning her first-born. At leastthat's the way I understood it. Another one was called "The StrivingSoul, " to which the prof played something livelier. Vernabelle went roundand round, lifting her feet high. It looked to me like she was climbinga spiral staircase that wasn't there. Then she was a hunted fawn in adark forest and was finally shot through the heart by a cruel hunter--whowas probably nearsighted. And in the last one she was a Russian peasantthat has got stewed on vodka at the Russian county fair. This was thebest one. You couldn't see her so well when she moved quick. 

Of course there was hearty applause when it was all over, and pretty soonVernabelle come out again in her kimono. Panting like a tuckered houndshe was when the comrades gathered to tell her how wonderful she hadbeen. 

"That music tears me, " says Vernabelle, putting her hands to her chestto show where it tore. "That last maddening Russian bit--it leaves melike a limp lily!" So she was led to the punch bowl by Comrades Priceand Tuttle, with the others pushing after and lighting cigarettes forher. 

It was agreed that the evening had been a triumph for Vernabelle's art. Almost every Bohemian present, it seemed, had either been tore ormaddened by that last Russian bit. 

Vernabelle was soon saying that if she had one message for us it was thesacred message of beauty. Jeff Tuttle says, "You've certainly deliveredit, little woman!" Vernabelle says, oh, perhaps, in her poor, weakway--she was being a limp lily against the piano then--but art is aterrible master to serve, demanding one's all. Comrade Price says whatmore could she give than she has to-night. And then, first thing Iknow, they're all talking about an intimate theatre. 

This was another part of Vernabelle's message. It seems intimate theatresis all the rage in New York, and the Bigler barn is just the place tohave one in. Vernabelle says they will use the big part where the hayused to be and paint their own scenery and act their own plays and thusfind a splendid means of self-expression the way people of the real sortare doing in large cities. 

Everyone is wild about this in a minute, and says how quaint and jollyBohemian it will be. The Bigler barn is just the place, with no horsethere since Metta bought one of the best-selling cars that ever came outof Michigan, and Vernabelle says she has written a couple of stunninglittle one-act pieces, too powerful for the big theatres because they goright to the throbbing raw of life, and it will be an inspiration anduplift to the community, of which all present can be proud. Lon Pricesays he will furnish a good drop curtain free, painted with a choicenine-room villa with just a line mentioning Price's Addition to Red Gap, Big Lots, Little Payments. And he's quite hurt when Vernabelle tells himno, that they must keep entirely out of the slime of commercialism. Idon't think Lon ever again felt the same toward Vernabelle--calling hisbusiness slime, that way. 

However, the party broke up full of plans for the new intimate theatre, leaving an empty punch bowl and a million cigarette ends. 

And right here was where the Philistine opposition braided feathers inits hair and done a war dance. Members of the little group that didthings spoke freely the next day of Vernabelle's art in the dance and herearly Greek costume, taking a mean enjoyment in the horror they inspiredamong pillars of the church and the civic purity league. It is probablethat in their artistic relish they endowed Vernabelle with even fewerclothes than she had wore. At any rate, they left a whole lot to beinferred, and it promptly was inferred. 

The opposition now said this was no job for a chamber of commerce; ithad become a simple matter for the police. The civic purity league hada special meeting at which the rind was peeled off Vernabelle's moralcharacter, and the following Sabbath one of the ministers gave a hotsermon in which the fate of Babylon and a few other undesirable residencecentres mentioned in the Bible was pointed out. He said that so-calledBohemia was the gateway to hell. He never minced his words, not once. 

And the Latin Quarter come in for some more shock assaults when thetalk about an intimate theatre in the Bigler barn got out. The regulartheatre was bad enough, said the civic purity league; in fact, they hadstarted a campaign against that the month before, right after a one-nightengagement of the Jolly Paris Divorcees Burlesque Company, which, Igathered, had not upheld the very highest standards of dramatic art. And if the town was going to stand for anything more intimate than thisshow had provided, why, it was time for drastic action if any wholesomefamily life was to be saved from the wreck. 

Feeling ran high, I want to tell you, and a few of the younger set fellout of the ranks of good old Bohemia--or was yanked out. Luella Stultz'sfather, who is old-fashioned, it was said, had give Luella a good lickingfor smoking cigarettes, and old Jesse Himebaugh had threatened hisdaughter Gussie with the reform school if she didn't stop trying to getaway from it all. Even Beryl Mae's aunt put her foot down. Beryl Mae metme in the post office one day and says auntie won't let her be a Bohemianany more, having threatened to take her new ukulele away from her if shegoes to that Latin Quarter another single time; and poor Beryl Mae havinghoped to do a Hawaiian dance in native costume for the intimate theatre, where it wouldn't be misunderstood!

Things was just in this shape, with bitterness on every side and oldfriends not speaking, and the opposition passing the Bohemians on thestreet with the frown of moral disgust, and no one knowing how it wouldall end, when I hear that Cora Wales has a niece coming from New York tovisit her--a Miss Smith. I says to myself, "My lands! Here's another MissSmith from New York when it looks to me like the one we got is giving usa plenty of the big league stuff. " But I meet Cora Wales and learn thatthis one's first name is Dulcie, which again seemed to make a difference. 

Cora says this Dulcie niece is one of New York's society leaders andshe's sorry she invited her, because what kind of a town is it in whichto introduce a pure young girl that never smoked or drank in her life andwhose people belong to one of the very most exclusive churches in thecity. She had hoped to give Dulcie a good time, but how can she sullyherself with any of our young people that have took up Bohemianism? Shebeing fresh from her social triumphs in New York, where her folks livein one of the very most fashionable apartment houses on Columbus Avenue, right in the centre of things and next to the elevated railway, willbe horrified at coming to a town where society seems to be mostly alittle group of people who do things they hadn't ought to. 

Dulcie is a dear girl and very refined, everything she wears beinghand embroidered, and it would of been a good chance for Red Gap to getacquainted with a young society girl of the right sort, but with thisscandal tearing up the town it looks like the visit will be a failurefor all parties. 

I tell Cora on the contrary it looks like a good chance to recall thetown to its better self. If this here Dulcie is all that is claimed forher she can very probably demolish the Latin Quarter and have us allleading correct society lives in no time, because the public is fickleand ever ready for new stuff, and as a matter of fact I suspect the LatinQuarter is in a bad way because of everything in town of an illegalcharacter having been drunk up by the comrades. Me? I was trying to getsome new life into the fight, understand, being afraid it would dienatural and leave us to a dull winter. 

Cora's eyes lighted up with a great hope and she beat it off to theRecorder office to have a piece put in the paper about Dulcie's coming. It was a grand piece, what with Cora giving the points and EdgarTomlinson writing it. It said one of Gotham's fair daughters would winterin our midst, and how she was a prominent society leader and an ornamentof the fast hunting set, noted for her wit and beauty and dazzlingcostumes, and how a series of brilliant affairs was being planned in herhonour by her hostess and aunt, Mrs. Leonard Wales, Red Gap's prominentsociety matron and representative of all that was best in our community, who would entertain extensively at her new and attractive home in Price'sAddition. And so forth. 

I'm bound to say it created a flurry of interest among the youngerdancing set, and more than one begun to consider whether they wouldremain loyal to Bohemia or plunge back into society once more, wherestockings are commonly wore, and smoking if done at all is hurriedlysneaked through out on the porch or up in the bathroom. 

From Cora's description I was all prepared to find Dulcie a tall, stately creature of twenty-eight, kind of blase and haggard from herwearing social duties in New York. But not so. Not so at all. Cora hadinvitations out for a tea the day after Dulcie come; invitations, thatis, to the non-Bohemians and such as had reformed or give good signs ofit. I don't know which head I got in under. And this Dulcie niece wasnothing but a short, fat, blond kid of seventeen or eighteen that hadnever led any society whatever. You could tell that right quick. 

She was rapidly eating cream-cheese sandwiches when I was presented toher. I knew in one look that society had never bothered Dulcie any. Victuals was her curse. In the cattle business it ain't ridingdisrespectful horses that gets you the big money; it's being able toguess weights. And if Dulcie pulled a pound less than one hundred andeighty then all my years of training has gone for naught. She wascertainly big-framed stock and going into the winter strong. Betweenbites of sandwich, with a marshmallow now and then, she was saying thatshe was simply crazy about the war, having the dandiest young Frenchsoldier for a godson and sending him packages of food and cigarettesconstantly, and all the girls of her set had one, and wasn't it thedarlingest idea. 

And her soldier was only twenty-two, though his beard made him look moremature, and he wrote such dandy letters, but she didn't suppose therewould ever be anything between them because papa was too busy with hiscoal yard to take her over there. 

As the girl chattered on it didn't seem to me that our Latin Quarter wasin the slightest danger from her. Still, some of the girls that was thereseemed quite impressed or buffaloed by her manner. One idea she give outnow was new in Red Gap. She had all her rings named after meals. She hada breakfast ring and a dinner ring and a supper ring and a banquet ring, and Daisy Estelle Maybury admired the necklace she had on, and Dulciesaid that was a mere travelling necklace; and how did they like this cutelittle restaurant frock she was wearing? A little dressmaker over onAmsterdam Avenue had turned it out. All the parties she dealt with, apparently, was little. She had a little dressmaker and a little hairwoman and a little manicure and a little florist, and so forth. She'det five cream-cheese sandwiches by this time, in spite of its being quitepainful for her to pick up a dropped napkin. Dulcie didn't fold overgood. You could tell here was a girl that had never tried to get awayfrom it all. She wanted to be right where it was. 

Pretty soon one of the girls said something about the Bohemians of theLatin Quarter, probably aiming to show this New York chatterbox that RedGap wasn't so far west as it looked. But Dulcie gave 'em the laugh. Shesaid oh, dear, New York society had simply quit taking up Bohemians, itnot being considered smart any longer, and did we really take them uphere? The girls backed up at this. And Dulcie went on being superior. Shesaid of course society people now and then made up a party and went downto Washington Square to look them over, but as for taking them up, oh, dear, no! It was more like a slumming party. One could stare at them, but one simply didn't know them. 

And perhaps, if she could get Aunt Cora to chaperon them, they might makeup one of these slumming parties some evening and go down to Red Gap'sLatin Quarter; it might be amusing. Cora Wales glistened at this. Shesaid she guessed people could now see how such goings-on were regarded bysociety in the true sense of the word. And it did give the girls a chill, calling the Bigler home a slum. But I still didn't see any stuff inDulcie to vanquish Vernabelle. 

And I didn't see it a minute later when Dulcie wolfed her tenthmarshmallow and broke out about winter sports. She first said whatperfectly darling snow we had here. This caused some astonishment, noone present having ever regarded snow as darling but merely as somethingto shovel or wade through. So Dulcie pronged off a piece of stickychocolate cake and talked on. She said that everyone in New York wasoutdooring, and why didn't we outdoor. It was a shame if we didn't goin for it, with all this perfectly dandy snow. New York people had togo out of town for their winter sports, owing to the snow not being goodfor sport after it fell there; but here it was right at hand, and did wemean to say we hadn't organized a winter-sports club. 

No one spoke, for no one could guess what you did to outdoor properly. About all they could think of was hustling out after another chunk forthe fireplace or bringing a scuttle of coal up from the cellar. But theysoon got the idea. Dulcie said right from this window she could see acorking hill for a toboggan slide, and it would be perfectly darling tobe out there with plenty of hot coffee and sandwiches; and there must besome peachy trips for snowshoe parties with sandwiches and coffee at theend; or skating in the moonlight with a big bonfire and coffee andsandwiches. 

She suggested other things with coffee and sandwiches and finally gotup some real enthusiasm when she said she had brought some of the dearestsport toggery with her. The girls was excited enough when they found outyou had to dress especial for it. They was willing to listen to anythinglike that if New York society was really mad about it, even if itconflicted with lifelong habits--no one in Red Gap but small boyshaving ever slid downhill. 

And still I didn't suspect Dulcie was going to groundsluice Vernabelle. It looked like the Latin Quarter would still have the best of it, atleast during a cold winter. Which goes to show that you can't tell whatsociety will go mad about, even in Red Gap, when you can dress for it. 

The girls had got a line on Dulcie and was properly impressed by her, andthen with an evening affair at the Wales home the dancing men had theirchance. Even some of the Bohemians was let to come, just to have 'em seethat there was indeed a better life; and reports of Dulcie was such thatall took advantage of it. The male sex was strong for the girl at once. She didn't know that life is anything but selective, or that all the artsround out one's appreciation of the beautiful, or that anything was "byway of being" something. But all the food she took didn't make hertorpid; she giggled easily and had eyes like hothouse grapes, and inspite of her fat there was something about her, like Cousin Egbert saidof Vernabelle. Anyway, she prevailed. Oswald Cummings, the pagan, forone, quickly side-stepped his destiny of splendid sins, and Hugo Jenningstold Dulcie he had merely gone to this Latin Quarter as he would go to ananimal show, never having meant for one moment to take Bohemians up, anymore than New York society would. 

First thing I hear, the winter-sports club has been organized, snowshoessent for and a couple of toboggans, and a toboggan slide half a milelong made out in Price's Addition, starting at the top of the highesthill, where Lon's big board sign with the painted bungalow made a finewindshield, and running across some very choice building lots to thefoot of the grade, where it stopped on the proposed site of the CarnegieLibrary. Lon was very keen about the sport himself after meeting Dulcie, and let a fire be built near his sign that burned it down one night, buthe said it was all good advertising, more than he'd ever got out of beinga Bohemian. 

Of course there was a great deal of fuss about the proper sport toggery, but everyone got rigged out by the time the toboggans got there. Dulciewas a great help in this and was downtown every day advising one oranother about the proper sweaters or blanket coats or peaked caps withtassels, or these here big-eyed boots. You'd meet her in a store withStella Ballard, eating from a sack of potato chips; and half an hourlater she'd be in another store with Daisy Estelle Maybury, munching froma box of ginger wafers; with always a final stop at the Bon Ton KandyKitchen for a sack of something to keep life in her on the way home. There really got to be so much excitement about winter sports that youhardly heard any more talk about the Latin Quarter. People got tospeaking to each other again. 

By the opening day of the sports club you wouldn't of thought any one intown had ever tried to get away from it all. Even them that thought itcrazy came and stood round and said so. Cousin Egbert Floud said thisDulcie was some sparrow, but nutty--going out in the cold that way whennothing drove her out. Dulcie made a great hit with the club this firstday, having the correct Canadian toggery and being entirely fearless inthe presence of a toboggan. She'd zip to the bottom, come tramping back, shooting on all six, grab a sandwich--for not a morsel of food had passedher lips since she went down the time before--and do it all over again. And every last ex-Bohemian, even Edgar Tomlinson, fighting for the chanceto save her from death by starvation! Dulcie played no favourites, beingentranced with 'em all. She said they was the dearest gentleman friendsshe'd ever had. The way they was fighting for her favours she could ofcalled 'em her gentleman frenzy. Ain't I the heinous old madcap, thinkingof jokes like that?

Next day there was a snowshoe trip up to Stender's spring and back by wayof the tie camp. Dulcie hadn't ever snowshoed and it wasn't any lightmatter when her shoes threw her down--requiring about three of thehuskiest boys to up-end her--but she was game and the boys was game andshe was soon teaching snowshoeing shoes how to take a joke. And from thaton winter sports ruled in Red Gap. The chamber of commerce even talked ofbuilding an ice palace next year and having a carnival and getting thetown's name in the papers. Oh, there certainly must of been a surprisedlot of snow round there that winter. Nothing like this had ever happenedto it before. 

And all being done on nothing stronger than coffee, with hardly acigarette and never anything that was by way of being a punk stick in aclosed room. It was certainly a lot healthier than a Latin Quarter forthese young people, and for the old ones, too. Dulcie had sure put onelarge crimp into Bohemia, even if she could not be justly called anintellectual giantess. 

And Vernabelle knew who to blame, too, when the little group quit cominground to get away from it all. She knew it was Dulcie. She said thatDulcie seemed to be a pampered society butterfly that devoted all herthoughts to dress. This was repeated to Dulcie by an ex-Bohemian, but shefound no poison in it. She said of course she devoted all her thoughts todress; that a young girl with her figure had to if she ever expected toget anywhere in the world. 

Even ex-comrade Lon Price would now shut his office at four o'clock everyday and go up on the hill and outdoor a bit, instead of getting away fromit all in a smoky Bohemian way. Besides he'd had a difference of opinionwith Vernabelle about the poster she was doing for him, the same beingmore like an advertisement for some good bath soap, he said, than forchoice villa sites. 

"I don't know anything about art, " says Lon, "but I know what my wifelikes. " Which left Vernabelle with another design on her hands andbrought Comrade Price out of Bohemia. 

Even if Dulcie's winter sports hadn't done the trick I guess it would ofbeen done easy by her report that Bohemians was no longer thought to besmart in New York, Red Gap being keenly sensitive in such matters. MettaBigler's mother firmly turned out the half-lights in Bohemia when sheheard of this talk of Dulcie's. I don't blame her. She didn't one bitrelish having her neat home referred to as a slum, say nothing of havingher only child using a lip stick and acting like an abandoned woman withcigarettes and the wine cup. 

She said just that to me, Metta's mother did. She said she had heard thatNew York was all broken up into social sets, the same way Red Gap is, andif Bohemians wasn't being took up by the better element in New York, thenthey shouldn't be took up by the better element of Red Gap--at least notin any home of which the deed was still in her name. She said of courseshe couldn't keep Metta's guest from being a Bohemian, but she would haveto be it alone. She wasn't going to have a whole mob coming round everyday and being Bohemians all over the place, it being not only messy butrepugnant alike to sound morality and Christian enlightenment. And thatsettled it. Our town was safe for one more winter. Of course God onlyknows what someone may start next winter. We are far off from things, but by no means safe. 

Cousin Egbert was kind of sorry for Vernabelle. He said if she'd juststuck to plain glass blowing she might of got by with it. He's a wonder, that man--as teachable as a granite bowlder. 

My Godfrey! Ten-thirty, and me having to start the spring sport of ditchcleaning to-morrow morning at seven! Won't I ever learn!

IV

VENDETTA

By the evening lamp in the Arrowhead living room I did my bit, for themoment, by holding a hank of gray wool for Ma Pettengill to wind. Whilethis minor war measure went forward the day's mail came. From a canvassack Lew Wee spilled letters and papers on the table. Whereupon the yarnwas laid by while Ma Pettengill eagerly shuffled the letters. She thoughtfit to extenuate this eagerness. She said if people lived forever theywould still get foolishly excited over their mail; whereas everyoneknew well enough that nothing important ever came in it. To prove thisshe sketched a rapid and entirely unexciting summary of the six unopenedletters she held. 

One of them, she conceded, might be worth reading; and this she laidaside. Of the remaining five she correctly guessed the contents of four. Of the fifth she remarked that it would be from a poor feckless dub witha large family who had owed her three hundred dollars for nine years. Shesaid it would tell a new hard-luck tale for non-payment of a note now duefor the eighth time. Here she was wrong. The letter inclosed a perfectlynew note for four hundred and fifty dollars; and would Mrs. Pettengillsend on the extra one hundred and fifty dollars that would enable thedebtor to get on his feet and pay all his debts, as there was a goodseason of hog buying ahead of him!

"I guessed wrong, " admitted the lady. "I certainly did that little man aninjustice, not suspecting he could think up something novel after nineyears. " Grimly she scanned the new note. "As good as a treaty withGermany!" she murmured and threw it aside, though I knew that the oldnote and the new hundred and fifty would go forward on the morrow; forshe had spoken again of the debtor's large family. She said it waswonderful what good breeders the shiftless are. 

"Ain't I right, though, about the foolish way people fly at their mail?"she demanded. "You might think they'd get wise after years and yearsof being fooled; but--no, sir! Take me day after to-morrow, when thenext mail comes. I'll fall on it like I fell on this, with all my olddelusions uninjured. There sure does seem to be a lot of human naturein most of us. "

Then she opened the possibly interesting letter that had been put aside. The envelope, at least, was interesting, bearing as it did the stamp ofa military censor for the American Expedition to France. 

"You remember Squat Tyler, that long cow-puncher working for me when youwere here last time?"

I remembered Squat, who was indeed a long cow-puncher--long enough to beknown, also, to his intimates as Timberline. 

"Well, Squat is over there in the trenches helping to make the world apleasant place to live in. He's a good shot, too. "

The lady read the letter hurriedly to herself; then regaled me with bitsof it. 

"The life here is very, " she read. "That's all he says, at first--'Thelife here is very. ' I should judge it might be that from what I read inthe papers. Or mebbe he couldn't just think of the word. Let's see!What else? Oh, yes--about digging. He says he didn't take to digging atfirst, not having gone there for any common purpose, but one day he wastold to dig, and while he was thinking up something to say a million gunsbegan to go off; so he dug without saying a word. Hard and fast he sayshe dug. He says: 'If a badger would of been there he would of been in myway. ' I'll bet! Squat wouldn't like to be shot at in all seriousness. What next? Here he says I wouldn't dream what a big outfit this here U. S. Outfit is; he says it's the biggest outfit he ever worked for--not evenexcepting Miller & Lux. What next? Oh, yes; here he tells about gettingone. 

"'Last night I captured a big fat enemy; you know--a Heinie. It was asdark as a cave, but I heard one snooping close. I says to my pardner Ikeep hearing one snoop close; and he says forget it, because my hive isswarming or something; and I says no; I will go out there and molest thatGerman. So I sneaked over the bank and through our barbed-wire fence thateveryone puts up here, and out a little ways to where I had heard onesnoop; and, sure enough--what do you think? He seen me first and knockedmy gun out of my hands with the butt of his. It got me mad, because it isa new gun and I am taking fine care of it; so I clanched him'--that'swhat Squat says, clanched. 'And, first, he run his finger into my righteye, clear up to the knuckle it felt like; so I didn't say a word, buthauled off quick and landed a hard right on the side of his jaw anddropped him just like that. It was one peach I handed him and he slumpeddown like a sack of mush. I am here to tell you it was just one punch, though a dandy; but he had tried to start a fight, so it was his ownfault. So I took all his weapons away and when he come alive I kicked hima few times and made him go into the U. S. Trenches. He didn't turn out tobe much--only a piano tuner from Milwaukee; and I wish it had of been ageneral I caught snooping. I certainly did molest him a-plenty, allright. Just one punch and I brought him down out of control. Ha! Ha! Thelife here is very different. '

"There; that must of been what he tried to say at the beginning--'Thelife here is very different. ' I should think he'd find it so, seeing theonly danger that boy was ever in here was the sleeping sickness. "

Hereupon the lady removed the wrapper from a trade journal and scannedcertain market quotations. They pleased her little. She said it wasdarned queer that the war should send every price in the world up but theprice of beef, beef quotations being just where the war had found them. Not that she wanted to rob any one! Still and all, why give everyone achance but cattle raisers? She muttered hugely of this discriminationand a moment later seemed to be knitting her remarks into a gray sock. The mutterings had gradually achieved the coherence of remarks. And Ipresently became aware that the uninflated price of beef was no longertheir burden. 

They now concerned the singular reticence of all losers of fist fights. Take Squat's German. Squat would be telling for the rest of his life howhe put that Wisconsin alien out with one punch. But if I guessed theGerman would be telling it as often as Squat told it I was plumb foolish. He wouldn't tell it at all. Losers never do. Any one might think thatparties getting licked lost their powers of speech. Not so with thewinners of fights; not so at all!

At this very minute, while we sat there in that room at a quarter pasteight, all over the wide world modest-seeming men were telling how theyhad licked the other man with one punch, or two or three at the most. Itwas being told in Kulanche County, Washington, and in Patagonia andPhiladelphia and Africa and China, and them places; in clubs and lumbercamps and Pullman cars and ships and saloons--in states that remainedfree of the hydrant-headed monster, Prohibition--in tents and palaces; inburning deserts and icy wastes. At that very second, in an ice hut up bythe North Pole, a modest Eskimo was telling and showing his admiring wifeand relatives just how he had put out another Eskimo that had come roundand tried to start something. Which was another mystery, the man winningthe fight being always put upon and invariably in the right. In every oneof these world-wide encounters justice always prevailed and only thewinner talked about it afterward. 

"And lots of times, " continued the lady, "this talkative winner has beenset upon by as many as three others. But he licks 'em all. Sometimes headmits he had a little luck with the third man; but he gets two of thecowards easy. Why, down in Red Gap only the other night I saw a kind of aslight young man in a full-dress suit lick three big huskies that set onhim. He put two out with a punch apiece and got the third after about oneround of sparring. There he stood winner over all three, and hardly hishair mussed; and you wouldn't of thought in the beginning that he couldlick one of the bunch. It was a good picture, all right, with this fightcoming in the first reel to start things off lively. But what I want toknow is why, out of these million fights that come off, you never hear aword out of a loser! I'll bet all my Liberty Bonds right now that younever yet heard a man tell about how he was licked in a fair fight. "

I had to decline the wager. The most I could submit was that I had heardsome plausible excuses. The lady waved her entire knitting indeprecation. 

"Oh, excuses! You hear 'em a-plenty when the loser can't deny he waslicked. Most losers will odd things along till they sound even. I heard alovely excuse down in Red Gap. Hyman Leftowitz, who does business thereas Abercrombie, the Quality Tailor, made a suit for Eddie Pierce thatdrives the depot hack, and Eddie was slow pay. So Hyman lost his nativetact one night and dunned Eddie when he was walking down Fourth Streetwith his girl. Eddie left his girl in at the Owl Drug Store and went backand used Hyman hard; and all Hyman did was to yell 'Help!' and 'Murder!'I was in his shop for a fitting next day and Hyman's face arrested theattention much more than usual. It showed that Eddie had done somethingwith him. So I says: 'Why didn't you fight back? What was your fistsfor?' And Hyman says: 'I pledge you my word I didn't know it was afight. ' Oh, excuses--sure! But that ain't what I'm getting at. You'veheard the winners talk, like we all have, how they did it with the goodold right hook to the jaw, or how they landed one straight left and allwas over; but did you ever hear any talk from a loser without excuses, one who come out plain and said he was licked by a better man?"

We debated this briefly. We agreed that the reticence of losers is dueto something basic in human nature; a determination of the noblest sortto disregard failure--that is, Ma Pettengill said you couldn't expecteverything of human nature when it had its earrings in, and I agreed inas few words as would suffice. I had suddenly become aware that the womanwas holding something back. The signs in her discourse are not to bemistaken. I taxed her with this. She denied it. Then she said that, evenif she was holding back something, it was nothing to rave about. Just ananecdote that this here talk about fighting characters had reminded herof. She wouldn't of thought of it even now if Ben Steptoe hadn't told herlast spring why he didn't lick his Cousin Ed that last time. And thishere Ed Steptoe was the only honest male she had ever known. But thatwas because something was wrong in his head, he being a born nut. Andit wasn't really worth going back over; but--well--she didn't know. Possibly. Anyway--

These Steptoe cousins come from a family back in the East that was remotekin to mine and they looked me up in Red Gap when they come out into thegreat boundless West to carve out a name for themselves. About fifteenyears ago they come. Ben was dark and short and hulky, with his headjammed down between his shoulders. Ed was blond and like a cat, beingquick. Ben had a simple but emphatic personality, seeing what he wantedand going for it, and that never being more than one thing at a time. Edwas all over the place with his own aspirations and never anything longat a time; kind of a romantic temperament, or, like they say in stories, a creature of moods. He was agent for the Home Queen sewing machine whenhe first come out. But that didn't mean sewing machines was his lifework. He'd done a lot of things before that, like lecturing for apatent-medicine professor and canvassing for crayon portraits with agold frame, and giving lessons in hypnotism, and owning one-half ora two-headed pig that went great at county fairs. 

Ben had come along the year before Ed and got a steady job as brakemanon the railroad, over on the Coeur d'Alene Branch. He told me he wasgoing to make railroading his life work and had started in at the bottom, which was smart of him, seeing he'd just come off a farm. They probablywouldn't of let him start in at the top. Anyway, he was holding down hisjob as brakeman when Ed sailed in, taking orders for the Home Queen, andtaking 'em in plenty, too, being not only persuasive in his methods buta wizard on this here sewing machine. He could make it do everythingbut play accompaniments for songs--hemming, tucking, frilling, fancyembroidering. He knew every last little dingus that went on it; thingsI certainly have never learned in all my life, having other matters on mymind. He'd take a piece of silk ribbon and embroider a woman's initialson it in no time at all, leaving her dead set to have this householdtreasure. 

But Ed had tired of sewing machines, like he had of hypnotism and thedouble-headed Berkshire; and he never kept at anything a minute after itquit exciting him. Ben come down to Red Gap to see his cousin and theyhad quite a confab about what Ed should next take up for his life work. Ben said it was railroading for his, and some day he'd be a generalmanager, riding round in his private car and giving orders right andleft, though nothing but a humble brakeman now, and finally he talked Edinto the same exalted ambitions. Ed said he had often wanted to ride in aprivate car himself, and if it didn't take too long from the time youstarted in he might give railroading a chance to show what it could dofor him. Ben said all right, come over with him and he'd get him startedas brakeman, with a fine chance to work up to the top. 

So, after infesting a few more houses with the Home Queen, Ed wentinto his new profession. He told me, the last thing, that, even if hedidn't stick till he got to the top, it was, anyway, a fine chance foradventure, which was really the thing he had come west of Chicago for. He said night and day he pined for adventure. 

He got his adventure right soon after the company's pay roll was adornedwith his name. He'd been twisting up brakes on freight cars for ten daystill the life looked tame to him, even with a private car at the end, and then all his wildest dreams of adventure was glutted in somethinglike four minutes and thirty seconds. On this eleventh day after he'dbegun at the bottom he started to let two big freight cars loaded withconcentrates down the spur track, from one of the mines at Burke, havingorders to put 'em where the regular train for Wallace could pick 'em up. Burke is seven miles up the canon from Wallace and the grade drops twohundred and thirty-five feet to the mile, being a masterpiece ofengineering. Ed gets his two cars to the main line, all right, whistlinga careless ditty. Then when they should of stopped they did not. Theykept sneaking and creaking along on him. He couldn't get the brake ofthe forward car up very tight, and in setting the brake of the rear car, with a brakeman's stick for a lever, he broke the chain. Then his twocars really started out looking for adventure. 

Ed admits that he had the thrill of his life for seven miles. I guess hiswildest cravings for adventure was appeased for the time. He flattenedout at the rear end of the last car and let the scenery flash by. He saidafterward it looked just one blurred mess to him. His two cars droppedthe sixteen hundred and forty-five feet and made the seven-mile distancein four and one-half minutes by standard railroad time. Ed was feelingfairly good, never having rode so fast in his life before, and he washoping nothing serious would get in the way before the cars slowed up ona level somewhere. He didn't have long to hope this. His cars struck afrog at the upper end of the Wallace yard and left the track. The forwardends plowed into the ground and the rear ends swung over. Ed was shotthrough the air two hundred and thirty-five feet, as afterward measuredby a conscientious employee of the road, and landed in a dump of sawdustby the ice house. 

It seems Ben was working in the Wallace yard that day and was the firstman to look things over. He put a report on the wire promptly and had awrecking outfit there to minister to these two injured box cars, and agang of Swedes repairing the track in no time at all. Then someone withpresence of mind said they ought to look for Ed, and Ben agreed; soeverybody searched and they found him in this sawdust. He lookedextremely ruined and like this little adventure had effected structuralmodifications in him. He certainly had been brought down out of control, like Squat says, but he was still breathing; so they took him over to theWallace Hospital on a chance that he could be put together again, like apuzzle. A doctor got to work and set a lot of bones and did much plainand fancy sewing on Ed the adventurer. 

So there he was, bedfast for about three months; but, of course, he begunto enjoy his accident long before that--almost as soon as he come to, infact. It seemed to Ed that there had never been so good an accident asthat in the whole history of railroading, and he was the sole hero of it. He passed his time telling the doctor all about it, and anyone else thatwould drop in to listen: just how he felt when the cars started downhill;how his whole past life flashed before him and just what he was thinkingabout when the cars poured him off. He was remembering every second of itby the time he was able to get on crutches. He never used that old sayingabout making a long story short. 

First thing he did when he could hobble was to take a man from theresident engineer's office out to the point where he'd left the rails andtape his flight, finding it to be two hundred and thirty-five feet. Thathurt his story, because he had been estimating it at five hundred feet;but he was strictly honest and accepted the new figures like a littleman. 

That night Ben come in, who'd been up round Spokane mostly since theaccident, and Ed told him all about it; how his flight was two hundredand thirty-five feet. And wasn't it the greatest accident that everhappened to anybody?

Ed noticed that Ben didn't seem to be excited about it the way he hadought to be. He was sympathetic enough for Ed's bone crashes, but he saidit was all in the day's work for a railroad man; and he told Ed aboutsome other accidents that was right in a class along with his and mebbeeven a shade better. Ed was peeved at this; so Ben tried to soothe him. He said, yes, indeed, all hands had been lucky--especially the company. He said if them two cars hadn't happened to strike soft ground that tookthe wheels they'd been smashed to kindling; whereas the damage wastrifling. This sounded pretty cold to Ed. He said this railroad companydidn't seem to set any exaggerated value on human life. Ben said norailroad company could let mere sentiment interfere with business if itwanted to pay dividends, and most of them did. He said it was a matter ofdollars and cents like any other business, and Ed had already cost 'em alot of good hard cash for doctor's bills. Then he admitted that theaccident had been a good thing for him, in a way, he being there on thespot and the first to make a report over to the superintendent at Tekoa. 

"I bet you made a jim-dandy good report, " says Ed, taking heart againafter this sordid dollars-and-cents talk. "It was certainly a fine chanceto write something exciting if a man had any imagination. You probablywon't have another chance like that in all your career. "

"My report pleased the Old Man all right, " says Ben. "He's kind of hadhis eye on me ever since. He said the way I worded that report showed Iwasn't one to lose my head and get hysterical, the way he had known somegreen hands to do. "

"I'll certainly have to have a look at that report, " says Ed. "Probablyyou did get a little bit hysterical at that seeing there was lots ofexcuse for it. "

Ben says no, he can't remember that he was hysterical any, because thehigh-class railroad man must always keep his head in emergencies. Edsays, anyway he knows it must of been a corking good report, and he'llsure have a look at it when he gets to stepping again. 

All the same, it begun to look to Ed like his accident wasn't being madeenough of. It come over him gradually. Of course he'd got to be an oldstory round the hospital and people was beginning to duck when he startedtalking. Then, after he got on crutches he'd hobble about the fatal spot, pointing out his route to parties that would stay by him, and getting 'emto walk over two hundred and thirty-five feet to where he was picked uplifeless. And pretty soon even this outside trade fell off. And rightafter that he begun to meet new trainmen and others that had never hearda word about the accident and looked at him like they thought he was aliar when he told the details. He was coming to be a grouchy nuisanceround Wallace. Even the doctor said he'd be glad when Ed got entirelywell again. 

Ed couldn't understand it. He must of thought the company should stop alltrains for five minutes every day at the hour of his mix-up, or at thevery least that the president of the road and the board of directorsought to come down in a special car and have their pictures taken withhim; and a brass tablet should be put up on the ice house, showing wherehis lifeless carcass was recovered. And of course they would send hima solid gold engraved pass, good for life between all stations on alldivisions. But these proper attentions was being strangely withheld. Sofar as Ed could see, the road had gone right on doing business as usual. 

He couldn't understand it at all. It seemed like he must be dreaming. Hewrote to Ben, who was still up the line, that this here fine report hehad made must of got lost; anyway, it seemed like the company had nevergot round to reading it or they wouldn't have took things so placid. Bynow he was pinning all his hopes to this report of Ben's if any justicewas going to be done him in this world. He'd tell parties who doubtedhis story that he guessed they'd believe him fast enough if they evergot an eye on Ben's report, which was made on the spot, and was so gooda report, though not hysterical, that it had drawn compliments from thedivision superintendent. 

It occurs to him one day that he ought to have a copy of this report ifhe is ever going to be set right before the world. He suspects crookedwork by this time. He suspects mebbe the company is keeping the thingquiet on purpose, not wanting the public to know that such wonderfulaccidents could happen to its faithful employees. So he talks to CharlieHolzman, the conductor of Number 18, and wants to know would it bepossible to sneak this report of Ben's out of the files over at Tekoa. Charlie says that wouldn't be possible, but he's going to lay over atTekoa the very next night and he'll be glad to make a copy of the report. 

Ed says he hates to keep Charlie setting up half the night writing, ormebbe all night, because Ben has told him the report was a good one. Charlie says he'll get help if necessary. Ed says get all the helpnecessary and he'll pay the bill, and not to leave out even the longerdescriptive parts, because if it's as well written as Ben says it is hemay have it printed in a little volume for sending round to his friends. 

The next day Ed is sunning himself on the station platform when Number 18steams in. He's told a lot of people that Charlie is bringing this reportand he's aiming to read it aloud, just to show 'em what a man can passthrough and live to tell of it. Charlie swings down and hands him onefolded sheet of yellow paper. Ed says, what's the matter--couldn't he getto copy the report? Charlie says the report is all there on that sheet, every word of it. One sheet! And Ed had been expecting at least fortypages of able narrative, even without hysteria. Even before he looks atit Ed says there is crooked work somewhere. 

Then he read Ben's report. It didn't fill even the one sheet--not morethan half of it. It merely says: "Brakeman Steptoe had trouble holdingtwo cars of concentrates he was letting down from the Tiger-Poormanmine at Burke. Cars ran to Wallace and left track. Steptoe thrown somedistance. Right leg and arm broken; left shoulder dislocated; head cutsome. Not serious. "

It was unbelievable; so Ed did the simple thing and didn't believe it. Not for one minute! He says to Charlie Holzman: "Charlie, I know you'rehonest; and, furthermore, you are a brother Moose. You've brought mewhat's on file in that office; so now I know there's a conspiracy to hushmy accident up. I've thought so a long time--the way people acted roundhere. Now I know it. Don't say a word; but I'm going to take it up withBen at once. Good old Ben! Won't he be in a frenzy when he finds thispaltry insult has been sneaked into the files in place of his report onme!" So into the station he goes and wires Ben up the line to come thereat once on account of something serious. 

Ben gets in that night. He thought Ed must be dying and had got alay-off. He goes over to the hospital and is a mite disappointed tofind Ed ain't even worse, but is almost well and using only one crutch. 

Ed first makes sure no one can overhear, then tells Ben about thisconspiracy, showing him the false report that has been smuggled into thefiles in place of the real one Ben had sent in. It takes Ben a couple ofminutes to get the idea of what Ed is so worked up over. But he finallydoes get it. He then sweeps all ideas of a conspiracy out of Ed's mindforever. He says his talk is all nonsense; that this here is the veryreport he made, every word of it; and, as to that, if he had it to writeover again he could shorten it by at least six words, but he must ofbeen excited at the time. He says he has already told Ed that the OldMan complimented him on it because he hadn't lost his head and gothysterical, showing he had the makings of a good railroad man in him. Andwhat had Ed expected, anyway? Didn't he know that your superiors want thesimple facts in cases of this kind and no fancy work, wanting chiefly toknow about damage to the rolling stock and how long before the main linewill be open? Ed must be crazy, making him get a lay-off just for this!Had he looked for some verses of poetry about his accident, or a novel?Ben wasn't any novelist and wouldn't be one if you give him a chance. Hewas just a brakeman, with a bright future before him. 

Ben was quite indignant himself by this time thinking of two days' paylost, and Ed could hardly believe his own ears. He just set there, swelling up like a toad in a very feverish way. "But 'some distance, '"says Ed in low tones of awe. "You say I was thrown 'some distance, ' likeit was a casual remark. Is that any way to talk about a man hurled twohundred and thirty-five feet from start to finish?--which I can proveby the man that taped it. Why, any one would think them two cheap boxcars was the real heroes of this accident. No one would dream that aprecious human life was at stake. And 'Not serious!' And 'Head cut some!'Great suffering cats! Was that any way to talk about a fellowman--not tosay a first cousin?"

