[Transcriber's Note: The Table of Contents and the list of illustrations were added by the transcriber. Hyphenation standardized within articles. Quotation marks added to standardize usage. Updated spelling on possible typos: ninteenth, beafsteak, and embarassed. Replaced cañon (with tilde) with canyon. Preserved other original punctuation and spelling. Passages in italics indicated by underscore _. ]

McCLURE'S MAGAZINE

VOL. XXXI JULY, 1908 No. 3

_Copyright, 1908, by The S. S. McClure Co. All rights reserved_

TABLE OF CONTENTS

 ILLUSTRATIONS 241 GUARDIANS OF THE PUBLIC HEALTH. By Samuel Hopkins Adams. 241 Our Health Boards and Their Powers 242 Our Absurd Vital Statistics 244 The Criminal Negligence of Physicians 246 "Business Interests" and Yellow Fever 246 Newspapers, Politicians, and the Bubonic Plague 248 Fighting Prejudice and the Death Rate in Charleston 250 Killing Off the City Negro 251 Private Interests in Public Murder 251 A LITTLE VICTORY FOR THE GENERAL. By Josephine Daskam Bacon. 253 AMERICAN IMPRESSIONS. By Ellen Terry. 263 THE HERITAGE OF HAM. By Lieutenant Hugh M. Kelly, U. S. A. 277 THE SINGER'S HEART. By Harris Merton Lyon. 291 THE REPUDIATION OF JOHNSON'S POLICY. By Carl Schurz. 297 The Fourteenth Amendment 298 A Campaign to Destroy a President 298 Killing of Negroes at Memphis and New Orleans 300 Johnson "Swings Around the Circle" 301 New Congress Overwhelmingly Anti-Johnson 304 The Movement Toward Negro Suffrage 304 Reconstruction Under Military Control 305 The Public Fear of Johnson 306 The Fatal Bungling of Reconstruction 307 THE THIRTEENTH MOVE. By Alberta Bancroft. 308 GIFFORD PINCHOT, FORESTER. By Will C. Barnes. 319 CHIEF KITSAP, FINANCIER. By Joseph Blethen. 328 THE WAYFARERS. By Mary Stewart Cutting. 337 THE CATHEDRAL. By Florence Wilkinson. 357 THE NEW GOSPEL IN CRIMINOLOGY. By Judge McKenzie Cleland. 358