Ben was pretty mad himself now and swore right out--at least the onlyoath he ever swears, which is "By doggie!" He says, by doggie, it ain'this fault that Ed was so brittle! And, by doggie, he wasn't going to letfamily affection interfere none with his career, because it wouldn't beright by the children he hopes some day to be the father of! Then he gothis temper back and tried patiently to explain once more to Ed that whata railroad company wants in such cases is facts and figures, and notpoetry--chiefly about the rolling stock. He says Ed can't expect a greatcorporation, with heavy freight and passenger traffic, to take any deeppersonal interest in the bone troubles of a mere brakeman. 

It was about here, I guess, that Ed's feelings must of overcome him. He saw it was no use bandying words any more; so he started to do foulmurder. He committed several acts of frightfulness on Ben with hiscrutch, seeming quite active for a cripple. Ben finally got out of rangeand went and had some stitches took in his own scalp. He swore, bydoggie, he was through with that maniac forever! But he wasn't through. Not by no means!

Ed was now well enough to stand shipping; so he come down to Red Gap andstarted to work. He couldn't get round with his machines yet; so he got anew Home Queen and parked himself in the doorway of a vacant store andmade embroidered hat marks for the multitude at one dollar a throw. Yes, sir; he congested traffic there on Fourth Street for about two weeks, taking a strip of satin ribbon and embroidering people's initials on it, so they could sew it in their hats and know whose hat it was. Hardly ahat in town that didn't have one, with thrilled crowds looking on whilehe done it. 

I begged him to take it easy and stay at my house till he was strongagain; but he wouldn't. He said he had to do something just to keep fromthinking. Of course the poor lollop had never been able to think underany circumstances; but it sounded good. And, of course, he told me histrouble. I don't believe he held back the least little thing from thebeginning of the accident down to the time he lammed Ben with his crutch. He now blamed everything on Ben. He said neither the company nor any oneelse could take his accident seriously after that lying report Ben putin. No wonder there hadn't been any real excitement about it. He wasright bitter. 

"'Some distance' Ben says I was thrown. I should think it was somedistance! I'll bet it's farther than any other man was ever thrown ontheir whole rotten system. And 'Not serious'! Great Jeeminetty! Whatwould have to happen to a person before he'd call it serious? Oh, I'llmake him take that back if ever I get to be the man I once was! The onlytrouble with Ben is, he hasn't anything here and he hasn't anythinghere"--Ed put his hand first on his head and next on his heart, to showme where Ben hadn't got anything--"and that kind of trash may make finerailroad men, but they hadn't ought to be classed with human beings. Just wait till I get firmly knitted together again! You'll see! I'llcertainly interfere with that man's career a-plenty. 'Not serious!' Hewon't make any such report about himself when I get through fussing withhim. He certainly does need handling--that Ben Steptoe. "

And so on for half an hour at a time, while he might be stitching G. W. G. In purple letters on a strip of yellow satin ribbon. I used to stop onpurpose to hear some more about what he was going to do to Ben when hegot to be the man he once was. 

Pretty soon he had identified all the hats in Red Gap; so he moved overto Colfax with his Home Queen, and then on to other towns. It was springagain before he seemed to be the man he once was. He wrote me from Tekoathat if I read in the papers about something sad happening to Ben Iwasn't to be alarmed, because, though it would be serious enough, itwould probably not prove fatal if he had skilled nursing. So I watchedthe papers, but couldn't find any crime of interest. And a few dayslater Ed come over to Red Gap again. He looked pretty good, except foran overripe spot round his left eye. 

"Well, did you lick Ben?" I says. 

"No; Ben licked me, " he says. 

I'd never heard such a simple and astounding speech from any man on earthbefore. I started to find out what his excuse was--whether he wasn't ingood shape yet, or his foot slipped, or Ben took a coupling pin to him, or something. But he didn't have a single word of excuse. He ought to ofbeen locked up in a glass case in a museum right there. He said he was infine shape and it had been a fair fight, and Ben had nearly knocked hishead off. 

I says what is he going to do now; and he says oh, he'll wait a while andgive Cousin Ben another go. 

I says: "Mebbe you can't lick Ben. "

He says: "Possibly so; but I can keep on trying. I have to protect myhonour, don't I?"

That's how it seemed to the poor fish by this time--his honour! And Iknew he was going to keep on trying, like he had said. If he had made theusual excuses that men put up when they've had the worst of it I'd ofknown he'd been well licked, and once would be a-plenty. But, seeing thathe was probably the only man who had been honest under such conditionssince the world began, I had a feeling he would keep on. He was suregoing to annoy Ben from time to time, even if he didn't panic him much. He was just as turbulent as ever. Now he went off and joined a circus, being engaged to lecture in front of the side show about the world'ssmallest midget, and Lulu the snake empress, and the sheep-headed twinsfrom Ecuador. And Ben could devote the whole summer to his career withoutworry. I saw him over at Colfax one day. 

"Mark my words; that lad was never cut out for a railroad man, " says Ben. "He lets his emotions excite his head too much. Oh, I give him a goodtalking to, by doggie! I says to him: 'Why, you poor little hopeless, slant-headed, weak-minded idiot, you'--you know I always talk to Ed likehe was my own brother--'what did you expect?' I says. 'I'm quite sorryfor your injuries; but that was the first chance I'd ever had to make areport and I couldn't write one of these continuous stories about you. You ought to see that. ' And what does he do but revile me for thiscommonsense talk! Tightminded--that's what he is; self-headed, not tosay mulish, by doggie! And then pestering round me to have a fistaltercation till I had to give in to keep him quiet, though I'm not afighting character. I settled him, all right. I don't know where he isnow; but I hope he has three doctors at his bedside, all lookingdoubtful. That little cuss always did contrary me. "

I told him Ed had gone with this circus side show. "Side show!" he says. "That's just where he belongs. He ought to be setting right up with theother freaks, because he's a worse freak than the living skeleton or alady with a full beard--that's what he is. And yet he's sane on everysubject but that. Sometimes he'll talk along for ten minutes as rationalas you or me; but let him hear the word accident and off he goes. But, by doggie, he won't bother me again after what I give him back of theWallace freight shed. " "He solemnly promised he would, " I says, "whenI saw him last. He was still some turbulent. "

And he did bother Ben again, late that fall. When the circus closed hetravelled back a thousand miles in a check suit and a red necktie, justto get another good licking. Ben must of been quite aggravated by thattime, for he wound up by throwing Ed into the crick in all his proudclothes. 

Ed was just as honest about it as before. He says Ben licked him fair. But it hadn't changed his mind. He felt that Ben's report had knockedhis just celebrity and he was still hostile. 

"Mebbe you can't lick Ben, " I says to him again. "I can keep on doing myendeavours, " he says. "I had to come off in a friend of mine's coatbecause my own was practically destroyed; but I'll be back again beforeBen has clumb very high on that ladder of his career. "

The adventurer was interned at my house for ten days, till his bruiseslost their purple glow and he looked a little less like a bad case oferysipelas. Then he started out again, crazy as a loon! I didn't hearfrom him for nearly two years. Then I got a letter telling about hislife of adventure down on the Border. It seems he'd got in with a goodcapable stockman down there and they was engaged in the cattle business. The business was to go over into Mexico, attracting as little notice aspossible, cut out a bunch of cattle, and drive 'em across into the landof the free. Naturally what they sold for was clear profit. 

Ed said he was out for adventure and this had a-plenty. He said Iwouldn't believe how exciting it could be at times. He wanted to knowwhat Ben was promoted to by this time, and was he looking as heartyas ever? Some day he was coming back and force Ben to set him rightbefore the world. 

About a year later he writes that the cattle business is getting tootame. He's done it so much that all the excitement has gone. He says Iwouldn't believe how tame it can be, with hardly any risk of gettingshot. He says he wouldn't keep on running off these Mexican cattle if itwasn't for the money in it; and, furthermore, it sometimes seems to himwhen he's riding along in the beautiful still night, with only God'sstars for companions, that there's something about it that ain't right. 

But it's another year before he writes that he has disposed of his stockinterests and is coming North to lick Ben proper. He does come North. Hewas correct to that extent. He outfitted at the Chicago Store in Tucson, getting the best all-wool ready-made suit in Arizona, with fine fruit andflower and vegetable effects, shading from mustard yellow to beet colour;and patent-leather ties, with plaid socks--and so on. He stopped off atRed Gap on his way up to do this outrage. His face was baked a rich redbrown; so I saw it wouldn't show up marks as legibly as when he was pale. 

He said Ben wasn't a right bad fellow and he had no personal grudgeagainst him, except he needed to have his head beat off on account of hisinhumanity. 

I told him Ben had worked up from yardmaster at Wallace to assistantdivision superintendent at Tekoa, where he would probably find him; and Iwished him God-speed. 

He said he rejoiced to know of Ben's promotion, because he had probablysoftened some, setting round an office. He promised to let me know theresult at once. He did. It was the same old result. The fight had gone afew more rounds, I gathered, but Ed still gave the decision againsthimself in the same conscientious way. He said Ben had licked him fair. It was uncanny the way he took these defeats. No other human being butwould of made some little excuse. He came back in another suit and a bitblemished in the face, and said Ben seemed to be getting a fair amountof exercise in spite of his confining office duties; but--mark hiswords--that indoor work would get him in time. He'd never seen a man yetthat could set at a desk all day and keep in shape to resent fightingtalk, even from a lighter man by twenty pounds. He said he might have towait till Ben was general manager, or something; but his day was coming, and it would be nothing for Ben to cheer about when it got here. He nowonce more drifted out over the high horizon, only one eye being much helpto him in seeing the way. 

Then Ben come down and had a wholehearted session with me. He said Iought to have a talk with Ed and reason him out of his folly. I said Edwould listen to a number of things, but not to reason. He said he knewit; that the poor coot should be in some good institution right now, where the state could look after him. He said he couldn't answer for theconsequences if Ed kept on in this mad way. He said here he was, climbingup in his profession, and yet with this scandal in his private life thatmight crop out any time and blast his career; and, by doggie, it was ashame! He said it was hanging over him like a doom and sometimes he evenwoke up in the night and wished he had made a different report about theaccident--one with a little hysterics or description in it, like thismaniac had seemed to crave. 

"It ain't that I can't lick him, " says Ben--"I've proved that threetimes; but having to do it every so often, which is beneath the dignityof a high railroad official. I might as well be a common rowdy and bedone with it, by doggie! And no telling what will happen if he don't gethis mind back. The little devil is an awful scrapper. I noticed it morethan ever this last time. One of these times he might get me. He mightget me good. "

"You better let him, then, " I says, "and have it over. That's the onlything which will ever stop him. You take a man that says he was lickedfair, but still keeps at it, and he's deadly. Next time he comes alongyou lay down after making a decent resistance. Then he'll probably beyour friend for life, especially if you tell him you been thinking abouthis accident and it now seems like the most horrible accident that everhappened to man. "

It was the most encouragement I could give and he went off gloomy. Benwas certainly one conscientious objector. 

Nothing come from Ed for over a year. Then he writes that he has give upthe cattle business for good, because Mexico is in a state of downrightanarchy and he has been shot through the shoulder. He put it well. Hesaid he had been shot from ambush by a cowardly Mexican and I wouldn'tbelieve how lawless that country was. So now he was going to take upmining in God's own country, where a man could get a square deal if hekept out of railroading. And was Ben keeping up his exercise?

He stayed under the surface for about three years. Neither Ben nor Iheard a word from him. I told Ben it was many chances to one that he hadgone under at the hands of someone that wanted to keep his cattle or hismine or something. Ben looked solemn and relieved at this suggestion. Hesaid if the Grim Reaper had done its work, well and good! Life was fullof danger for the best of us, with people dropping off every day or so;and why should Ed have hoped to be above the common lot?

But the very next week comes a letter from the deceased wanting to knowwhether Ben has been promoted some more and how he is looking by thistime. Is he vigorous and hearty, or does office work seem to be sappinghis vitality? It was the same old Ed. He goes on to say that the reasonhe writes is that the other night in Globe, Arizona, he licked a man inthe Miners' Rest saloon that looked enough like Ben to be his twin; notonly looked the image of him but had his style of infighting. And hehad licked him right and made him quit. He said the gent finally fled, going through the little swinging doors with such force that they keptswinging for three minutes afterward. So now is the time for him to comeup and have another go at Ben. 

Of course he ain't superstitious, but it does seem like Providence hastaken this means of pointing out the time to him. But he is in reducedcircumstances at this moment, owing to complications it would take toolong to explain; so will I lend him about two hundred and fifty dollarsto make the trip on? And he will have Ben off his mind forever and beable to settle down to some life work. Just as sane as ever--Ed was. 

I sent the letter to Ben, not wishing him to rest in false security. But I wrote Ed firmly that I couldn't see my money's worth in hisproposition. I told him Ben was keeping in splendid condition, havingthe glow of health in his cheeks and a grip like an osteopath, and I'dbe darned if I was going to back a three-time loser in the same oldfight. I said he wasn't the only sensitive person in the world. I wasa little fussy myself about what people might think of my judgment. AndI gave him some good advice which was to forget his nonsense and settledown to something permanent before he died of penury. 

He wrote a kind, forgiving answer. He said he couldn't blame me forturning against him after his repeated failures to lick Ben, but hisnature was one I should never understand. He said he would amass themoney by slow grinding toil, and when he next come North and got throughhandling Ben I would be the very first to grasp him by the hand andconfess that I had wronged him. It was as nutty a letter as Ed everwrote; which is some tribute. I sent it on to Ben and I believe it wasright after that he ordered one of these exercising machines put up inhis bedroom, with a book showing how to become a Greek god by pullingthe weights five minutes, morning and evening. 

But this time come silence so long that I guess even Ben forgot he hada doom hanging above his head by a single hair. I know I did. Let'ssee. It must of been a good five years before I hear from Ed again. Itwas another hard-luck letter. He had just worked a whole season for acontractor that blew up and left him with one span of mules in place ofhis summer's wages; which was a great disappointment, because he had beenlooking forward to an active reunion with Ben. How was Ben, anyway? Anddid he show the ravages of time?

And no one had wanted these mules, because they was inferior mules; butwhen he was on the point of shooting them to stop their feed bill alongcome two men that had a prospect over in the Bradshaw Mountains andoffered him a one third interest in it for his span. So he had sawed themules off onto these poor dubs and told 'em all right about the thirdinterest in their claim, and forget it; but they insisted on his takingit. So he did, and was now working in the B. &. B. Store at Prescott, selling saddles and jewellery and molasses and canned fruit and lumber, and such things. He didn't care much for the life, but it was neck-meator nothing with him now. 

No wonder these men that cheated him out of his mules had made him take athird interest in their claim. It was now taking all his salary to payassessments and other expenses on it. But he was trying to trade thisthird interest off for something that wouldn't be a burden to him; thenhe should have a chance to put his money by and come up to give Ben whathe was sooner or later bound to get if there was a just God in Heaven. He spoke as freshly about Ben as if his trouble had begun the day before. You wouldn't think twelve years had gone by. He was now saying Ben hadput a stigma on him. It had got to be a stigma by this time, though heprobably hadn't any idea what a stigma really is. He'd read it somewhere. 

Then the waves closed over the injured man for about three years more. This time it looked as if he'd gone down for good, stigma and all. Benthought the same. He said it was a great relief not to be looking forwardany more to these brutal affrays that Ed insisted on perpetrating. Andhigh time, too, because he was now in line for general manager, and howwould it look for him to be mixed up in brawls?

And everything was serene till the papers broke out into headlines abouta big strike made in the Bradshaw Mountains of Arizona by three partners, of whom one was named Steptoe. They seemed to have found all the valuableminerals in that claim of theirs except platinum. Ben tried first tobelieve it was someone else named Steptoe; but no such luck. We read thata half interest in the property had been sold to an Eastern syndicate forthree million dollars and a company organized of which Edward J. Steptoewas president. 

"It may be all for the best, anyway, " Ben says to me. "Now that he's abig mining man he'll probably have other aims in life than being a thug. "

You could see he was hoping to make a separate peace with the newmillionaire, who would forget the grudge of his old days when he hadto work for what he got, or at least run the risk of getting shot forit. But I wasn't so sure. I reminded Ben that Ed had never yet doneanything you'd think a human being would do, so why expect him to beginnow, when he had abundant leisure? I advised him to give deep thought tothe matter of his defense, and if the battle went against him to withdrawto a position previously prepared, like the war reports say. Ben said afew warm things about Ed, by doggie, that no cousin ought to say ofanother cousin, and went off, hoping against hope. 

And, sure enough, Ed came promptly to the front. It seems he waitedonly long enough to get a new suit and an assorted lot of the snappiestdiamond jewellery he could find. Then he wired me he was coming to rightthe wrongs of a lifetime. Reaching San Francisco, it occurred to himthat he could put it all over Ben in another way that would cut himto the heart; so he there chartered the largest, goldest, and mostexpensive private car on the market, having boudoirs and shower bathsand conservatories and ballrooms, and so on; something that would makeBen's dinky little private car look like a nester's shack or a place fora construction gang to bunk in. And in this rolling palace Ed invadedour peaceful country, getting lots of notice. The papers said this newmining millionaire was looking us over with an eye to investment in ourrich lands. Little they knew he merely meant to pull off a brutal fistaltercation with a prominent railroad official that was somewhat out ofcondition. 

Ben was one worried man, especially after he heard of Ed's private car. It was one thing to lick an exbrakeman, but entirely different to havean affray with a prominent capitalist that come after you regardless ofexpense. Furthermore, this was the time for the annual tour of inspectionby the officers of the road, and they was now on the way to Ben'sdivision, with him hoping to create a fine impression by showing hismiracles of management. And here was Ed, meaning to start somethingscandalous at sight! No wonder Ben lost his nerve and tried to run outon his antagonist. He was trying to put it off at least till after hisofficials had come and gone. 

So for six days he kept about thirty miles of standard-gauge trackbetween his car and Ed's. Ed would get word that he was at such astation and have his car dropped there, only to find that Ben had goneon. Ed would follow on the next train, or mebbe hire a special engine;and Ben would hide off on some blind spur track. They covered the wholedivision about three times without clashing, thanks to Ben's superiorinformation bureau; it being no trick at all to keep track of thiswheeled apartment house of Ed's. 

Ed couldn't understand it at first. Here he'd come up to lick Ben, andBen was acting queer about it. Ed would send messages every day wantingto know when and where he could have a nice quiet chat with Ben thatwould not be interfered with by bystanders; and Ben would wire back thathis time wasn't his own and company business was keeping him on the jump, but as soon as this rush was over he would arrange an interview; and kindregards, and so on. Or he might say he would be at some station all thefollowing day; which would be a clumsy falsehood, because he was at thatmoment pulling out, as Ed would find when he got there. The operatingdepartment must of thought them a couple of very busy men, wanting somuch to meet, yet never seeming able to get together. 

Ed got peeved at last by the way Ben was putting him off. It wasn'tsquare and it wasn't businesslike. He had large mining interests incharge and here was Ben acting like he had all summer to devote just tothis one little matter. He called Ben's attention to this by telegraph, but Ben continued to be somewhere else from where he said he was goingto be. 

After a week of this pussy-wants-a-corner stuff Ed got wise that thething had come to be a mere vulgar chase, and that his private car washampering him by being so easy to keep track of. So he disguised himselfby taking off his diamond ornaments and leaving his private car atColfax, and started out to stalk Ben as a common private citizen in aday coach. He got results that way, Ben supposing he was still with hiscar. After a couple of scouting trips up and down the line he getsreliable word that Ben, with his bunch of high officials, is over atWallace. 

So much the better, thinks Ed. It will be fine to have this nextdisturbance right on the spot where a great wrong was done him fifteenyears before. So he starts for Wallace, wiring for his car to follow himthere. He'd found this car poor for the bloodhound stuff, but he wantedBen to have a good look at it and eat his heart out with envy, eitherbefore or after what was going to happen to him. 

He gets to Wallace on the noon train and finds that Ben with hisofficials has gone up the canon, past Burke, on the president's privatecar, to return in about an hour. After Ed's inquiries the agent kindlywires up to Ben that his cousin from Arizona is waiting for him. Edspends the time walking round Ben's shabby little private car andsneering at it. He has his plans all made, now that he has run his manto earth. He won't pull anything rough before the officials, but abouttwenty miles out on the line is a siding with a shipping corral besideit and nothing else in sight but vistas. They'll get an engine to runthe two cars out there that night and leave 'em, and everything can bedone decently and in order. No hurry and no worry and no scandal. 

Ed is just playing the coming fight over in his mind for the fifth time, correcting some of his blows here and there, when he hears a whistle upthe canon and in comes the special. The officials pile off and Ben comesrushing up to Ed with a glad smile and effusive greetings and heartyslaps on the back; and how is everything, old man?--and so on--with ahighly worried look lurking just back of it all; and says what raregood luck to find Ed here, because he's the very man they been talkingabout all the way down from Burke. 

Ed says if they come down as fast as he did one time they didn't get achance to say much about him; but Ben is introducing him to the presidentof the road and the general manager and the chief engineer and three orfour directors, and they all shake hands with him till it seems likequite a reception. The president says is this really the gentleman whohas made that last big strike in Arizona! And if it is he knows somethingstill more interesting about him, because he has just listened to a mostremarkable tale of his early days as a brakeman on this very line. Theirdivision superintendent has been telling of his terrific drop down thecanon and his incredible flight through the air of three hundred andthirty-five feet. 

"How far did he say I was hurled?" says Ed, and the president again saysthree hundred and thirty-five feet, which was a hundred more than Ed hadever claimed; so he looks over at Ben pretty sharp. 

Ben is still talking hurriedly about the historic accident, saying thatin all his years of railroad experience he never heard of anythingapproaching it, and if they will step up the track a piece he will showthem just where the cars left the rails. Ben must of done a lot of quickthinking that day. He had the bunch over to see the exact spot, and theyall stood and looked over to the ice house and said it was incredible;and a director from Boston said it was perfectly preposterous; reallynow! And Ben kept on reciting rapidly about the details. He said Ed hadcome down the seven miles in less than three minutes, which was loppinga minute and a half off the official time; and that when picked up hehadn't a whole bone left in his body, which was also a lie; and thathis cousin never could of survived if he hadn't probably had the mostmarvellous constitution a man was ever endowed with. He then made thebunch go over to the ice house to see the other exact spot, and theylooked back to where he started from, and again said it was incredibleand preposterous. 

I don't know. Mebbe they wouldn't of thought it preposterous that a merebrakeman was hurled that far, but Ed was a capitalist now. Anyway, thepresident had him into his car for lunch with the party, and they mightpossibly of got to talking about other things of less importance, but Benwouldn't have any thing else. He made 'em insist that Ed should tell hisversion of the whole thing; how he felt when the cars started, and howthe scenery was blurred, and how his whole past life flashed before him, and the last thing he remembered before he hit the sawdust. And Ben setthere looking so proud of Ed, like a mother having her little tot recitesomething. And when Ed had finally lit, Ben made him tell about his slowrecovery. And after Ed got himself well again Ben would go back to thestart and ask for more details, such as whether he hadn't wanted to jumpoff on the way down, or whether he had been conscious while going throughthe air for nearly four hundred feet. 

Ed got little food; but much he cared! He'd come into his own at last. And suddenly he was surprised by finding a warm glow in his heart forBen, especially after Ben had said for about the third time: "I wascertainly a green hand in those days; so green that I didn't begin torealize what a whale of an occurrence this was. " Ed was getting a newlight on Ben. 

After lunch Ed's own car got in from Colfax and he had the party overthere for cigars and more talk about himself, which was skillfully ledby Ben. Then the president invited Ed to hitch his car on and come alongwith them for a little trip, and talk over mining and investments, andso on, and what the outlook was in the Southwest. So Ed went with 'emand continued to hear talk of his accident. Ben would bring it up andharp back to it, and bring it forward and sandwich it in whenever theconversation had an open moment. It was either the wild thoughts Ed mustof had sliding down the canon, or the preposterous constitution he hadbeen endowed with, or the greenness of himself for not recognizing it asthe prize accident of the ages. And I don't wonder Ben went on that wayfor the next two days. He knew what a tenacious idiot Ed was, and that hehad come miles out of his way to try something he had often tried before. The most he could hope for was to stave off the collision till hisofficials got away. 

And it looked, the second night, like he wasn't going to be able to doeven this much. He'd been detecting cold looks from Ed all day, in spiteof his putting on another record about the accident every ten minutes orso. They was laid out at some little station, and just before dinner Edgive Ben the office that he wanted a word private with him. Ben thinks tohimself it's coming now in spite of all his efforts to smooth it over. But he leaves the car with Ed and they walk a piece up the track, Benhoping they can make the lee of a freight car before Ed starts his crimeof violence. He makes up his mind quick. If Ed jumps him there in theopen he will certainly do his best to win the contest. But if he waitstill they get this freight car between them and the public, then he willlet Ed win the fight and get the scandal out of his life forever. 

Ben walks quite briskly, but Ed begins to slow up when they ain't morethan a hundred yards from the president's car. Finally Ed stops short. 

"The little foci is going to pull the fight here in the open!" thinksBen; so he gets ready to do his best. 

Then Ed says:

"Say, Ben, what's the matter with you, anyway? Are you losing your mind?It ain't so much on my account; I could make allowance for you. Buthere's these officials of yours, and you want to make a good impressionon 'em; instead of which you are making yourself the grandest bore thatever needed strangling for continuous talk on one subject. "

Ben didn't get him yet. He says come on up the other side of them freightcars, where they can be more private for their consultation. 

Ed says no; this is far enough to tell him for his own good not to besuch a bore; an' Ben says how is he a bore?

"A bore?" says Ed. "Why, for forty-eight hours you ain't been able totalk about anything but that stale old accident of mine, and you got meso sick of it I could jump on you every time you begin. You got everybodyin the party sick of it. Don't you see how they all try to get away fromyou? For the Lord's sake, can't you think up something else to talk aboutnow and then--at least for five minutes, just to give your silly chattera little different flavour? I never been so sick of anything in my lifeas I am of this everlasting prattle of yours about something that wasover and forgotten fifteen long years ago! What's got into you to keepdragging that accident up out of the dead past that way? Anyway, youbetter cut it out. I have to listen because you're my cousin; but theseofficials don't. Your next pay check is liable to be your last on thisroad if you don't think up some other kind of gossip. Darned if it don'tseem like you had been getting weak-minded in your old age!"

Ben had got his bearings by this time. He apologized warmly to Ed; hesaid it was true this magnificent catastrophe had lately taken possessionof his mind, but now that he finds Ed is so sensitive about it he'll tryto keep it out of his talk, and he hopes Ed won't cherish hard feelingsagainst him. 

Ed says no, he won't cherish anything if Ben will only quit his loathsomegushing about the accident; and Ben says he will quit. And so they shookhands on it. 

That's the way the feud ended. The champion grudge hoarder of theuniverse had been dosed to a finish with his own medicine. It showed Benhas a weakness for diplomacy; kind of an iron hand in a velvet glove, orsomething. 

Ed is still a nut, though. There was a piece in a Sunday paper not longago about this new mining millionaire. He spoke some noble words to theyouth of our land. He said young American manhood could still make itsfortune in this glorious country of opportunity by strict attention toindustry and good habits and honest dealing and native pluck--him thathad had these mules forced on him in the first place, and then hisinterest in this claim forced on him for the mules, and then hadn'tbeen able to get shut of the claim. Ain't it lovely how men will dig upa license to give themselves all credit for hog luck they couldn't help!

Ma Pettengill busied herself with a final cigarette and remarked that shenever knew when to stop talking. Some parties did, but not her; and shehaving to be up and on the way to Horsefly Mountain by six-thirty in theA. M. ! Her last apology was for a longing she had not been able toconquer: She couldn't help a debased wish to know how that last fightwould of come out. 

"Of course it ain't nice to want men to act like the brutes, " said thelady. "Still, I can't help wondering; not that I'm inquisitive, but justout of curiosity. "

V

ONE ARROWHEAD DAY

It began with the wonted incitement to murder. A wooden staff projectssome five feet above the topmost roof peak of the Arrowhead ranch house, and to this staff is affixed a bell of brazen malignity. At five-thirtyeach morning the cord controlling this engine of discord is jerkedmadly and forever by Lew Wee, our Chinese chef. It is believed by thosecompelled to obey the horrid summons that this is Lew Wee's one momentof gladness in a spoiled life. The sound of the noon bell, the caressingcall of the night bell--these he must know to be welcome. The morningclangour he must know to be a tragedy of foulest import. It is undeniablyrung with a keener relish. There will be some effort at rhythm with theother bells, but that morning bell jangles in a broken frenzy of clangs, ruthlessly prolonged, devilish to the last insulting stroke. Surely onewithout malice could manage this waking bell more tactfully. 

A reckless Chinaman, then, takes his life in his hands each morning atfive-thirty. Something like a dozen men are alarmed from deep sleep tohalf-awakened incredulity, in which they believe the bell to be a dreambell and try to dream on of something noiseless. Ten seconds later thesestartled men have become demons, with their nice warm feet on the icyfloor of the bunk-house, and with prayers of simple fervour that theso-and-so Chink may be struck dead while his hand is still on therope. This prayer is never answered; so something like a dozen mendress hurriedly and reach the Arrowhead kitchen hurriedly, meaning toperform instantly there a gracious deed which Providence has thus farunaccountably left undone. 

That the Arrowhead annals are, as yet, unspiced with a crime of violenceis due, I consider, to Lew Wee's superb control of his facial muscles. His expression when he maniacally yanks the bell cord is believed byhis victims to be one of hellish glee; so they eagerly seek each morningfor one little remaining trace of this. The tiniest hint would suffice. But they encounter only a rather sad-faced, middle-aged Chinaman, withimmovable eyes and a strained devotion to delicate tasks, of whom it isimpossible to believe that ever a ray of joy gladdened his life. 

There is a secondary reason why the spirit of Lew Wee has not long sincebeen disembodied by able hands: His static Gorgon face stays the firstmurderous impulse; then his genial kitchen aroma overpowers their highernatures and the deed of high justice is weakly postponed. This genialkitchen aroma is warm, and composed cunningly from steaming coffee andfrying ham or beef, together with eggs and hot cakes almost as largeas the enamelled iron plates from which they are eaten. It is nocontemptible combination on a frosty morning. No wonder strong menforget the simple act of manslaughter they come there to achieve andsit sullenly down to be pandered to by him who was erst their torturer. 

On a morning in late May, when I had been invited to fare abroad withmy hostess, Mrs. Lysander John Pettengill--who would breakfast in herown apartment--I joined this assemblage of thwarted murderers as theydoggedly ate. It is a grim business, that ranch breakfast. Two palinglamps struggle with the dawn, now edging in, and the half light is heldlow in tone by smoke from the cake griddle, so that no man may seeanother too plainly. But no man wishes to see another. He stares dullyinto his own plate and eats with stern aversion. We might be so manystrangers in a strange place, aloof, suspicious, bitter, not to saytruculent. 

No quip or jest will lighten the gloom. Necessary requests for thesugar or the milk or the stewed apples are phrased with a curtlyformal civility. We shall be other men at noon or at night, vastlyother, sunnier men, with abundance of quip and jest and playful sallywith the acid personal tang. But from warm beds of repose! We avoideach other's eyes, and one's subdued "please pass that sirup pitcher!"is but tolerated like some boorish profanation of a church service. 

The simple truth, of course, is that this is the one hour of the daywhen we are face to face with the evil visage of life unmasked; ourlittle rosy illusions of yestereve are stale and crumpled. Not until weare well out in the sun, with the second cigarette going good, shall weagain become credulous about life and safe to address. It is no meal tolinger over. We grimly rise from the wrecked table and clatter out. 

Only one of us--that matchless optimist, Sandy Sawtelle--sounds a flatnote in the symphony of disillusion. His humanness rebounds more quicklythan ours, who will not fawn upon life for twenty minutes yet. Sandycomes back to the table from the hook whence he had lifted his hat. Heholds aloft a solitary hot cake and addresses Lew Wee in his bestAnglo-Chinese, and with humorous intent:

"I think take-um hot cake, nail over big knot hole in bunk-house--lastdamn long time better than sheet iron!"

Swiftly departing pessimists accord no praise or attention to thisill-timed sketch; least of all Lew Wee, who it is meant to insult. His face retains the sad impassivity of a granite cliff as yet beyondthe dawn. 

Now I am out by the saddle rack under the poplars, where two horsesare tied. Ma Pettengill's long-barrelled roan is saddled. My ownflea-bitten gray, Dandy Jim, is clad only in the rope by which he wasled up from the caviata. I approach him with the respectful attentionhis reputed character merits and try to ascertain his mood of themoment. He is a middle-aged horse, apparently of sterling character, and in my presence has always conducted himself as a horse should. Butthe shadow of scandal has been flung athwart him. I have been assuredthat he has a hideous genius for cinch binding. Listening at firstwithout proper alarm, it has been disclosed to me that a cinch binderain't any joke, by a darned sight! A cinch binder will stand up straightand lean over backward on me. If I'm there when he hits the ground I'llwish I wasn't--if I am able to wish anything at all and don't simply haveto be shipped off to wherever my family wants it to take place. 

I am further enlightened: Dandy Jim ain't so likely to start acting ifnot saddled when too cold. If I saddle him then he will be expecting tohave more fun out of it than I have any right to. But if the sun is wellup, why, sometimes a baby could handle him. So for three weeks I havesaddled Dandy Jim with the utmost circumspection and with the sun wellup. Now the sun is not well up. Shall I still survive? I pause to wishthat the range of high hills on the east may be instantly levelled. Theland will then be worth something and the sun will be farther up. Butnothing of a topographical nature ensues. The hills remain to obscure thesun. And the brute has to be saddled. The mood of that grim breakfast, voiceless, tense, high with portent, is still upon me. 

I approach and speak harshly to the potential cinch binder, telling himto get over there! He does not; so I let it pass. After all, he is onlya horse. Why should I terrorize him? I bridle him with a manner far fromharsh. He doesn't like the taste of the bit--not seasoned right, orsomething. But at last he takes it without biting my fingers off; whichshows that the horse has no mind to speak of. 

I look him calmly in the eye for a moment; then pull his head about, sothat I can look him calmly in the other eye for a moment. This is to showthe animal that he has met his master and had better not try any of thatcinch-binding stuff if he knows when he's well off. Still, I treat himfairly. I smooth his back of little vegetable bits that cling there, shake out the saddle blanket and tenderly adjust it. Whistling carelesslyI swing up the saddle. Dandy Jim flinches pitifully when it rests uponhim and reaches swiftly round to bite my arm off. I think this is quiteperfunctory on his part. He must have learned long since that he willnever really bite any one's arm off. His neck is not enough like aswan's. 

I adjust saddle and blanket carefully from both sides, pulling theblanket well up under the horn of the saddle and making sure thatit sets comfortably. One should be considerate of the feelings of adumb beast placed at one's mercy. Then I reach for the cinch, pass ittwice through the rings, and delicately draw it up the merest trifle. Dandy Jim shudders and moans pathetically. He wishes to convey theimpression that his ribs have been sprung. This, of course, isnonsense. I measureably increase the pressure. Dandy Jim againregisters consternation, coughs feebly, and rolls his eyes roundappealingly, as if wondering whether the world is to sit, withoutheart, and watch a poor defenseless horse being slain. He is aboutto expire. 

I now lead him gently about by the bridle. It occurs to me that a horsewith this curious mania for binding cinches or cinching binders--or, in other words, a cinch binder--will be as willing to indulge in hisfavourite sport with the saddle unoccupied as otherwise. He may likeit even better with no one up there; and I know I will. Nothing happens, except that Dandy Jim stumbles stiffly and pretends to be lame. Thesun is not yet well up; still, it is a lot better. Perhaps danger forthe day is over. I again lead the dangerous beast--

"What you humouring that old skate for?"

Ma Pettengill, arrayed in olive-drab shirt and breeches, leather puttees, and the wide-brimmed hat of her calling with the four careful dents inthe top, observed me with friendly curiosity as she ties a corduroy coatto the back of her saddle. 

Hereupon I explained my tactful handling of the reputed cinch binder. Itevoked the first cheerful sound I had heard that day:

Ma Pettengill laughed heartily. 

"That old hair trunk never had the jazz to be any cinch binder. Who toldyou he was?"

I named names--all I could remember. Almost everyone on the ranch hadpassed me the friendly warning, and never had I saddled the brute withouta thrill. 

"Sure! Them chuckleheads always got to tell everybody something. It'sa wonder they ain't sent you in to the Chink to borrow his meat auger, or out to the blacksmith shop for a left-handed monkey wrench, orsomething. Come on!"

So that was it! Just another bit of stale ranch humour--allegedhumour--as if it could be at all funny to have me saddle this wreckwith the tenderest solicitude morning after morning!

"Just one moment!" I said briskly. 

I think Dandy Jim realized that everything of a tender nature betweenus was over. Some curious and quite charming respect I had been wontto show him was now gone out of my manner. He began to do deep breathingexercises before I touched the cinch. I pulled with the strength of afearless man. Dandy Jim forthwith inflated his chest like a gentlemanhaving his photograph taken in a bathing suit. I waited, apparentlyfoiled. I stepped back, spoke to Ma Pettengill of the day's promise, and seemed carelessly to forget what I was there for. Slowly Dandy Jimdeflated himself; and then, on the fair and just instant, I pulled. I pulled hard and long. The game was won. Dandy Jim had now the waistof that matron wearing the Sveltina corset, over in the part of themagazine where the stories die away. I fearlessly bestrode him andthe day was on. 

I opened something less than a hundred gates, so that we could take ourway through the lower fields. Ma Pettengill said she must see this hereTilton and this here Snell, and have that two hundred yards of fencebuilt like they had agreed to, as man to man; and no more of this herenonsense of putting it off from day to day. 

She was going to talk straight to them because, come Thursday, she hadto turn a herd of beef cattle into that field. 

Then I opened a few dozen more gates and we were down on the flats. Here the lady spied a coyote, furtively skirting some willows on ourleft. So, for a few merry miles, we played the game of coyote. It isa simple game to learn, but requires a trained eye. When one playersees a coyote the other becomes indebted to him in the sum of one dollar. 

This sport dispelled the early morning gloom that had beset me. I wona dollar almost immediately. It may have been the same coyote, as myopponent painfully suggested; but it showed at a different breach inthe willows, and I was firm. 

Then the game went fiercely against me. Ma Pettengill detected coyotesat the far edges of fields--so far that I would have ignored them forjack rabbits had I observed them at all. I claimed an occasionalclose one; but these were few. The outlook was again not cheering. It wasan excellent morning for distant coyotes, and presently I owed Mrs. Lysander John Pettengill seven dollars, she having won two doubleheadersin succession. This ride was costing me too much a mile. Being so utterlyoutclassed I was resolving to demand a handicap, but was saved from thisignominy by our imminent arrival at the abode of this here Tilton, whopresently sauntered out of a feeding corral and chewed a straw at usidly. 

We soon took all that out of him. The air went something like this:

 * * * * *

MRS. L. J. P. --brightly: Morning, Chester! Say, look here! About that gapin the fence across Stony Creek field--I got to turn a beef herd in thereThursday. 

TILTON--crouching luxuriously on one knee still chewing the straw: Well, now, about that little job--I tell you, Mis' Pett'ngill; I been kind o'holdin' off account o' Snell bein' rushed with his final plowin'. Heclaims--

MRS. L. J. P. --still brightly: Oh, that's all right! Snell will be overthere, with his men, to-morrow morning at seven o'clock. He said you'dhave to be there, too. 

TILTON--alarmed, he rises, takes straw from his mouth, examines thechewed end with dismay and casts it from him; removes his hat, looks atthis dubiously, burnishes it with a sleeve, and sighs: To-morrowmorning! You don't mean to-morrow--

MRS. L. J. P. --carefully yet rapidly: To-morrow morning at seven o'clock. You don't want to throw Snell down on this; and he's going to be there. How many men can you take?

TILTON--dazed: Now--now lemme see!

MRS. L. J. P. --quickly: You can take Chris and Shorty and Jake andyourself. Any one else?

TILTON--swept over the falls: Why, no'm; I don't guess there's any otherI could spare, account of--

MRS. L. J. P. --almost sweetly: All right, then. To-morrow; seven sharp. 

TILTON--from the whirlpool, helplessly: Yes'm! Yes'm!

MRS. L. J. P. : Morning!

 * * * * *

We ride on. Tilton fades back toward the corral; he has forgotten toreplace his hat. 

I now decided to make a little conversation rather than have the stupidand ruinous game of coyote for a pastime. 

"I thought you hadn't seen Snell yet. "

"I haven't; not since he promised his half of the job two weeks ago. "

"But you just told Tilton--"

"Well, Snell is going to be there, ain't he?"

"How do you know?"

"I'm going to tell him now. "

And the woman did even so. If you wish the scene with Snell go back andread the scene with Tilton, changing the names. Nothing else need youchange. Snell was hitching two mules to a wood wagon; but he heard thesame speeches and made approximately the same replies. And the deed wasdone. 

"There now!" boomed Mrs. Talleyrand as we rode beyond earshot of thedazed and lingering Snell. "Them two men been trying for two weeks toagree on a day to do this trifling job. They wasn't able; so I agreed ona day myself. Anything wrong with it?"

"You said you were going to talk straight to them. "

"Ain't I just talked straight to Snell? Tilton will be there, won't he?"

"How about the way you talked to Tilton before you saw Snell?"

"Well, my lands! How you talk! You got to have a foundation to build on, haven't you?"

I saw it as a feat beyond my prowess to convict this woman in her owneyes of a dubious and considering veracity. So I merely wondered, intones that would easily reach her, how the gentlemen might relish herdiplomacy when they discovered it on the morrow. I preceded the worddiplomacy with a slight and very affected cough. 

The lady replied that they would never discover her diplomacy, notcoughing in the least before the word. She said each of them would beso mad at the other for setting a day that they would talk little. Theywould simply build fence. She added that a woman in this business hadto be looking for the worst of it all the time. She was bound to getthe elbow if she didn't use her common sense. 

I ignored her casuistry, for she was now rolling a cigarette with an airof insufferable probity. I gave her up and played a new game of smashinghorseflies as they settled on my mount. Dandy Jim plays the game ably. When a big fly settles on his nose he holds his head round so I can reachit. He does not flinch at the terrific smash of my hat across his face. If a fly alights on his neck or shoulder, and I do not remark it, heturns his head slightly toward me and winks, so I can stalk and pot it. He is very crafty here. If the fly is on his right side he turns andwinks his left eye at me so the insect will not observe him. And yetthere are people who say horses don't reason. 

I now opened fifty more gates and we left the cool green of the fieldsfor a dusty side road that skirts the base of the mesa. We jogged alongin silence, which I presently heard stir with the faint, sweet strain ofa violin; an air that rose and wailed and fell again, on a violin playedwith a certain back-country expertness. The road bent to show us itssource. We were abreast of the forlorn little shack of a dry-farmer, weathered and patched, set a dozen yards from the road and surroundedby hard-packed earth. Before the open door basked children and pigs anda few spiritless chickens. 

All the children ran to the door when we halted and called to someonewithin. The fiddle played on with no faltering, but a woman cameout--a gaunt and tattered woman who was yet curiously cheerful. Thechildren lurked in her wake as she came to us and peered from beyondher while we did our business. 

Our business was that the redskin, Laura, official laundress of theArrowhead, had lately attended an evening affair in the valley at whichthe hitherto smart tipple of Jamaica ginger had been supplanted by anovel and potent beverage, Nature's own remedy for chills, dyspepsia, deafness, rheumatism, despair, carbuncles, jaundice, and ennui. Laura hadpartaken freely and yet again of this delectable brew, and now sufferednot only from a sprained wrist but from detention, having suffered arreston complaint of the tribal sister who had been nearest to her when shesprained her wrist. Therefore, if Mrs. Dave Pickens wanted to come overto-morrow and wash for us, all right; she could bring her oldest girl tohelp. 

Mrs. Dave thereupon turned her head languidly toward the ignoble dwellingand called: "Dave!" Then again, for the fiddle stayed not: "Dave! Oh, Dave!"

The fiddle ceased to moan--complainingly it seemed to me--and Dave framedhis graceful figure in the doorway. He was one appealing droop, from hismoustache to his moccasin-clad feet. He wore an air of elegant leisure, but was otherwise not fussily arrayed. 

"Dave, Mis' Pett'ngill says there's now a day's washin' to do over to herplace to-morrow. What think?"

Dave deliberated, then pondered, then thought, then spoke:

"Well, I d'no', Addie; I d'no' as I got any objections if you ain't. I d'no' but it's all the same to me. "

Hereupon we meanly put something in Dave's unsuspecting way, too. 

"You must want a day's work yourself, " called out Ma Pettengill. "You goup to Snell's about six in the morning and he'll need you to help do somefencing on that gap in Stony Creek field. If he don't need you Tiltonwill. One of 'em is bound to be short a man. "

"Fencin'?" said Dave with noticeable disrelish. 

"You reckon we better both leave the place at once?" suggested Mrs. Dave. 

"That's so, " said Dave brightly. "Mebbe I--"

"Nonsense!" boomed Ma Pettengill, dispelling his brightness. "Addiecan drop you at Snell's when she comes over to Arrowhead. Now that'ssettled!"

And we rode off as unvoiced expostulations were gathering. I began towonder whether it must, throughout a beautiful day, be the stern missionof this woman to put tribulation upon her neighbours. She was becoming afell destroyer. The sun was well up. I thirsted. Also, breakfast seemedto have been a thing in the remote past. 

We now rode three torrid miles up a narrow green slit in the hillsfor a scant ten minutes of talk with a most uninteresting person, whosesole claim to notice seemed to be that he had gone and fenced the wrongwater hole over back of Horsefly Mountain, where we have a summer range. The talk was quick and pointed and buttressed with a blue-print map, and the too-hasty fencer was left helpless after a pitiful essay atquibbling. We rode off saying that he could do just as he liked aboutsending someone over right away to take that fence down, because wehad already took it down the minute we set eyes on it. We was justletting him know so he needn't waste any more wire and posts and timein committing felonious depredations that would get him nothing buthigh trouble if he was so minded. Another scalp to our belt!

I now briefly recalled to the woman that we had stopped at no peacefulhome that morning save to wreck its peace. I said I was getting intothe spirit of the ride myself. I suggested that at the next ranch wepassed we should stop and set fire to the haystacks, just to crown theday's brutalities with something really splendid. I also said I wasstarving to death in a land of plenty. 

Ma Pettengill gazed aloft at the sun and said it was half-past twelve. I looked at my watch and said the sun was over ten minutes slow, whichwas probably due to the heavy continuous gunfire on the Western Front. This neat bit went for just nothing. As we rode on I fondly recalled thatlast cold hot cake which Sandy Sawtelle had sacrificed to his gift fordebased whimsy. I also recalled other items of that gloomy repast, wondering how I could so weakly have quit when I did. 

We rode now under a sun that retained its old fervour if not itsvelocity. We traversed an endless lane between fields, in one of whichgrazed a herd of the Arrowhead cattle. These I was made to contemplatefor many valuable moments. I had to be told that I was regarding theswallow-fork herd, pure-breds that for one reason or another--the chiefbeing careless help--had not been registered. The omission was denotedby the swallow fork in the left ear. 

The owner looked upon them with fond calculation. She was fondlycalculating that they would have been worth about fifty per cent. Moreto her with ears unmutilated. She grew resentful that their true worthshould not be acclaimed by the world. In the sight of heaven they werepure-breds; so why should they suffer through the oversight of a herdboss that hadn't anywhere near such distinguished ancestry? And so on, as the lady says. 

We left the lane at last and were on the county road, but headed awayfrom the Arrowhead and food. No doubt there remained other homes for usto wreck. We mounted a rise and the road fell from us in a long, gentleslope. And then a mile beyond, where the slope ended, I beheld a mostinviting tiny pleasance in this overwhelming welter of ranch land, withits more or less grim business of cattle. 

It was a little homestead fit to adorn an art calendar to be entitledPeace and Plenty--a veritable small farm from some softer little countryfar to the east. It looked strangely lost amid these bleaker holdings. There was a white little house and it sported nothing less than greenblinds. There was a red barn, with toy outbuildings. There was avegetable garden, an orchard of blossoming fruit trees, and, in front ofthe glistening little house, a gay garden of flowers. Even now I coulddetect the yellow of daffodils and the martial--at least it used to bemartial--scarlet of tulips. The little place seemed to drowse here inthe noontide, dreaming of its lost home and other little farms that oncecompanioned it. 

To my pleased surprise this unbelievable little farm proved to be ournext stopping place. At its gate Ma Pettengill dismounted, eased thecinch of her saddle and tied her horse to the hitching rack. I didlikewise by the one-time cinch binder. 

"Now, " I wondered, "what devastating bomb shall we hurl into thisflower-spiced Arcady? What woe will she put upon its unsuspectingdwellers, even as she has ruined four other homes this day? This shouldbe something really choice. " But I said no word and followed where theavenger stalked. 

We unlatched the white gate and went up a gravelled walk between therows of daffodils and tulips and hyacinths. We did not ascend thespotless front porch to assault its innocent white door, but turned asideon a narrow-gauge branch of the gravelled pathway and came to a sideporch, shaded by maples. And here, in strict conformity to the soundestbehests of tradition, sat two entirely genuine Arcadians in woodenrocking-chairs. The male was a smiling old thing with winter-applecheeks and white hair, and the female was a smiling old thing withwinter-apple cheeks and white hair; both had bright eyes of doll blue, and both wore, among other neat things, loose and lovely carpet slippersand white stockings. 

And, of course, the male was named Uncle Henry and the other one wasnamed Aunt Mollie, for I was now presented to them. They shyly greetedme as one returned to them after many years in which they had given meup. And again I wondered what particular iniquity we had come here to do. 

Then Ma Pettengill eased my worry. She said in a few simple but affectingwords, that we had stopped in for a bite to eat. No self-torturingstylist could have put the thing better. And results were sudden. UncleHenry, the male one, went to take our horses round to the barn, and theother one said they had et an hour ago; but give her ten minutes andshe'd have a couple of them young pullets skinned and on the fire. 

Ma Pettengill said, with very questionable taste, I thought: "Oh, no;nothing like that!"--because we didn't want to make the least bit oftrouble. The woman is dense at times. What else had we come therefor? But Aunt Mollie said, then, how about some prime young porktenderline? And Ma Pettengill said she guessed that would do, and Isaid I guessed that would do. And there we were! The ladies went tothe kitchen, where they made quick and grateful noises. 

Pretty soon Uncle Henry came round a lovely corner and said try a tumblerof this here grape wine, which he poured from a pressed-glass pitcher; soI tried it and gave him a town cigarette, which he tucked between hisbeautiful white moustache and his beautiful white whiskers. And I hopedhe didn't use gasoline to get them so clean, because if he did somethingmight happen when he lighted the cigarette; but nothing did, so probablyhe didn't. I tried the grape wine again; and dear old Uncle Henry said hewas turning out quite a bit of it since the Gov'ment had shet down onregular dram-shops, quite considerable of parties happening along fromtime to time to barter with him, getting it for dances or colds, orsomething. 

A yellow cat, with blue eyes like Uncle Henry's, came and slept onhis lap. A large fussy hen with a litter of chickens--or however a hendesignates her assemblage of little ones--clucked her way to our feet. I could see three hives of bees, a grape arbour, and a row of milk pansdrying in the sun, each leaning on its neighbour along a white bench. Uncle Henry said drink it up while it was cold. All Nature seemed tosmile. The hen found a large and charming bug, and chuckled humorouslywhile her cunning little ones tore it limb from limb. It was idyllic. 

Then Aunt Mollie pushed open the screen door and said come in and set up;so I came in and set up quickly, having fried pork tenderloin and friedpotatoes, and hot biscuit and pork gravy, and cucumber pickles, andcocoanut cake and pear preserves, peach preserves, apricot preserves, loganberry jelly, crab-apple jelly, and another kind of preserves I wasunable to identify, though trying again and again. 

Ma Pettengill ate somewhat, but talked also, keeping Uncle Henry and AuntMollie shiny with smiles. They both have polished white teeth of the mostamazing regularity. I ate almost exclusively, affecting to be preoccupiedabout something. The time was urgent. I formed an entangling alliancewith the pork tenderloin, which endured to a point where but one smallfragment was left on the platter. I coolly left it there, so that AuntMollie might believe she had cooked more than enough. 

I have never ceased to regret that hollow bit of chivalry. Was ithonest, genuine, open? No! Why will men at critical junctures stoopto such trickery? Aunt Mollie said I might think that tenderline wasfresh-killed; but not so--she has fried it last December and put it downin its own juice in a four-gallon crock, and now look how fresh it comeout! She seemed as proud as if she had invented something. She had aright to be. It was a charming notion and I could have eaten the rest ofthe crock--but, no matter. Half a dozen biscuits copiously gummed up withpreserves of one kind or another would do as well--almost. 

So Aunt Mollie showed me objects of interest in the room, includingher new carpet sweeper, a stuffed road runner, a ship built in a bottle, and the coloured crayon portraits of herself and Uncle Henry, wearingblue clothes and gold jewellery and white collars and ecru neckties. Also, the marriage certificate. This was no mere official certificate. It was the kind that costs three dollars flat, over and above what yougive to the party that does it for you, being genuine steel-engraved, with a beautiful bridal couple under a floral bell, the groom in severeevening dress, and liberally spotted with cupids and pigeons. It is worththe money and an ornament to any wall, especially in the gilt frame. 

Aunt Mollie seemed as proud of this document as she had been with thetenderloin. I scanned it word by word for her pleasure. I noticedespecially the date. Aunt Mollie said that her and Henry were now inthe fortieth year on this place, and it had changed in looks a wholelot since they came here. I again looked at the date of the certificate. 

Ma Pettengill said, well, we must be getting on, and they must both comeover to the Arrowhead for a day right soon. And Uncle Henry said herewas a quart bottle of his peach brandy, going on eight year old, andwould I take it along back with me and try it? Parties had told him itwas good; but he didn't know--mebbe so, mebbe not. He'd like to know whatI thought. It seemed little enough to do to bring a bit of gladness intothis old gentleman's life, and I was not the man to wound him by refusal. It was as if Michelangelo had said "Come on round to the Sistine Chapelthis afternoon and look over a little thing I've dashed off. " If he hadbrought two bottles instead of one my answer would have been the same. 

So we were out on our refreshed horses and heading home; and I said, without loss of time, that Aunt Mollie might have a good heart and acunning way with pork interiors, and it was none of my business, anyway;but, nevertheless, she had mentioned forty long years with this amateursaloon keeper, whereas her marriage certificate was dated but one yearprevious, in figures all too shamefully legible. So what about it? Isaid I mind observing the underworld from time to time; but I liketo be warned in advance, even when its denizens were such a charming, bright-eyed winter-apple-cheeked old couple as the two we were nowleaving. 

The sun was on our backs, a light breeze fanned us, the horses knew whichway they were going, and work for the day was over; so Ma Pettengillspoke, in part, as follows:

"Oh, well, of course everyone knows about that. Simple enough! AuntMollie and her first husband trekked in here forty years ago. He was aconsumptive and the first winter put him out. They had a hard time; noneighbours to speak of, harsh weather, hard work, poor shelter, and adying man. Henry Mortimer happened by and stayed to help--nursed theinvalid, kept the few head of stock together, nailed up holes in theshack, rustled grub and acted like a friend in need. At the last henailed a coffin together; did the rest of that job; then stayed on tonurse Aunt Mollie, who was all in herself. After he got her to steppingagain he put in a crop for her. Then he stayed to build a barn and dosome fencing. Then he harvested the crop. And getting no wages! They wasboth living off the land. Pretty soon they got fond of each other anddecided to marry. It's one of Aunt Mollie's jokes that she owed him twoyears' wages and had to marry him. 

"Marriage was easier said than done. No preacher, or even a justice ofthe peace, was within ninety miles, which meant a four days' trip overthe roads of that day, and four days back, providing high water or someother calamity didn't make it a month; and no one to leave on the place, which meant there wouldn't be a head of stock left when they got back, what with Indians and rustlers. Uncle Henry will tell you how it seemedtoo bad that just one of 'em wouldn't make the trip down and have theceremony done, leaving the other to protect the place. 

"Then along comes a horse trader, who stops over to rest his stock, and learns their trouble. He tells 'em to quit their worry; that he's anotary public and can perform a marriage as good as any Baptist preacherthey ever saw. I never been able to make out whether he was crazy or justa witty, practical joker. Anyway, he married the pair with something likesuitable words, wouldn't take a cent for it, and gave 'em a paper sayinghe had performed the deed. It had a seal on it showing he was a genuinenotary public, though from back in Iowa somewhere. That made nodifference to the new bride and groom. A notary public was a notarypublic to them, highly important and official. 

"They had enough other things to worry about, anyway. They had to buckledown to the hard life that waits for any young couple without capital ina new country. They had years of hard sledding; but they must of had agood time somehow, because they never have any but pleasant things totell of it. Whatever that notary public was, he seemed to of pulled offa marriage that took as well or better than a great many that may bemore legal. So that's all there is to it--only, here about a year agothey was persuaded to have it done proper at last by a real preacher whomakes Kulanche two Sundays a month. That's why the late date's on thatcertificate. The old lady is right kittenish about that; shows it toeveryone, in spite of the fact that it makes her out of been leadingan obliquitous life, or something, for about thirty-eight years. 

"But then, she's a sentimental old mush-head, anyhow. Guess what she toldme out in the kitchen! She's been reading what the Germans did to womenand children in Belgium, and she says: 'Of course I hate Germans; and yetit don't seem as if I could ever hate 'em enough to want to kill a lot ofGerman babies!' Wasn't that the confession of a weakling? I guess that'sall you'd want to know about that woman. My sakes! Will you look at thatmess of clouds? I bet it's falling weather over in Surprise Valley. Agood moisting wouldn't hurt us any either. "

That seemed to be about all. Yet I was loath to leave the topic. I stillhad a warm glow in my heart for the aged couple, and I could hear UncleHenry's bottle of adolescent peach brandy laughing to itself from whereit was lashed to the back of my saddle. I struck in the only weak spotin the wall. 

"You say they were persuaded into this marriage. Well, who persuadedthem? Isn't there something interesting about that?"

It had, indeed, been a shrewd stroke. Ma Pettengill's eyes lighted. 

"Say, didn't I ever tell you about Mrs. Julia Wood Atkins, the well-knownlady reformer?"

"You did not. We have eight miles yet. "

"Oh, very well!"

So for eight miles of a road that led between green fields on our rightand a rolling expanse of sagebrush on our left, I heard something likethis:

"Well, this prominent club lady had been out on the Coast for some timeheading movements and telling people how to do things, and she had gotrun down. She's a friend of Mrs. W. B. Hemingway, the well-known socialleader and club president of Yonkers, who is an old friend of mine; andMrs. W. B. Writes that dear Julia is giving her life to the cause--Iforget what cause it was right then--and how would it be for me to haveher up here on the ranch for a vacation, where she could recover herspirits and be once more fitted to enter the arena. I say I'm only tooglad to oblige, and the lady comes along. 

"She seemed right human at first--kind of haggard and overtrained, butwith plenty of fights left in her; a lady from forty-eight to fifty-four, with a fine hearty manner that must go well on a platform, and a kindof accusing face. That's the only word I can think of for it. She'd bepretty busy a good part of the day with pamphlets and papers that she orsomeone else had wrote, but I finally managed to get her out on a gentleold horse--that one you're riding--so she could liven up some; and we gotalong quite well together. 

"The only thing that kind of went against me was, she's one of them thatthinks a kind word and a pleasant smile will get 'em anywhere, and sheworked both on me a little too much like it was something professional. 

"Still, I put it by and listened to her tell about the awful state theworld is in, and how a few earnest women could set it right in a week ifit wasn't for the police. 

"Prison reform, for instance. That was the first topic on which shedelivered addresses to me. I couldn't make much out of it, except that wedon't rely enough on our convicts' rugged honour. It was only a side linewith her; still, she didn't slight it. She could talk at length about theinnate sterling goodness of the misunderstood burglar. I got tired of it. I told her one day that, if you come right down to it, I'd bet the meninside penitentiaries didn't average up one bit higher morally than themen outside. She said, with her pleasantest smile, that I didn'tunderstand; so I never tried to after that. 

"The lady had a prowling mind. Mebbe that ain't the right word, butit come to me soon after she got here. I think it was the day she begunabout our drinking water. She wanted to know what the analysis showedit to contain. She was scared out of her pleasant smile for a minute whenshe found I'd never had the water analyzed. I thought, first, the poorthing had been reading these beer advertisements; you know--the kind theyprint asking if you are certain about the purity of your drinking water, telling of the fatal germs that will probably be swimming there, andintimating that probably the only dead-safe bet when you are thirstyis a pint of their pure, wholesome beer, which never yet gave typhoidfever to any one. But, no; Julia just thought all water ought to beanalyzed on general principles, and wouldn't I have a sample of ourssent off at once? She'd filled a bottle with some and suggested it withher pleasantest platform smile. 

"'Yes, ' I says; 'and suppose the report comes back that this water isfatal to man and beast? And it's the only water round here. What then?I'd be in a hell of a fix--wouldn't I?'

"I don't deny I used to fall back on words now and then when her smilegot to me. And we went right on using water that might or might not makespicy reading in a chemist's report; I only been here thirty years andit's too soon to tell. Anyway, it was then I see she was gifted with aprowling mind, which is all I can think of to call it. It went with heraccusing face. She didn't think anything in this world was as near rightas it could be made by some good woman. 

"Of course she had other things besides the water to worry about. Shewas a writer, too. She would write about how friction in the home lifemay be avoided by one of the parties giving in to the other and lettingthe wife say how the money shall be spent, and pieces about what theyoung girl should do next, and what the young wife should do ifnecessary, and so on. For some reason she was paid money for thesepieces. 

"However, she was taking longer rides and getting her pep back, whichwas what she had come here for. And having failed to reform anythingon the Arrowhead, she looked abroad for more plastic corruption as youmight say. She rode in one night and said she was amazed that this herecommunity didn't do something about Dave Pickens. That's the place westopped this morning. She said his children were neglected and starving, his wife worked to the bone, and Dave doing nothing but play on a cheapfiddle! How did they get their bread from day to day?

"I told her no one in the wide world had ever been able to answer thispuzzle. There was Dave and his wife and five children, all healthy, andeating somehow, and Dave never doing a stroke of work he could side-step. I told her it was such a familiar puzzle we'd quit being puzzled by it. 

"She said someone ought to smash his fiddle and make him work. She saidshe would do something about it. I applauded. I said we needed new bloodup here and she seemed to of fetched it. 

"She come back the next day with a flush of triumph on her severelysimple face. And guess the first thing she asked me to do! She asked meto take chances in a raffle for Dave's fiddle. Yes, sir; with her kindwords and pleasant smile she had got Dave to consent to raffle off hisfiddle, and she was going to sell twenty-four chances at fifty cents achance, which would bring twelve dollars cash to the squalid home. I hadto respect the woman at that moment. 

"'There they are, penniless, ' says she, 'and in want for the barestnecessities; and this man fiddling his time away! I had a strugglepersuading him to give up his wretched toy; but I've handled hardercases. You should of seen the light in the mother's wan face whenhe consented! The twelve dollars won't be much, though it will dosomething for her and those starving children; and then he will nolonger have the instrument to tempt him. '

"I handed over a dollar for two chances right quick, and Julia went outto the bunk-house and wormed two dollars out of the boys there. And nextday she was out selling off the other chances. She didn't dislike thework. It give her a chance to enter our homes and see if they neededreforming, and if the children was subjected to refining influences, andso on. The first day she scared parties into taking fifteen tickets, andthe second day she got rid of the rest; and the next Sunday she held thedrawing over at Dave's house. The fiddle was won by a nester from over inSurprise Valley, who had always believed he could play one if he onlyhad a fair chance. 

"So this good deed was now completed, there being no music, and twelvedollars in the Pickens home that night. And Mrs. Julia now felt that shewas ready for the next big feat of uplift, which was a lot more importantbecause it involved the very sanctity of the marriage tie. Yes, sir;she'd come back from her prowling one night and told me in a hushedvoice, behind a closed door, about a couple that had been for yearsliving in a state of open immorality. 

"I didn't get her, at first, not thinking of Uncle Henry and Aunt Mollie. But she meant just them two. I give her a good hearty laugh, at first;but it pained her so much I let her talk. It seems she'd gone there tosell raffle tickets, and they'd taken four, and cooked food for her, andgive her some cherry cordial, which she took on account of being far froma strong woman; and then Aunt Mollie had told all her past life, withthis horrid scandal about the notary public sticking innocently out ofit. 

"Mrs. Julia hadn't been able to see anything but the scandal, she beingan expert in that line. So she had started in to persuade Aunt Molliethat it was her sacred duty to be married decently to her companion incrime for forty years. And Aunt Mollie had been right taken with theidea; in fact, she had entered into it with a social enthusiasm thatdidn't seem to Mrs. Julia to have quite enough womanly shame for her darkpast in it. Still, anything to get the guilty couple lawful wedded;and before she left it was all fixed. Uncle Henry was to make an honestwoman of Aunt Mollie as soon as she could get her trousseau ready. 

"Me? I didn't know whether to laugh or get mad. I said the originalmarriage had satisfied the peace and dignity of the state of Washington;and it had done more--it had even satisfied the neighbours. So why notlet it rest? But, no, indeedy! It had never been a marriage in the sightof God and couldn't be one now. Facts was facts! And she talked some moreabout Aunt Mollie not taking her false position in the proper way. 

"It had been Mrs. Julia's idea to have the preacher come up and committhis ceremony quite furtively, with mebbe a couple of legal witnesses, keeping everything quiet, so as not to have a public scandal. But nothinglike that for the guilty woman! She was going to have a trousseau and awedding, with guests and gayety. She wasn't taking it the right way atall. It seemed like she wanted all the scandal there was going. 

"'Really, I can't understand the creature, ' says Mrs. Julia. 'She evenspeaks of a wedding breakfast! Can you imagine her wishing to flaunt sucha thing?'

"It was then I decided to laugh instead of telling this lady a few thingsshe couldn't of put in an article. I said Aunt Mollie's taking it thisway showed how depraved people could get after forty years of it; and wemust try to humour the old trollop, the main thing being to get her andher debased old Don Juan into a legal married state, even if they didinsist on going in with a brass band. Julia said she was glad I took itthis way. 

"She came back to my room again that night, after her hair was down. Theonly really human thing this lady ever did, so far as I could discover, was to put some of this magic remedy on her hair that restores thenatural colour if the natural colour happened to be what this remedyrestores it to. Any way, she now wanted to know if I thought it was rightfor Aunt Mollie to continue to reside there in that house between now andthe time when they would be lawful man and wife. I said no; I didn'tthink it was right. I thought it was a monstrous infamy and an affrontto public morals; but mebbe we better resolve to ignore it and plow astraight furrow, without stopping to pull weeds. She sadly said shesupposed I was right. 

"So Uncle Henry hitched up his fat white horse to the buggy, and him andAunt Mollie drove round the country for three days, inviting folks totheir wedding. Aunt Mollie had the time of her life. It seemed as ifthere wasn't no way whatever to get a sense of shame into that brazen oldhussy. And when this job was done she got busy with her trousseau, whichconsisted of a bridge gown in blue organdie, and a pair of high whiteshoes. She didn't know what a bridge gown was for, but she liked thelooks of one in a pattern book and sent down to Red Gap for MissGunslaugh to bring up the stuff and make it. And she'd always had thissecret yearning for a pair of high white shoes; so they come up, too. 

"Furthermore, Aunt Mollie had read the city paper for years and knewabout wedding breakfasts; so she was bound to have one of those. Itlooked like a good time was going to be had by all present except thelady who started it. Mrs. Julia was more malignantly scandalized by thesefestal preparations than she had been by the original crime; but she hadto go through with it now. 

"The date had been set and we was within three days of it when AuntMollie postponed it three days more because Dave Pickens couldn't bethere until this later day. Mrs. Julia made a violent protest, becauseshe had made her plans to leave for larger fields of crime; but AuntMollie was stubborn. She said Dave Pickens was one of the oldestneighbours and she wouldn't have a wedding he couldn't attend; andbesides, marriage was a serious step and she wasn't going to be hurriedinto it. 

"So Mrs. Julia went to a lot of trouble about her ticket andreservations, and stayed over. She was game enough not to run outbefore Uncle Henry had made Aunt Mollie a lady. I was a good dealpuzzled about this postponement. Dave Pickens was nothing to postponeanything for. There never was any date that he couldn't be anywhere--atleast, unless he had gone to work after losing his fiddle, which washighly ridiculous. 

"The date held this time. We get word the wedding is to be held in theevening and that everyone must stay there overnight. This was surprising, but simple after Aunt Mollie explained it. The guests, of course, hadto stay over for the wedding breakfast. Aunt Mollie had figured it allout. A breakfast is something you eat in the morning, about six-thirty orseven; so a wedding breakfast must be held the morning after the wedding. You couldn't fool Aunt Mollie on social niceties. 

"Anyway, there we all was at the wedding; Uncle Henry in his black suitand his shiny new teeth, and Aunt Mollie in her bridge gown and whiteshoes, and this young minister that wore a puzzled look from startto finish. I guess he never did know what kind of a game he was helpingout in. But he got through with the ceremony. There proved to be nota soul present knowing any reason why this pair shouldn't be joinedtogether in holy wedlock, though Mrs. Julia looked more severe than usualat this part of the ceremony. Uncle Henry and Aunt Mollie was firm intheir responses and promised to cling to each other till death did thempart. They really sounded as if they meant it. 

"Mrs. Julia looked highly noble and sweet when all was over, like she hadrescued an erring sister from the depths. You could see she felt that theworld would indeed be a better place if she could only give a littlemore time to it. 

"We stood round and talked some after the ceremony; but not for long. Aunt Mollie wound the clock and set the mouse-trap, and hustled us alloff to bed so we could be up bright and early for the wedding breakfast. You'd think she'd been handling these affairs in metropolitan society foryears. The women slept on beds and sofas, and different places, and themen slept out in the barn and in a tent Uncle Henry had put up or tooktheir blanket rolls and bunked under a tree. 

"Then ho! for the merry wedding breakfast at six-thirty A. M. ! The weddingbreakfast consisted of ham and eggs and champagne. Yes, sir; don't thinkAunt Mollie had overlooked the fashionable drink. Hadn't she been readingall her life about champagne being served at wedding breakfasts? So thereit was in a new wash boiler, buried in cracked ice. And while the womenwas serving the ham and eggs and hot biscuits at the long table built outin the side yard, Uncle Henry exploded several bottles of this wine andpassed it to one and all, and a toast was drunk to the legal bride andgroom; after which eating was indulged in heartily. 

"It was a merry feast, even without the lobster salad, which Aunt Mollieapologized for not having. She said she knew lobster salad went with awedding breakfast, the same as champagne; but the canned lobster she hadordered hadn't come, so we'd have to make out with the home-cured ham andsome pork sausage that now come along. Nobody seemed downhearted aboutthe missing lobster salad. Uncle Henry passed up and down the tablefilling cups and glasses, and Aunt Mollie, in her wedding finery, keptthe food coming with some buckwheat cakes at the finish. 

"It was a very satisfactory wedding breakfast, if any one should evermake inquiries of you. By the time Uncle Henry had the ends out of halfthe champagne bottles I guess everyone there was glad he had decidedto drag Aunt Mollie back from the primrose path. 

"It all passed off beautifully, except for one tragedy. Oh, yes; there'salways something to mar these affairs. But this hellish incident didn'tcome till the very last. After the guests had pretty well et themselvesto a standstill, Dave Pickens got up and come back with a fiddle, andstood at the end of the grape arbour and played a piece. 

"'Someone must have supplied that wretch with another fiddle!' says Mrs. Julia, who was kind of cross, anyway, having been bedded down on a shortsofa and not liking champagne for breakfast--and, therefore, not likingto see others drink it. 

"'Oh, he's probably borrowed one for your celebration, ' I says. 

"Dave played a couple more lively pieces; and pretty soon, when we got upfrom the table, he come over to Mrs. Julia and me. 

"'It's a peach of a fiddle, ' says Dave. 'It says in the catalogue it's agenuine Cremonika--looks like a Cremona and plays just as good. I betit's the best fiddle in the world to be had for twelve dollars!'

"'What's that?' says Mrs. Julia, erecting herself like an alarmedrattlesnake. 

"'Sure! It's a genuine twelve-dollar one, ' says Dave proudly. 'My oldone, that you so kindly raffled off, cost only five. I always wanted abetter one, but I never had the money to spare till you come along. It'sawful hard to save up money round here. '

"'Do you mean to tell me--' says Mrs. Julia. She was so mad she couldn'tget any farther. Dave thought she was merely enthusiastic about his newfiddle. 

"'Sure! Only twelve dollars for this beauty, ' he says, fondling theinstrument. 'We got down the mail-order catalogue the minute you leftthat money with us, and had a postal order on the way to Chicago thatvery night. I must say, lady, you brought a great pleasure into ourlife. '

"'What about your poor wife?' snaps Mrs. Julia. 

"His poor wife comes up just then and looks affectionately at Dave andthe new fiddle. 

"'He spent that money for another fiddle!' says Mrs. Julia to her in lowtones of horror. 

"'Sure! What did you think he was going to do with it?' says Mrs. Dave. 'I must say we had two mighty dull weeks while Dave was waiting for thisnew one. He just mopes round the house when he ain't got anythingto play on. But this is a lot better than the old fiddle; it was worthwaiting for. Did you thank the lady, Dave?'

"Mrs. Julia was now plumb speechless and kind of weak. And on top ofthese blows up comes Aunt Mollie the new-wed, and beams fondly on her. 

"'There!' says she. 'Ain't that a fine new fiddle that Dave bought withhis twelve dollars? And wasn't it worth postponing my wedding for, so wecould have some music?'

"'What's that?' says Mrs. Julia again. 'Why did you postpone it?'

"'Because the fiddle didn't get here till last night, ' says Aunt Mollie, 'and I wasn't going to have a wedding without music. It wouldn't seemright. And don't you think, yourself, it's a lot better fiddle thanDave's old one?'

"So this poor Mrs. Julia woman was now stricken for fair, thinking of allthe trouble she'd been to about her tickets, and all to see this newfiddle. 

"She went weakly into the house and lay down, with a headache, till I wasready to leave the gay throng. And the next day she left us to our fate. Still, she'd done us good. Dave has a new fiddle and Aunt Mollie has herhigh white shoes. So now you know all about it. "

We neared the Arrowhead gate. Presently its bell would peal a sweetmessage to those who laboured. Ma Pettengill turned in her saddle to scanthe western horizon. 

"A red sun has water in his eye, " said she. "Well, a good soak won't hurtus. "

And a moment later:

"Curious thing about reformers: They don't seem to get a lot of pleasureout of their labours unless the ones they reform resist and suffer, andshow a proper sense of their degradation. I bet a lot of reformers wouldquit to-morrow if they knew their work wasn't going to bother peopleany. "

VI

THE PORCH WREN

So it befell, in a shining and memorable interlude that there wastalk of the oldest living boy scout, who was said to have rats in hiswainscoting; of the oldest living débutante, who was also a porch wren;and of the body snatcher. Little of the talk was mine; a query now andagain. It was Ma Pettengill's talk, and I put it here for what it may beworth, hoping I may close-knit and harmonize its themes, so diverseas that of the wardrobe trunk, the age of the earth, what every womanthinks she knows, and the Upper Silurian trilobites. 

It might be well to start with the concrete, and baby's picture seemsto be an acceptable springboard from which to dive into the recital. Itcame in the evening's mail and was extended to me by Mrs. Lysander JohnPettengill, with poorly suppressed emotion. The thing excited no emotionin me that I could not easily suppress. It was the most banal of allsnapshots--a young woman bending Madonna-wise above something carefullyswathed, flanked by a youngish man who revealed a self-conscious smirkthrough his carefully pointed beard. The light did harshly by the bentfaces of the couple and the disclosed fragment of the swathed thing wasa weakish white blob. 

I need not say that there must be millions of these pathetic revealmentsburdening our mails day by day. I myself must have looked coldly uponover a thousand. 

"Well, what of it?" I demanded shortly. 

"I bet you can't guess what's in that bundle!" said my hostess in a largeplayful manner. 

I said what I could see of it looked like a half portion of plain boiledcauliflower, but that in all probability the object was an infant, ahuman infant--or, to use a common expression, a baby. Whereupon the ladydrew herself up and remarked in the clipped accent of a parrot:

"No, sir; it's a carboniferous trilobite of the Upper Silurian. "

This, indeed, piqued me. It made a difference. I said was it possible?Mrs. Pettengill said it was worse than possible; it was inevitable. Sheseemed about to rest there; so I accused her of ill-natured jesting andtook up the previous day's issue of the Red Gap _Recorder_, meaning toappear bored. It worked. 

"Well, if Professor Oswald Pennypacker don't call his infant that, youcan bet your new trout rod he calls it something just as good. Mebbe Ibetter read what the proud mother says. "

"It would be the kind thing before you spread evil reports, " I murmuredin a tone of gentle rebuke. 

So the woman polished her nose glasses and read a double sheet oflong up-and-down calligraphy--that is, she read until she explodedin triumphant retort:

"Ha! There now! Don't I know a thing or two? Listen: 'Oswald is soenraptured with the mite; you would never guess what he calls it--"Mylittle flower with bones and a voice!"' Now! Don't tell me I didn't haveOswald's number. I knew he wouldn't be satisfied to call it a baby; he'dbe bound to name it something animal, vegetable, or mineral. Ain't it thetruth? 'Little flower with bones and a voice!' What do you know aboutthat? That's a scientist trying to be poetic. 

"And here--get this: She says that one hour after the thing was born thehappy father was caught by the doctor and nurse seeing if it could holdits own weight up on a broomstick, like a monkey. She says he was acutelydistressed when these authorities deprived him of the custody of hischild. Wouldn't that fade you? Trying to see if a baby one hour old couldchin itself! Quite all you would wish to know about Oswald. "

I hastily said no; it was not nearly all I wanted to know about Oswald. I wanted to know much more. Almost any one would. The lady once morestudied the hairy face with its bone-rimmed glasses. 

"Shucks!" said she. "He don't look near as proud in this as he does inthat one he sent me himself--here, where is that thing?"

From the far end of the big table she brought under the lamp a basketof Indian weave and excavated from its trove of playing cards, tobaccosacks, cigarette papers, letters, and odd photographs another snapshotof Oswald. It was a far different scene. Here Oswald stood erect besidethe mounted skeleton of some prehistoric giant reptile that dwarfed yetleft him somehow in kingly triumph. 

"There now!" observed the lady. "Don't he look a heap more egregious bythat mess of bones than he does by his own flesh and blood? Talk aboutpride!"

And I saw that it was so. Here Oswald looked the whole world in the face, proud indeed! One hand rested upon the beast's kneecap in a proprietarycaress. Oswald looked too insufferably complacent. It was the look to beforgiven a man only when he wears it in the presence of his first-born. If snapshots tell anything at all, these told that Oswald was the fatherof a mammoth sauropod and had merely dug up the baby in a fossil bedsomewhere. 

"That's where the man's heart really lies, " said his stern critic, "even if he does drivel about his little flower with bones and a voice!Probably by now he's wishing the voice had been left out of his littleflower. " Impressively she planted a rigid forefinger on the print of themounted skeleton. 

"That there, " she glibly rattled off, "is the organic remains of athree-toed woolly bronsolumphicus of the carboniferous limestone, orUpper Silurian trilobite period. I believe I have the name correct. It was dug up out of a dry lake in Wyoming that years ago got to bemere loblolly, so that this unfortunate critter bogged down in it. Thepoor thing passed on about six million or four hundred million yearsago--somewhere along there. Oswald and his new father-in-law dug itfrom its quiet resting place in the old cemetery. Such is theirthrilling work in life. 