Illustrations

 DR. CHARLES HARRINGTON, SECRETARY OF THE MASS STATE BOARD OF HEALTH DR. THOMAS DARLINGTON, COMMISSIONER OF HEALTH FOR NEW YORK CITY DR. CHARLES V. CHAPIN, SUPERINTENDENT OF HEALTH IN PROVIDENCE, RI DR. JOHN N. HURTY, SECRETARY OF THE BOARD OF HEALTH IN INDIANA DR. GEORGE W. GOLER, HEALTH OFFICER OF ROCHESTER, NEW YORK DR. J. MERCIER GREEN, HEALTH OFFICER OF CHARLESTON, SOUTH CAROLINA THE SCAVENGERS OF CHARLESTON, SOUTH CAROLINA CAROLINE WALKED AHEAD, HER CHIN WELL UP, HER NOSE SNIFFING PLEASURABLY THE UNACCUSTOMED ASPHALT YOUNG GIRLS ... CANTERED BY; THEIR LINEN HABITS ROSE AND FELL DECOROUSLY, THEIR HAIR WAS SMOOTH THE STANDING CROWD CRANED THEIR NECKS, AS DELIA SAT UP STRAIGHT AND HELD OUT HER ARMS 'I'VE GOT TWO O' MY OWN' 'WHO--WHO--WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?' HE WHISPERED HOARSELY HENRY IRVING AS CARDINAL WOLSEY IN "HENRY VIII. " ELLEN TERRY ELLEN TERRY WITH HER FOX-TERRIERS, DUMMY AND FUSSIE MISS ROSA CORDER SIR HENRY IRVING MISS ELLEN TERRY AUGUSTIN DALY AND HIS COMPANY OF PLAYERS AUGUSTIN DALY JOHN DREW AS PETRUCHIO IN "THE TAMING OF THE SHREW" ADA REHAN AS KATHARINE IN "THE TAMING OF THE SHREW" HELENA MODJESKA MARY ANDERSON JOSEPH JEFFERSON AS RIP VAN WINKLE ALL DAY LONG OLD SERGEANT WILSON SAT IN THE CORNER OF THE SQUAD ROOM, CLASPING AND UNCLASPING HIS STRAINING HANDS CABLE THE PRESIDENT! WHAT A JOKE! THE CIRCLE CLOSED IN AS THE SEA SURGES UP UPON THE LAND HARRY BARNES, OLD ACTOR HE GRINNED AND WINKED AND FRISKED AND CAPERED 'OH, YOU DIVVIL, YOU! YOU OLD, BLATHERSKITING DIVVIL' HE SAT STARING INTO THE BLANKNESS OF THE LITTLE ROOM JOHN POTTER STOCKTON, THE DEMOCRATIC SENATOR FROM NEW JERSEY SENATOR CARL SCHURZ SENATOR PRESTON KING SENATOR JAMES LANE SENATOR ZACHARIAH CHANDLER 'I'VE BEEN FOLLOWING YOU EVER SINCE YOU LEFT YOUR OFFICE, ' HE SAID 'IT'S A DESPICABLE LETTER, ' SHE TOLD HERSELF 'HOW DO YOU SUPPOSE I FEEL, BEING IN THIS POSITION--TO YOU?' GIFFORD PINCHOT A SECTION OF THE BIG HORN NATIONAL FOREST, WYOMING, SHOWING THE FOREST SERVICE METHODS OF LUMBERING SECTION OF A REDWOOD FOREST IN CALIFORNIA, SHOWING WASTEFUL AND DESTRUCTIVE METHODS OF LUMBERING THE EFFECT OF EROSION ON A HILLSIDE FROM WHICH THE FOREST COVER HAS BEEN REMOVED THE SAME HILLSIDE AFTER TWO YEARS OF CAREFUL AND SYSTEMATIC GRAZING HERD OF SHEEP GRAZING UPON A NATIONAL FOREST KITSAP, THE CLERK, DONNED THE TRIBAL FINERY OF HIS ANCESTORS ON ALL SIDES THE HOP-PICKERS WERE MAKING MERRY PICKING PROGRESSED TO AN END, AND THE INDIANS HELD THEIR LAST FEAST AND DEPARTED STOOD THERE LEANING AGAINST 'DADDY'S' SIDE IT WAS SWEET TO BE CHAFFED, TO BE HEEDLESSLY YOUNG ONCE MORE SHE CREPT OUT UPON THE LANDING OF THE STAIRS, AND SAT THERE DESOLATELY ON THE TOP STEP SHE TOOK THE PISTOL FROM HIS RELAXED HOLD THE TWO WOMEN SITTING ON THE BENCH, WRAPPED AROUND BY THE LONELINESS AND THE INTENSE STILLNESS OF THE ONCOMING NIGHT 'THEY'LL GET FULL OF EARTH AGAIN, ' SHE PROTESTED LOIS STOLE INTO THE ROOM

[Illustration: Copyright by Arnold Genthe]

[Illustration: THE DEVIL'S KITCHEN

ONE OF THE PLAGUE CENTERS IN SAN FRANCISCO'S OLD CHINATOWN]

[Illustration: GUARDIANS OF THE PUBLIC HEALTH BY SAMUEL HOPKINS ADAMS]

John Chinaman is the logician of hygiene. To his family doctor he says:"I pay you to keep me well. Earn your money. " Let him or his fall sick, and the physician's recompense stops until health returns to thathousehold. Being fair-minded as well as logical, the Oriental obeys hisphysical guardian's directions. Now, it may be possible to criticizecertain Chinese medical methods, such as burning parallel holes in aman's back to cure him of appendicitis, or banging for six hours a dayon a brass tom-tom to eliminate the devil of headache; but theunderlying principle of "No health, no pay" is worthy of consideration. 

This principle it is which, theoretically, we have adopted in the matterof the public health. To our city, State, or national doctors we pay acertain stipend (when we pay them at all) on the tacit understandingthat they are to keep us free from illness. With the cure of diseasethey have no concern. The minute you fall ill, Mr. Taxpayer, you passinto the hands of your private physician. No longer are you an item ofinterest to your health officer, except as you may communicate yourdisease to your fellow citizens. If he looks after you at all, it is notthat you may become well, but that others may not become ill throughyou. Being less logical in our conduct than the Chinese, we, as apeople, pay little or no heed to the instructions of the public doctorswhom we employ. We grind down their appropriations; we flout the wiseand by no means over-rigorous regulations which they succeed in gettingestablished, usually against the stupid opposition of unprogressivelegislatures; we permit--nay, we influence our private physicians todisobey the laws in our interest, preferring to imperil our neighborsrather than submit to the inconvenience necessary to prevent the spreadof disease; and we doggedly, despite counsel and warning, continue topoison ourselves perseveringly with bad air, bad water, and bad food, the three B's that account for 90 per cent. Of our unnecessary deaths. Then, if we are beset by some well-deserved epidemic, we resentfullydemand to know why such things are allowed to occur. For it usuallyhappens that the virtuous public which fell asleep with a germ in itsmouth, wakes up with a stone in its hand to throw at the healthofficer. Considering what we, as a people, do and fail to do, we get, onthe whole, better public health service than we deserve, and worse thanwe can afford. 

_Our Health Boards and Their Powers_

As a nation, we have no comprehensive health organization. The cryingneed for one I shall point out in a future article. Our only Federalguardianship is vested in the United States Public Health and MarineHospital Service, which, by some mystery of governmental construction, got itself placed in the Treasury Department, where it certainly doesnot belong. It is, with the exception of a few ancient politicalappointees now relegated to unimportant posts, a highly trained andefficient body of hygienists and medical men, the best of whom have alsoqualified as diplomats in trying crises. Any germ-beleaguered city maycall upon this Service for aid. It is a sort of flying squadron ofsanitative defence. When yellow fever broke out in New Orleans, it wasthe M. H. S. Men who, working quietly and inconspicuously with the localvolunteers, mapped out the campaign which rid the city of the scourge. In the San Francisco panic eight years ago, when bubonic plague besetthe city, it was the Marine Hospital Service which restored confidence:and a Service man has been there ever since as the city's chief adviser. The Federal "surgeons, " as they are called, may be in St. Louis helpingto check smallpox, or in Seattle, blocking the spread of a plagueepidemic, or in Mobile, Alabama, fighting to prevent the establishmentof an unnecessary and injurious quarantine against the city byoutsiders, because of a few cases of yellow jack; and all the while theService is studying and planning a mighty "Kriegspiel" against theendemic diseases in their respective strongholds--malaria, typhoid, tuberculosis, and the other needless destroyers of life which we havealways with us. In the Marine Hospital Service is the germ of a mightyforce for national betterment. 

[Illustration: DR. CHARLES HARRINGTON

SECRETARY OF THE MASSACHUSETTS STATE BOARD OF HEALTH, WHICH, BY THEDISTRIBUTION OF VACCINE AND ANTITOXIN ALONE, HAS SAVED THE STATE$210, 000]

Of the State boards, perhaps a fourth may be regarded as activelyefficient. The rest are honorary and ornamental. Undoubtedly a majoritywould be ready and willing to perform the services for which they arenot (as a rule) paid anything; but they lack any appropriation uponwhich to work. South Carolina, for example, has an excellent Stateboard. Its president, Dr. Robert Wilson, is an able and public-spiritedphysician of the highest standing; an earnest student of conditions, andeager for the sanitary betterment of his State. But when he and hisboard undertook to get one thousand dollars from the legislature todemonstrate the feasibility of enforcing the pure food law and ofturning away the decayed meat for which the State is a dumping-ground, they were blandly informed that there was no money available for thatpurpose. It was in South Carolina, by the way, that a medicalpolitician who served on the public health committee of the legislatureaddressed this question to a body of physicians who had come there toappeal for certain sanitary reforms: "What do you want of laws toprevent folks being sick? Ain't that the way you make your livin'?"Which is, I fear, typical of the kind of physicians that go intopolitics and get into our legislatures, where, unhappily, they areusually assigned to the public health committees. 

Under the State boards, in the well-organized States, are the countyboards and officers, who report to the State boards and may call uponthe latter for advice or help in time of epidemic or danger. 