"This father-in-law is just an old body snatcher that snoops roundrobbing the graves of antiquity and setting up his loot in their museumat the university. No good telling that old ghoul to let the dead rest. He simply won't hear of it. He wants remains. He wants to have 'em outin the light of day and stick labels on their long-peaceful skulls. Hedon't act subdued or proper about it either, or kind of buttery sad, likea first-class undertaker. He's gleeful. Let him find the skeleton ofsomething as big as a freight car, that perished far in the dead past, and he's as tickled as a kid shooting at little sister with his new airgun. 

"Bones in his weakness--and periods of geology. He likes period bonesthe way some folks like period furniture; and rocks and geography andLower Triassics, and so forth. He knows how old the earth is within afew hundred million years; how the scantling and joists for it was puttogether, and all the different kinds of teeth that wild animals have. He's a scientist. Oswald is a scientist. I was a scientist myself twosummers ago when they was up here. 

"By the time they left I could talk a lot of attractive words. I couldspeak whole sentences so good that I could hardly understand myself. Ofcourse after they left I didn't keep up my science. I let myself getrusty in it. I probably don't know so much more about it now than youwould. Oh, perhaps a little more. It would all come back to me if I tookit up again. "

So I said that I had nothing to do for an hour or so, and if she wouldnot try to be scientific, but talk in her own homely words, I mightconsent to listen; in this event she might tell the whole thing, omittingnothing, however trifling it might seem to her, because she was no properjudge of values. I said it was true I might be overtaken by sleep, sincemy day had been a hard one, reaching clear to the trout pool under thebig falls and involving the transportation back to seventeen rainbowtrout weighing well over seventeen pounds, more or less, though feelingmuch like more. And what about Oswald and the primeval ooze, and soforth. And would it be important if true? The lady said--well, yes, andno; but, however--

He's Professor Marwich up at the university--this confirmed old coronerI'm telling you about. Has a train of capital letters streaming alongafter he's all through with his name. I don't know what they mean--doctorof dental surgery, I guess, or zoology or fractions or geography, orwhatever has to do with rocks and animals and vertebraes. He ain't a badold scout out of business hours. He pirooted round here one autumn abouta dozen years ago and always threatened to come back and hold some moreof these here inquests on the long departed; but I heard nothing untiltwo summers ago. He wrote that he wanted to come up to do field work. That's the innocent name he calls his foul trade by. And he wanted tobring his assistant, Professor Pennypacker; and could I put them up?

I said if they would wait till haying was over I could and would. Heanswered they would wait till my hay was garnered--that's the pretty wordhe used--and could he also bring his mouthless chit with him? I didn'tquite make him. He writes a hand that would never get by in a businesscollege. I thought it might be something tame he carried in a cage, andwould stay quiet all day while he was out pursuing his repulsivepractices. It didn't sound troublesome. 

I never made a worse guess. It was his daughter he talked about thatway. She was all right enough, though astounding when you had expectedsomething highly zoological and mouthless instead of motherless. She wasa tall roan girl with the fashionable streamline body, devoted to theukulele and ladies' wearing apparel. But not so young as that sounds. Hergeneral manner of conduct was infantile enough, but she had tired eyesand a million little lines coming round 'em, and if you got her in astrong light you saw she was old enough to have a serious aim in life. 

She did use massage cream and beauty lotions with a deep seriousnessyou wouldn't suspect her of when she sat out in the hammock in themoonlight and scratched this ukulele and acted the part of a mere porchwren. That was really the girl's trade; all she'd ever learned. Mebbeshe had misspent her early youth, or mebbe she wasn't meant for anythingelse--just a butterfly with some of the gold powder brushed off and thewings a little mite crumpled. 

Gee! How times have changed since I took my own hair out of a braid!In them fond old days when a girl didn't seem attractive enough formarriage she took up a career--school-teaching probably--and was lookedat sidewise by her family. It's different now. In this advanced day agirl seems to start for the career first and take up marriage only whenall other avenues is closed. She's the one that is now regarded by herbrainy sisters as a failure. I consider it an evil state for the worldto be in--but no matter; I can't do anything about it from up here, withhaytime coming on. 

Anyway, this Lydia girl had not been constructed for any career requiringthe serious use of the head; and yet so far she had failed in the otherone. She was on the way to being an outcast if she didn't pull somethingdesperate pretty soon. She was looking down on thirty, and I bet hermanner hadn't changed a bit since she was looking up to twenty. 

Of course she'd learned things about her game. Living round a college shemust of tried her wiles on at least ten graduating classes of young men. Naturally she'd learned technique and feminine knavery. She was stillflirty enough. She had a little short upper lip that she could lift withgreat pathos. And the party hadn't more than landed here when I saw thatat last she did have a serious aim in life. 

It was this here assistant to her father, who was named Professor OswaldPennypacker; and he was a difficult aim in life, because he didn't need awife any more than the little dicky birds need wrist watches. You seenhis picture there. About thirty-five he was and had devoted all his yearsto finding out the names of wild animals, which is said to be one of ourbest sciences. He hadn't got round to women yet. A good snappy skeletonof one might of entertained him if he could of dug it up himself andcalled it a sedimentary limestone; but he had never trifled with one thatwas still in commission and ornamented with flesh and clothes. 

And fussy! I wish you could of seen that man's room after he hadcarefully unpacked! A place for everything, and he had everything, too--everything in the world. And if someone switched his soap over towhere his tooth paste belonged it upset his whole day. The Chink neverdared to go into his room after the first morning. Oswald even made hisown bed. Easy to call him an old maid, but I never saw any woman sufferas much agony in her neatness. 

His shoes had to be in a row, and his clothes and hats and caps had tobe in a row, and there was only one hook in the room his pyjamas couldlawfully hang on, and his talcum powder had to stand exactly betweenthe mosquito dope and the bay rum, which had to be flanked precisely byhis manicure tools and succeeded by something he put on his hair, whichwas going the way of all flesh. If some marauder had entered his room inthe night and moved his compass over to where his fountain pen belongedhe would of woke up instantly and screamed. 

And then his new wardrobe trunk! This was a great and holy joy thathad come into his bleak life; all new and shiny and complicated, witha beautiful brass lock, one side for clothes on correct hangers and theother side full of drawers and compartments and secret recesses, wherehe could hide things from himself. It was like a furnished flat, thattrunk. And this was his first adventure out in the great cruel worldwith it. He cherished it as a man had ought to cherish his bride. 

He had me in to gaze upon it that first afternoon. You'd of thought hewas trying to sell it to me, the way he showed it off. It stood on end, having a bulge like a watermelon in the top, so no vandal could standit up wrong; and it was wide open to show the two insides. He opened upevery room in it, so I could marvel at 'em. He fawned on that trunk. Andat the last he showed me a little brass hook he had screwed into theside where the clothes hangers was. It was a very important hook. He hungthe keys of the trunk on it; two keys, strung on a cord, and the cordneatly on the hook. This, he told me, was so the keys would neverget lost. 

"I always have a dread I may lose those keys, " says he. "That would be acatastrophe indeed, would it not? So I plan to keep them on that hook;then I shall always know where they are. "

The crafty wretch! He could wake up in the night and put his hand onthose keys in the dark. Probably he often done so. I spoke a few simplewords of praise for his sagacity. And after this interesting lecture onhis trunk and its keys, and a good look at the accurate layout of his onemillion belongings, I had his number. He was the oldest living boy scout. 

And this poor girl with the designful eyes on him was the oldestliving debutante. I learned afterward that the great aim of scienceis classification. I had these two classified in no time, like I'dbeen pottering away at science all my life. Why, say, this Oswaldperson even carried a patent cigar lighter that worked! You must of seenhundreds of them nickel things that men pay money for. They work fine inthe store where you buy 'em. But did you ever see one work after the mangot it outside, where he needed it? The owner of one always takes it out, looking strained and nervous, and presses the spring; and nothing happensexcept that he swears and borrows a match. But Oswald's worked everytime. It was uncanny! Only a boy scout could of done it. 

So they got settled and the field work begun next day. The two men wouldride off early to a place about five miles north of here that used to bean ancient lake--so I was told. I don't know whether it did or not. It'sdry enough now. It certainly can't be considered any part of our presentwater supply. They would take spades and hammers and magnifying glassesand fountain pens, and Oswald's cigar lighter and some lunch, and comeback at night with a fine mess of these here trilobites and vertebrae;and ganoids and petrified horseflies, and I don't know what all; mebbeoyster shells, or the footprints of a bird left in solid rock, or theoutlines of starfish, or a shrimp that was fifty-two million years oldand perfectly useless. 

They seemed to have a good time. And Oswald would set up late writingremarks about the petrified game they had brought in. 

I didn't used to see much of 'em, except at night when we'd gather forthe evening meal. But their talk at those times did wonders for me. Allabout the aims of science and how we got here and what of it. The Profwas a bulky old boy, with long gray hair and long black eyebrows, andthe habit of prevailing in argument. Him and Oswald never did agree onanything in my hearing, except the Chink's corn muffins; and they lookedkind of mad at each other when they had to agree on them. 

Take the age of this earth on which we make our living. They never gotwithin a couple of hundred million years of each other. Oswald was strongfor the earth's being exactly fifty-seven million years old. Trust him tohave it down fine! And the old man hung out for four hundred million. They used to get all fussed up about this. 

They quoted authorities. One scientist had figured close and found it wasfifty-six million years. And another, who seemed to be a headliner in theworld of science, said it was between twenty million and four hundredmillion, with a probability of its being ninety-eight million. I kind ofliked that scientist. He seemed so human, like a woman in a bean-guessingcontest at the county fair. But still another scientist had horned inwith a guess of five hundred million years, which was at least easy toremember. 

Of course I never did much but listen, even when they argued this thingthat I knew all about; for back in Fredonia, New York, where I went toSunday-school, it was settled over fifty years ago. Our dear old pastortold us the earth was exactly six thousand years old. But I let the poorthings talk on, not wanting to spoil their fun. When one of 'em said theworld was made at least fifty-seven million years ago I merely said itdidn't look anywhere near as old as that, and let it go. 

We had some merry little meals for about a month. If it wasn't the ageof God's footstool it would be about what we are descended from, thebest bet in sight being that it's from fishes that had lungs and breathedunder water as easy as anything, which at least put dimmers on that oldmonkey scandal in our ancestry. Or, after we moved outside on the porch, which we had to do on account of Oswald smoking the very worst cigars hewas able to find in all the world, they would get gabby about all thingsin the world being simply nothing, which is known to us scientists asmetaphysics. 

Metaphysics is silly-simple--like one, two, three. It consists of subjectand object. I only think I'm knitting this here sock. There ain't anysock here and there ain't any me. We're illusions. The sound of thatChink washing dishes out in the kitchen is a mere sensation inside myhead. So's the check for eighty dollars I will have to hand him on thefirst of the month--though the fool bank down in Red Gap will look onit with uneducated eyes and think it's real. Philosophers have dug intothese matters and made 'em simple for us. It took thousands of books todo it; but it's done at last. Everything is nothing. Ask any scientist;he'll make it just as clear to you as a mist in a fog. 

And even nothing itself ain't real. They go to that extreme. Not evenempty space is real. And the human mind can't comprehend infinite space. I got kind of hot when one of 'em said that. I asked 'em right offwhether the human mind could comprehend space that had an end to it. Ofcourse it can't comprehend anything else but infinite space. I had 'em, all right; they had to change the subject. So they switched over to freewill. None of us has it. 

That made me hot again. I told 'em to try for even five minutes and seeif they could act as if they didn't have the power of choice. Of courseI had 'em again. Mebbe there ain't free will, but we can't act as ifthere wasn't. Those two would certainly make the game of poker impossibleif folks believed 'em. 

I nearly broke up the party that night. I said it was a shame young menwas being taught such stuff when they could just as well go to some goodagricultural college and learn about soils and crops and what to do incase of a sick bull. Furthermore, I wanted to know what they would do toearn their daily bread when they'd got everything dug up and labelled. Pretty soon they'd have every last organic remains put into a catalogue, the whole set complete and unbroken--and then what? They'd be out of ajob. 

The Prof laughed and said let the future take care of itself. He said wecouldn't tell what might happen, because, as yet, we was nothing reallybut supermonkeys. That's what he called our noble race--supermonkeys!So I said yes; and these here philosophers that talked about subject andobject and the nothingness of nothing reminded me of monkeys that gethold of a looking-glass and hold it up and look into it, and then sneakone paw round behind the glass to catch the other monkey. So he laughedagain and said "Not bad, that!"

You could kid the Prof, which is more than I can say for Oswald. Oswaldalways took a joke as if you'd made it beside the casket holding all thatwas mortal of his dear mother. In the presence of lightsome talk poorOswald was just a chill. He was an eater of spoon-meat, and finicking. He could talk like Half Hours With the World's Best Authors, and yet hadnothing to say but words. 

Still, I enjoyed them evenings. I learned to be interested in vitalquestions and to keep up with the world's best thought, in companywith these gents that was a few laps ahead of it. But not so with themotherless chit. This here Lydia made no effort whatever to keep up withthe world's best thought. She didn't seem to care if she never perfectedher intellect. It would of been plain to any eye that she was spreadinga golden mesh for the Oswald party; yet she never made the least clumsyeffort to pander to his high ideals. 

She was a wonder, that girl! All day she would set round the house, with her hair down, fixing over a lace waist or making fudge, and notappearing to care much about life. Come night, when the party was due toreturn, she would spry up, trick herself out in something squashy, withthe fashionable streamlike effect and a pretty pair of hammock stockingswith white slippers, and become an animated porch wren. That seemed tobe the limit of her science. 

Most motherless chits would of pretended a feverish interest in theday's hunt for fossil cockroaches, and would even of gone out to chipoff rocks with a hammer; but not Lydia. She would never pretend to theleast infatuation for organic remains, and would, like as not, strike upsomething frivolous on her ukulele while Oswald was right in the middleof telling all about the secret of life. She was confident all the time, though, like she already had him stuffed and mounted. She reminded me ofthat girl in the play What Every Woman Thinks She Knows. 

Lydia had great ideas of cooking, which is an art to ensnare males. Shesaid she was a dandy cook and could make Saratoga chips that was all tothe Kenosha--whatever that meant. Think of it--Saratoga chips! Over eighthundred ways to cook potatoes, and all good but one; and, of course, she'd have to hit on this only possible way to absolutely ruin potatoes. She could cook other things, too--fudge and stuffed eggs and cheesestraws, the latter being less than no food at all. It gives you a lineon her. 

I suppose it was all you could expect from a born debutante that had beenbrought up to be nice to college boys on a moonlit porch, allowing themto put another sofa pillow back of her, and wearing their class pins, andso forth. And here she was come to thirty, with fudge and cheese strawsand the ukulele still bounding her mental horizon, yet looking far aboveher station to one of Oswald's serious magnitude. 

I never have made out what she saw in him. But then we never do. Sheused to kid about him--and kid him, for that matter. She'd say to me:"He does care frightfully about himself, doesn't he?" And she said tome and said to him that he had mice in his wainscoting. Mice or rats, I forget which. Any wise bookmaker would of posted her up in this raceas a hundred-to-one shot. She had plenty of blandishment for Oswald, butnot his kind. She'd try to lure him with furtive femininity and plaintivemelodies when she ought to have been putting on a feverish interest inorganic fauna. Oswald generally looked through or past her. He give awhole lot more worry to whether his fountain pen would clog up on him. They was both set in their ways, and they was different ways; it lookedto me like they never could meet. They was like a couple of trained sealsthat have learned two different lines of tricks. 

Of course Oswald was sunk at last, sunk by a chance shot; and therewas no doubt about his being destroyed, quantities of oil marking thesurface where he went down. But it seemed like pure chance. Yet, if youbelieve Oswald and scientific diagnosis, he'd been up against it sincethe world was first started, twenty million or five hundred million yearsago--I don't really know how many; but what's a few million years betweenscientists? I don't know that I really care. It's never kept me wakefula night yet. I'd sooner know how to get eighty-five per cent. Of calves. 

Anyway, it was Oswald's grand new wardrobe trunk that had beenpredestined from the world's beginning to set him talkative about hislittle flower with bones and a voice; this same new wardrobe trunk thatwas the pride of his barren life and his one real worry because hemight sometime lose the keys to it. 

It's an affecting tale. It begun the night Oswald wanted the extra tableput in his room. They'd come in that day with a good haul of the oldestinhabitants round here that had passed to their long rest three millionyears ago--petrified fishworms and potato bugs, and so forth, and rockswith bird tracks on 'em. Oswald was as near human as I'd seen him, onaccount of having found a stone caterpillar or something--I know it hada name longer than it was; it seemed to be one like no one else had, andwould therefore get him talked about, even if it had passed away threemillion years before the Oregon Short Line was built. 

And Oswald went on to ask if he could have this extra table in his room, because these specimens of the disturbed dead was piling up on him and hewanted to keep 'em in order. He had lighted one of his terrible cigars;so I said I would quickly go and see about a table. I said that with hisvenomous cigar going I would quickly have to go and see about somethingor else have my olfactory nerve resected, which was a grand scientificphrase I had brightly picked out and could play with one finger. It meanshaving something done so you can't smell any more. 

The Prof laughed heartily, but Oswald only said he hadn't supposed Iwould feel that way, considering the kind of tobacco my own cigaretteswas made of, though he was sorry and would hereafter smoke out of doors. He took a joke like a child taking castor oil. Anyway, I went out andfound a spare table in the storeroom, and the Chink took it to Oswald'sroom. 

The fateful moment was at hand for which Nature had been conspiring allthese ages. The Chink held the table up against him, with the legssticking out, and Oswald went ahead to show him where to put it. Closeby the door, inside his room, was the lovely, yawning new trunk. Oswaldmust of been afraid one of the table legs would spear it and mar its fairvarnish. He raised one hand to halt the table, then closed the trunktenderly, snapped the lock, and moved it over into the corner, beyondchance of desecration. 

Then he give careful directions for placing the table, which had to becarried round the foot of the bed and past another table, which heldmarine fossils and other fishbones. It was placed between this tableand still another, which held Oswald's compass and microscope and hiskill-kare kamp stove and his first-aid kit and his sportsman's beltsafe--all neatly arranged in line. I had followed to see if there wasanything more he needed, and he said no, thank you. So I come out hereto look over my mail that had just come. 

Ten minutes later I felt the presence of a human being and looked up tosee that Oswald, the oldest living boy scout, was dying on his feet inthe doorway there. His face looked like he had been in jail three years. I thought he had seen a ghost or had a heart shock. He looked as if hewas going to keel over. He had me scared. Finally he dragged himself overto the table here and says faintly:

"I believe I should like a severe drink of whisky!"

I didn't ask any questions. I saw it must be some private grief; so I gotthe whisky. It happened I had just one bottle in the house, and that wassome perfectly terrible whisky that had been sent me by mistake. It wasliquid barbed wire. Even a little drink of it would of been severe. Twodrinks would make you climb a tree like a monkey. But the stricken Oswaldseemed able to outfight it. He poured out half a tumblerful, drunk itneat and refused water. He strangled some, for he was only human afterall. Then he sagged down on the couch and looked up at me with a feebleand pathetic grin and says:

"I'm afraid I've done something. I'm really afraid I have. "

He had me in a fine state by this time. The only thing I could think ofwas that he had killed the Prof by accident. I waited for the horribledetails, being too scared to ask questions. 

"I'm afraid, " he says, "that I've locked the keys of my new trunk insideof it. I'm afraid I really have! And what does one do in such a case?"

I nearly broke down then. I was in grave danger of fatal hysterics. I suffered from the reaction. I couldn't trust myself; so I got overto the door, where my face wouldn't show, and called to the Prof andLydia. I now heard them out on the porch. Then I edged outside thedoor, where people wouldn't be quite so scared if I lost control ofmyself and yelled. 

Then these two went in and listened to Oswald's solemn words. The Profhelped me out a lot. He yelled good. He yelled his head off; and undercover of his tumult I managed to get in a few whoops of my own, so thatI could once more act something like a lady when I went in. 

Lydia, the porch wren, was the only one to take Oswald's bereavement atall decent. The chit was sucking a stick of candy she had shoved downinto a lemon. Having run out of town candy, one of the boys had fetchedher some of the old-fashioned stick kind, with pink stripes; she wouldram one of these down to the bottom of a lemon and suck up the juicethrough the candy. She looked entirely useless while she was doing this, and yet she was the only one to show any human sympathy. 

She asked the stricken man how it happened, and he told the wholehorrible story--how he always kept the keys hanging on this littlebrass hook inside the trunk so he would know where they was, and how hehad shut the trunk in a hurry to get it out of the way of the table legs, and the spring lock had snapped. And what did one do now--if anything?

"Why, it's perfectly simple! You open it some other way, " says Lydia. 

"Ah, but how?" says Oswald. "Those trunks are superbly built. How canone?"

"Oh, it must be easy, " says Lydia, still clinging to her candy sour. "I'll open it for you to-morrow if you will remind me. "

"Remind you?" says Oswald in low, tragic tones. You could see he wasnever going to think of anything else the rest of his life. 

By this time the Prof and I had controlled our heartless merriment; so weall traipsed in to the scene of this here calamity and looked at the shuttrunk. It was shut good; no doubt about that. There was also no doubtabout the keys being inside. 

"You can hear them rattle!" says the awed Oswald, teetering the trunk onone corner. So each one of us took a turn and teetered the trunk back andforth and heard the imprisoned keys jingle against the side where theywas hung. 

"But what's to be done?" says Oswald. "Of course something must be done. "That seemed to be about where Oswald got off. 

"Why, simply open it some other way, " says Lydia, which seemed to beabout where she got off, too. 

"But how?" moans the despairing man. And she again says:

"Oh, it must be too simple!"

At that she was sounding the only note of hope Oswald could hear; andright then I believe he looked at her fair and square for the first timein his life. He was finding a woman his only comforter in his darkesthour. 

The Prof took it lightly indeed. He teetered the trunk jauntily and says:

"Your device was admirable; you will always know where those keys are. "Then he teetered it again and says, like he was lecturing on a platform:"This is an ideal problem for the metaphysical mind. Here, veritably, is life itself. We pick it up, we shake it, and we hear the tantalizingkey to existence rattle plainly just inside. We know the key to be there;we hear it in every manifestation of life. Our problem is to think itout. It is simple, as my child has again and again pointed out. Sit therebefore your trunk and think effectively, with precision. You will thenthink the key out. I would take it in hand myself, but I have had a hardday. "

Then Lydia releases her candy long enough to say how about findingsome other trunk keys that will unlock it. Oswald is both hurt and madehopeful by this. He don't like to think his beautiful trunk could respondto any but its rightful key; it would seem kind of a slur against itsintegrity. Still, he says it may be tried. Lydia says try it, of course;and if no other key unlocks it she will pick the lock with a hairpin. Oswald is again bruised by this suggestion; but he bears up like a man. And so we dig up all the trunk keys and other small keys we can find andtry to fool that trunk. And nothing doing!

"I was confident of it, " says Oswald; he's really disappointed, yet proudas Punch because his trunk refuses coldly to recognize these strangekeys. 

Then Lydia brings a bunch of hairpins and starts to be a burglar. Shesays in clear tones that it is perfectly simple; and she keeps on sayingexactly this after she's bent the whole pack out of shape and not won atrick. Yet she cheered Oswald a lot, in spite of her failures. She neverfor one instant give in that it wasn't simple to open a trunk without thekey. 

But it was getting pretty late for one night, so Oswald and Lydia knockedoff and set out on the porch a while. Oswald seemed to be awakeningto her true woman's character, which comes out clad in glory at timeswhen things happen. She told him she would sure have that trunk openedto-morrow with some more hairpins--or something. 

But in the morning she rushed to Oswald and said they would have theblacksmith up to open it. He would be sure to open it in one minute witha few tools; and how stupid of her not to of thought of it before! Iliked that way she left Oswald out of any brain work that had to be done. So they sent out to Abner to do the job, telling him what was wanted. 

Abner is a simple soul. He come over with a hammer and a cold chisel tocut the lock off. He said there wasn't any other way. Oswald listenedwith horror to this cold-blooded plan of murder and sent Abner sternlyaway. Lydia was indignant, too, at the painful suggestion. She said Abnerwas a shocking old bounder. 

Then Oswald had to go out to his field work; but his heart couldn'tof been in it that day. I'll bet he could of found the carcass of apetrified zebra with seven legs and not been elated by it. He hadonly the sweet encouragement of Lydia to brace him. He was dependingpathetically on that young woman. 

He got back that night to find that Lydia had used up another pack ofhairpins and a number of the tools from my sewing machine. All had beenblack failure, but she still said it was perfectly simple. She never lostthe note of hope out of her voice. Oswald was distressed, but he had toregard her more and more like an object of human interest. 

She now said it was a simple matter of more keys. So the next day I sentone of the boys down to Red Gap; and he rode a good horse to its finishand come back with about five dozen nice little trunk keys with sawededges. They looked cheerful and adequate, and we spent a long, jollyevening trying 'em out. Not one come anywhere near getting results. 

Oswald's trunk was still haughty, in spite of all these overtures. Oswaldwas again puffed up with pride, it having been shown that his trunk wasno common trunk. He said right out that probably the only two keys in allthe world that would open that lock was the two hanging inside. He neverpassed the trunk without rocking it to hear their sad tinkle. 

Lydia again said, nonsense! It was perfectly simple to open a trunkwithout the right key. Oswald didn't believe her, and yet he couldn'thelp taking comfort from her. I guess that was this girl's particulargenius--not giving up when everyone else could see that she was talkinghalf-witted. Anyway, she was as certain as ever, and I guess Oswaldbelieved her in spite of himself. His ponderous scientific brain toldhim one thing in plain terms, and yet he was leaning on the words of achit that wouldn't know a carboniferous vertebra from an Upper Siluriangerumpsus. 

The keys had gone back, hairpins was proved to be no good, and scientificanalysis had fell down flat. There was the trunk and there was the keysinside; and Oswald was taking on a year in age every day of his life. Hewas pretty soon going to be as old as the world if something didn'thappen. He'd got so that every time he rocked the trunk to hear the keysrattle he'd shake his head like the doctor shakes it at a moving-picturedeathbed to show that all is over. He was in a pitch-black cavern milesunderground, with one tiny candle beam from a possible rescuer faintlyshowing from afar, which was the childish certainty of this oldest livingdébutante that it was perfectly simple for a woman to do somethingimpossible. She was just blue-eyed confidence. 

After the men left one morning on their hunt for long-defunct wood ticksand such, Lydia confided to me that she was really going to open thattrunk. She was going to put her mind on it. She hadn't done this yet, it seemed, but to-day she would. 

"The poor boy has been rudely jarred in his academic serenity, " says she. "He can't bear up much longer; he has rats in his wainscoting right now. It makes me perfectly furious to see a man so helpless without a woman. Today I'll open his silly old trunk for him. "

"It will be the best day's work you ever done, " I says, and she nearlyblushed. 

"I'm not thinking of that, " she says. 

The little liar! As if she hadn't seen as well as I had how Oswald wasregarding her with new eyes. So I wished her good luck and started outmyself, having some field work of my own to do that day in measuringa lot of haystacks down at the lower end of the ranch. 

She said there would be no luck in it--nothing but cool determinationand a woman's intuition. I let it go at that and went off to see thatI didn't get none of the worst of it when this new hay was measured. I had a busy day, forgetting all scientific problems and the uphill fightour sex sometimes has in bringing a man to his just mating sense. 

I got back about five that night. Here was Miss Lydia, cool and negligenton the porch, like she'd never had a care in the world; fresh dressed insomething white and blue, with her niftiest hammock stockings, andtinkling the ukulele in a bored and petulant manner. 

"Did you open it?" I says as I went in. 

"Open it?" she says, kind of blank. "Oh, you mean that silly old trunk!Yes, I believe I did. At least I think I did. "

It was good stage acting; an audience would of thought she had forgotten. So I took it as calm as she did and went in to change. 

By the time I got out the men was just coming in, the Prof beingenthusiastic about some clamshells of the year six million B. C. AndOswald bearing his great sorrow with an effort to do it bravely. 

Lydia nodded distantly and then ignored the men in a pointed way, breaking out into rapid chatter to me about the lack of society uphere--didn't I weary of the solitude, never meeting people of the rightsort? It was a new line with her and done for effect, but I couldn'tsee what effect. 

Supper was ready and we hurried in to it; so I guess Oswald must offorgot for one time to shake his trunk and listen to the pretty littlekeys. And all through the meal Lydia confined her attentions entirely tome. She ignored Oswald mostly, but if she did notice him she patronizedhim. She was painfully superior to him, and severe and short, like he wasa little boy that had been let to come to the table with the grown-upsfor this once. She rattled along to me about the club dances at home, and how they was going to have better music this year, and how theassembly hall had been done over in a perfectly dandy colour scheme bythe committee she was on, and a lot of girlish babble that took up muchroom but weighed little. 

Oswald would give her side looks of dumb appeal from time to time, forshe had not once referred to anything so common as a trunk. He must offelt that her moral support had been withdrawn and he was left to facethe dread future alone. He probably figured that she'd had to give upabout the trunk and was diverting attention from her surrender. He hardlyspoke a word and disappeared with a look of yearning when we left thetable. The rest of us went out on the porch. Lydia was teasing theukulele when Oswald appeared a few minutes later, with great excitementshowing in his worn face. 

"I can hear the keys no longer, " says he; "not a sound of them! Mustn'tthey have fallen from the hook?"

Lydia went on stripping little chords from the strings while she answeredhim in lofty accents. 

"Keys?" she says. "What keys? What is the man talking of? Oh, you meanthat silly old trunk! Are you really still maundering about that? Ofcourse the keys aren't there! I took them out when I opened it to-day. Ithought you wanted them taken out. Wasn't that what you wanted the trunkopen for--to get the keys? Have I done something stupid? Of course I canput them back and shut it again if you only want to listen to them. "

Oswald had been glaring at her with his mouth open like an Upper Triassiccatfish. He tried to speak, but couldn't move his face, which seemed tobe frozen. Lydia goes on dealing off little tinkles of string music in atired, bored way and turns confidentially to me to say she supposes thereis really almost no society up here in the true sense of the word. 

"You opened that trunk?" says Oswald at last in tones like a tragedian athis big scene. 

Lydia turned to him quite prettily impatient, as if he was somethingshe'd have to brush off in a minute. 

"Dear, dear!" she says. "Of course I opened it. I told you again andagain it was perfectly simple. I don't see why you made so much fussabout it. "

Oswald turned and galloped off to his room with a glad shout. That showedthe male of him, didn't it?--not staying for words of gratitude to hissaviour, but beating it straight to the trunk. 

Lydia got up and swaggered after him. She had been swaggering all theevening. She acted like a duchess at a slumming party. The Prof and Ifollowed her. 

Oswald was teetering the trunk in the old familiar way, with one earfastened to its shiny side. 

"It's true! It's true!" he says in hushed tones. "The keys are gone. "

"Naughty, naughty!" says Lydia. "Haven't I told you I took them out?"

Oswald went over and set limply down on his bed, while we stood in thedoorway. 

"How did you ever do it?" says he with shining eyes. 

"It was perfectly simple, " says Lydia. "I simply opened it--that's all!"

"I have always suspected that the great secret of life would be almosttoo simple when once solved, " says the Prof. 

"It only needed a bit of thought, " says the chit. 

Then Oswald must of had a sudden pang of fear. He flew over and examinedthe lock and all the front surface of his treasure. He was looking forsigns of rough work, thinking she might of broken into it in some coarsemanner. But not a scratch could he find. He looked up at Lydia out ofeyes moist with gratitude. 

"You wonderful, wonderful woman!" says he, and any one could know hemeant it from the heart out. 

Lydia was still superior and languid, and covered up a slight yawn. She said she was glad if any little thing she could do had made lifepleasanter for him. This has been such a perfectly simple thing--very, very far from wonderful. 

Oswald now begun to caper round the room like an Airedale pup, and sayslet's have the keys and open the trunk up, so he can believe his owneyes. 

Then Lydia trifled once more with a human soul. She froze in deep thoughta long minute then says:

"Oh, dear! Now what did I do with those wretched old keys?"

Oswald froze, too, with a new agony. Lydia put a hand to her paleforehead and seemed to try to remember. There was an awful silence. Oswald was dashed over the cliff again. 

"Can't you think?" says the wounded man. "Can't you remember? Try! Try!"

"Now let me see, " says Lydia. "I know I had them out in the livingroom--"

"Why did you ever take them out there?" demands Oswald in great terror;but the heroine pays no attention whatever to this. 

"--and later, I think--I think--I must have carried them into my room. Oh, yes; now I remember I did. And then I emptied my wastebasket into thekitchen stove. Now I wonder if they could have been in with that rubbishI burned! Let me think!" And she thought again deeply. 

Oswald give a hollow groan, like some of the very finest chords in hisbeing had been tore asunder. He sunk limp on the bed again. 

"Wouldn't it be awkward if they were in that rubbish?" says Lydia. "Do you suppose that fire would destroy the silly things? Let me thinkagain. "

The fiend kept this up for three minutes more. It must of seemed longerto Oswald than it takes for a chinch bug to become a carboniferousJurassic. She was committing sabotage on him in the cruellest way. Then, after watching his death agony with cold eyes and pretending towonder like a rattled angel, she brightens up and says:

"Oh, goody! Now I remember everything. I placed them right here. " And shepicked the keys off the table, where they had been hid under somespecimens of the dead and gone. 

Oswald give one athletic leap and had the precious things out of herfeeble grasp in half a second. His fingers trembled horrible, but hehad a key in the lock and turned it and threw the sides of the grandold monument wide open. He just hung there a minute in ecstasy, fondlingthe keys and getting his nerve back. Then he turns again on Lydia thelook of a proud man who is ready to surrender his whole future life toher keeping. 

Lydia had now become more superior than ever. She swaggered round theroom, and when she didn't swagger she strutted. And she says to Oswald:

"I'm going to make one little suggestion, because you seem so utterlyhelpless: You must get a nice doormat to lay directly in front of yourtrunk, and you must always keep the key under this mat. Lock the trunkand hide the key there. It's what people always do, and it will be quitesafe, because no one would ever think of looking under a doormat for akey. Now isn't that a perfectly darling plan?"

Oswald had looked serious and attentive when she begun this talk, but hefinally got suspicious that she was making some silly kind of a joke. Hegrinned at her very foolish and again says: "You wonderful woman!" It wasa caressing tone--if you know what I mean. 

Lydia says "Oh, dear, won't he ever stop his silly chatter about hisstupid old trunk?" It seems to her that nothing but trunk has been talkedof in this house for untold ages. She's tired to death of the very word. Then she links her arm in mine in a sweet girlish fashion and leads meoutside, where she becomes a mere twittering porch wren once more. 

Oswald followed, you can bet. And every five minutes he'd ask her how didshe ever--really now--open the trunk. But whenever he'd ask she would putthe loud pedal on the ukulele and burst into some beachy song about Youand I Together in the Moonlight, Love. Even the Prof got curious anddemanded how she had done what real brains had failed to pull off--andgot the same noisy answer. Later he said he had been wrong to ask. Hesaid the answer would prove to be too brutally simple, and he alwayswanted to keep it in his thought life as a mystery. It looked like he'dhave to. I was dying to know myself, but had sense enough not to ask. 

The girl hardly spoke to Oswald again that night, merely giving him thesecold showers of superiority when he would thrust himself on her notice. And she kept me out there with her till bedtime, not giving the happytrunk owner a chance at her alone. That girl had certainly learned a fewthings beyond fudge and cheese straws in her time. She knew when she hadthe game won. 

Sure, it was all over with Oswald. He had only one more night when hecould call himself a free man; he tried hard enough not to have eventhat. He looked like he wanted to put a fence round the girl, elk-highand bull-tight. Of course it's possible he was landed by the earnest wishto find out how she had opened his trunk; but she never will tell himthat. She discussed it calmly with me after all was over. She said poorOswald had been the victim of scientific curiosity, but really it wastime for her to settle down. 

We was in her room at the time and she was looking at the tiny linesround her eyes when she said it. She said, further, that she was aboutto plan her going-away gown. I asked what it would be, and she said shehadn't decided yet, but it would be something youth-giving. Pretty game, that was! And now Oswald has someone to guard his trunk keys for him--tosay nothing of this here new specimen of organic fauna. 

 * * * * *

Then I talked. I said I was unable to reach the lofty altitude of theProf when even a fair mystery was concerned. I was more like Oswald withhis childish curiosity. How, then, did the young woman open the trunk?Of course, I could guess the answer. She had found she could really do itwith a hairpin, and had held off for effect. Still, I wanted to be told. 

"Nothing easy like that, " said Ma Pettengill. "She'd been honest with thehairpins. She didn't tell me till the day before they were leaving. 'Itwas a perfectly simple problem, requiring only a bit of thought, ' shesays. 'It was the simple thing people do when they find their front doorlocked. They go round to the back of the house and pry up a kitchenwindow, or something. ' She pledged me to secrecy, but I guess you won'tlet it go any farther. 

"Anyway, this is what she done: It was a time for brutal measures, soshe'd had Abner wheel that trunk over to the blacksmith shop and take thehinges off. Abner just loves to do any work he don't have to do, and hehad entered cordially into the spirit of this adventure. It used up hiswhole day, for which he was drawing three dollars from me. He took offone side of four pair of hinges, opened the trunk at the back far enoughto reach in for the keys, unlocked it and fastened the hinges back onagain. 

"It was some job. These hinges was riveted on and didn't come loose easy. The rear of that trunk must of been one sad mutilation. It probably won'tever again be the trunk it once was. Abner had to hustle to get throughin one day. I wish I could get the old hound to work for me that way. They'd just got the trunk back when I rode in that night. It was nervy, all right! I asked her if she wasn't afraid he would see the many tracesof this rough work she had done. 

"'Not a chance on earth!' says Lydia. 'I knew he would never look at anyplace but the front. He has the mind of a true scientist. It wouldn'toccur to him in a million years that there is any other way but thefront way to get into a trunk. I painted over the rivets and the bruisesas well as I could, but I'm sure he will never look there. He may noticeit by accident in the years to come, but the poor chap will then haveother worries, I hope. '

"Such was the chit. I don't know. Mebbe woman has her place in the greatworld after all. Anyway, she'll be a help to Oswald. Whatever he ain'tshe is. "

VII

CHANGE OF VENUS

Ma Pettengill and I rode labouring horses up a steep way between tworocky hillsides that doubled the rays of the high sun back upon us andsmothered the little breeze that tried to follow us up from the flatlands of the Arrowhead. We breathed the pointed smell of the sage and webreathed the thick, hot dust that hung lazily about us; a dust likepowdered chocolate, that cloyed and choked. 

As recreation it was blighting; and I said almost as much. Ma Pettengillwas deaf to it, her gray head in its broad-brimmed hat sternly bowed inmeditation as she wove to her horse's motion. Then I became aware thatshe talked to another; one who was not there. She said things I was surehe would not have liked to hear. She hung choice insults upon his nameand blistered his fair repute with calumnies. She was a geyser ofinvective, quiet perhaps for fifty yards, then grandly in action. 

"Call yourself a cowman, hey? What you ought to be is matron of afoundling asylum. Yes, sir!"

This was among the least fearful of her dusty scornings. And I knewshe would be addressing one Homer Gale, temporary riding boss of theArrowhead. Indeed, Homer's slightly pleading accents were now verycolourably imitated by his embittered employer:

"Yes'm, Mis' Pettengill, it's a matter of life and death; no less. I gotto git off for two days--a matter of life and death. Yes'm; I just gotto!"

On the completion of this a hoarse hoot of scorn boomed through the hazeand Homer was told that men like himself often caused perfectly decentpeople to be tried for murder. And again Homer's rightful job was echoedas "Matron of a foundling asylum!"

I felt the embarrassment of one unwittingly come upon the adjustment ofa private grievance. I dropped delicately a few paces behind, unnoticed, I thought; but Ma Pettengill waited for me to overtake her again. 

Then, as we pushed through the dust together, she told me that her dayswere swifter than a weaver's shuttle and spent without hope. If it wasn'tone thing it was another. What she'd like--she'd like to wake up in astrange place and find she'd clean forgot her name and address, likethese here parties you read about in the papers. And why wouldn't she? Adry year; feed short on the range; water holes dusty that never did godry before; half a hay crop and winter threatening right spang in thesummertime! Think of having to gather cattle off the range in the middleof August when other times you could let 'em run till the middle ofOctober! In fact, this was the kind of a year that cattle raisers had atechnical term for. It was known technically as one hell of a year, ifI wanted to be told. 

And having to do the work with mental defectives and cripples andBolsheviki, because every able-bodied puncher in the country hadgone over to create a disturbance in Europe! Hadn't she combed outthe county hospital and poor farm to get a haying crew? Didn't thebest cowboy now on the pay roll wear a derby hat and ride a motorcycleby preference? And paying seventy-five dollars to these imitationpunchers to fight her gentle saddle horses, no colt, it seemed, havingbeen ridden on the place in the memory of man. 

She didn't know; taking one thing with another, sometimes she almostwished that the world was going to stay unsafe for democracy. 

Of course this technically described bad year wasn't so bad one way, because the sheepmen would sure get a tasty wallop, sheep being mightyinformal about dying with the weather below zero and scant feed. Whencattle wasn't hardly feeling annoyed sheep would lie down and quitintruding on honest cattle raisers for all time. Just a little attentionfrom a party with a skinning knife was all they needed after that. And soon, back to Homer Gale, who had gone to Red Gap for two days on a matterof life and death--and of this the less repeated here the better. 

Now our narrow way spread to a valley where the sun's rays were morewidely diffused and the dust less pervasive. We could see a mile aheadto a vaster cloud of dust. This floated over a band of Arrowhead cattlebeing driven in from a range no longer sustaining. They were being drivenby Bolsheviki, so my informant disclosed. 

We halted above the road and waited for the dusty creatures to plod by usdown to the pleasant lea where feed was still to be had and water wassweet. Then came the Bolshevik rear guard. It consisted of SilasAtterbury and four immature grandchildren. 

Grandpa Atterbury was ninety-three and doing his first labour since heretired, at eighty-five. The grandchildren, two male and two female, should have been playing childish games. And they were Bolsheviki, all because they had refused to bring in this bunch of stock exceptfor the wage customarily paid to trained adults. Even the youngest, known as Sissy Atterbury, aged eight and looking younger, despite hergray coating of powdered alkali, had tenaciously held out for a grownman's pay, which made her something even worse than a Bolshevik; itmade her an I. W. W. 

But, as Ma Pettengill said, what could a lady do when Fate had astranglehold on her. There was, indeed, nothing to do but tell Sissy totell one of her incendiary brothers to get up close to grandpa, and yellgood and loud at him, and make him understand he was to get a count onthat bunch at the first gate, because it didn't look to us that there wasover three hundred head where there ought to be at least five hundred. 

And then there was nothing to do but ride ahead of the toiling beastsand again down the narrow way that would bring us to the lowlands of theArrowhead, where the dust no longer choked and one could see green andsmell water. From the last mesa we looked out over the Arrowhead's flatfields, six thousand acres under fence, with the ranch house andoutbuildings hazy in the distance. 

It was a pleasant prospect and warmed Ma Pettengill from her mood ofchill negation. She remarked upon the goodliness of the scene, quite asif the present were not a technical year for cattle raisers. Then, aswe jogged the six miles home by peaceful thoroughfares, the lady, beingquestioned persistently and suitably, spoke with utter freedom of HomerGale, who had shamefully deserted his job for two days at the busiestend of the season, when a white man wouldn't of thought of leaving, evenon a matter of life and death. 

Had Homer the shadow of an excuse? We shall see. 

Well, then, this here celluloid imitation of a cowman that I been usingviolent words about come into the valley three years ago and rapidly gota lot of fame by reason of being a confirmed bachelor and hating theyoung of the human species with bitterness and constancy. I was the onethat brought him in; I admit that. First time I seen him he was being aroistering blade in the Fashion Waffle Kitchen down at Red Gap. He waswith Sandy Sawtelle and a couple other boys from the ranch here, andSandy tells me later that he is looking for work, being a good cowhand. I said he looked like something else, being dressed in an uproariouscheck suit of clothes that would instantly of collected a crowd in mostcity streets. But Sandy says that's all right; he's a regler cowman andhad to wear these startling garments for a disguise to get him safe outof Idaho. 

It seems he'd been crowded out of that thriving state by a yearningand determined milliner that had witnesses a-plenty and intended todo something about it. Defendant claimed he hadn't even meant anythingof the sort and was just being a good pal; but it looked like the cruelteeth of the law was going to bite right into his savings if thisbreach-of-promise suit ever come to trial, the lady having letters fromhim in black and white. So Homer had made a strategic retreat, avoidingcontact with the enemy, and here he was. And how about taking him on atthe Arrowhead, where he could begin a new life?

Needing another hand just then, I fussed none at all about Homer'sscandalous past. I said he could throw in with us; and he did. When hegot dressed in a legal manner he looked like he couldn't be anything elsebut a cowhand. About forty and reliable, he looked. So I sent him to asummer camp over on the Madeline plains, where I had a bunch of cattle ongovernment range. Bert Glasgow lived in a shack with his wife and familythere and had general charge, and Homer was to begin his new life byhelping Bert. 

His new life threatened to be short. He showed up here late the thirdnight after he went over, looking sad and desperate and hunted. He didlook that way more or less at all times, having one of these long, sadmoustaches and a kind of a bit-into face. This night he looked worse thanusual. I thought the hellhounds of the law from Idaho might of took uphis winding trail; but no. It was the rosy-cheeked tots of Mr. And Mrs. Bert Glasgow that had sent him out into the night. 

"Say, " he says, "I wouldn't have you think I was a quitter, but if youwant to suicide me just send me back to that horrible place. Children!"he says. "That's all; just children! Dozens of 'em! Running all over theplace, into everything, under everything, climbing up on you, stickingtheir fingers into your eyes--making life unbearable for man and beast. You never once let on to me, " he says reproachfully, "that this Bert hadchildren. "

"No, " I says; "and I never let on to you that he's got a mole on his chineither. What of that?"

Then the poor lollop tries to tell me what of it. I saw he really hadbeen under a nervous strain, all right. Suffering had put its hot ironon him. First, he just naturally loathed children anyway. Hadn't he runaway from a good home in Iowa when he was sixteen, account of being theoldest of seven? He said some things in general about children that wouldof got him no applause at a mothers' meeting. He was simply afraid tolook a child in the eye; and, from what he'd like to do to 'em all, itseemed like his real middle name was Molech. Wasn't that the party withhostile views about children? Anyway, you could see that Homer's idea ofa real swell festivity would be to hide out by an orphan asylum somenight until the little ones had said their prayers and was tucked allpeaceful into their trundle beds and then set fire to the edifice ineight places after disconnecting the fire alarm. That was Homer, and hewas honest; he just couldn't help it. 

And Bert's tikes had drove him mad with their playful antics. He saidhe'd be set down for a bite of dinner and one of 'em would climb up hisback and feel his hair--not saying a word, just taking hold of it; thenit would jump down and another would climb up and do the same thing, andhim not daring to defend himself. He'd got so worked up he was afraid tostay on the place. 

"And you know, " he says--"what I can't understand--danged if Bert don'tseem to kind of like 'em. You may think I'm a liar, but he waited for onethe other morning when it squealed at him and kept a hold of its handclean down to the hay barn. What do you think of that? And besides thesethat go round infesting the place outside he's got a short yearling and along two-year-old that have to be night-herded. I listened to 'em everynight. One yelled and strangled all last night, till I s'posed, ofcourse, it was going to perish everlastingly; but here this morning itwas acting like nothing at all had happened. 

"All I can say is, Bert don't have much luck. And that littlest yelleralways unswallowing its meals with no effort whatever! It's horrible!And the mother, with no strength of character--feeble-minded, Ireckon--coddles 'em! She never did cuss 'em out proper or act humantoward 'em. Kids like them, what they need--upside down and three quickhard ones. I know!"

I was fool enough to argue with him a bit, trying to see if he didn'thave a lick of sense. I told him to look how happy Bert was; and howhis family had made a man of him, him getting more money and saving morethan ever in his past life. Homer said what good would all that money dohim? He'd only fool it away on his wife and children. 

"He regrets it, all right, " says Homer. "I says to myself the other day:'I bet a cookie he'd like to be carefree and happy like me!'"

Homer was a piker, even when he made bets with himself. And the short ofit was I sent a man that didn't hate children over to Bert's and keptHomer on the place here. 

He stayed three months and said it was heaven, account of not having themunnecessary evils on the place that would squirm round a man's legs andfeel of his hair and hide round corners and peek at him and whisper abouthim. Then I changed foremen and Scott Humphrey, the new one, broughtthree towheads with him of an age to cause Homer the anguish of thedamned, which they done on the first day they got here by playing that hewas a horse and other wild animals, and trying to pull the rest of hishair out. 

He come in and cut himself out of my life the day after, shaking his headand saying he couldn't think what the world was coming to. As near as Icould make him, his idea was that the world was going to be swamped withyoung ones if something wasn't done about it, like using squirrel poisonor gopher traps. 

I felt like I wanted to cuff him up to a peak and knock the peak off; butI merely joked and said it was too bad his own folks hadn't come to thinkthat way while he could still be handled easy. I also warned him it wasgoing to be hard to find a job without more or less children on theoutskirts, because ours was a growing state. He said there must be a fewsane people left in the world. And, sure enough, he gets a job over tothe Mortimers'--Uncle Henry and Aunt Mollie being past seventy and havingnothing to distress Homer. 

Of course the secret of this scoundrel's get-away from Idaho had gotround the valley, making him a marked man. It was seen that he was a bornflirt, but one who retained his native caution even at the most tryingmoments. Here and there in the valley was a hard-working widow that theright man could of consoled, and a few singles that would of listened toreason if properly approached; and by them it was said that Homer was afiend for caution. He would act like one of them that simply won't takeno for an answer--up to a certain point. He would seem to be going furin merry banter, but never to words that the law could put any expensiveconstruction on. He would ride round to different ranches and mingle atdances and picnics, and giggle and conduct himself like one doomed fromthe cradle to be woman's prey--but that was all. 

Funny how he'd escaped through the years, him having apparently the weakand pliant nature that makes the ideal husband, and having reached thetime of life when he was putting sheep dip on his hair where the liningshone through on top. But so it was. And his views on children had alsobecome widely known. Mothers used to grab up their youngest ones whenhe'd go into the post office down at Kulanch or meet one on the road. He made no hit at all with such views among them that had learned better. Still there was hopeful ones that thought he might be made to take a jokesooner or later, and the fact that he was known to save his wages and hada nice little stake laid by didn't work against him any with such partiesas might have a chance to be swept off their feet by him in a mad moment. 

Then over at the Mortimers' place he meets Mrs. Judson Tolliver, aplausible widow lady who come into the valley every once in a while todo sewing round at different ranches. She was a good-built, impressiveperson, with a persuading manner; one of these competent ones that cantake charge of affairs and conduct them unassisted, and will do so ifnot stopped. Uncle Henry Mortimer brought her to the house in his lightwagon one morning, with her sewing machine in the back. And Homer wasthere to help her out and help out with the machine and see it was placedright in the sitting room; and then help out with her satchel and ask ina gentlemanly manner if everything was all right--and everything was:Thank you so much, Mr. Gale!

This party was no simpering schoolgirl. She was thirty-five or so andsquare-jawed, and did her hair plain, and had a managing voice thatwould go good at club meetings. She read library books and was a goodconversationalist. And what did she do the first evening, when Homer wasmending one of his shirts by the kitchen lamp, but wrench it away fromhim roguishly and do the job herself, while she entertained him withconversation. It was bound to be entertaining, for she started in aboutwhat trials children was to their tormented parents and how the worldwould be brighter and better if it consisted entirely of adults. 

Any one might of thought she'd been hearing gossip about Homer's likesand dislikes. I know that's what I thought afterward, when he opened hissoul to me. She said what a mercy it was that half a dozen yelling demonswasn't in this house at that moment to make life an evil thing for all. And Homer sunned right up and took the talk away from her. While she donehis mending he spoke heatedly of little children in his well-known happyvein, relating many incidents in his blasted career that had brought himto these views. The lady listened with deep attention, saying "Ah, yes, Mr. Gale!" from time to time, and letting on there must be a strong bondof sympathy between them because he expressed in choice words what shehad so often felt. 

Homer must of been kind of swept off his feet at that very moment, and the rapids just below him. I guess he'd already been made mushysentimental by seeing the ideal romantic marriage between Uncle Henry andhis wife--forty years or so together and still able to set down in peaceand quiet without having something squirm over you to see what you had inyour pockets or ask what made your hair come out that funny way, till youwished a couple she-bears would rush out and devour forty-two of 'em. 

It was the first of quite many evenings when Homer and the lady wouldset with a dish of apples and fried cakes between 'em and denouncethe world's posterity. The lady was even suffering grave doubts aboutmarriage. She said having to make her own way after she lost her husbandhad made her relish her independence too much to think of ever giving itup again lightly. Of course she wouldn't say that possibly at some timein the dim future a congenial mate that thought as she did on vitaltopics--and so forth--just enough to give Homer a feeling of securitythat was wholly unwarranted. Wasn't he the heedless Hugo?

He was quite wordy about the lady to me when he come over on an errandone day. He told me all about these delightful talks of theirs, and whatan attractive person she was, sound as a nut, and companionable andgood-looking without being one of these painted dolls. He said, to seeher above her sewing, she was a lovely view that he never tired of gazingat, and to hear her loathe children was music to the ear. He said shewas a rare woman. I said she must be and asked him if he had committedhimself. 

"Well, I don't say I have and I don't say I haven't, " he says; "but hereI be, standing with reluctant feet at the parting of the ways. And whoknows what might happen? I know I've had some darned close shaves fromdoing a whole lot worse in my time. "

So I wished him the best of luck with this lady child hater; not that Ithought he'd really get what was coming to him. He was so crafty. He wasone of them that love not well but too wisely, as the saying is. Still, there was a chance. He was scared to death of fire and yet he would keepon playing with it. Some day the merry old flames might lick him up. Ihoped for the best. 

A few days after that I went down to the foreman's house late in theafternoon to see him about a shipment we had to make. Scott was offsomewhere, but his sister was in; so I set talking with her, andwaiting. This here Minna Humphrey was a hectic, blighted girl of thirty, sandy-haired, green-eyed, and little--no bigger than a bar of soap aftera day's washing. What had blighted the poor thing was having to teachpublic school for a dozen years. She'd been teaching down to Kulanchethat year and had just closed up. We set out in front of the house andMinna told me she was all in; and how she'd ever got through the seasonshe didn't know. 

She went on to speak of little children. Fire in her voice? Murder!According to Minna, children had ought to be put in cages soon as theycan walk and kept there till they are grown; fed through the bars andshot down if they break out. That's what twelve years' enforced contactwith 'em had done to Minna's finer instincts. She said absolutely nothingin the world could be so repugnant to her as a roomful of the littleanimals writing on slates with squeaky pencils. She said other thingsabout 'em that done her no credit. 

And while I listened painfully who should be riding up but Homer Gale!

"Here, " I says to Minna; "here's a man you'll be a joyous treat to; justlet him come in and listen to your song a while. Begin at the beginningand say it all slow, and let Homer have some happy moments. "

So I introduced the two, and after a few formalities was got over I hadMinna telling in a heartfelt manner what teaching a public school waslike, and what a tortured life she led among creatures that should neverbe treated as human. Homer listened with glistening eyes that got quitemoist at the last. Minna went on to say that children's mothers wasalmost as bad, raging in to pick a fuss with her every time a child hadbeen disciplined for some piece of deviltry. She said mothers give herpretty near as much trouble as the kids themselves. 

It was a joyous and painful narrative to Homer. He said why didn't Minnatake up something else? And Minna said she was going to. She'd beenworking two summers in Judge Ballard's office, down to Red Gap, and wasgoing to again this summer, soon as she regained a little vitality; andshe hoped now she'd have a steady job there and never have to go back tothe old life of degradation. Homer sympathized warmly; his heart hadreally been touched. He hoped she'd rise out of the depths to somethingtolerable; and then he told her about Bert's five horrible children thatdrove him out into the brush--and so forth. 

I listened in a while; and then I says to Homer ain't it nice for him tomeet someone else that thinks as he does on this great vital topic, Minnaseeming to find young ones as repulsive as Mrs. Judson Tolliver? And howabout that lady anyway? And how is his affair coming on? I never dreamedof starting anything. I was being friendly. 

Homer gets vivacious and smirks something horrible, and says, well, hedon't see why people make a secret of such things; and the fact is thatthat lady and him have about decided that Fate has flung 'em togetherfor a lofty purpose. Of course nothing was settled definite yet--no datesnor anything; but probably before long there'd be a nice little homeadorning a certain place he'd kept his eye on, and someone there keepinga light in the window for him--and so on. It sounded almost too good tobe true that this old shellback had been harpooned at last. 

Then Minna spoke up, when Homer had babbled to a finish, and smirked andlooked highly offensive. She says brightly:

"Oh, yes; Mrs. Judson Tolliver. I know her well; and I'm sure, Mr. Gale, I wish you all the happiness in the world with the woman of your choice. She's a very sterling character indeed--and such a good mother!"

"How's that?" says Homer. "I didn't hear you just right. Such a goodwhat?"

"I said she's such a good mother, " Minna answers him. 

Homer's smirk kind of froze on his face. 

"Mother to what?" he says in a low, passionate tone, like an actor. 

"Mother to her three little ones, " says Minna. Then she says again quick:"Why, what's the matter, Mr. Gale?" For Homer seemed to have been tookbad. 

"Great Godfrey!" he says, hardly able to get his voice. 

"And, of course, you won't mind my saying it, " Minna goes on, "becauseyou seem so broad-minded about children, but when I taught primary in RedGap last year those three little boys of hers gave me more trouble thanany other two dozen of the pests in the whole room. "

Homer couldn't say anything this time. He looked like a doctor wasknifing him without anesthetics. 

"And to make it worse, " says Minna, "the mother is so crazy about them, and so sensitive about any little thing done to them in the way ofdiscipline--really, she has very little control of her language wherethose children are concerned. Still, of course, that's how any goodmother will act, to be sure; and especially when they have no father. 

"I'm glad indeed the poor woman is to have someone like you that willtake the responsibility off her shoulders, because those boys are now atan age where discipline counts. Of course she'll expect you to be gentlewith them, even though firm. Oswald--he's eleven now, I believe--willsoon be old enough to send to reform school; but the younger ones, sevenand nine--My! such spirits as they have! They'll really need someonewith strength. "

Homer was looking as if this bright chatter would add twenty years to hisage. He'd slumped down on the stoop, where he'd been setting, like he'dhad a stroke. 

"So she's that kind, is she?" he kind of mutters. "A good thing I foundit out on her!"

"The children live with their grandmother in Red Gap while their motheris away, " says Minna. "They really need a strong hand. "

"Not mine!" says Homer. Then he got slowly up and staggered down a fewsteps toward the gate. "It's a good thing I found out this scandal on herin time, " says he. "Talk about underhandedness! Talk about a woman hidingher guilty secret! Talk about infamy! I'll expose her, all right. I'mgoing straight to her and tell her I know all. I'll make her cower inshame!" He's out on his horse with his reckless threat. 

"Now you've sunk the ship, " I says to Minna. "I knew the woman wasleading a double life as fur as Homer was concerned, but I wasn't goingto let on to the poor zany. It's time he was speared, and this would ofbeen a judgment on him that his best friends would of relished keenly. Lots of us was looking forward to the tragedy with great pleasure. Youspoiled a lot of fun for the valley. "

"But it would not have been right, " says Minna. "It would truly have beenthe blackest of tragedies to a man of Mr. Gale's sensitive fibres. Youcan't enter into his feelings because you never taught primary. Also, Ithink he is very far from being a poor zany, as you have chosen to callhim. " The poor thing was warm and valiant when she finished this, lookinglike Joan of Arc or someone just before the battle. 

And Homer never went back and made the lady cower like he said he meantto. Mebbe it occurred to him on the way that she was not one of them thatcower easy. Mebbe he felt he was dealing with a desperate adventuress, ascunning as she was false-hearted. Anyway, he weakened like so many folksthat start off brave to tell someone so-and-so right to their faces. Hedidn't go back at all till the middle of the night, when he pussyfootedin and got his things out, and disappeared like he had stumbled down awell. 

Uncle Henry had to feed his own stock next morning, while Mrs. Tollivertook on in great alarm and wanted a posse formed to rescue Homer fromwherever he was. Her first idea was that he had been kidnapped and wasbeing held for ransom; but someway she couldn't get any one else veryhearty about this notion. So then she said he had been murdered, or waslying off in the brush somewhere with a broken leg. 

It was pointed out to her that Homer wouldn't be likely to come andcollect all his things in the night in order to keep a date with anassassin, or even to have his leg broke. About the third day she guessedpretty close to the awful truth and spoke a few calm words about puttingher case in the hands of some good lawyer. 

The valley was interested. It looked like a chance for the laugh of theyear. It looked like the lightnings of a just heaven had struck wherethey was long overdue. Then it was discovered that Homer was hiding outover in the hills with a man after coyotes with traps and poison. His jobmust of appealed to Homer's cynical nature at that moment--anything withtraps and poison in it. 

Dave Pickens was the man that found him, he not having much else to do. And he let Homer know the worst he could think of without mincing words. He said the deserted fiancée was going to bring suit against Homer forone hundred thousand dollars--that being the biggest sum Dave could thinkof--for breach of promise, and Homer might as well come out and face themusic. 

Homer did come out, bold as brass. He'd been afraid the lady mightgun him or act violent with something; but if she wasn't threateninganything but legal violence he didn't care. He just couldn't conceivethat a lady with three children could make a suit like that stick againstany man--especially three children that was known to be hellions. Hedidn't even believe the lady would start a suit--not with the facts ofher shame known far and wide. He was jaunty and defiant about this, andcome right out of hiding and agreed to work for me again, Scott Humphreyhaving sent his wife and children on a visit to Grandma Humphrey. 

But, lands. He didn't earn his salt. Friends and well-wishers took thejauntiness all out of him in no time. Parties rode from far and near toput him wise. Ranchers from ten miles up and down the creek would dropimportant work just to ride over and tell him harsh facts about the law, and how, as man to man, it looked dark indeed for him. These parties toldhim that the possession of three children by a lawful widow was notregarded as criminal by our best courts. It wasn't even consideredshameful. And it was further pointed out by many of the same comfortersthat the children would really be a help to the lady in her suit, cinching the sympathy of a jury. 

Also, they didn't neglect to tell him that probably half the jury wouldbe women--wives and mothers. And what chance would he have with womenwhen they was told how he regarded children? He spent a good half of thetime I paid him for in listening to these friendly words. They give Homeran entirely new slant on our boasted civilization and lowered it a wholelot in his esteem. 

About the only person in the whole valley that wasn't laughing at him andgiving him false sympathy with a sting in its tail was Minna Humphrey. Homer told her all about the foul conspiracy against his fortune, and howhis life would be blasted by marrying into a family with three outcastslike he'd been told these was. And what was our courts coming to if theirrecords could be stained by blackmailers. 

And Minna give him the honest sympathy of a woman who had taught schooltwelve years, loathed the sight of any human under twenty, and evenconsidered that the institution of marriage had been greatly overpraised. Certainly she felt it was not for her; and she could understand Homer'swanting to escape. She and him would set out and discuss his chances longafter he had ought to of been in bed if he was going to earn his pay. 

Minna admitted that things looked dark for him on account of the insaneprejudice that would be against him for his views on children. She saidhe couldn't expect anything like a fair trial where these was known evenwith a jury of his peers; and it was quite true that probably only fiveor six of the jury would be his peers, the rest being women. 

Homer told me about these talks--out of working hours, you can bet! HowMinna was the only person round that would stand by anyone in trouble;how she loathed kids, and even loathed the thought of human marriage. 

"Minna is a nice girl, " I told him; "but I should think you'd learn notto pay attention to a woman that talks about children that way. Rememberthis other lady talked the same way about 'em before the scandal comeout. "

But he was indignant that any one could suspect Minna's child hatingwasn't honest. 

"That little girl is pure as a prism!" he says. "When she says she hates'em, she hates 'em. The other depraved creature was only working on mybetter nature. "

"Well, " I says, "the case does look black; but mebbe you could settle fora mere five thousand dollars. "

"It wouldn't be a mere five thousand dollars, " says Homer; "it would bethe savings of a lifetime of honest toil and watching the pennies. That'sall I got. "

"Serves you right, then, " I says, "for not having got married years agoand having little ones of your own about your knee!"

Homer shuddered painfully when I said this. He started to answersomething back, but just choked up and couldn't. 

The adventuress had, of course, sent letters and messages to Homer. Theearly ones had been pleading, but the last one wasn't. It was more in thenature of a base threat if closely analyzed. Then she finished up hersewing at the Mortimers' and departed for Red Gap, leaving a finalannouncement to anybody it concerned that she would now find out if therewas any law in the land to protect a defenseless woman in her sacredright to motherhood. 

Homer shivered when he heard it and begun to think of making anotherget-away, like he had done from Idaho. He thought more about it whensomeone come back from town and said she was really consulting alawyer. 

He'd of gone, I guess, if Minna hadn't kept cheering him up with sympathyand hating children with him. Homer was one desperate man, but still hecouldn't tear himself away from Minna. 

Then one morning he gets a letter from the Red Gap lawyer. It says hisclient, Mrs. Judson Tolliver, has directed him to bring suit againstHomer for five thousand dollars; and would Homer mebbe like to save theadditional cost--which would be heavy, of course--by settling the matterout of court and avoiding pain for all?

Homer was in a state where he almost fell for this offer. It was that orfacing a jury that would have it in for him, anyway, or disappearing likehe had done in Idaho; only this lady was highly determined, and reportshad already come to him that he would be watched and nailed if he triedto leave. It would mean being hounded from pillar to post, even if he didget away. He went down and put it up to Minna, as I heard later. 

"I'm a desperate man, " he says, "being hounded by this here catamount;and mebbe it's best to give in. "

"It's outrageous!" says Minna. "Of course you don't care about the money;but it's the principle of the thing. "

"Well, yes and no, " says Homer. "You might say I care some about themoney. That's plain nature, and I never denied I was human. "

So they went on to discuss it back and forth warmly, when amisunderstanding arose that I was very careful to get the rightsof a couple of weeks later. 

Minna went over the old ground that Homer could never get a fair trial;then she brightened up all at once and says:

"Don't you pay it. Don't you do it; because you won't have to if you dowhat I say. "

Homer gets excited and says:

"Yes, yes; go on!"

And Minna goes on. 

"When people can't get fair trials in a place, " she says, "they alwaystake change of venues. "

"Change of venues?" says Homer, kind of uneasy, it seemed. 

"Certainly, " says Minna: "they take change of venues. I've worked inJudge Ballard's office long enough to know that much. Why didn't I thinkof it before? It's your one chance to escape this creature's snare. "

"Change of venues?" says Homer again, kind of aghast. 

"It's your only way out, " says Minna; "and I'll do everything I can--"

"You will?" says Homer. 

"Why, of course!" says Minna. "Any thing--"

"All right, then, " says Homer. "You get your things on, and I'll saddleyour horse and bring him round. "

"What for?" demands Minna. 

"I'm a desperate man!" says Homer. "You say it's the only way out, andyou know the law; so come along to Kulanche with me. " And he beat if offto the barn. 

Well, Minna had said she'd do anything she could, thinking she'dwrite herself to Judge Ballard and find out all the details; but ifHomer wanted her to go to Kulanche with him and try to start the thingthere--why, all right. She was ready when Homer come with her horse andoff they rode on the twelve-mile trip. 

I gather that not much was said on the way by Homer who only mutteredlike a fever patient from time to time, with Minna saying once in a whilehow glad she was she had thought up this one sure way out of his trouble. 

At Kulanche they rode up in front of Old Man Geiger's office, who isjustice of the peace. 

"Wait here a minute, " says Homer, and went inside. Pretty soon he comeout and got her. "Come on, now, " he says, "I got it all fixed. "

And Minna goes in, thinking mebbe she's got to swear to an affidavit orsomething that Homer couldn't get a fair trial among people knowing heregarded little ones as so many cockroaches or something to step on. 

She got some shock when Homer took her inside and held her tight by thewrist while Old Man Geiger married 'em. That's about the way it was. Shesays she was so weak she could hardly stand up, and she hadn't hardly anyvoice at all left. But she kept on saying "Why, Homer!" and "Oh, Homer!"and "No, no, Homer!" as soon as she discovered that she had been draggedoff to a fate she had always regarded as worse than death; but a lot ofgood it done her to say them things in a voice not much better than awhisper. 

And the dreadful thing was over before she could get strength to sayanything more powerful. There she was, married to a man she thoughthighly of, it's true, and had a great sympathy for in the foul wrong oneof her sex had tried to slip over on him; but a man she had never thoughtof marrying. I'm telling you what she told me. And after sentence hadbeen pronounced she kept on saying "Why, Homer!" and "Oh, Homer!" and"No, no, Homer!" till there was nothing to do but get some clothes out ofher trunk that she'd left down there in time to take the narrow gauge fortheir wedding tour to Spokane. 

The news spread over the valley next day like a brush fire in August. Itwas startling! Like the newspapers say of a suicide, "No cause could beassigned for the rash act. " They was away ten days and come back to findthe whole country was again giving Homer the laugh because Mrs. Tolliverhad up and married a prosperous widower from over in Surprise Valley, andhad never brought any suit against him. It was said that even the lateMrs. Tolliver was laughing heartily at him. 

Homer didn't seem to care, and Minna certainly didn't. She was theold-fashioned kind of wife, a kind you don't hear much of nowadays; thekind that regards her husband as perfect, and looks up to him. She toldme about the tumultuous wedding. Neither of 'em had had time for any talktill they got on the train. Then it come out. She says why ever did Homerdo such a monstrous thing? And Homer says:

"Well, you told me a change of Venus was the only way out for me--"

"I said a change of venue, " says Minna. 

"It sounded like change of Venus, " says Homer, "and I knew Venus was thegod of love. And you said you was willing and I knew we was congenial, and I was a desperate man; and so here we are!"

So she cried on his shoulder for twenty miles while he ate a box of figs. 

Homer is now a solid citizen, with his money put into a place down at thelower end of the valley, instead of lying in the bank at the mercy ofsome unscrupulous woman with little ones. And here this summer, with hisown work light, he's been helping me out as riding boss; or, at least Ibeen lavishing money on him for that. 

A fine, dependable hand, too! Here was this bunch of stock to be got infrom Madeline--them Bolshevik ain't gathered more'n two thirds of 'em;and there's more to come in from over Horse Fly Mountain way, and stillanother bunch from out of the Sheep Creek country--the busiest month in abad year, when I needed every man, woman, and child to be had, and herecomes Homer, the mush-head, taking two days off!

"Yes'm, Mis' Pettengill; I just got to take time off to go down to RedGap. It's a matter of life and death. Yes'm; it is. No'm; I wouldn't dastsend any one, and Minna agrees I'm the only one to go--" Shucks!

The lady built a cigarette and, after lighting it, turned back to scanthe mesa we had descended. The cattle now crowded down the narrow wayinto the valley, their dust mounting in a high, slow cloud. 

"Call yourself a cowman, do you?" she demanded of the absent Homer. "Huh!" Then we rode on. 

"What was the matter of life and death?" I asked. 

Ma Pettengill expelled cigarette smoke venomously from inflated nostrilslike a tired dragon. 

"The matter of life and death was that he had to get two teething ringsfor the twins. "

"Twins!"

"Oh, the valley got it's final laugh at Homer! Twins, sure! Most of uslaughed heartily, though there was mothers that said it was God'sjudgment on the couple. Of course Homer and Minna ain't took it that way. They took it more like they had been selected out of the whole world as acouple worthy to have a blessed miracle happen to 'em. There might ofbeen single babies born now and then to common folks, but never a caseof twins--and twins like these! Marvels of strength and beauty, having tobe guarded day and night against colic and kidnappers. 

"They had 'em down to the post office at Kulanche the other day showing'em off, each one in a red shawl; and sneering at people with only one. And this imbecile Homer says to me:

"'Of course it can't be hoped, ' he says, 'that this great world war willlast that long; but if it could last till these boys was in shape tofight I bet it wouldn't last much after that. Yes, sir; little Rooseveltand Pershing would soon put an end to that scrap!'

"And now they're teething and got to have rubber rings. And no, hecouldn't send any one down for 'em; and he couldn't order 'em by maileither, because they got to be just the right kind. 

"'Poor little Pershing is right feverish with his gums, ' says Homer, 'butlittle Roosevelt has got a front one through already. He bit my thumbyesterday with it--darned near to the bone. He did so!'

"Calls himself a cowman, does he? He might of been--once. Now he ain't nomore than a woman's home companion!"

VIII

CAN HAPPEN!

Lew Wee, prized Chinese chef of the Arrowhead Ranch, had butchered, cooked, and served two young roosters for the evening meal with afinesse that cried for tribute. As he replaced the evening lamp on thecleared table in the big living room he listened to my fulsome praise ofhis artistry as Marshal Foch might hear me say that I considered him arather good strategist. Lew Wee heard but gave no sign, as one set abovethe petty adulation of compelled worshipers. Yet I knew his secret soulmade festival of my words and would have been hurt by their withholding. This is his way. Not the least furtive lightening of his subtle eyeshinted that I had pleased him. 

He presently withdrew to his tiny room off the kitchen, where, as washis evening custom for half an hour, he coaxed an amazing number ofsquealing or whining notes from his two-stringed fiddle. I pictured himas he played. He would be seated in his wicker armchair beside a littletable on which a lamp glowed, the room tightly closed, window down, door shut, a fast-burning brown-paper cigarette to make the atmospheremore noxious. After many more of the cigarettes had made it all butimpossible, Lew Wee, with the lamp brightly burning, as it would burn thenight through--for devils of an injurious sort and in great numbers willfearlessly enter a dark room--he would lie down to refreshing sleep. Thatfantasy of ventilation! Lew Wee always sleeps in an air-tight room packedwith cigarette smoke, and a lamp turned high at his couchside; and LewWee is hardy. 

He played over and over now a plaintive little air of minors that puta gentle appeal through two closed doors. It is one he plays a greatdeal. He has told me its meaning. He says--speaking with a not unpleasantcondescension--that this little tune will mean: "Life comes like abird-song through the open windows of the heart. " It sounds quite likethat and is a very satisfying little song, with no beginning or end. 

He played it now, over and over, wanderingly and at leisure, and Ipictured his rapt face above the whining fiddle; the face, say, of thePhilosopher Mang, sage of the second degree and disciple of Confucius, who was lifted from earth by the gods in a time we call B. C. But whichwas then thought to be a fresh, new, late time; the face of subtle eyesand guarded dignity. And I wondered, as I had often wondered, whether LewWee, lone alien in the abiding place of mad folks, did not suffer a vasthomesickness for his sane kith, who do not misspend their days buildingup certain grotesque animals to slaughter them for a dubious food. True, he had the compensation of believing invincibly that the Arrowhead Ranchand all its concerns lay upon his own slightly bowed shoulders; that thething would fast crumble upon his severance from it. But I questionedwhether this were adequate. I felt him to be a man of sorrow if not oftragedy. Vaguely he reached me as one who had survived some colossalbuffeting. 

As I mused upon this Ma Pettengill sorted the evening mail and to Lew Weeshe now took his San Francisco newspaper, _Young China, _ and a letter. Half an hour later Lew Wee brought wood to replenish the fire. Hedisposed of this and absently brushed the hearth with a turkey wing. Then he straightened the rug, crossed the room, and straightened on thefarther wall a framed portrait in colour of Majestic Folly, a prize bullof the Hereford strain. Then he drew a curtain, flicked dust from acorner of the table, and made a slow way to the kitchen door, pausingto alter slightly the angle of a chair against the wall. 

Ma Pettengill, at the table, was far in the Red Gap _Recorder_ for theprevious day. I was unoccupied and I watched Lew Wee. He was doingsomething human; he was lingering for a purpose. He straightened anotherchair and wiped dust from the gilt frame of another picture, Architect'sDrawing of the Pettengill Block, Corner Fourth and Main streets, Red Gap, Washington. From this feat he went softly to the kitchen door, where helooked back; hung waiting in the silence. He had made no sound, yet hehad conveyed to his employer a wish for speech. She looked up at him fromthe lamp's glow, chin down, brows raised, and eyes inquiring of him overshining nose glasses. 

"My Uncle's store, Hankow, burn' down, " said Lew Wee. 

"Why, wasn't that too bad!" said Ma Pettengill. 

"Can happen!" said Lew Wee positively. 

"Too bad!" said Ma Pettengill again. 

"I send him nine hundred dollars your money. Money burn, too, " said LewWee. 

"Now, now! Well, that certainly is too bad! What a shame!"

"Can happen!" affirmed Lew Wee. 

It was colourless. He was not treating his loss lightly nor yet was hebewailing it. 

"You put your money in the bank next time, " warned his employer sharply, "instead of letting it lie round in some flimsy Chinee junk shop. They'realways burning. "

Lew Wee regarded her with a stilled face. 

"Can happen!" he again murmured. 

He was the least bit insistent, as if she could not yet have heardthis utterly sufficing truth. Then he was out; and a moment later thetwo-stringed fiddle whined a little song through two closed doors. 

I said something acute and original about the ingrained fatalism of theOriental races. 

Ma Pettengill laid down her paper, put aside her glasses, and said, yes, Chinee one fatal race; feeling fatal thataway was what made 'em such goodhelp. Because why? Because, going to work at such-and-such a place, thishere fatal feeling made 'em think one place was no worse than another; sowhy not stick here? If other races felt as fatal as the Chinee race itwould make a grand difference in the help problem. She'd bet a milliondollars right now that a lot of people wished the Swedes and Irish hadfatal feelings like that. 

I said Lew Wee had the look of one ever expecting the worst; even morethan the average of his race. 

"It ain't that, " said my hostess. "He don't expect anything at all; ormebbe everything. He takes what comes. If it's good or bad, he says, 'Canhappen!' in the same tone of voice; and that ends it. There he is now, knowing that all this good money he saved by hard labour has gone up insmoke, and paying the loss no more attention that if he'd merely broke astring on that squeaky long-necked contraption he saws. "

"He seems careless enough with his money, certainly. "

"Sure, because he don't believe it does the least good to be careful. "

From a cloth sack the speaker poured tobacco into a longitudinallycreased brown paper and adeptly fashioned something in the nature of acigarette. 

"Ain't I been telling him for a year to buy Liberty Bonds with his money?He did buy two, being very pro-American on account of once having aviolent difference with a German; and he's impressed with the buttonthe Government lets him wear for it. He feels like the President has madehim a mandarin or something; but if the whole Government went flooeyto-morrow he'd just say, 'Can happen!' and pick up his funny fiddle. Ofcourse it ain't human, but it helps to keep help. I had him six yearsnow, and the only thing that can't happen is his leaving. I don't saythere wasn't reasons why he first took the place. "

Reasons? So there had been reasons in the life of Lew Wee. I hadsuspected as much. I found something guarded and timid and long-sufferingin his demeanour. He bore, I thought, the searing memory of an ordeal. 

"Reasons!" I said, waiting. 

"Reasons for coming this far in the first place. Wanted to save his life. I don't know why, with that fatal idea he sticks to. Habit, probably. Anyway, he had trouble saving it--kind of a feverish week. "

She lighted the cigarette and chuckled hoarsely between the firstrelishing whiffs of it. 