In certain circumstances the State officials may arbitrarily takecharge. This is done in Indiana, in Maryland, in Pennsylvania, and inMassachusetts. The last State not only grants extraordinary powers toits health executive, Dr. Charles Harrington, but it appropriated lastyear for the work the considerable sum of $136, 000. By the issuancealone of vaccine and antitoxin, the Board saved to the citizens of theState $210, 000, or $74, 000 more than the total appropriation for all thevaried work of the institution. Some vague idea of the economy in liveswhich it achieves may be gained from the established fact that deathresults in only sixteen out of every thousand cases of diphtheria, whenthe antitoxin is given on or before the second day of the illness; 110, when given on the third day; and 210 when the inoculation is performedlater. The old death rate from diphtheria, before antitoxin wasdiscovered, ranged from 35 to 50 per cent. Of those stricken. 

[Illustration: DR. THOMAS DARLINGTON

COMMISSIONER OF HEALTH FOR NEW YORK CITY, WHICH HAS THE MOST THOROUGHLYORGANIZED CITY HEALTH DEPARTMENT IN THE UNITED STATES]

Finally, there are the city bureaus, with powers vested, as arule, in a medical man designated as "health officer, " "agent, " or"superintendent. " What Massachusetts is to the State boards, New YorkCity is to the local boards, but with even greater powers. Under thecharter it has full power to make a sanitary code. Matters ranging fromflat wheels on the Metropolitan Street Railway Company's antiquatedcars, to soft coal smoke belched forth from factory chimneys, aresubject to control by the New York City Department of Health. The EssexStreet resident who keeps a pig in the cellar, and the Riverside Drivehouse-holder who pounds his piano at 1 A. M. To the detriment of hisneighbor's slumber, are alike amenable to the metropolis' hired doctors. 

[Illustration: DR. CHARLES V. CHAPIN

SUPERINTENDENT OF HEALTH IN PROVIDENCE, RHODE ISLAND, ONE OF THE CITIESWHICH HAS BEEN FOREMOST IN PROSECUTING PHYSICIANS FOR FAILURE TO GIVENOTICE OF INFECTIOUS DISEASE]

The province of the city, State, and Federal health organization isbroad. "Control over all matters affecting the public health" is acomprehensive term. "All the powers not already given to the schoolcommittees, " observed a Massachusetts judge, "are now ceded to theBoards of Health. " In theory, then, almost unlimited powers are vestedin the authorities. But how carefully they must be exercised in ordernot to excite public jealousy and suspicion, every city health officialwell knows. More serious than interference and opposition, however, isthe lack of any general equipment. At the very outset the loosely alliedarmy of the public health finds itself lacking in the primal weapon ofthe campaign; comprehensive vital statistics. 

[Illustration: DR. JOHN N. HURTY

SECRETARY OF THE BOARD OF HEALTH IN INDIANA, WHICH HAS RECENTLY PASSED ALAW FORBIDDING THE MARRIAGE OF IMBECILES, EPILEPTICS, AND PERSONSSUFFERING FROM CONTAGIOUS DISEASE]

_Our Absurd Vital Statistics_

Vital statistics in this country are an infant science. Yet they are thevery basis and fundament of any attempt to better the general health. Knowledge of what is killing us before our time is the first step towardsaving our lives. The Census Bureau does its best to acquire thisessential information. For years Director North has been persistentlyhammering away at this point. But progress is slow. Only fifteen States, representing 48 per cent. Of our population, are comprised in the"registration area"; that is, record all deaths, and forbid burialwithout a legal permit giving the cause of death and other details. Outside of this little group of States, the decedent may be tucked awayinformally underground and no one be the wiser for it. This isconvenient for the enterprising murderers, and saves trouble for theundertakers. Indeed, so interested are the latter class, that in Iowathey secured the practical repeal of a law which would have brought thatState within the area; and in Virginia this year they snowed under asimilar bill in the legislature, by a flood of telegrams. Ohio, thethird largest State in the Union, keeps no accurate count of the ravagesof disease. Probably not more than 60 per cent. Of its deaths arereported. Why? Inertia, apparently, on the part of the officials whoshould take the matter in charge. Governor Harris in his January messagemade a strong plea for registration, but without result. As for births, there is no such thing as general registration of them. So this matteris neglected, upon which depend such vital factors as school attendance, factory employment, marriage, military duty, and the very franchisewhich is the basis of citizenship. It is curious to note that Uruguay, in its official tables of comparative statistics, regrets its inabilityto draw satisfactory conclusions regarding the United States of America, because that nation has not yet attained to any scientific method oftreating the subject. Patriotism may wince; but let us not haughtilydemand any explanation from our sneering little neighbor. Explanationsmight be embarrassing. For the taunt is well founded. 