"Yes, sir; that poor boy believes the country between here and thecoast is inhabited by savages; wild hill tribes that try to exterminatepeaceful travellers; a low kind of outlaws that can't understand a wordyou tell 'em and act violent if you try to say it over. And having gothere, past the demons, I figure he's afraid to go back. I don't blamehim. "

Ordinarily, this would have been enough. Now the lady merely smoked andchuckled. When I again uttered "Well?" with a tinge of rebuke, she camedown from her musing, but into another and distant field. It was thefield of natural history, of zoology, of vertebrates, mammals, furredquadrupeds--or, in short, skunks. One may as well be blunt in thismatter. 

Ma Pettengill said the skunk got too little credit for its lovelycharacter, it being the friendliest wild animal known to man and neveroffensive except when put upon. Wasn't we all offensive at those times?And just because the skunk happened to be superbly gifted in thisrespect, was that any reason to ostracize him?

"I ain't sayin' I'd like to mix with one when he's vexed, " continued thelady judicially; "but why vex 'em? They never look for trouble; then whyforce it on their notice? Take one summer, years ago, when Lysander Johnand I had a camp up above Dry Forks. My lands! Every night after supperthe prettiest gang of skunks would frolic down off the hillside and rompround us. Here would come Pa and Ma in the lead, and mebbe a couple ofaunts and uncles and four or five of the cunningest little ones, andthey'd all snoop fearlessly round the cook fire and the grub boxes, picking up scraps of food--right round under my feet, mind you--andlooking up now and then and saying, 'Thank you!' plain as anything, andwhat lovely weather we're having, and why don't you come up and see ussome time?--and so on. They kept it up for a month while we was there;and I couldn't want neater, nicer neighbours. 

"Lysander John, he used to get some nervous, especially after one chasedhim back into the tent late one night; but it was only wanting to playlike a mere puppy, I tells him. He'd heard a noise and rushed out, andthere the little thing was kind of waltzing in the moonlight, whirlinground and round and having a splendid time. When it came bounding towardhim--I guess that was the only time in his life Lysander John was scaredhelpless. He busted back into the tent a mere palsied wreck of his formerself; but the cute little minx just come up and sniffed at the flap in afriendly way, like it wanted to reassure him. I wanted him to go out andplay with it in the moonlight. He wouldn't. I liked 'em round the place, they was so neighbourly and calm. Of course if I'd ever stepped on one, or acted sudden--

"They also tame easy and make affectionate pets. Ralph Waldo Gusted, overon Elkhorn, that traps 'em in winter to make First-Quality LabradorSealskin cloaks--his children got two in the house they play with likekittens; and he says himself the skunk has been talked about in a looseand unthinking way. He says a pet skunk is not only a fine mouser butleads a far more righteous life than a cat, which is given to debaucheryand cursing in the night. Yes, sir; they're the most trusting andfriendly critters in all the woods if not imposed upon--after that, to be sure!"

I said yes, yes, and undoubtedly, and all very interesting, and well andgood in its place; but, really, was this its place? I wanted Lew Wee'sreasons for believing in the existence of savage hill tribes betweenthere and San Francisco. 

"Yes; and San Francisco is worse, " said the lady. "He believes that cityto be ready for mob violence at any moment. Wild crowds get together andyell and surge round on the least provocation. He says it's different inChina, the people there not being crazy. "

"Well, then, we can get on with this mystery. "

So Ma Pettengill said we could; and we did indeed. 

This here chink seems to of been a carefree child up to the time thecivilized world went crazy with a version for him. He was a good cookand had a good job at a swell country club down the peninsula from SanFrancisco. The hours was easy and he was close enough to the city toget in once or twice a week and mingle with his kind. He could pass anevening with the older set, playing fan-tan and electing a new presidentof the Chinee race, or go to the Chinee theatre and set in a box and chewsugar cane; or he could have a nice time at the clubrooms of the YoungChina Progressive Association, playing poker for money. Once in a whilehe'd mix in a tong war, he being well thought of as a hatchet man--onlythey don't use hatchets, but automatics; in fact, all Nature seemed tosmile on him. 

Well, right near this country club one of his six hundred thousandcousins worked as gardener for a man, and this man kept many beautifulchickens--so Lew Wee says. And he says a strange and wicked night animalcrept into the home of these beautiful birds and slew about a dozen of'em by biting 'em under their wings. The man told his cousin that thewicked night animal must be a skunk and that his cousin should catch himin a trap. So the cousin told Lew Wee that the wicked night animal was askunk and that he was going to catch him in a trap. Lew Wee thought itwas interesting. 

He went up to the city and in the course of a pleasant evening at fan-tanhe told about the slain chickens that were so beautiful, and how thenight animal that done it would be caught in a trap. A great friend ofLew Wee's was present, a wonderful doctor. Lew Wee still says he is themost wonderful doctor in the world, knowing things about medicines thatthe white doctors can't ever find out, these being things that the Chineedoctors found out over fifteen thousand years ago, and therefore true. The doctor's name was Doctor Hong Foy, and he was a rich doctor. And hesays to Lew Wee that he needs a skunk for medicine, and if any one willbring him a live skunk in good condition he will pay twenty-five dollarsin American money for same. 

Lew Wee says he won't be needing that skunk much longer--or words tothat effect--because he will get this one from the trap. Doctor HongFoy is much pleased and says the twenty-five American dollars is eagerto become Lew Wee's for this animal, alive and in good condition. 

Lew Wee goes back, and the next day his cousin says he set a trap and thenight skunk entered it, but he was strong like a lion and had busted outand bit some more chickens under the wing, and then went away from there. He showed Lew Wee the trap and Lew Wee seen it wasn't the right kind, buthe knows how to make the right kind and will do so if the skunk canbecome entirely his property when caught. 

The cousin, without the least argument, agreed heartily to this. He washonest enough. He explained carefully that the skunk was wished to becaught to keep it from biting chickens under the wing, causing them todie, and not for any value whatever it might have to the person catchingit. He says it will be beneficial to catch the skunk, but not to keep it;that a skunk is not nice after being caught, and Lew Wee is more thanwelcome to it if he will make a right trap. The cousin himself wasprobably one of these fatal "Can happen!" boys. When Lew Wee says he musthave the skunk alive and in good condition he just looked at him in adistant manner that Lew Wee afterward remembered; but he only said: "Oh, very well!" in his native language. 

Lew Wee then found a small peaked-roofed chicken coop, with stoutslats on it, and made a figure-four trap, and put something for baiton the pointed stick and set the trap, and begun right off to squandertwenty-five dollars that was to come as easy as picking it up in theroad. 

There wasn't any breakfast trade at the country club and Lew Wee was ableto get over across the golf links to the chicken place early the nextmorning. The cousin was some distance from the chicken place, hoeing abed of artichokes, but he told Lew Wee his trap had been a very wonderfultrap and the night animal was safe caught. Lew Wee was surprised at hiscousin's indifference and thought he should of been over there looking atthe prize. But not so. The cousin was keeping some distance off. He justtold Lew Wee that there was his animal and that he should take it awaywith as little disturbance as possible, which would be better far andnear for all concerned. He was strangely cool about it. 

But Lew Wee was full of pleasant excitement and run swiftly to his trap. Sure enough! There was a nice big beautiful skunk in his trap. Lew Weehad never seen one. He said it was more beautiful than a golden pheasant, with rich, shiny black fur and a lovely white stripe starting from itsface and running straight down on each side of its back; and it had awonderful waving tail, like a plume. He looked at it joyfully through theslats. It was setting down comfortably when he come up; so he spoke toit in a friendly way. Then it got up and yawned and stretched itself, looking entirely self-possessed, but kind of bored, I suppose, like thiswas a poor sort of practical joke to play on a gentleman; so now wouldsomeone kindly lift this box off him?

The proud owner danced about it in great glee and told it how the nicedoctor wouldn't hurt it any, but would give it a good home, with chickenfor supper, mebbe, and so on. Then he went back to his cousin and givehim a pack of cigarettes, out of his overflowing heart, and asked wherewas something he could put his wild animal in and take it to town to hisgreat friend Doctor Hong Foy, who had a desire for it. 

The cousin took the cigarettes, but he looked at Lew Wee a long time, like he didn't understand Chinee at all. Lew Wee said it all over again. He wanted something to take the wild animal to town in, because thechicken coop it was now in hadn't any bottom; and was too big, anyway. 

The cousin again looked at him a long time, like one in a trance. Then, without any silly talk, he went over to the barn and handed Lew Wee abran sack. 

Lew Wee said that was just the thing; and would the cousin come overand help him in case the animal would be timid and not want to go inthe sack? The cousin said he would not. And he didn't go back to theartichokes. He went to a bed of cauliflower clear at the other end ofthe garden, after giving Lew Wee another of them long "Can happen!"looks, which signify that we live in a strange and terrible world. 

Lew Wee went back alone to his prize, finding it still calm, like agentleman in his club. He reassured it with some more cheerful words. He had a thought right then, he says; kind of a sudden fear. He had beentold the first day by his cousin, and also by his great friend DoctorHong Foy, that the skunk gave out a strong scent disagreeable to manypeople. But this one he'd caught didn't have any scent of any kind. Somebbe that meant it wasn't in good condition and Doctor Hong Foy wouldn'twish it for twenty-five dollars. However, it was sure a skunk, and lookedstrong and healthy and worth taking in to the doctor, who could then tellabout its condition. 

Lew Wee opened the neck of the bag, laid it on the ground close by him, got down on his knees, and carefully raised one side of the coop. Thewild animal looked more beautiful than ever; and it didn't seem alarmed, but just the tiniest mite suspicious. It must of looked like it wassaying it was entirely willing to be friendly, but you couldn't ever tellabout these Chinamen. Lew Wee reached a hand slowly over toward it and itmoved against the back of the coop, very watchful. Then Lew Wee made aquick grab and caught the back of its neck neatly. 

Of course this showed at once that a Chinaman wasn't to be trusted, andLew Wee says it put up a fierce fight, being so quick and muscular as tosurprise him. He was fully engaged for at least thirty seconds; theanimal clawed and squirmed and twisted, and it bit in the clinches andalmost got away. He was breathing hard when he finally got his wildanimal into the sack and the neck tied. 

He says he didn't actually realize until then, what with all theexcitement, that something had gone kind of wrong. He was not onlybreathing hard but it was hard breathing. He says he felt awful goodat that moment. He had been afraid his animal might not be in goodcondition, but it undoubtedly was. He thought right off that if one injust ordinary good condition was worth twenty-five dollars to Doctor HongFoy, then this one might be worth as much as thirty-five, or even forty. He thought it must be the best wild animal of that kind in the world. 

So he picked up the sack, with his prize squirming and swearing inside, and threw it over his shoulder and started back to the country club. Hestopped a minute to thank his cousin once more; but his cousin seen himcoming and run swiftly off in a strange manner, as if not wishing to bethanked again. Then Lew Wee went on across a field and over the golflinks. His idea was to take the little animal to his room in theclubhouse and keep it there until night, when he could take it intotown and get all that money for it. He was quite happy and wished hehadn't scared the poor thing so. 

He thought when he got to his room he might let it out of the sack toplay round there in freedom during the day. He spent the twenty-fivedollars for different things on the way over the golf links. He told mehe knew perfectly well that his pet would be likely to attract notice;but he didn't realize how much. A Chinese is a wonder. He can very soonget used to anything. 

But Lew Wee never did get to his room again. When he got up near theclubhouse some fine people were getting out of a shiny purple motor caras big as a palace, and they had golf sticks in bags. One of 'em was abig red-faced man with a fierce gray moustache, and this man begun toyell at Lew Wee in a remarkable manner. The words being in a foreignlanguage, he couldn't make 'em out well, but the sense of it was thatthe big man wanted him to go away from there. Lew Wee knew he wasn'tworking for this man, who was only a club member; so he paid no attentionto him beyond waving his hand friendly, and went on round toward the backentrance. 

Then out of the side entrance come the chief steward, also yelling, andthis was the man he was working for; so he stopped to listen. It wasn'tfor long. He lost a good job as cook in no time at all. Of course thatnever bothers a Chinee any; but when he started in to get his thingsfrom his room the steward picked up a golf club with an iron end andthreatened to hurt him, and some of the kitchen help run round from theback with knives flashing, and the big red-faced man was yelling to thesteward to send for a policeman, and some ladies that had got out ofanother big car had run halfway across the golf links, as if pursued bysomething, and more people from the inside come to the door and yelled athim and made motions he should go away; so he thought he better not tryto get his things just then. He couldn't see why all the turmoil, even ifhe had got something in prime condition for his friend Doctor Hong Foy. 

It was noticeable, he thought; but nothing to make all this fuss about, especially if the fools would just let him get it to his own room, whereit could become quiet again, like when he had first seen it in the trap. But he saw they wasn't going to let him, and the big man had gone in thefront way and was now shaking both fists at him through a side windowthat was closed; so he thought, all right, he'd leave 'em flat, withouta cook--and a golf tournament was on that day, too! He was twenty-fivedollars to the good and he could easy get another job. 

So he waved good-bye to all of 'em and went down the road half a mileto the car line. He was building air castles by that time. He says itoccurred to him that Doctor Hong Foy might like many of these wildanimals, at twenty-five dollars each; and he might take up the worksteady. It was exciting and sporty, and would make him suddenly rich. Mebbe it wasn't as pleasant work as his cousin did, spending his timeround gardens and greenhouses; but it was more adventurous. He reallyliked it, and he would get even more used to it in time so he wouldn'thardly notice it at all. As he stood there waiting for a trolley car hemust of thought up a whole headful of things he'd buy with all thesesudden emoluments. Several motor cars passed while he waited and henoticed that folks in 'em all turned to look at him in an excited way. But he knew all Americans was crazy and liable to be mad about something. 

Pretty soon a car stopped and some people got off the front end. Theystopped short and begun to look all round 'em in a frightened manner--twoladies and a child and an old man. The conductor also stepped off andlooked round in a frightened manner; but he jumped back on the car quick. Lew Wee then hopped on to the back platform, with his baggage, just as itstarted on. It started quick and was going forty miles an hour by thetime he'd got the door open. The two women in the car screamed at himlike maniacs, and before he'd got comfortably set down the conductor hadopened the front door and started for him. He got halfway down the car;then he started back and made a long speech at him from the front end, while the car stopped like it had hit a mountain, throwing everyone offtheir seats. 

Lew Wee gathered that he was being directed to get off the car quickly. The other passengers had crowded back by the conductor and was tellinghim the same thing. One old gentleman with a cane, who mebbe couldn'twalk good, had took up his cane and busted a window quick and had hishead outside. Lew Wee thought he was an anarchist, busting up propertythat way. Also the motorman, who had stopped the car so soon, was nowshaking a brass weapon at him over the heads of the others. So he thoughthe might as well get off the car and save all this talk. He'd got hisfare out, but he put it back in his pocket and picked up his sack andwent out in a very dignified way, even if they was threatening him. Heknew he had something worth twenty-five dollars in his sack, and theyprobably didn't know it or they wouldn't act that way. 

He set down and waited for another car, still spending his money. 

The next one slowed down for him; but all at once it started up againmore swift than the wind, he says; and he could see that the motormanwas a coward about something, because he looked greatly frightened whenhe flew by the spot. He never saw one go so fast as this one did after ithad slowed up for him. It looked like the motorman would soon be arrestedfor driving his car too fast. He then had the same trouble with anothercar; it slowed up, but was off again before it stopped, and the people init looked out at him kind of horrified. 

It begun to look like he wasn't going to ride to the city in a trolleycar. Pretty soon along the road come a Japanese man he knew. His namewas Suzuki Katsuzo; and Lew Wee says that, though nothing but a Japanese, he is in many respects a decent man. Suzuki passed him, going round in awide circle, and stopped to give him some good advice. He refused to comea step nearer, even after Lew Wee told him that what he had in the sackwas worth a lot of money. 

Suzuki was very polite, but he didn't want to come any nearer, evenafter that. He told Lew Wee he was almost certain they didn't want himon street cars with it, no matter if it was worth thousands of dollars. It might be worth that much, and very likely was if the price depended onits condition. But the best and most peaceful way for Lew Wee was to finda motor car going that way and ask the gentleman driving it to let himride; he said it would be better, too, to pick out a motor car without atop to it, because the other kind are often shut up too tightly for suchaffairs as this, like street cars. He said the persons in street cars arecommon persons, and do not care if a thing is worth thousands of dollarsor not if they don't like to have it in the car with them. He didn'tbelieve it would make any difference to them if something like this wasworth a million dollars in American gold. 

So Lew Wee thanked Suzuki Katsuzo, who went quickly on his way; and thenhe tried to stop a few motor cars. It seemed like they was as timid asstreet cars. People would slow up when they seen him in the road and thenstep on the gas like it was a matter of life and death. Lew Wee must ofsaid "Can happen!" a number of times that morning. 

Finally, along come a German. He was driving a big motor truck full ofempty beer kegs, and Lew Wee says the German himself was a drinking manand had been drinking so much beer that he could nearly go to sleep whiledriving the car. 

He slowed up and stopped when he saw Lew Wee in the middle of the road. Lew Wee said he wanted to go to San Francisco and would give the driver adollar to let him ride back on the beer kegs. The driver said: "Let's seethe dollar. " And took it and said: "All right, John; get up. " Then hesniffed the air several times and said it seemed like there had been askunk round. Lew Wee didn't tell him he had it in his bag because thedriver might know how much it was worth and try foul play on him to getpossession of it. So they started on, and the German, who had beendrinking, settled into a kind of doze at the wheel. 

Lew Wee was up on the beer kegs and enjoying himself like a richgentleman riding to the city in his motor car. It was kind of nice, inspite of being used to his pet, to be going through the air so fast. 

The German seemed to be getting sobered up by something, and afterabout five or six miles he stopped the car and yelled to Lew Wee thata skunk had been round this place, too; and mebbe he had run over one. Lew Wee looked noncommittal; but the German was getting more wakefulevery minute, and after a couple more miles he pulled up again and comeround to where Lew Wee was. He says it seems like a skunk has been roundeverywhere; and, in fact, it seems to be right here now. He sees the sackand wants to know what's in it. But he don't give Lew Wee a chance tolie about it. He was thoroughly awake now and talked quite sober butbitterly. He ordered Lew Wee to get off of there quickly. Lew Wee sayshe swore at him a lot. He thinks it was in German. He ain't sure of thelanguage, but he knows it was swearing. 

He wasn't going to get off, at first; but the German got a big stick fromthe roadside and started for him, so he climbed down the other side andstarted to run. But the cowardly German didn't chase him a single step. He got back in his seat and started down the road quicker than it lookedlike his truck had been able to travel. 

Anyway, Lew Wee was a lot nearer to town, owing to the German not havingbeen sensitive at first; and if worst come to worst he could walk. Itlooked like he'd have to. Then he saw he'd have to walk, anyway, becausethis brutal German that put him off the truck hadn't give him back hisdollar, and that was all he had. He now put the First High Curse of theOne Hundred and Nine Malignant Devils on all Germans. It is a grandcurse, he says, and has done a lot of good in China. He was uncertainwhether it would work away from home; but he says it did. Every time hegets hold of a paper now he looks for the place where Germans in closeformation is getting mowed down by machine-gun fire. 

But his money was gone miles away from him by this time; so he startedhis ten-mile walk. I don't know. It's always been a mystery to me how hecould do it. He could get kind of used to it himself, and mebbe hethought the public could do as much. It was an interesting walk he had. 

At first, he thought he was only attracting the notice of the vulgar, like when some American ruffians doing a job of repair work on the roadthrew rocks at him when he stopped to rest a bit. But he soon noticedthat rich ladies and gentlemen also seemed to shun him as he passedthrough little towns. He carried his impetuous burden on a stick overhis shoulder and at a distance seemed to be an honest workman; but peoplecoming closer didn't look respectfully at him, by any means. It seemedas if some odium was attached to him. 

Once he stopped to pick a big red rose from a bush that hung over thewall in front of a pretty place, and a beautiful child dressed like alittle princess stood there; and, being fond of children, like all Chineemen, he spoke to her; but a nurse screamed and run out at him and yelledsomething in another foreign language. He thinks it was swearing, same asthe German, though she looked like a lady. So he went sadly on, smellingof his lovely rose from time to time. 

The only way I can figure out how he got through them suburbs is thatparties wanted to have him arrested or shot, or something, but wouldn'tlet him stick round long enough to get it done; they was in two mindsabout him, I guess: they wished to detain him, but also wished harderto have him away. 

So he went on uninjured, meeting murderous looks and leaving excitementin his trail; hearing men threaten him even while they run away from him. It hurt him to be shunned this way--him that had always felt so friendlytoward one and all. He couldn't deny it by this time: people was shunninghim on account of what Doctor Hong Foy wanted alive and in goodcondition. 

As he worked his way into the city the excitement mounted higher. He tookto the middle of the street where he could. Mobs collected behind him andwaved things at him and looked like they would lynch him; but they didn'tcome close enough for that. It seemed like he bore a charmed life inspite of this hostility. When he'd got well into the city a policeman didcome up and start to arrest him, but thought better of it and went rounda corner. It made him feel like a social cull or an outcast, orsomething. 

He wasn't a bit foolish about his cunning little pet by this time. Andit looked as if these crowds of people that gathered behind him wouldfinally get their nerve up to do something with him. They was gettingbigger and acting more desperate. When he was on the sidewalk he sweptpeople off into the road like magic, and when he was in the street theywould edge close in to the buildings. 

It really hurt him. He'd always liked Americans, in spite of theirforeign ways, and they had seemed to like him; but now all at once theywas looking on him as a yellow peril. He still kept his rose to smell of. He said it was a sweet comfort to him at a time when the whole world hadturned against him for nothing at all. 

He made for Chinatown by the quietest streets he could pick out, thougheven on them hardly escaping the lawless mob. But at last he got to thestreet where Doctor Hong Foy's office was. It was largely a Chinesestreet and lots of his friends lived there; but even now, when you'dthink he'd get kind words and congratulations, he didn't. 

His best friends regarded him as one better let alone and made swiftgestures of repulsion when he passed 'em. Quite a crowd followed at asafe distance and gathered outside when he went into Doctor Hong Foy'soffice. It was a kind of store on the ground floor, so Lew Wee says, withshelves full of rich old Chinee medicines that had a certain powerfulpresence of their own. But even in here Doctor Hong Foy should of knownbeyond a doubt what his friend had brought him. 

It seemed the doctor had to make sure. He wasn't of the same believingnature as the street-car people, and the German and others. He wanted tobe shown. So they undone the sack and opened it down to where Doctor HongFoy could make sure. But their work was faulty and the wild animal didn'tlike handling after its day of mistreatment. It had been made morbid, Iguess. Anyway, it displayed an extremely nervous tendency, and manyimpetuous movements, and bit Doctor Hong Foy in the thumb. Then the firstowner tried to grab him and the pet wriggled away on to a tray of driedeel gizzards, or something, and off that to the open door. 

The little thing run into the front of the large crowd that had waitedoutside and had a wonderful effect on it. Them in the centre tried tomelt away, but couldn't on account of them on the outside; so there wasfights and accidents, and different ones tromped on, and screams of fear. And this brought a lot bigger crowd that pressed in and made the centreones more anguished. I don't know. That poor animal had been imposed onall day and must of been overwrought. It was sore vexed by now and didn'tcare who knew it. Lots of 'em did. 

Of course Lew Wee dashed out after his property, hugging the sack to hischest; and, of course, he created just as much disturbance as his littlepet had. Policemen was mingling with the violence by this time and addingmuch to its spirit. One public-spirited citizen grabbed Lew Wee in spiteof its being distasteful; but he kicked the poor man on the kneecap andmade a way through the crowd without too much trouble. 

He wasn't having any vogue whatever in that neighbourhood. He run downa little side street, up an alley, and into a cellar he knew about, thiscellar being the way out of the Young China Progressive Association whenthey was raided up the front stairs on account of gambling at poker. 

He could hear the roar of the mob clear from there. It took about an hourfor this to die down. People would come to see what all the excitementwas about, and find out almost at once; then they'd try to get away, and run against others coming to find out, thus producing a very earnestriot. There was mounted policemen and patrol wagons and many arrests, and an armed posse hunting for the escaped pet and shooting up alleys atevery little thing that moved. They never did find the pet--so one of LewWee's cousins wrote him; which made him sorry on account of Doctor HongFoy and the twenty-five or mebbe thirty dollars. 

He lay hid in this cellar till dark; then started out to find his friendsand get something to eat. He darned near started everything all overagain; but he dodged down another alley and managed to get some noodlesand chowmain at the back door of the Hong-Kong Grill, where a tongbrother worked. He begun to realize that he was a marked man. The markdidn't show; but he was. He didn't know what the law might do to him. It looked like at least twenty years in some penal institution, if nothanging; and he didn't want either one. 

So he borrowed three dollars from the tong brother and started forsome place where he could lead a quiet life. He managed to get toOakland, though the deck hands on the ferryboat talked about throwinghim overboard. But they let him live if he would stay at the back endtill everyone, including the deck hands, was safe off or behind somethingwhen the boat landed. Then he wandered off into the night and found afreight train. He didn't care where he went--just somewhere they wouldn'tknow about his crime. 

He rode a while between two freight cars; then left that train and founda blind baggage on a passenger train that went faster and near froze himto death. He got off, chilled in the early morning, at some little townand bought some food in a Chinee restaurant and also got warm. But hehadn't no more than got warm when he was put out of the place, right byhis own people. 

It was warm outside by this time, so he didn't mind it so much. The towndid, though. It must of been a small town, but he says thousands of menchased him out of it about as soon as he was warmed up enough to run. Hecouldn't understand this, because how could they know he was the one thatcaused all that trouble in San Francisco?

He got a freight train outside the town and rode on and on. He sayshe rode on for weeks and weeks; but that's his imagination. It must ofbeen about three days, with spells of getting off for food and to getwarmed when he was freezing, and be chased by these wild hill tribes whenhe had done the latter. It put a crimp into his sunny nature--all thisarmed pursuit of him. He says if he had been a Christian, and believedin only one God, he would never of come through alive, it taking aboutseventy-four or five of his own gods to protect him from these maddenedsavages. He had a continuous nightmare of harsh words and blows. Hewondered they didn't put him in jail; but it seemed like they onlywanted to keep him going. 

Of course it had to end. He got to Spokane finally and sneaked round toa friend that had a laundry; and this friend must of been a noble soul. He took in the outcast and nursed him with food and drink, and repeatedlywashed his clothes. Wanting a ranch cook about that time, I got in touchwith him through another cousin, who said this man wanted very much togo out into a safe country, and would never leave it because ofunpleasantness in getting here. 

It was ten days after he got there that I saw him first, and I'll bedarned if he was any human sachet, even then. But after hearing his storyI knew that time would once more make him fit for human association. He told me his story with much feeling this time and he told it to meabout once a week for three months after he got here--pieces of it at atime. It used to cheer me a lot. He was always remembering something new. He said he liked the great silence and peace of this spot. 

You couldn't tell him to this day that his belief about the savage hilltribes ain't sound. He believes anything "can happen" in that countrydown there. Doctor Hong Foy never paid him the twenty-five, of course, though admitting that he would of done so if the animal had not escaped, because he was in such good condition, for a skunk, that he was worthtwenty-five dollars of any doctor's money. I don't know. As I say, they're friendly little critters; but it's more money that I wouldactually pay for one. 

Through two closed doors the whine of the fiddle still penetrated. Perhaps Lew Wee's recent loss had moved him to play later than was hiscustom, pondering upon the curious whims that stir the gods when theystart to make things happen. But he was still no cynic. Over and over heplayed the little air which means: "Life comes like a bird-song throughthe open windows of the heart. "

IX

THE TAKER-UP

On a tired evening, in front of the Arrowhead's open fire, I lived overfor the hundredth time a great moment. From the big pool under the fallsfour miles up the creek I had landed the Big Trout. Others had failed inyears past; I, too, had failed more than once. But to-day!

At the hour of 9:46 A. M. , to be exact, as one should in these matters, Ihad cast three times above the known lair of this fish. Then I cast afourth time, more from habit than hope; and the fight was on. I put ithere with the grim brevity of a communique. Despite stout resistance, theobjective was gained at 9:55 A. M. And the Big Trout would weigh a goodtwo and one half--say three or three and one quarter--pounds. These arethe bare facts. 

Verily it was a moment to live over; and to myself now I was morediscursive. I vanquished the giant trout again and again, alteringdetails of the contest at will--as when I waded into icy water to thewaist in a last moment of panic. My calm review disclosed that this hadbeen fanciful overcaution; but at the great crisis and for three minutesafterward I had gloried in the wetting. 

Now again I three times idly flicked that corner of the pool with asynthetic moth. Again for the fourth time I cast, more from habit thanhope. Then ensued that terrific rush from the pool's lucent depths--

"Yes, sir; you wouldn't need no two guesses for what she'd wear at agrand costume ball of the Allied nations--not if you knew her like I do. "This was Ma Pettengill, who had stripped a Sunday paper from the greatcity to its society page. She lifted this under the lamp and made strangebut eloquent noises of derision:

"You take Genevieve May now, of a morning, before that strong-armJapanese maid has got her face rubbed down and calked with paints, oils, and putty, and you'd say to her, as a friend and well-wisher:'Now look here, old girl, you might get by at that costume ball asStricken Serbia or Ravaged Belgium, but you better take a well-meanthint and everlastingly do not try to get over as La Belle France. True, France has had a lot of things done to her, ' you'd say, 'and she mayshow a blemish here and there; but still, don't try it unless you wishto start something with a now friendly ally--even if it is in your ownhouse. That nation is already pushed to a desperate point, and any littlething might prove too much--even if you are Mrs. Genevieve May Popper andhave took up the war in a hearty girlish manner. ' Yes, sir!"

This, to be sure, was outrageous--that I should hear myself addressing astrange lady in terms so gross. Besides, I wished again to be present atthe death of my favourite trout. I affected not to have heard. I affectedto be thinking deeply. 

It worked, measurably. Once more I scanned the pool's gleaming surfaceand felt the cold pricking of spray from the white water that tumbledfrom a cleft in the rocks above. Once more I wondered if this, by chance, might prove a sad but glorious day for a long-elusive trout. Once more Ilooked to the fly. Once more I--

"What I never been able to figger out--how can a dame like that foolherself beyond a certain age? Seams in her face! And not a soul but wouldknow she got her hair like the United States acquired Louisiana. Thatlady's power of belief is enormous. And I bet she couldn't put two andtwo together without making a total wreck of the problem. Like fair timea year ago, when she was down to Red Gap taking up the war. She comesalong Fourth Street in her uniform one morning, fresh from the hands ofthis hired accomplice of hers, and meets Cousin Egbert Floud and me wherewe'd stopped to talk a minute. She is bubbling with war activity asusual, but stopped and bubbled at us a bit--kind of hale and girlish, youmight say. We passed the time of day; and, being that I'm a first-classsociety liar, I say how young and fresh she looks; and she gets the balland bats it right back to Cousin Egbert. 

"'You'd never dream, ' says she, 'what my funny little mite of a Japanesemaid calls me! You'd really never guess! She calls me Madam PeachBlossom! Isn't that perfectly absurd, Mr. Floud?'

"And poor Cousin Egbert, instead of giggling in a hearty manner andsaying 'Oh, come now, Mrs. Popper! What's in the least absurd aboutthat?'--like he was meant to and like any gentleman would of--what doesthe poor silly do but blink at her a couple of times like an old barn owlthat's been startled and say 'Yes, ma'am!'--flat and cold, just likethat!

"It almost made an awkward pause; but the lady pretended she had beensaying something to me, so she couldn't hear him. That Cousin Egbert! Hecertainly wouldn't ever get very high in the diplomatic service ofanybody's country. 

"And here's this grand ball of the Allied nations in costume, give inGenevieve May's palatial residence. It must of throwed a new panic intoBerlin when they got the news off the wire. Matter of fact, I don't seehow them Germans held out long as they did, with Genevieve May Popperputting crimps into 'em with her tireless war activities. That provesitself they'd been long preparing for the fray. Of course, with GenevieveMay and this here new city marshal, Fotch, the French got, it was only aquestion of time. Genevieve is sure one born taker-up! Now she's made acomplete circle of the useful arts and got round to dancing again. Yes, sir!"

I affected to believe I was solitary in the room. This time it did notwork--even measurably. Almost at once came: "I said she was the darndestwoman in the world to take things up!" The tone compelled notice, so Isaid "Indeed!" and "You don't say!" with a cautiously extended spacebetween them, and tried to go on thinking. 

Then I knew the woman's full habit of speech was strong upon her andthat one might no longer muse upon a caught trout--even one to weighwell up toward four pounds. So I remembered that I was supposed to bea gentleman. 

"Go right ahead and talk, " I murmured. 

"Sure!" said the lady, not murmuring. "What in time did you think I wasgoing to do?"

Yes, sir; I bet she's the greatest taker-up--bar none--the war has yetproduced. She's took up France the latest. I understand they got asociety of real workers somewhere that's trying to house and feed andgive medicine and crutches to them poor unfortunates that got in the wayof the dear old Fatherland when it took the lid off its Culture and triedto make the world safe--even for Germans; but I guess this here societygets things over to devastated France without much music or flourishes oruniforms that would interest Genevieve May. 

But if that country is to be saved by costume balls of the Alliednations, with Genevieve May being La Belle France in a dress hardly longenough to show three colours, then it needn't have another uneasy moment. Genevieve stands ready to do all if she can wear a costume and dance thesteps it cost her eight dollars a lesson to learn from one of these slimprofessionals that looks like a rich college boy. 

It was this reckless dancing she'd took up when I first knew her, thoughshe probably goes back far enough to of took up roller skating when thatwas sprung on an eager world; and I know she got herself talked about in1892 for wearing bloomers on a bicycle. But we wasn't really acquaintedtill folks begun to act too familiar in public, and call it dancing, andpay eight dollars a lesson to learn something any of 'em that was healthywould of known by instinct at a proper time and place. Having lots ofmoney, Genevieve May travelled round to the big towns, learning new stepsand always taking with her one of these eight-dollar boys, with his hairdone like a seal, to make sure she'd learn every step she saw. 

She was systematic, that woman. If she was in Seattle and heard about anew step in San Francisco, she'd be on the train with her instructor inone hour and come back with the new step down pat. She scandalized RedGap the year she come to visit her married daughter, Lucille Stultz, byintroducing many of these new grips and clinches; but of course that soonwore off. Seems like we get used to anything in this world after it'sdone by well-dressed people a few times. 

Then, as I say, these kind-hearted, music-loving Germans, with theirstrong affection for home life and little ones, started in to shoot therest of the world up to German standards, and they hadn't burned morethan a dozen towns in Belgium, after shooting the oldest and youngestand sexecuting the women--I suppose sexecution is what you might callit--before Genevieve took up the war herself. 

Yes, sir--took it right up; no sooner said than done with her. It wasreally all over right then. The Germans might just as well of begun fouryears ago to talk about the anarchistic blood-lust of Woodrow Wilson asto wait until they found out the Almighty knows other languages besidesGerman. 

I believe the Red Cross was the first handle by which Genevieve May tookup the war. But that costume is too cheap for one that feels she's a bornsocial leader if she could only get someone to follow. She found thatyoung chits of no real social standing, but with a pleasing exterior, could get into a Red Cross uniform costing about two-eighty-five and sellobjects of luxury at a bazaar twice as fast as a mature woman of sterlingcharacter in the same simple garb. 

So Genevieve May saw it had got to be something costing more money andbeyond the reach of an element you wouldn't care to entertain in yourown drawing room. And next thing I was up to Spokane, and here she is, dashing round the corridors of the hotel in a uniform that never cost apenny under two hundred and fifty, what with its being made by a swelltailor and having shiny boots with silver spurs and a natty tuckedcap and a shiny belt that went round the waist and also up over oneshoulder, with metal trimming, and so on. She was awful busy, dartinghither and yon at the lunch hour, looking prettily worried and like shewould wish to avoid being so conspicuous, but was foiled by the staresof the crowd. 

Something always seemed to be happening to make her stand out; like inthe restaurant, where, no sooner did she pick out just the right table, after some hesitation, and get nicely seated, than she'd see someoneacross the room at a far table and have to run over and speak. She spoketo parties at five distant tables that day, getting a scratchy lunch, Ishould say. One of the tables was mine. We wasn't what you'd call closefriends, but she cut a swath clean across a crowded dining room to tellme how well I was looking. 

Of course I fell for the uniform and wanted to know what it meant. Well, it meant that she was organizing a corps of girl ambulance drivers fromthe city's beet families. She was a major herself already, and was beingsaluted by he-officers. She said it was a wonderful work, and how did Ithink she looked in this, because it was a time calling for everyone'sbest, and what had I taken up for my bit? I was only raising beef cattle, so I didn't have any answer to that. I felt quite shamed. And Genevievewent back to her own table for another bite of food, bowing tolerantly tomost of the people in the room. 

I don't know how far she ever got with this girl's ambulance corpsbeyond her own uniform. She certainly made an imposing ambulance driverherself on the streets of that town. You'd see her big, shiny, light-bluelimousine drive up, with two men on the seat and Genevieve, in uniform, would be helped out by one of 'em, and you knew right off you'd love tobe a wounded soldier and be drove over shell-torn roads by her own hands. 

Anyway, she got mad and left the ambulance service flat, getting intosome sort of brawl with an adjutant general or something through wantingto take a mere detail out of his hands that he felt should stay rightwhere it was, he being one of these offensive martinets and a sticklerfor red tape, and swollen with petty power. So Genevieve May said. 

So she looked round for another way to start a few home fires burningon the other side of the Rhine. I forget what her next strategy was, butyou know it was something cute and busy in a well-fitting uniform, andcalculated to shorten the conflict if Germany found it out. You knowthat much. 

I remember at one time she was riding in parades when the boys wouldmarch down to the station to go off and settle things in their own crudeway. I lost track of what she was taking up for a while, but I knowshe kept on getting new uniforms till she must of had quite a time everymorning deciding what she was going to be that day, like the father ofthe German Crown Prince. 

Finally, last spring, it got to be the simple uniform of a waitress. Shehad figgered out that all the girls then taking the places of men waiterswould get called for nurses sooner or later; so why shouldn't prominentsociety matrons like herself learn how to wait on table, so as to takethe girl waiters' places when they went across? Not exactly that; theywouldn't keep on lugging trays forever in this emergency--only till theycould teach new girls the trade, when some new ones come along to takethe places of them that had met the call of duty. 

So Genievieve agitated and wrote letters from the heart out to about twodozen society buds; and then she terrified the owner of the biggest hotelin her home town till he agreed to let 'em come and wait on table everyday at lunch. 

Genevieve May's uniform of a poor working girl was a simple black dress, with white apron, cuffs, and cap, the whole, as was right, not costingover six or seven dollars, though her string of matched pearls that costtwo hundred thousand sort of raised the average. The other society budswas arrayed similar and looked like so many waitresses. Not in a hotel, mebbe, but in one of these musical shows where no money has beenspared. 

The lady had a glorious two days ordering these girls round as headwaiter and seeing that everybody got a good square look at her, and soon. But the other girls got tired the second day. It was jolly and alltips went to the Red Cross, and the tips was big; but it was just as hardwork as if they had really been poor working girls, with not enoughrecreation about it. So the third day they rebelled at the head waiterand made Genevieve herself jump in and carry out trays full of dishesthat had served their purpose. 

This annoyed Genevieve May very much. It not only upset discipline butmade the arms and back ache. So she now went into the kitchen to show thecook how to cook in a more saving manner. Her intentions were beautiful;but the head cook was a sensitive foreigner, and fifteen minutes aftershe went into his kitchen he had to be arrested for threatening to harmthe well-known society matron with a common meat saw. 

The new one they got in his place next day let her mess round all shewanted to, knowing his job depended on it, though it was told that he gota heartless devil-may-care look in his eyes the minute he saw her makinga cheap fish sauce. But he said nothing. 