[Illustration: DR. GEORGE W. GOLER

HEALTH OFFICER OF ROCHESTER, NEW YORK, WHO REFUSES CHILDREN CERTIFICATESTO WORK IN FACTORIES, UNLESS THE APPLICANTS ARE IN SOUND PHYSICALCONDITION]

Is it strange that, having no basis in national statistics, our localhealth figures "speak a varied language"? We have no standards even ofdeath on which to base comparisons. But a dead man is a dead man, isn'the, whether in Maine or California? Not necessarily and unqualifiedly. In some Southern cities he may be a "dead colored man, " hence thrown outof the figures on the "white death rate" which we are asked to regard asthe true indication of health conditions. In New Orleans, untilrecently, he might be a "death in county hospital, " and as such notcounted--this to help produce a low death rate. In Salt Lake City he's a"dead stranger, " and unpopular on account of raising the total figuresfor the city. They reckon their total rate there as 16. 38, but theirhome rate or "real" rate as 10. 88. That is to say, less than 11 out ofevery 1, 000 _residents_ die in a year. If this be true, the Salt Lakecitizens must send their moribund into hasty exile, or give them roughon rats, so that they may not "die in the house. " As for the "strangerswithin our gates" who raise the rate over 50 per cent. By theirpernicious activity in perishing, the implication is clear: either SaltLake City is one of the deadliest places in the world to a stranger, orelse the newcomers simply commit suicide in large batches out of amalevolent desire to vitiate the mortality figures. The whole thing isan absurdity; as absurd as the illiterate and fallacious three-pageleaflet which constitutes this community's total attempt at an annualhealth report. 

[Illustration: DR. J. MERCIER GREEN

HEALTH OFFICER OF CHARLESTON, SOUTH CAROLINA, WHO STAMPED OUT A SMALLPOXEPIDEMIC AND REFORMED THE CITY'S WATER SUPPLY]

St. Joseph, Missouri, claimed, one year, a rate of 6. 5 deaths out ofevery 1, 000 inhabitants. Were this figure authentic, the thrivingMissouri city, by the law of probability, should be full ofcentenarians. It isn't. I essayed to study the local reports, hoping todiscover some explanation of the phenomenon, but was politely andregretfully informed that St. Joseph's health authorities issued noannual reports. The natural explanation of the impossibly low rate isthat the city is juggling its returns. In the first place, that favoritemethod of securing a low per capita death rate--estimating a populationgreatly in advance of its actual numbers--is indicated; since thecommunity has fewer lines of sewers and a smaller area of parks thanother cities of the size it claims--two elements which, by the way, would in themselves tend to militate against a low mortality. Perhaps, too, the city has that ingenious way of eliminating one disturbingfeature, the deaths under one week or ten days, by regarding them as"still-births. " Chicago used to have this habit; also the trick ofcounting out non-residents, who were so thoughtless as to die in thecity. At present, it is counting honestly, I believe. Buffalo used topad for publication purposes. One year it vaunted itself as thehealthiest large city in the country. The boast was made on the originalassumption of a population nearly 25, 000 in excess of the United StatesCensus figures, to which 20, 000 more was added arbitrarily, the givenreason being a "general belief" that the city had grown to that extent. 

Perhaps as complete returns as any are obtained in Maryland, where thehealth official, Dr. Price, culls the death notices from 60 papers, checks up the returns from the official registrars, and if any aremissing, demands an explanation by mail. It behooves the registrar topresent a good excuse. Otherwise he is haled to court and fined. TheBoard has thus far never failed to secure a conviction. 

Now, if the most concrete and easily ascertainable fact in public healthstatistics, the total of deaths, is often qualified or perverted, itfollows that dependent data, such as the assigned causes of death, asrequired by law, are still more unreliable; so I shall keep as far awayfrom statistics as possible except where some specific condition can beshown by approved figures or by figures so inherently self-disprovedthat they carry their own refutation. 