That hotel does a big business, but it fell off surprising the day afterthis, twenty-three people having been took bad with poison from somethingthey'd et there at lunch. True, none of these got as fur as the coroner, so it never was known exactly what they'd took in; but the thing made alot of talk at stricken bedsides and Genevieve spent a dull day denyingthat her cooking had done this outrage. Then, her dignity being muchhurt, she wrote a letter to the papers saying this hotel man was givinghis guests cheap canned goods that had done the trick. 

Next morning this brought the hotel man and one of the best lawyersin the state of Washington up to the palatial Popper residence, makingthreats after they got in that no lady taking up war activities should beobliged to listen to. She got rattled, I guess, or had been dreaming orsomething. She told the hotel man and lawyer to Ssh! Ssh!--because thatnew cook had put ground glass in the lemon pie and she had a right tolull his suspicions with this letter to the papers, because she wasconnected with the Secret Service Department. She would now go back tothe hotel and detect this spy committing sabotage on the mashed potatoes, or something, and arrest him--just like that! I don't know whatever putthe idea into her head. I believe she had tried to join the SecretService Department till she found they didn't have uniforms. 

Anyway, this hotel man, like the cowardly dog he was, went straight offto some low sneak in the district attorney's office; and he went like asnake in the grass and found out it wasn't so; and a real officer comedown on Genevieve May to know what she meant by impersonating a SecretService agent. This brutal thug talked in a cold but rough way, and Iknow perfectly well this minute that he wasn't among those invited tothe Popper costume ball of the Allied nations. He threw a fine scare intoGenevieve May. For about a week she didn't know but she'd be railroadedto Walla Walla. She wore mere civilian creations and acted like aslacker. 

But finally she saw the Government was going to live and let live; so shetook up something new. It was still On to Berlin! with Genevieve May. 

She wasn't quite up to pulling anything new in her home town; so she wentinto the outlying districts to teach her grandmother something. I didn'tthink up the term for it. That was thought up by G. H. Stultz who is herson-in-law and president of the Red Gap Canning Factory. This here newwar activity she'd took up consisted of going rough to different placesand teaching housewives how to practice economy in putting up preserves, and so on. 

It ain't on record that she ever taught one single woman anythingabout economy, their hard-won knowledge beginning about where hers leftoff--which wasn't fur from where it started; but she did bring a lot ofwholesome pleasure into their simple, hard-working lives. 

In this new war activity it wasn't so much how you canned a thing aswhat you canned. Genevieve May showed 'em how to make mincemeat out oftomatoes and beets; how to make marmalade out of turnips and orange peel;how to make preserves out of apple peelings and carrots; and guava jellyout of mushmelon rinds, or some such thing. She'd go into towns and renta storeroom and put up her canning outfit, hiring a couple of the lowerclasses to do the actual work, and invite women to bring in their truckof this kind and learn regular old rock-bottom economy. They'd come, withtheir stuff that should of been fattening shotes, and Genevieve May wouldlecture on how to can it. It looked through the glass like sure-enoughhuman food. 

Then, after she'd got 'em all taught, she'd say wouldn't it be niceof these ladies to let her sell all this canned stuff and give theproceeds to the different war charities! And there wasn't a woman thatdidn't consent readily, having tasted it in the cooking. Not a one of'em wanted to take home these delicacies. It was right noble or cautious, or something. And after visiting six or eight of these communitiesGenevieve May had quite a stock of these magic delicacies on sale indifferent stores and was looking forward to putting the war firmly onits feet--only she couldn't get many reports of sales from this stock. 

Then she got a dandy idea. She would come to the Kulanche CountyFair at Red Gap, assemble all her stock there, give one of thesehere demonstrations in economic canning, and auction off the wholelot with a glad hurrah. She thought mebbe, with her influence, shemight get Secretary Baker, or someone like that, to come out and dothe auctioning--all under the auspices of Mrs. Genevieve May Popper, whose tireless efforts had done so much to teach the dear old Fatherlandits lesson, and so on. She now had about three hundred jars and bottlesof this stuff after her summer's work, and it looked important. 

I got down to the county fair myself last year, having some sure-fireblue-ribbon stock there, and it was then that I hear G. H. Stultz talkingabout this here mother-in-law of his, he taking me aside at their homeone night, so his wife, Lucille, wouldn't hear. 

"This respected lady is trying to teach her grandmother how to suckeggs--no more, no less, " he says. "Now she's coming here to pullsomething off. You watch her--that's all I ask. Everything that womantouches goes funny. Look how she poisoned those innocent people up atthat hotel. And I'll bet this canned stuff she's going to sell off willkill even mere tasters. If she only hadn't come to my town! That womandon't seem to realize that I'm cursed with a German name and have to bemiles above suspicion. 

"Suppose she sells off this stuff! I give you my word she puts things init that even a professional canning factory wouldn't dare to. And supposeit poisons off a lot of our best patriots! Do you think a mob will bevery long blaming me for a hand in it? Why, it'll have me, in no time atall, reaching my feet down for something solid that has been carefullyremoved. "

I tried to cheer the man up, but he was scared stiff. 

"Mark my words, " he says. "She'll pull a bloomer! If that woman could gointo an innocent hotel kitchen, where every care is taken to keep thingsright, and poison off twenty-three people till they picked at the coversand had relatives wondering what might be in their safe-deposit boxes, think what she'd do in the great unsanitary outside, where she can useher imagination!

"There's but one salvation for me; I must have trusted agents in thecrowd when that stuff is auctioned off, and they got to collar every lastbottle of it, no matter what the cost. I have to lay down like a pupon the next bond drive, but this is my only hope. For the Lord's sake, don't you go there and start bidding things up, no matter who she getsfor auctioneer! Don't you bid--even if Woodrow Wilson himself comesout. "

That's the impression Genevieve May had made on her own daughter'shusband, who is a clear-seeing man and a good citizen. And it lookedlike he must secretly buy up her output. She not only come to town withher canning outfit and her summer's stock of strange preserves, allbeauteous in their jars, but she brought with her to auction off thisstuff a regular French flying man with an honourable record. 

She'd met this French officer in the city and entertained him at thepalatial Popper home; and mebbe she'd hypnotized him. He wasn't in goodshape, anyway. First place, he'd been fighting in the air for threeyears and had been wounded in five places--including the Balkans. Then, like that wasn't enough for one man, he'd been sent over here to teachour men to fly when they got a machine; and over here he'd fell out of acloud one day when his brake or something went wrong, and this had givehim a nice pleasant vacation on crutches. 

Genevieve had fastened on him at a time when he probably hadn't thesteely resistance Frenchmen been showing on the West Front. Or, being ina strange country, mebbe he didn't know when politeness to Genevieve MayPopper would become mere cowardice. Anyway, he could talk English wellenough; and Genevieve May brought him to town and made a big hit. 

First thing she done was to set up her stock of canned goods in asection they give her in Horticultural Hall. Them three hundred bottlestook up a lot of room and showed up grand between the fancy-work section, consisting of embroideries, sofa cushions, and silk patch quilts, and theart section, consisting of hand paintings of interesting objects bybright pupils in the public school. Then she put in her canning outfit, with a couple of hired natives to do the work while she lectured on thescience of it and tried to get weak-minded patriots to taste things. 

Genevieve May had a good time at these demonstrations, speaking in tonesof oratory and persuasion and encouraging the tasters to take a chance. She certainly had discovered some entirely new flavours that the bestchemists hadn't stumbled on. She was proud of this, but a heap prouderof her French flying man. When she wasn't thinking up new infamies withrutabagas and watermelon rinds, she'd be showing him off to the faircrowds. She give the impression when she paraded him that the French Armywould of had few flyers if she hadn't stepped into the breach. 

And mebbe she wasn't desperate with fear that some of the Red Gap societybuds and matrons would want to stick in with nursing and attentions forthe interesting invalid! Nothing like that with Genevieve May! She keptcloser guard on that man than he would of got in the worst German prisoncamp. About the only other person in town she'd trust him to was CousinEgbert Floud. 

Cousin Egbert liked the Frenchman a lot at first, and rode him round townto see the canning factory and the new waterworks and the Chamber ofCommerce, and Price's Addition to Red Gap, and so on. Also, he'd drag himall over the fair grounds to look at prize bulls and windmills and patentsilos. 

Cousin Egbert had refused from the first to taste any of Genevieve May'sdeviltry with the vegetable kingdom. He swore he was on a diet and thedoctor wouldn't answer for his life if he even tasted anything outside. He was telling me that last day of the fair that the woman ought to bearrested for carrying on so, Genevieve May being now busy with somehighly artificial ketchup made of carrots, and something elseunimportant, with pure vegetable dyes. 

"Yes; and she just tried to hand me that same old stuff about what herJapanese maid calls her, " he says to me at this time. "She says I couldnever guess what that funny little mite calls her. And I says no, I nevercould of guessed it if she hadn't already told me; but I says I know itis Madam Peach Blossom, and that Jap maid sure is one funny little mite, thinking up a thing like that, the Japanese being a serious race andnot given to saying laughable things. "

That's Cousin Egbert all over. He ain't a bit like one of them courtersof the old French courts that you read about in the Famous Crimes ofHistory. 

"Madam Peach Blossom!" he says, snickering bitterly. "Say, ain't themJaps got a great sense of humour! I bet what she meant was Madam LemonBlossom!"

Anyway, Genevieve May trusted her flying man to this here brutal cynicwhen she wouldn't of trusted him to any of the younger, dancing set. And Cousin Egbert pretty near made him late for his great engagement toauction off the strange preserves. It was on this third day of the fair, and Genevieve May was highly excited about it. 

She had her stock set up in tiers against the wall and looking rightimposing in the polished glass; and she had a box in front where theFrenchman would stand when he did the auctioning. 

That hall was hot, let me tell you, with the high sun beating down on thethin boards. I looked in a minute before the crowd come, and it lookedlike them preserves had sure had a second cooking, standing there dayafter day. 

And this Cousin Egbert, when he should of been leading the Frenchman backto Horticultural Hall to the auction block, was dragging him elsewhere tosee a highly exciting sight. So he said. He was innocent enough. Hewanted to give that Frenchman a good time, he told me afterward. So hetells him something is going to take place over at the race track thatwill thrill him to the bone, and come on quick and hurry over!

The Frenchman is still using one crutch and the crowd is already surgingin that direction; but after finding out it ain't any more silos orwindmills, he relies on Cousin Egbert that it really is exciting, andthey manage to get through the crowd, though it was excited even nowand stepped on him and pushed him a lot. 

Still he was game, all right. I've always said that. He was about asexcited as the crowd; and Cousin Egbert was, too, I guess, by the timethey had pushed up to the railing. I guess he was wondering what WildWestern kind of deviltry he was going to see now. Cousin Egbert had toldhim it wasn't a horse race; but he wouldn't tell him what it was, wishingto keep it for a glad surprise when the Frenchman would see it with hisown eyes. 

"Just you wait one minute now!" says Cousin Egbert. "You wait one minuteand I bet you'll be glad you got through that rough crowd with me. You'dgo through ten crowds like that, crutch or no crutch, to see what's goingto be here. "

The poor man was kind of used up, but he stands there waiting for thethrill, with Cousin Egbert beaming on him fondly, like a father that'sgoing in one minute to show the little tots what Santa Claus brought 'emon the tree. 

Then the Frenchman hears a familiar roar and a airplane starts up fromthe lower end of the field inside the track. 

"There!" says Cousin Egbert. "Now I guess you're glad you pushed in here, leg or no leg. I knew it would be a dandy surprise for you. Yes, sir; thecommittee got a regular airplane to give a thrilling flight right herein front of us. You look up in the sky there and pretty soon you'll seeit just as plain, sailing round and round like some great bird; and theysay this man flying it is going to loop the loop twice in succession. NowI bet you're glad you come!"

Cousin Egbert says right at this minute he begun to take a dislike tothe Frenchman. After he'd took all that trouble to get him there to seesomething exciting, the Frenchman just looked at him kind of sad for along time, and then says he believes he'd rather go back some place wherehe can set down and rest his leg. 

Cousin Egbert says he turned out to be like the Frenchmen you read aboutthat is blasé about everything in the world and kind of tired of life, not having the least bit of interest in whatever happens. But, of course, he was polite to his guest and helped push a way back through the crowd, with the crowd more excited than ever by this time, because the flyingmachine was right up in the air, hundreds of feet off the ground. 

"You'll think I'm a liar, " he says to me; "but it's the God's truth thisFrenchman just kept pushing through that crowd and didn't even turn tolook up in the air when this man was actually risking his life by loopingthe loop twice in succession. He never turned his head the least bit. "

Cousin Egbert says, here he'd been up in one himself and knew whatflying meant, but he probably wouldn't of took the least notice if thisdare-devil had been killed right there before thousands. 

"I don't understand it, " he says. "It sure wouldn't be the leastuse boosting for a brighter and busier Red Gap if everybody was ascold-blooded as the French. " He was right grouchy about the Frenchafter this. 

Anyway, he got his suffering man back to Horticultural Hall somewhat theworse for being stepped on by the crowd; in fact, the Frenchman is kindof all in when he gets to the auction block. He sets right down on itlooking white, and Genevieve May gets him a glass of water to revive him. Pretty soon he says he's nearly as well as ever, but that wasn't much. 

Now the patriots for the auction begun to throng in and Genevieve May isonce more proud and fluttering. She glances fondly at her noble array ofjars, with these illegitimate preserves shining richly through, and shegets the Frenchman on his feet and onto the box; and the crowd cheerslike mad and presses close. I was standing close to G. H. Stultz, and hewhispers to me:

"My Lord! If there was only some means of getting that stock into theGerman commissary! But I'm told they analyze everything. Anyway, I got mybidders planted and I'll have to buy up the stock if it breaks me. "

Then the Frenchman begun to talk in a very nice way. He said a few wordsabout his country--how they had been fighting all these years, notknowing whether they could win or not, but meaning to fight till therewasn't any fighters left; and how grateful France was for the timely aidof this great country and for the efforts of beautiful ladies like MadamPopper, and so on. 

You bet no one laughed, even if he didn't talk such very good English. They didn't even laugh when he said beautiful ladies like Madam Popper, though Cousin Egbert, somewhere off in the crowd, made an undignifiedsound which he pretended was coughing. 

The Frenchman then said he would now ask for bids for these beautifultable delicacies, which were not only of rich food value but were morepriceless than gold and jewels because of having been imprisoned in thecrystal glass by the fair hands of the beautiful Madam Popper; and whatwas he offered for six bottles of this unspeakable jelly?

Of course G. H. Stultz would of had 'em in no time if the panic hadn'tsaved him. Yes, sir; right then something terrible and unforeseenhappened to cause a frightful panic. About five of them jars of preservesblew up with loud reports. Of course everyone's first thought was that aGerman plot was on to lay Horticultural Hall in ruins with dynamite. Itsounded such. No one thought it was merely these strange preserves thathad been working overtime in that furnace. 

Women screamed and strong men made a dash for the door over prostratebodies. And then a lot more explosions took place. The firing becamegeneral, as the reports say. Bottle after bottle shot its dread contentsinto the fray, and many feeble persons was tromped on by the mob. 

It wasn't any joke for a minute. The big jars, mostly loaded withpreserves, went off with heavy reports; then there was these smallerbottles, filled with artificial ketchup and corked. They went off likea battery of light field guns, putting down a fierce barrage of ketchupon one and all. It was a good demonstration of the real thing, all right. I ain't never needed any one since that to tell me what war is. 

The crowd was two thirds out before any one realized just what kind offrightfulness was going on. Then, amid shot and shell that would stillfly from time to time, the bravest, that hadn't been able to fight theirway out, stood by and picked up the wounded under fire and helped brushtheir clothes off. The groans of the sufferers mingled with the hiss ofescaping ketchup. 

Genevieve May was in hysterics from the minute the first high-poweredgun was fired. She kept screaming for everyone to keep cool. And atlast, when they got some kind of order, she went into a perfectly newfit because her Frenchman was missing. She kept it up till they foundthe poor man. He was found, without his crutch, at the far end of thehall, though no one has ever yet figgered how he could get there throughthe frenzied mob. He was on a chair, weak and trembling, behind a fancyquilt made by Grandma Watkins, containing over ten thousand pieces ofsilk. He was greenish yellow in colour and his heart had gone wrong. 

That'll show you this bombardment wasn't any joke. The poor man had beenexhausted by Cousin Egbert's well-meant efforts to show him somethingexciting, and he was now suffering from sure-enough shell shock, whichhe'd had before in more official circumstances. 

He was a brave man; he'd fought like a tiger in the trenches, and hadlater been shot down out of the air four times, and was covered withwounds and medals and crosses; but this here enfilade at the fair handsof the beautiful Madam Popper, coming in his weak state, had darn neardevastated what few nerves the war had left him. 

It was a sad moment. Genevieve May was again exploding, like her ownhandiwork, which wasn't through itself yet by any means, because asolitary shot would come now and then, like the main enemy had retreatedbut was leaving rear guards and snipers. Also, people that had hadexhibits in the art section and the fancy-work section was now settingup yells of rage over their treasures that had been desecrated by thefar-flung ketchup. 

But tender hands was leading the stricken Frenchman back of the lines toa dressing station, and all was pretty near calm again, except for G. H. Stultz, who was swearing--or words to that effect. 

It really took a good hour to restore perfect calm and figure up thelosses. They was severe. Of course I don't mean to say the whole threehundred bottles of this ammunition dump had exploded. Some had beenput up only a short while and hadn't had time to go morbid; and evensome of the old stuff had remained staunch. 

The mincemeat shrapnel had proved fairly destructive, but the turnipmarmalade didn't seem to of developed much internal energy. All of themjars of marmalade proved to be what they call "duds. " But you bet enoughhad gone up to make a good battle sketch. The ketchup, especial, wasvenomous. 

I met G. H. Stultz as I left the trenches. He'd been caught in amachine-gun nest of ketchup and had only wiped about half of it offhis face. He looked like a contagious disease. 

"Say, look here, " he says; "you can't tell me there isn't a Providenceever watching over this world to give some of us just what's coming tous!" That was very silly, because I'd never told him anything of thesort. 

Then I go out into No Man's Land and meet Cousin Egbert by a lemonadestand. He was one radiant being. He asked me to have a glass of thebeverage, and I done so; and while I was sipping it he says brightly:

"Wasn't that some gorgeous display of fireworks? And wasn't it fine tostand there and watch them bottles laugh their heads off at this foodprofiteer?"

I said he ought to be right sorry for her--after all the work she'd done. 

"Not me!" he says firmly. "She never done any work in her life except toboost her own social celebrity. "

Then he took another gulp of his lemonade and says, very bitter:

"Madam Peach Blossom! I wonder what that funny little mite of hers willsay when she sees her to-night? Something laughable, I bet--like it wouldbe 'Madam Onion Blossom!'--or something comical, just to give her a goodlaugh after her hard day. "

Such is Cousin Egbert, and ever will be. And Genevieve May, having tookup things all round the circle, is now back to the dance. 

X

AS TO HERMAN WAGNER

It had been a toilsome day for Ma Pettengill and me. Since sunup wehad ridden more than a score of mountain miles on horses that couldseldom exceed a crawl in pace. At dawn we had left the flatlands alongthe little timbered river, climbed to the lava beds of the first mesa, traversed a sad stretch of these where even the sage grew scant, andcome, by way of a winding defile that was soon a mounting cañon, intobig hills unending. 

Here for many hours we had laboured over furtive, tortuous trails, aimless and lost, it might have seemed, but that ever and again we cameupon small bands of cattle moving one way. These showed that we had amission and knew, after all, what we were about. These cattle wereknowingly bent toward the valley and home. They went with much of abusinesslike air, stopping only at intervals to snatch at the sparseshort grass that grows about the roots of the sagebrush. They had come along journey from their grazing places, starting when the range went badand water holes dried, and now seemed glad indeed to give up the wildfree life of a short summer and become tended creatures again, wherestrangely thoughtful humans would lavish cut grass upon them for certainobscure but doubtless benevolent purposes of their own. 

It was our mission this day to have a look-see, mebbe as far as HorseflyMountain, and get a general idee of how many head was already coming downto eat up the so-and-so shortest hay crop that had ever been stacked onthe Arrowhead since the dry winter of '98, when beef fell to two cents apound, with darned few takers at that. 

It was really a day of scenic delight, if one hadn't to reflect sorelyupon the exigencies of the beef-cattle profession, and at least one ofus was free of this thrall. 

What we reached at last were small mountains rather than big hills;vast exclamatory remnants of shattered granite and limestone, thicklytimbered, reckless of line, sharp of peak. One minute cañon we viewedfrom above was quite preposterous in its ambitions, having colour anddepth and riot of line in due proportions and quite worthy of the grandscale. It wasn't a Grand Cañon, but at least it was a baby grand, and Iloitered on its brink until reminded sharply that I'd better pour leatherinto that there skate if I wanted to make home that night. 

I devoutly did wish to make home that night, for the spot we were on wasbarren of those little conveniences I am accustomed to. Moreover, the airwas keen and a hunger, all day in the building, called for strong meats. So I not too reluctantly passed on from this scenic miniature of parlourdimensions--and from the study of a curious boulder thereby which hadintrigued me not a little. 

Now we were home and relaxed by the Arrowhead fireside, after a movingrepast of baked young sage hens. The already superior dynamics of themeal, moreover, had been appreciably heightened by a bottle of UncleHenry's homemade grape wine, which he warmly recommends for colds orparties, or anything like that. It had proved to be a wine of almosta too-recent _crû_. Ma Pettengill said that if Uncle Henry was aimingto put it on the market in quantity production he had ought to nameit the Stingaree brand, because it was sure some stuff, making formalevolence even to the lengths of matricide, if that's what killingyour mother is called. She said, even at a Polish wedding down acrossthe tracks of a big city, it would have the ambulances and patrolwagons clanging up a good half hour quicker than usual. 

Be that as it may, or is, when I had expected sleep to steal swiftlyto the mending of the day's ravages I merely found myself wakeful andwondering. This stuff of Uncle Henry's is an able ferment. I wonderedabout a lot of things. And at the same time I wondered interminably aboutthat remarkable boulder at the side of the Tom Thumb Grand Cañon. I waseven wakeful enough and discursive enough--my hostess had taken but oneglass from the bottle--to wonder delightedly about all rocks and stones, and geology, and that sort of thing. It was almost scientific, the wayI wondered, as I sat there idly toying with my half-filled glass. 

Take this particular boulder, for example. It had once been mere stardust, hadn't it? Some time ago, I mean, or thereabouts. But it had beenstar dust; and then, next thing it knew, it got to be a kind of cosmicstew, such as leisurely foreigners patch out highways with, and lookingno more like a granite boulder than anything. 

Then something happened, like someone letting the furnace fire go out thenight of the big freeze; and this stuff I'm talking about grew cold anddiscouraged, and quit flat, apparently not caring a hoot what shape itwould be found in years and years later, the result being that it wasfound merely in the general shape of rocks or boulders--to use the morescientific term--which is practically no shape at all, as you might say, being quite any shape that happens, or the shape of rocks and bouldersas they may be seen on almost every hand by those of us who have learnedto see in the true sense of the word. 

I have had to be brief in this shorter science course on the earth'shistory before the time of man, because more important matters claim myattention and other speakers are waiting. The point is that this boulderup there by the dwarf cañon had survived from unremembered chaos; hadbeen melted, stewed, baked, and chilled until it had no mind of its ownleft; then bumped round by careless glaciers until it didn't care whereit came to rest; and at last, after a few hundred million years of stonyunconcern for its ultimate fate, here it had been drawn by the cunninghand of man sprang into the complex mechanism of our industrial humanscramble. 

That is to say, this boulder I speak of, the size of a city hall, lyingthere in noble neglect since long before wise old water animals werewarning their children that this here fool talk about how you could go upout of the water and walk round on dry land would get folks into trouble, because how could a body breathe up there when there wasn't any water tobreathe in? And the fools that tried it would soon find out; and serve'em right! Well, I mean to say, this boulder that had lain inert andindifferent while the ages wrought man from a thing of one cell--and notmuch of a cell at that--bore across that face of it nearest the windingtrail, a lettered appeal, as from one man to another. The letters werelarge and neatly done in white paint and the brushwork was recent. Andthe letters said, with a good deal of pathos, it seemed to me:

WAGNER'S SYLVAN GLEN, ONLY THIRTY-TWO MILES. HERMAN WAGNER, SOLE PROP. 

Let this teach us, one and all, this morning, that everything in Naturehas its use if we but search diligently. I mean, even big rocks likethis, which are too big to build homes or even courthouses of. May wenot, at least, paint things on them in plain letters with periods andcommas, and so on, and so give added impetus to whatever is happeningto us?

But the evening wears on and the whipping mental urge of grape juicemeddled with by Uncle Henry wears off. And so, before it all ends, whatabout Herman Wagner, Sole Prop. Of Wagner's Sylvan Glen?

I know it has been a hard day, but let us try to get the thing in order. Why not begin cautiously with a series of whys? Why any particular sylvanglen in a country where everything is continuously and overwhelminglysylvan and you can't heave a rock without hitting a glen? Really, youcan't walk fifty yards out there without stepping on a glen--or in aglen; it doesn't matter. What I am earnestly trying to get at is, if thisHerman Wagner wanted to be sole prop. Of a sylvan glen, why should hehave gone thirty-two miles farther for one? Why didn't he have it rightthere? Why insanely push thirty-two miles on in a country where milesmean something serious? Up-and-down miles, tilted horribly or standingon edge!

It didn't seem astute. And Herman achieved simply no persuasion whateverwith me by stocking in that "only. " He could have put only all over therock and it would still have been thirty-two miles, wouldn't it? Onlyindeed! You might think the man was saying "Only ten minutes' walk fromthe post office"--or something with a real meaning like that. I claimedthen and I claim now that he should have omitted the only and come outblunt with the truth. There are times in this world when the straight andbitter truth is better without any word-lace. This Wagner person was asophist. So I said to him, now, as a man will at times:

"All right, Herman, old top! But you'll have to think up something betterthan only to put before those thirty-two miles. If you had said 'Only twomiles' it might have had its message for me. But thirty more than that!Be reasonable! Why not pick out a good glen that parties can slip off tofor a quiet evening without breaking up a whole week? Frankly, I don'tunderstand you and your glen. But you can bet I'll find out about it!"

So, right away, I said to Ma Pettengill, who by this time had a lot ofbills and papers and ledgers and stuff out on her desk, and was talkinghotly to all of them--I said to her that there was nearly half a bottleof Uncle Henry's wine left, his rare old grape wine laid down well over amonth ago; so she had better toss off a foamy beaker of it--yes, it stillfoamed--and answer me a few questions. 

It was then she said the things about that there wine being able toinflate the casualty lists, even of Polish weddings, which are alreadythe highest known to the society page of our police-court records. Shesaid, further, that she had took just enough of the stuff at dinner tomake her think she wasn't entirely bankrupt, and she wanted to givethese here accounts a thorough going-over while the sensation lasted. 

Not wishing to hurt Uncle Henry's feelings, even if he didn't catch me atit, I partook again of the fervent stuff, and fell into new wonder at theseeming imbecility of Herman Wagner. I found myself not a little movedby the pathos of him. It was little enough I could get from Ma Pettengillat first. She spoke almost shortly to me when I asked her things she hadto stop adding silly figures to answer. 

What I found out was mostly my own work, putting two and two in theirfit relationship. Even the mention of Herman Wagner's full name broughtnothing about himself. I found it most annoying. I would say: "Come on, now; what about this Herman Wagner that paints wheedling messages acrossthe face of Nature?" And to this fair, plain query I would merely havemore of the woman's endless help troubles. All that come looking for workthese days was stormy petrels, not caring if they worked or not--justasking for it out of habit. 

Didn't she have a singing teacher, a painless dentist, a crayon-portraitartist and a condemned murderer on her payroll this very minute, allbecause the able-bodied punchers had gone over to see that nasty littleBelgium didn't ever again attack Germany in that ruthless way? She hadread that it cost between thirty and thirty-five thousand dollars towound a soldier in battle. Was that so? Well, she'd tell me that shestood ready to wound any of these that was left behind for betweenthirty and thirty-five cents, on easy payments. Wound 'em severely, too! Not mere scratches. 

Presently again I would utter Herman Wagner, only to be told that thesedry cows she was letting go for sixty dollars--you come to cut 'em up forbeef and you'd have to grease the saw first. Or I heard what a scandalit was that lambs actually brought five-fifty, and the Government atWashington, D. C. , setting back idly under the outrage!

Then I heard, with perfect irrelevance to Herman Wagner, that shewouldn't have a puncher on the place that owned his own horse. Becausewhy? Because he'd use him gentle all day and steal grain for him atnight. Also, that she had some kind of rheumatiz in her left shoulder;but she'd rather be a Christian Scientist and fool herself than pay adoctor to do the same. It may all have been true, but it was notimportant; not germane to the issue, as we so often say in writingeditorials. 

It looked so much like a blank for Herman Wagner that I quit asking fora time and let the woman toil at her foolish ruinous tasks. 

After half an hour of it she began to rumble a stanza of By Cool Siloam'sShady Rill; so I chanced it again, remarking on the sign I had observedthat day. So she left her desk for a seat before the fire and said yes, and they was other signs of Herman's hid off in the mountains where noone but cows, that can't read a line, would see 'em. She also divulgedthat Herman, himself, wasn't anything you'd want a bronze statue of toput up in Courthouse Square. 

Well then, come on, now! What about him? No, sir; not by a darned sight!With that there desk full of work, she simply could not stop to talk now. She did. 

Is that the only sign of Herman's you saw? He's got others along themtrails. You'll see an arrow in white paint, pointing to his sylvan glen, and warnings not to go to other glens till you've tried his. One says:You've tried the rest; now try the best! Another says: Try Wagner'sSylvan Glen for Boating, Bathing, and Fishing. Meals at all hours! Andhe's got one that shows he studied American advertising as soon as helanded in this country. It says: Wagner's Sylvan Glen--Not How Good, But How Cheap!

I don't know. I ain't made up my mind about Herman, even yet. If itwasn't for why he had to leave Nevada and if I knew there could be morethan one kind of German, then I'd almost say Herman was the other kind. But, of course, there can't be but one kind, and he showed the Prussianstrain fast enough in why he come up from Reno. Still and all, he's gothis engaging points as a pure imbecile or something. 

He don't tell me why he left Reno for a long time after he gets here;not till I'd won his confidence by showing I was a German sympathizer. Itwas when Sandy Sawtelle had a plan for a kind of grand war measure. Hisgrand war measure was to get some secret agents into Germany and kill offall the women under fifty. He said if you done this the stock would dieout, because look at the game laws against killing does! He told thisto everybody. He told it to Herman; but Herman knew enough to remainnoncommittal 'bout it. He told it to me, and I saw right off it probablycouldn't be managed right; and, even if it could be, I said to Sandy, it seemed to me somehow like it would be sort of inhuman. 

Herman heard me say this and got the idea I was a pacifist and a secretfriend of his country; so he confided to me the secret of why he leftReno to keep from having his heart cut out by Manuel Romares. But nomatter!

Anyway, last year in the spring this Herman dropped by, looking forwork. He hadn't been in America long, having stopped with his uncle inCincinnati a while, and then coming West on a life of adventure and totake up a career. He said now he'd come up from Nevada, where he'd beenworking on a sheep ranch, and he acted like he wanted to get intosomething respectable and lead a decent life again. 

Well, it had got so I hired everything that come along; so why notHerman? I grabbed at him. The boys heard he was a German alien and acted, at first, like a bunch of hogs with a bear about; but I'd of hired oldHinderburg himself if he'd offered and put him to doing something worthwhile. 

This Herman was the first man ever worked here in side whiskers. He toldme, after I showed myself a German sympathizer, that in the beginning ofthe war he'd wore one of them moustaches like the Kaiser puts up in tinfasteners every night after he's said his prayers; but this had made himan object of unpleasant remark, including missiles. So he had growed thisflowering border round it to take off the curse. 

They was beautiful shiny side whiskers and entirely innocent-looking. In the right clothes Herman could of gone into any Sabbath school in theland and said he was glad to see so many bright little faces there thismorning, and now what was to-day's golden text, and so on. That's whathe looked like. These things fell like portières each side of his face, leaving his chin as naked as the day he was born. He didn't have any toomuch under his mouth either; so I guess the whiskers was really a mercyto his face. 

He admitted he didn't know too much about the cow business, but saidhe was willing to learn; so I put him on the payroll. We found he waswilling to try anything that looked easy; for instance, like setting oncolts for the first time. The first morning he went to work it was rainy, with the ground pretty wet, and he was out to the corral watching SandySawtelle break a colt. That's the best time to handle colts that hasnever been set on. They start to act up and pour someone out of thesaddle; then they slip and slide, helpless, and get the idea a reglerdemon of a rider is up there, and give in. So the boys give Herman afussy two-year-old, and Herman got away with it not so bad. 

Of course he was set off a few times, but not hard; and the colt, slicking over this wet ground, must of thought another star rider hadcome to town. Two days later, though, when the ground was dry, Hermangot on the same wild animal again, and it wasn't there when he come downfrom his first trip aloft. It traded ends with him neatly and was off ina corner saying. "Well, looks like that German ain't such a dandy riderafter all! I couldn't pull that old one with him yesterday, but Icertainly done it good to-day. "

I wasn't near enough to hear what Herman said when he picked himself up;but I'm a good lip reader since I been going to these moving pictures, and I'm way mistaken if he hadn't learned two or three good things inEnglish to call a horse at certain times. 

He walked for several days with trench feet, and his morale was lowindeed. He was just that simple. He'd try things that sane puncherswouldn't go looking for, if sober; in fact, he was so simple you mightcall him simple-minded and not get took up for malicious slander. 

So it come to where we seen he wasn't good for anything on this ranch butchore boy. And naturally we needed a chore boy, like we needed everythingelse. He could get up wood, and feed the pigs we was fattening, and milkthe three dairy cows, and make butter, and help in the kitchen. But asfor being a cow hand, he wasn't even the first joint on your littlefinger. He was willing, but his Maker had stopped right at that pointwith him. And he had a right happy time being chore boy. 

Of course the boys kidded him a lot after they found out he couldpositively not be enraged by the foulest aspersions on the character ofthe Kaiser and his oldest son. They seen he was just an innocent dreamer, mooning round the place at his humble tasks. They spent a lot of goodtime thinking up things for him. 

He'd brought a German shotgun with silver trimmings with him, which hecalled a fowling piece, and he wanted to hunt in his few leisure moments;so the boys told him all the kinds of game that run wild on the place. 

There was the cross-feathered snee, I remember, which was said by thebird books to be really the same as the sidehill mooney. It has one legshorter than the other and can be captured by hand if driven to levelground, where it falls over on its side in a foolish manner when it triesto run. Herman looked forward to having one of these that he could stuffand send to his uncle in Cincinnati, who wrote that he had never seensuch a bird. 

Also, he spent a lot of time down on the crick flat looking for a mu, which is the same as a sneeze-duck, except for the parallel stripes. Ithas but one foot webbed; so it swims in a circle and can be easy shot bythe sportsman, who first baits it with snuff that it will go miles toget. Another wild beast they had him hunting was the filo, which is likethe ruffle snake, except that it has a thing like a table leg in its ear. It gets up on a hill and peeks over at you, but will never come in tolunch. The boys said they nearly had one over on Grizzly Peak one time, but it swallowed its tail and become invisible to the human eye, thoughthey could still hear its low note of pleading. Also, they had Hermanlooking for a mated couple of the spinach bug for which the SmithsonianInstitution had offered a reward of five hundred dollars, cash. 

Herman fell for it all--all this old stuff that I had kicked the slatsout of my trundle-bed laughing at. And in between exciting adventureswith his fowling piece he'd write himself some pieces of poetry in anotebook, all about the cows and the clouds and other natural objects. Hewould also recite poetry written by other Germans, if let. And at nighthe'd play on a native instrument shaped like a potato, by blowing intoone cavity and stopping up other cavities to make the notes. It would beslow music and make you think of the quiet old churchyard where yourtroubles would be o'er; and why not get there as soon as possible? Sadmusic!

So Herman was looked on as a harmless imbecile by one and all till EloisePlummer come over to help in the kitchen while the haying crew was herelast summer. And Eloise looked on him as something else. She looked onHerman as one of them that make it unsafe for girls to leave home. Shehad good reason to. 

Eloise is in the prime of young womanhood; but this is just exactly asfur as any fair-minded judge would go to say of her as a spectacle. Herwarmest adherents couldn't hardly get any warmer than that if put underoath. She has a heart of gold undoubtedly, but a large and powerful facethat would belong rightly to the head director of a steel corporationthat's worked his way up from the bottom. 

It is not a face that has ever got Eloise pestered with odious attentionsfrom the men. Instead of making 'em smirk and act rough, but playful, itmade 'em think that life, after all, is more serious than most of ussuspect in our idle moments. It certainly is a face to make men think. And inspiring this black mood in men had kind of reacted on Eloise tillthey couldn't quite see what they was ever intended for. It was natural. 

I don't say the girl could of cooked all winter in a lumber camp and notbeen insulted a time or two; but it wasn't fur from that with her. 

So you can imagine how bitter she was when this Herman nut tried to makeup to her. Herman was a whirlwind wooer; I'll say that for him. He toldher right off that she was beautiful as the morning star and tried tokiss her hand. None of these foolish preliminaries for Herman, like"Lovely weather we're having!" or "What's your favourite flower?"

Eloise was quick-natured, too. She put him out of the kitchen with a coalshovel, after which Herman told her through a crack of the door that shewas a Lorelei. 

Eloise, at first, misunderstood this term entirely, and wasn't much lessinsulted when she found it meant one of these German hussies that hanground creeks for no good purpose. Not that her attitude discouragedHerman any; he played under her window that night, and also sang a richcustard sort of tenor in his native tongue, till I had to threaten himwith the bastile to get any sleep myself. 

Next day he fetched her regal gifts, consisting of two polishedabalone shells, a picture of the Crown Prince in a brass frame, and a polished-wood paper knife with Greetings from Reno! on it. 

Eloise was now like an enraged goddess or something; and if Herman hadn'tbeen a quick bender and light on his feet she wouldn't of missed him withhis gifts. As it was, he ducked in time and went out to the spring houseto write a poem on her beauty, which he later read to her in Germanthrough a kitchen window that was raised. The window was screened; so heread it all. Later he gets Sandy Sawtelle to tell her this poem is allabout how coy she is. Every once in a while you could get an idea partwayover on Herman. He was almost certain Eloise was coy. 

By the end of that second day, after Herman threw kisses to her for tenminutes from on top of the woodshed, where he was safe, she telephonedher brother to come over here quick, if he had the soul of a man in hisframe, and kill Herman like he would a mad dog. 

But Eloise left the next morning, without waiting for anything suitableto be pulled off by her family. It was because, when she went to bedthat night, she found a letter from Herman pinned to her pillow. It hada red heart on it, pierced by a dagger that was dropping red drops verysentimentally; and it said would she not hasten to take her vast beautyout in the moonlight, to walk with Herman under the quiet trees whilethe nightingale warbled and the snee, or sidehill mooney, called to itslovemate? And here, as they walked, they could plan their beautifulfuture together. 

This was beyond Eloise even with a full battery of kitchen utensils athand. She left before breakfast; and Herman had to come in and washdishes. 

The next excitement was Herman committing suicide, out in the woodshed, with a rope he'd took off a new packsaddle. Something interrupted himafter he got the noose adjusted and was ready to step off the choppingblock he stood on. I believe it was one more farewell note to the womanthat sent him to his grave. Only he got interested in it and put in a lotmore of his own poetry and run out of paper, and had to get more from thehouse; and he must of forgot what he went to the woodshed for because anhour after that he committed an entirely new suicide with his fowlingpiece. 

Near as I could gather, he was all ready to pull the trigger, lookingdown into this here frowning muzzle before a mirror; and then somethingabout his whiskers in the mirror must of caught his eye. Anyway, anotherwork of self-destruction was off. So he come in and helped with lunch. Then he told me he'd like to take some time off, because he was goingup to the deep pool to drown himself. 

I said was he really bent on it? He said it was requisite, because awayfrom this beautiful lady, who had torn his heart out and danced on it, hecould not continue to live, even for one day. So I come down on Herman. Itold him that, hard up as I was for help, I positively would not have aman on the place who was always knocking off work to kill himself. It etinto his time, and also it took the attention of others who longed to seehim do it. 

I said I might stand for a suicide or two--say, once a month, on a quietSunday--but I couldn't stand this here German thoroughness that kept itup continual. At least, if he hoped to keep on drawing pay from me, he'dhave to make way with himself in his own leisure moments and not on mytime. 

Herman says I don't know the depths of the human heart. I says I knowwhat I pay him a month, and that's all I'm needing to know in thisemergency. I thought, of course, he'd calm down and forget his nonsense;but not so. He moped and mooned, and muttered German poetry to himselffor another day, without ever laying a violent hand on himself; but thenhe come and said it was no good. He says, however, he will no longercommit suicide at this place, where none have sympathy with him and manyjeer. Instead, he will take his fowling piece to some far place in thegreat still mountains and there, at last, do the right thing by himself. 

I felt quite snubbed, but my patience was wore out; so I give Hermanthe money that was coming to him, wished him every success in hisundertaking, and let him go. 

The boys scouted round quite a bit the next few days, listening forthe shot and hoping to come on what was left; but they soon forgot it. Me? I knew one side of Herman by that time. I knew he would be the mostcareful boy in every suicide he committed. If I'd been a life-insurancecompany it wouldn't have counted against him so much as the coffee habitor going without rubbers. 

And--sure enough--about two months later the dead one come to life. Herman rollicked in one night with news that he had wandered far intothe hills till he found the fairest spot on earth; that quickly madehim forget his great sorrow. His fairest spot was a half section ofbad land a hopeful nester had took up back in the hills. It had a littletwo-by-four lake on it and a grove of spruce round the lake; and Hermanhad fell in love with it like with Eloise. 

He'd stay with the nester, who was half dead with lonesomeness, so thateven a German looked good to him, and wrote to his uncle in Cincinnatifor money to buy the place. And now I'd better hurry over and see it, because it was Wagner's Sylvan Glen, with rowing, bathing, fishing, andbasket parties welcome. Yes, sir! It goes to show you can't judge aGerman like you would a human. 

I laughed at first; but no one ever got to Herman that way. He was firmand delighted. That Sylvan Glen was just the finest resort anywhereround! Why, if it was within five miles of Cincinnati or Munich it wouldbe worth a million dollars! And so on. It done no good to tell him it wasnot within five miles of these towns and never would be. And it done lessgood to ask him where his customers was coming from, there not being asoul nearer him than twenty miles, and then only scattered ranchers thathas got their own idea of a good time after the day's work is over, whichpositively is not riding off to anybody's glen, no matter how sylvan. 

"The good people will come soon enough. You'll see!" says Herman. "They soon find out the only place for miles round where they can geta good pig's knuckle, or blood sausage and a glass Rhine wine--or maybebeer--after a hard day's work. I got a fine boat on the lake--they canrow and push all round over the water; and I'm getting a house put upwith vines on it, like a fairy palace, and little tables outside! Yousee! The people will come when they hear!"

That was Herman. He never stopped to ask where they was coming from. He'dmake the place look like a Dutch beer garden and they'd just have to comefrom somewhere, because what German ever saw a beer garden that didn'thave people coming to it? I reckoned up that Herman would have enoughcustom to make the place pay, the quick rate our country is growing, inabout two hundred and forty-five or fifty years. 

So that's Wagner's Sylvan Glen you seen advertised. It's there all right;and Herman is there, waiting for trade, with a card back of his littlebar that says, in big letters: Keep Smiling! I bet if you dropped in thisminute you'd find him in a black jacket and white apron, with a bill offare wrote in purple ink. He thinks people will soon drop in from twentymiles off to get a cheese sandwich or a dill pickle, or something. 

Two of the boys was over this last June when he had his grand opening. They was the only person there except a man from Surprise Valley thatwas looking for stock and got lost. Buck Devine says the place lookedas swell as something you'd see round Chicago. 

Herman has a scow on the pond, and a dozen little green tables outsideunder the spruce trees, with all the trees white-washed neatly round thebottoms, and white-washed stones along the driveway, and a rustic gatewith Welcome to Wagner's Sylvan Glen! over it. And he's got some greentubs with young spruces planted in 'em, standing under the big spruces, and everything as neat as a pin. 

Everyone thinks he's plumb crazy now, even if they didn't when he saidEloise Plummer was as beautiful as the morning star. But you can't tell. He's getting money every month from his uncle in Cincinnati to improvethe place. He's sent the uncle a photo of it and it must look good backin Cincinnati, where you can't see the surrounding country. 

Maybe Herman merely wants to lead a quiet life with the German poets, andhas thought up something to make the uncle come through. On the otherhand, mebbe he's a spy. Of course he's got a brain. He's either kiddingthe uncle, or else Wagner's Sylvan Glen now covers a concrete gunfoundation. 

In either case he's due for harsh words some day--either from the unclewhen he finds there ain't any roadhouse patrons for twenty miles round, or from the German War Office when they find out there ain't evenanything to shoot at. 

The lady paused; then remarked that, even at a church sociable, UncleHenry's idee of wine would probably make trouble to a police extent. Hereit had made her talkative long after bedtime, and she hadn't yet foundout just how few dollars stood between her and the poorhouse. 

I allowed her to sort papers for a moment. As she scanned them underdrawn brows beside a lamp that was dimming, she again rumbled into song. She now sang: "What fierce diseases wait around to hurry mortals home!"It is, musically, the crudest sort of thing. And it clashed with my mood;for I now wished to know how Herman had revealed Prussian guile by hismanner of leaving Reno. Only after another verse of the hymn could I betold. It seems worth setting down here:

Well, Herman is working on a sheep ranch out of Reno, as I'm telling you, and has trouble with a fellow outcast named Manuel Romares. Herman wasvague about what started the trouble, except that they didn't understandeach other's talk very well and one of 'em thought the other was makingfun of him. Anyway, it resulted in a brutal fist affray, greatly toHerman's surprise. He had supposed that no man, Mexican or otherwise, would dare to attack a German single-handed, because he would of heardall about Germans being invincible, that nation having licked twonations--Serbia and Belgium--at once. 

So, not suspecting any such cowardly attack, Herman was took unpreparedby Manuel Romares, who did a lot of things to him in the way of ruthlessdevastation. Furthermore, Herman was clear-minded enough to see thatManuel could do these things to him any time he wanted to. In that coarsekind of fighting with the fists he was Herman's superior. So Hermandrawed off and planned a strategic coop. 

First thing he done was to make a peace offer, at which the troubleshould be discussed on a fair basis to both sides. Manuel not being oneto nurse a grudge after he'd licked a man in jig time, and being of asunny nature anyway, I judge, met him halfway. Then, at this peaceconference, Herman acted much unlike a German, if he was honest. Hesaid he had been all to blame in this disturbance and his consciencehurt him; so he couldn't rest till he had paid Manuel an indemnity. 

Manuel is tickled and says what does Herman think of paying him? Hermanshows up his month's pay and says how would it suit Manuel if they go into Reno that night and spend every cent of this money in all the lovelyways which could be thought up by a Mexican sheep herder that had justcome in from a six weeks' cross-country tour with two thousand of thehorrible animals. 

Manuel wanted to kiss Herman. Herman says he did cry large tears ofgladness. And they started for town. 

So they got to Reno, and did not proceed to the Public Library, or theMetallurgical Institute, or the Historical Museum. They proceeded to theRailroad Exchange Saloon, where they loitered and loitered and loiteredbefore the bar, at Herman's expense, telling how much they thought ofeach other and eating of salt fish from time to time, which is intendedby the proprietor to make even sheep herders more thirsty than normal. 

Herman sipped only a little beer; but Manuel thought of many newbeverages that had heretofore been beyond his humble purse, and everynew one he took made him think of another new one. It was a grand momentfor Manuel--having anything he could think of set before him in thisbeautiful café or saloon, crowded with other men who were also havinggrand moments. 

After a while Herman says to Manuel to come outside, because he wants totell him something good he has thought of. So he leads him outside by anarm and can hardly tell what he has to say because it's so funny he hasto laugh when he thinks of it. They go up an alley where they won't beoverheard, and Herman at last manages to keep his laughter down longenough to tell it. It's a comical antic he wants Manuel to commit. 

Manuel don't get the idea, at first, but Herman laughs so hard thatat last Manuel thinks it's just got to be funny and pretty soon he'slaughing at it as hard as Herman is. 

So they go back to the saloon to do this funny thing, which is to be ajoke on the big crowd of men in there. Herman says he won't be able todo it good himself, because he's got a bad cold and can't yell loud; butManuel's voice is getting better with every new drink. Manuel is justbusting with mirth, thinking of this good joke he's going to play on theAmericans. 

They have one more drink, Manuel taking peach brandy with honey, whichHerman says costs thirty cents; then he looks over the men standing thereand he yells good and loud:

"To hell with the President! Hurrah for the Kaiser!"

You know, when Herman told me that, I wondered right off if he hadn'tbeen educated in some school for German secret agents. Didn't it showguile of their kind? I'll never be amazed if he does turn out to be aspy that's simply went wrong on detail. 

Of course he was safe out of town long before Manuel limped from thehospital looking for him with a knife. And yet Herman seemed so silly!First thing when he got on the place he wanted to know where the enginewas that pumped the windmill. 

Furthermore, if you ask me, that there wine won't be made safe fordemocracy until Uncle Henry has been years and years laid away to rest. 

XI

CURLS

Ma Pettengill, long morose, for months made hostile of mood by theshortage of help, now bubbled with a strange vivacity. At her desk in theArrowhead living room she cheerfully sorted a jumble of befigured sheetsand proclaimed to one and all that the Arrowhead ranch was once more agoing concern. She'd thought it was gone, and here it was merely going. She would no longer be compelled to stare ruin in the face till itactually got embarrassed and had to look the other way. And it was theswift doings of this here new foreman. He'd not only got us going againbut had put us on a military basis. And at that he was nothing but a poorold wreck of a veteran from the trenches, aged all of twenty-one, shot topieces, gassed, shell-shocked, trench feeted and fevered, and darned badwith nervous dyspepsia into the bargain. 

Thus described, the bargain seemed to me to be a poor one, for I had notyet viewed this decrepit newcomer or been refreshed with tales of hisprowess. But Ma Pettengill knows men, and positively will not bubbleexcept under circumstances that justify it, so I considered the matterworth a question or two. 

Very well then! What about this mere shattered bit of flotsam from theworld welter? How could so misused a remnant cope with the manifold caresof the long-harried Arrowhead ranch?

Why, he just plain coped, that was all. He might be mere shatteredflotsam, but you bet he was still some little coper, take her word forthat! Matter of fact, though, he didn't aim to hold the job for long. Only until this here smarty of a medical officer, that turned him downfrom going back to the trenches, was retired to private life again. This here new foreman had to be on the ground when this puppet gotout of his uniform and so could be handled proper by the right partywithout incurring twenty years in Leavenworth. At this brief meeting theunfortunate man would be told politely that he had guessed wrong on theforeman's physical condition, after which the same would be proved tohim then and there, leaving him to wish that he hadn't been so arroganttelling parties they was unfit for further service and had better gohome and forget all about the war. Yes, sir; he'd be left himself withsomething to forget that most likely he'd still be remembering vividlywhen folks had got to wondering what them funny little buttons with"Liberty Loan" on 'em could ever of been used for. 

Still, this palsied wreck was with us for a time and had started in thatvery morning to carry on. He used but few words, but treated 'em rough ifthey come looking for it. First, they was two I. W. W. 's down to the lowerfield had struck for three-fifty a day, and had threatened to burnsomeone's haystacks when it was coldly refused. So one had been took tojail and one to the hospital the minute the flotsam slowed up with 'em. It was a fair enough hospital case for both, but the one for jail couldstill walk. 

Then two other new hands, two of these here demi-cowboys you have to putup with, had kept the bunk house noisy every night with a bitter personalquarrel including loud threats of mutual murder that never seemed toget any further. So the flotsam, after drinking in some of their mostvenomous eloquence, had lined 'em up and commanded 'em to git busy andfight it out quick. And he had then licked 'em both in a quick andexaggerated manner when they tried to keep on talking it out with him. 

It was a sharply etched impression over the ranch, now shared by itsowner, that this here invalid flotsam would take darned little nonsensefrom any one. It was also the owner's own private impression that he hadbeen expelled from the war for rough behaviour on the field of battle andnot because of wounds or sickness. Most likely they'd told him the latterbecause they was afraid to tell him the truth. But that was the realtruth; he was too scrappy and wouldn't let the war go on in peace andquiet. 

Anyway, she and the Army was both satisfied, so let it go at that. Mebbe after a few more arguments over there, when they'd made aconvinced pro-Ally out of Germany, she might get some more shell-wrackedjetsams like this one, that would step in without regard for the rules ofcivilized warfare and make the life of a certain beef-cattle raiser justone long dream of loveliness with pink rose leaves dreening down on her. Mebbe so!

I was charmed indeed to hear the gladsome note from one so long dismal. So I told the woman that the longest war must have its end and that bythis time next year she would be refusing to hire good help at forty-fivedollars a month and found, in place of the seventy-five she was nowlavishing on indolent stragglers. 

She said in that happy case she might consent to adorn the cattlebusiness a few decades longer, but for her part she didn't believe warswould end. If it wasn't this war it would be another one, because humanbeings are undeniably human. As how? Well, I could take it this way. Sayone of these here inventors sets up nights for twenty years inventing agun that will shoot through a steel plate sixteen inches thick. All rightso far. But the next day another inventor invents a piece of steelseventeen inches thick. And it had to begin all over--just a seesaw. Fromwhere she set she couldn't see no end to it. Was she right; or wasn'tshe? Of course!

But now, further, about compelling little boys to wear long curls tillmaturity, with the idee of blunting their finer instincts and makinghellions of 'em, so's to have some dandy shock troops for the nextwar--well, she didn't know. Room for argument there. 

This seemed reasonable. I didn't know either. It was an entirely newidee, come from nowhere. This was the very first moment I had supposedthere could be such an idee. But such is Ma Pettengill. I thought toinquire as to the origin of this novelty; perhaps to have it more fullyset forth. But I had not to. Already I saw unrelenting continuance in thewoman's quickened eye. There would be, in fact, no stopping her now. So Imight as well leave a one-line space right here to avoid using the doubleand single quotation marks, which are a nuisance to all concerned. I willmerely say that Ma Pettengill spoke in part as follows, and at no timeduring the interview said modestly that she would prefer not to have hername mentioned. 

Mind you, I don't say war's a good thing, even for them that come out ofit. Of course you can read stories about how good it is in improving thecharacter. I've read pretty ones in these here sentimental magazinesthat get close to the great heart of the people once a month; storiesabout how the town tough boy, that robs his gray-haired mother of herwash money to play pool with, goes into war's purifying flames and comesout a man, having rescued Marshal Fotch from a shell hole under fire andgot the thanks of the French nation and his home-town paper. Now he don'thang round the pool parlour any more, running down fifteen balls from thebreak, but shuns his low companions, never touches a cue again, marriesthe mayor's daughter and becomes the regular Democratic candidate forcounty recorder. 

These stories may be true. I don't know. Only these same magazines printstories that have a brave fireman in the picture carrying a fainted girldown his ladder through the flames, and if you believed them you'd alsobelieve they had to set a tenement house on fire every time a firemanwants to get married. And that don't stand to reason. Mebbe the otherstories don't either. 

But what about the other side of these same stories? What about thevillage good boy that goes through war's purifying flame and comes backhome to be the town tough? Ain't it time someone showed up the moralravages war commits on our best young men?

Me? I just had a talk lately with a widowed mother down to Red Gap andwhat this beastly war has done to her oldest boy--well, if she could oflooked ahead she would of let the world go right on being unsafe even forRepublicans. She poured her heart out to me. She is Mrs. Arline Plunkett, one of the sweetest, gentlest mothers that ever guarded a son from everyevil influence. And then to see it all go whoosh! The son's name wasShelley Plunkett, or it was until he went out into the world to make aname for himself. He is now largely known as Bugs Plunkett. I leave itto you if a nice mother would relish having her boy make that name forhimself. And after all the pains she'd took with his moral developmentfrom the cradle up--till he run away from home on account of his curls!

Arline had been left well-off by her husband, who was president ofthe Drovers' Trust Company, and her home was about the most refinedhome in Red Gap, having full bookcases and pictures of foreign Catholicchurches--though Arline is a Presbyterian--and metal statues of antiquepersons, male and female, and many articles of adornment that can't behad for the ordinary trading stamps. She lived, of course, only for hertwo boys, Shelley and Keats. Keats being an infant didn't require muchliving for, but Shelley was old enough to need a lot of it. 

He was eight years old when I first seen him, with long golden curls tohis shoulders and lace on his velvet pants. He came in when I was callingon his ma and acted the perfect little gentleman. He was so quiet andgrown-up he made me feel right awkward. He had the face of a half-growedangel framed in these yellow curls, and his manners was them of SirGalahad that he read stories about. He was very entertaining this day. His mother had him show me a portrait of himself and curls that had beenprinted in a magazine devoted to mothers and watermelon-rind pickles, andso forth, and he also brought me the new book his pastor had presentedhim with on his eighth birthday. 

It was a lovely bound book, having a story about a sheepman that had ahundred head out on the range and lost one and left the other ninety-nineunprotected from the coyotes and went out into the brush looking for thelost one, which is about the brains of the average sheepman; but it was apretty book, and little Shelley told me prettily all about the story, andshowed me how his dear pastor had wrote in it for him. He had wrote: "ToShelley Vane Plunkett, who to the distinction of his name unites a nobleand elevated nature. " I wonder if Bugs Plunkett ever looks at thatwriting now and blushes for his lost angel face? Anyway, I thought thisday that he was the loveliest, purest child in the world, with hisdelicate beauty and sweet little voice and perfect manners, all setoff by the golden curls. 

A couple days later I was going through that same street and when Iturned a corner next to the Plunkett house, here was little Shelleyaddressing a large red-faced man on the back of an ice wagon that hadstopped there. It was some shock to my first notions of the angel child. I gathered with no trouble whatever that the party on the ice wagon hadso far forgot his own manners as to call little Shelley a sissy. It was agood three-to-one bet he was now sorry he spoke. Little Shelley was usinglanguage beyond his years and words that had never been taught him by hislady mother. He handled them words like they was his slaves. Three orfour other parties stopped to listen without seeming to. I have heardmuch in my time. I have even been forced to hear Jeff Tuttle pack a mulethat preferred not to be packed. And little Shelley was informing, evento me. He never hesitated for a word and was quick and finished with thesyllables. 

The ice-wagon man was peeved, as he had a right to be, and may of beengoing to talk back, but when he saw the rest of us getting Shelley heyelled to the man in the front to drive on. It was too late, quick ashe went, to save the fair repute of himself and family, if Shelley'swords was to be took seriously. Shelley had invaded the most sacredrelationship and pretended to bare a hideous scandal. Also the icemanhimself couldn't possibly of done half the things Shelley hotly urgedhim to do. 

Us people that had seemed to linger walked right on, not meeting eachother's eye, and Shelley again become the angel child, turning in at hisgate and walking up the path in a decorous manner with his schoolbooksunder his arm. I first wondered if I shouldn't go warn Arline that herchild had picked up some words that would get him nowhere at all with hisdoting pastor. Little could the fond woman dream, when she tucked him inafter his prayers at night, that talk such as this could come from hissweet young lips. How much mothers think they know of their sons and howdarned little they do know! But I decided to keep out of it, rememberingthat no mother in the world's history had ever thanked a person foranything but praise of her children. 

Still, I couldn't help but worry about Shelley's future, both here andhereafter. But I talked to other people about it and learned that he wasalready known as a public character to everyone but his own dear mother. It was these here curls that got him attacked on every hand by young andold, and his natural vigour of mind had built him up a line of reparteethat was downright blistering when he had time to stop and recite it all. Even mule skinners would drive blocks out of their way just to hearlittle Shelley's words when someone called him sissy or girl-boy. 

It seems Shelley never took any of these troubles to his mother, becausehe was right manly and he regarded curls as a natural infirmity thatcouldn't be helped and that his poor ma shouldn't be blamed for. He'dalways had curls, just as other unfortunates had been disfigured ormaimed from birth, so he'd took it as a cross the Lord had give him tobear. And he was willing to bear it in silence if folks would just lethim alone. Otherwise, not. Oh, most surely not!

I kind of kept watch on Shelley's mad career after that. It was mad mostof the time. He had already begun to fight as well as to use language, and by the time he was ten he was a very nasty scrapper. And ready--itsoon got so that only boys new-come to town would taunt him about hisgolden locks. And unless they was too much out of Shelley's class he madebelievers of 'em swiftly. From ten to twelve he must of had at least onegood fight a day, what with the new ones and the old ones that stillcouldn't believe a boy in velvet pants with curls on his shoulders couldreally put it over on 'em. His mother believed his clothes was tore andhis face bunged up now and then in mere boyish sports, and begged him notto engage in such rough games with his childish playmates. And Shelley, the little man, let her talk on, still believing he was like little PaulMcNamara, that had a crooked foot. He wasn't going to shame his mother aswell as himself. 

I don't know just how Shelley ever got his big illumination that curlswas not a curse put on him by his Maker. But he certainly did get it whenhe was round twelve. After two years of finish fights he suddenly foundout that curls is optional, or a boy's own fault, if not his mother's, and that they may be cured by a simple and painless operation. He'd cometo the observing age. They say he'd stand in front of Henry Lehman'sbarber shop every chance he'd get, watching the happy men getting theirhair cut. And he put two and two together. 

Then he went straight to his mother and told her all about his wonderfuland beautiful discovery. He was awful joyous about it. He said you onlyhad to go to Mr. Lehman's barber shop with thirty-five cents, and thekind Mr. Lehman would cut the horrible things off and make him look likeother boys, so please let him have the thirty-five. 

Then Shelley got a great shock. It was that his mother wanted him to wearthem things to please her. She burst into tears and said the mere thoughtof her darling being robbed of his crowning glory by that nasty old HenryLehman or any one else was breaking her heart, and how could he be socruel as to suggest it?

The poor boy must of been quite a bit puzzled. Here was a way out ofsomething he had thought was incurable, and now his mother that loved himburst into tears at the thought of it. So he put it out of his mind. Hecouldn't hurt his mother, and if cutting off his disgrace was going tohurt her he'd have to go on wearing it. 

Shelley was getting lanky now, with big joints and calf knees showingbelow his velvet pants; and he was making great headway, I want to tellyou, in what seemed to be his chosen profession of pugilism. He took togoing out of his class, taking on boys two or three years older. I neverhad the rare pleasure of seeing him in action, but it was mere lack ofenterprise on my part. Before he found out that curls could be relievedby a barber he had merely took such fights as come to him. But now hewent out of his way looking for 'em, and would start the action himself. 

It got so that boys used to travel in bands--them that had criticized hisappearance so he'd hear it--but he'd lie in wait for stragglers that wasleft behind by the convoy, and it would be the same old sad story. Youcan know what it meant when I tell you that the last year Shelley went toschool they say he could come onto the playground with his long yellowcurls floating in the breeze, and not a word would be heard from thefifty boys that might be there. 

And so it went till he was thirteen. One succession of fights and agrowing collection of words that would of give his fond pastor somethingto think about. Of course word of the fights would get to Shelley's mafrom mothers whose little ones he had ravaged, but she just simply didn'tbelieve it. You know a woman can really not believe anything she don'twish to. You couldn't tell that lady that her little boy with the angelface and soft voice would attack another boy unless the other boy begunit. And if the other boy did begin it it was because he envied Shelleyhis glorious curls. Arline was certainly an expert in the malepsychology, as they call it. 

But at thirteen Shelley was losing a lot of the angel out of his face. His life of battle had told on him, I guess. But he was still obedientand carried the cross for his mother's sake. Poor thing! He'd formed thehabit of obedience and never once suspicioned that a woman had no rightto impose on him just because she was his mother. Shelley just took tofighting a little quicker. He wouldn't wait for words always. Sometimesmere looks of disgust would start him. 

Then, when he got to near fourteen, still with the beautiful curls, hebegun to get a lovely golden down on his face; and the face hadn't hardlya trace of angel left in it. The horrible truth was that Shelley not onlyneeded a haircut but a shave. And one day, goaded by certain taunts, hetold his mother this in a suddenly bass voice. It must of startledArline, having this roar come out of her child when his little voice hadalways been sweet and high. So she burst into some more tears and Shelleyasked her forgiveness, and pretty soon she was curling his hair again. Iguess he knew right then it was for the last time on earth, but nothingwarned the mother. 

These new taunts that had finally made a man of Shelley was no tauntsfrom boys, which he could handle easy, but the taunts of heedless girls, who naturally loathed a boy with curls even more than male humans of anyage loathe him; and girls can be a lot tauntier when they start out to. Well, Shelley couldn't lick girls, and he had reached an age when theirtaunts cut into his hide like whiplashes, so he knew right well he hadto do something desperate. 

Then he went out and run away from the refining influences of hisbeautiful home. He took to the hills and landed way up on the northfork of the Kulanche where Liver-eating Johnson has a sheep ranch. Liver-eating, who is an unsavory character himself, had once heardShelley address a small group of critics in front of the post office, and had wanted to adopt him right there. He still cherished the fondestmemories of Shelley's flow of language, so he was tickled to death tohave him drop along and stop, seeing that though but a lad in years hewas a man and brother in speech, even if he did look like a brother thathad started out to be a sister and got mixed. 

Liver-eating took him in and fed him and cut his hair with a pair ofsheep shears. It was a more or less rough job, because shearing sheepdoes not make a man a good human barber by any means. But Shelleylooked at his head in the glass and said it was the most beautifulhaircut in the world. Fussy people might criticize it here and there, but they could never say it hadn't really been cut. 

He was so grateful to Liver-eating that he promised to stay with himalways and become a sheep herder. And he did hide out there severalmonths till his anguished mother found out where he was. After havingevery pond dragged and every bit of woods searched for her boy's bodyshe had believed he'd been carried off by kidnappers on account of hisheavenly beauty, and she'd probably have to give ten thousand dollarsfor his release. She was still looking for a letter from these fiendswhen she learned about his being with Liver-eating Johnson and thatthis wretch had committed sacrilege on him. 

It was a harsh blow to know that her pet had consorted with such aperson, who was not only a sheepman but had earned his nickname in away that our best people thought not nice. He'd gone home one day yearsago and found his favourite horse had been took by an Injun. Being asimple-mannered man of few words, he just said that by sundown to-morrowhe would of et the liver of the Injun that done the stealing. I don'tknow, personally, what happened, except that he did come back the nextnight with his horse. Anyway no one ever begrudged him his title afterthat. And here was Shelley Vane Plunkett, who had been carefully raisedon fruits and cereals, taking up with such a nauseous character as asocial equal. 

Arline had the sheriff out at once for her darling, but Shelley got wordand beat it farther. He finally got to Seattle, where he found variousjobs, and kept his mother guessing for three years. He was afraid she'dmake him start the curls again if he come home. But finally, when he waseighteen, he did come, on her solemn promise to behave. But he was nolonger the angel-faced darling that had left, and he still expected atleast one fight a day, though no longer wearing what would cause fights. He'd formed the habit and just couldn't leave off. A body could hardlylook at him without starting something unpleasant. He was round like abarrel now, and tough and quick, and when anything did happen to bestarted he was the one that finished it. Also, he'd have his hair cutclose every five or six days. He always looked like a prisoner that hadstarted to let it grow about a week before he left the institution. Shelley was taking no chances, and he used to get a strange, glitteringlook in his eye when he regarded little Keats, his baby brother, who wasnow coming on with golden curls just as beautiful as Shelley's had everbeen. But he done nothing sinister. 

In time he might of settled down and become a useful citizen, but rightthen the war broke out, so no more citizen stuff for Shelley. It wasalmost too good to be true that he could go to a country where fightingwas legal; not only that, but they'd give him board and lodging and alittle spending money for doing the only thing he'd ever learned to dowell. It sure looked like heaven. So off he went to Canada and enlistedand got sent across and had three years of perfect bliss, getting changedover to our Army when we finally got unneutral so you could tell it. 

Of course his mother was almost more anguished about his going to warthan about having his curls fixed with the sheep shears. She said evenif he wasn't shot he would be sure to contract light habits in France, consisting of native wine and dancing, and so forth, and she hoped atleast he could be a drummer boy or something safe. 

But Shelley never had a safe moment, I guess. No such thing as a quietsector where he was. He fought at the Front, and then he'd fight athospitals every time he got took back there for being shot up. He wasalmost too scrappy even for that war. He was usually too busy to write, but we got plenteous reports of his adventures from other men, theseadventures always going hard with whatever Germans got in his way. And I bet his mother never dreamed that his being such a demon fighterwas all due to her keeping him in curls so long, where he got the habitand come to love it for its own sake. 

Anyway, he fought and fought and had everything happen to him that Germanscience had discovered was useful to exterminate the lesser races, and itfinally begun to tell on him, hardened as he was by fighting from thecradle up, as you might say. 

It was a glad day for Arline when she got word that he was a broken-downinvalid and had landed at an Atlantic Ocean port on his way home. Shegot arrowroot gruel and jelly and medicinal delicacies and cushions, andlooked forward to a life of nursing. She hoped that in the years to comeshe could coax the glow of health back to his wan cheeks. And I wouldn'tput it past her--mebbe she hoped she could get him to let the golden hairgrow again, just long enough to make him interesting as he lay coughingon his couch. 

And Shelley come home, but his idee of being an invalid wasn't anythinglike his mother's. He looked stout as a horse, and merely wished to restup for a couple weeks before getting some other kind of action suited tohis peculiar talents. And worse, he wasn't Shelley Vane Plunkett--he wasBugs Plunkett; and his mother's heart broke again. He was shaved like aconvict and thicker through than ever, and full of rich outdoor wordsabout what he would do to this so-and-so medical officer for not lettinghim back into the scrap. Yes, sir; that man is going to suffer casualtiesright up to the limit the minute he gets out of his uniform--and himthinking the world is at peace once more! Sure, Shelley had been shotthrough the lungs a couple of times, and one leg had been considerablyaltered from the original plan, but he had claimed he was a betterscrapper than ever before and had offered to prove it to this medicalofficer right then and there if it could be done quiet. But this fairoffer had been rejected. 

So here he'd come back, not any kind of a first-class invalid that wouldbe nice to nurse, but as Bugs Plunkett! No sooner did he get to town thanletters and postal cards begun to come addressed to Mr. Bugs Plunkett ormebbe B. Plunkett, Esquire; and the cards would be from his old pals inthe trenches, many of whom had worse names, even, than Shelley had madefor himself. 

Also the sick warrior turned down flat the arrowroot gruel and Irish-mosscustard and wine jelly and pale broth. He had to have the same coarsefood that is et by common working people who have had no home advantages, including meat, which is an animal poison and corrupts the finerinstincts of man by reducing him to the level of the brutes. So ArlinePlunkett says. Shelley had it, though, ordering it in a bass voice thatmade the statuary teeter. Steak was cooked in the Plunkett home forthe first time since it had been erected, notwithstanding the horribleexample it set to little Keats, who still had golden curls as lovely asShelley's once had been and was fed on fruits and nuts. 

Arline couldn't of had any pleasant time with her wandering boy themthree weeks he was there. She suffered intensely over the ignominy ofthis mail that came to him by the awful name of Bugs, with the gossipsin the post office telling it everywhere, so that the boys round thecigar store got to calling him Bugs right out plain. And her son seemingproud of this degradation!

And she couldn't get him to protect himself from drafts by night. He'd insist on having a window wide open, and when she'd sneak back toclose it so he wouldn't catch his death of cold he'd get up and courtdestruction by hoisting it again. And once when she'd crept in and shutit a second time he threw two shoes through the upper and lower parts soit would always be open. He claimed he done this in his sleep, having gotinto the habit in the trenches when he'd come in from a long march andsomeone would close all the windows. But Arline said that this onlyshowed that war had made him a rowdy, even in his sleep--and out of thegentlest-mannered boy that ever wore velvet garments and had a cinch onevery prize in the Sunday school; though she did not use coarse wordslike that. She told me herself it was time we got this other side of whatwar did to gently nurtured youths that had never soiled their lips withan oath in their lives until they went into war's hell. She said justthat!

Also Shelley had contracted the vicious habit of smoking, which was alla body would want to know about war. She said he'd have his breakfast inbed, including whole slices of ham, which comes from the most loathsomeof all animals, and would then lie and smoke the Lord Byron five-centcigar, often burning holes in the covers, which he said was another oldtrench habit--and that showed what war done to the untainted human soil. Also while smoking in bed he would tell little Keats things no innocentchild should hear, about how fine it feels to deflate Germans with a goodbayonet. She had never esteemed Lord Byron as a poet, and these cigars, she assures me, was perfectly dreadful in a refined home, where theycould be detected even in the basement. 

Little Keats was now thirteen, with big joints and calf knees showingunder the velvet pants, and I guess his curls was all that persuaded hismother to live, what with Shelley having gone to the bad and made a namefor himself like Bugs. But little Keats had fell for his brother, andspent all the time he could with him listening to unpretty stories ofGermans that had been fixed up proper the way the good Lord meant 'emto be. 

After he'd been home a couple weeks or more Shelley begun to noticelittle Keats more closely. He looked so much like Shelley had at that ageand had the same set-on manner in the house that Shelley got suspicioushe was leading the same double life he had once led himself. 

He asked his mother when she was going to take Keats to a barber, and hismother burst into tears in the old familiar way, so he said no more toher. But that afternoon he took little Keats out for a stroll and closelywatched his manner toward some boys they passed. They went on downtownand Shelley stepped into the Owl cigar store to get a Lord Byron. When hecome out little Keats was just finishing up a remark to another boy. Ithad the familiar ring to Shelley and was piquant and engaging even afterthree years in the trenches, where talk is some free. Keats still had theangel face, but had learned surprisingly of old English words. 

Then Shelley says to him: "Say, kid, do you like your curls?" And littleKeats says very warmly and almost shedding tears: "They're simply hell!"

"I knew it, " says Shelley. "Have many fights?"

"Not so many as I used to, " says Keats. 

"I knew that, too, " says Shelley. "Now, then, you come right along withme. "

So he marches Keats and curls down to Henry Lehman's and says: "Give thispoor kid a close haircut. "

And Henry Lehman won't do it. He says that Mrs. Plunkett, the time ofthe scandal about Shelley, had warned every barber in town that she wouldhave the law on 'em if they ever harmed a hair on the head of a child ofhers; and he was a law-abiding citizen. He didn't deny that the boyneeded a haircut the worst way in the world, but at his time of life hewasn't going to become an outlaw. 

Keats had nearly broke down at this. But Shelley says: "All right; comeon over to the other place. "

So they go over to Katterson Lee, the coloured barber, and Kattersontells 'em the same story. He admits the boy needs a haircut till itamounts to an outrage, but he's had his plain warning from Shelley's ma, and he ain't going to get mixed up with no lawsuit in a town where he'sknown to one and all as being respectable. 

Shelley then threatened him with bodily harm if he didn't cut that hairoff quick, and Katterson was right afraid of the returned soldier, thathad fixed so many Germans right, but he was more afraid of the law, sohe got down on his knees to Shelley and begged for his life. 

Little Keats was now blubbering, thinking he wasn't going to be shut ofhis disgrace after all, but Shelley says: "All right, kid; I'll stand byyou. I'll do it myself. Get into that chair!"

Of course Katterson couldn't prevent that, so Keats got sunny again andclimbed into the chair, and Shelley grabbed a pair of shears and made asure-nuff boy of him. He got the curls off all right, but when it come totrimming up he found he couldn't do a smooth job, and Katterson wasn'tthere to give him any hints, having run from his shop at the beginning ofthe crime so he would have a good alibi when hauled into court. SoShelley finally took up a pair of clippers, and having learned to clipmules he soon had little Keats' whole scalp laid bare. It must of been aglorious sight. They both gloated over it a long time. 

Then Keats says: "Now you come with me and we'll show it to mamma!" ButShelley says: "Not me! I have to draw the line somewhere. I shall be faraway from here to-night. I am not afraid of enemy soldiers, for I've beenup against them too often. But there are worse things than death, soyou'll have to face mamma alone. You can tell her I did it, but I willnot be there to hear you. So good-bye and God help you!" And Shelleyretired to a position less exposed. 

That was an awful day for the Plunkett home, because little Keats, beingleft to his own resources, tried to use his brain. First he gathered upthe long shining curls and wrapped 'em in a newspaper. Then he wentout and found Artie Bartell, who is a kind of a harmless halfwit thatjust walks the streets and will do anything whatever if told, beinganxious to please. Keats gives Artie a dime to take the curls up to hisdear mother and tell her that her little boy has been run over by afreight engine down to the station and these here curls was all thatcould be saved of him. 

Then he hurries home the back way and watches, and pretty soon he seessome neighbours come rushing to the house when they hear his motherscream, so then he knows everything is all right. He waits a minute ortwo, then marches in with his hat off. His mother actually don't know himat first, on account of his naked skull, but she soon sees it must be he, little Keats, and then has hysterics because she thinks the freightengine has clipped him this way. And of course there was more hystericswhen she learned the terrible truth of his brother's infamy. I guessShelley had been wise all right to keep off the place at that time, soldier or no soldier. But that's neither here nor there. 

The point is that little Keats may now be saved to a life of usefulnessand not be hanged for murder, thanks to his brother's brave action. Ofcourse Bugs himself is set in his ways, and will adorn only positions ofa certain kind. He's fine here, for instance, just at this time when Igot to hire all kinds that need a firm hand--and Bugs has two. 

Sure, it was him took the job of foreman here yesterday. We had quite alittle talk about things when he come. He told me how he released hislittle brother from shame. He said he wouldn't of done such a radicalthing except that peace is now coming on and the world will no longerneed such fighting devils as curls will make of a boy if let to staylong enough. 

"Keats might have turned out even worse than I did, " he says, "butif there wasn't going to be any way where he could do it legally, whatwas the use? He'd probably sometime have killed a boy that called himGoldilocks, and then the law might have made it unpleasant for him. Ithought it was only fair to give him a chance to live peaceful. Of coursein my own case mamma acted for the best without knowing it. We neededfighters, and I wouldn't have been anything at all like a fighter if shehadn't made me wear those curls till my whiskers began to show above thesurface. In fact, I'm pretty sure I was a born coward, but those goldenstrands took all that out of me. I had to fight. 

"And see what it did for me in the Army. I don't want to talk aboutmyself, but I made a good average fighter and I would have been thereto the last if I'd had my rights. And I simply owe it all to my dearmother. You might say she made me the man I am. I wouldn't ever have beentough if she'd cut my hair humanely from six years on. I certainly hopeKeats hasn't gone too long. One of us in a family is enough. "

That's the way Bugs talks, and it sounds right sensible. What I say nowis, the idee had ought to be took up by the War Department at Washington, D. C. Let 'em pass a law that one boy out of, say, twenty-five hasgot to wear curls till his voice changes. By that time, going round inthis here scenic investiture, as you might say, he will be a demon. Inpeace times it may add to our crimes of violence, but look what it willbe when another war comes. We'll have the finest line of shock troopsthe world has ever produced, fit and anxious to fight, having led anembittered existence long enough to make it permanent. No line wouldever stand against a charge of them devils. They would be a greatnational asset and might save the country while we was getting readyto begin to prepare a couple months after war was declared on us. 

Still I don't suppose it will be took up, and I ain't got time to go downand preach it to Congress personally. 

And now let me tell you one thing: I'm going to sleep to-night without acare on my mind for the first time in a year. This here Bugs unites tothe distinction of his name a quick and handy nature, and my busiesttroubles are over.