_The Criminal Negligence of Physicians_

This unreliability may be set down to the account of the medicalprofession. Realizing though they do the danger of concealment from theproper authorities, and in the face of the law which, as it gives themspecial privileges, requires of them a certain return, a considerablepercentage of physicians falsify the returns to protect thesensibilities of their patrons. That they owe protection rather to thelives of the public, they never stop to think. Tuberculosis is thedisease most misreported. In many communities it is regarded as adisgrace to die of consumption. So it is. But the stigma rests upon thecommunity which permits the ravage of this preventable disease; not uponthe victims of it, except as they contribute to the general lethargy. Inorder to save the feelings of the family, a death from consumption isreported as bronchitis or pneumonia. The man is buried quietly. Thepremises are not disinfected, as they should be, and perhaps someunknowing victim moves into that germ-reeking atmosphere, as into apitfall. Let me give an instance. A clergyman in a New York city told meof a death from consumption in his parish. The family had moved away, and the following week a young married couple with a six-months-old babymoved in. 

"What can I do about it?" asked the clergyman. "Mr. Blank's death wassaid to be from pneumonia; but that was only the final cause. He hadbeen consumptive for a year. "

"Warn the new tenants, " I suggested, "and have them ask the Health Boardto disinfect. "

More than a year later I met the clergyman on a train and recalled thecase to him. "Yes, " he said, "those people thought it was too muchtrouble to disinfect, particularly since the reports did not givetuberculosis as the cause of death. Now their child is dying oftuberculosis of the intestines. "

In this case, had the death been properly reported by the dead man'sphysician, as the law required, the City Board would have compelleddisinfection of the house before the new tenants were allowed to movein. The physician who obligingly falsified that report is morally guiltyof homicide through criminal negligence. 

In Salt Lake City, in 1907, 43 deaths were ascribed totuberculosis--undoubtedly a broad understatement. And in the face of theordinance requiring registration of all cases of consumption, only fivepersons were reported as ill of the disease. By all the recognized rulesof proportion, 43 deaths in a year meant at least 500 cases, which, unreported, and hence in many instances unattended by any measures forprevention of the spread of infection, constituted so many separateradiating centers of peril to the whole community. 

Why is such negligence on the part of physicians not punished? Becausehealth officials dread to offend the medical profession. In thisrespect, however, a vast improvement is coming about. Pennsylvania, Maryland, Indiana, Massachusetts, Minnesota, Wisconsin, and other Statesare not afraid to prosecute and fine delinquents; nor are a growingnumber of cities, among them Boston, New York, Rochester, Providence, and New Orleans. The great majority of such prosecutions, however, arefor failure to notify the authorities of actively contagious diseases, such as scarlet fever, diphtheria, and smallpox. 

_"Business Interests" and Yellow Fever_

Epidemics are, nevertheless, in the early stages, often misreported. Ifthey were not--if early knowledge of threatening conditions were madepublic--the epidemics would seldom reach formidable proportions. But--and here is the national hygienic failing--the first instinct is toconceal smallpox, typhoid, or any other disease that assumes epidemicform. Repeated observations of this tendency have deprived me of thatknock-kneed reverence for Business Interests which is the gloriousheritage of every true American. As a matter of fact, Business Interestswhen involved with hygienic affairs are always a malign influence, andusually an incredibly stupid one. It was so in New Orleans, where theleading commercial forces of the city, in secret meeting, called thehealth officer before them and brow-beat him into concealing thepresence of yellow fever, lest other cities quarantine against theircommerce. And "concealed" it was, until it had secured so firm afoothold that suppression was no longer practicable, and the city onlyaverted a tremendously disastrous epidemic by the best-fought and mostnarrowly won battle ever waged in this country against an invadingdisease. 

[Illustration: THE SCAVENGERS OF CHARLESTON, SOUTH CAROLINA]

It is interesting to note, by the way, that this epidemic, with itsmillions of dollars of loss to the city of New Orleans, might have beenaverted at a comparatively small cost, had the city fathers possessedthe intelligence and foresight to adopt a plan devised by Dr. QuitmanKohnke, the city health officer. New Orleans gets its drinking waterfrom private cisterns. Each of these is a breeding place for theyellow-fever-bearing mosquito. Dr. Kohnke introduced a bill a yearbefore the epidemic, providing for the screening of all the cisterns, sothat the mosquitos might not spread abroad; and also for the destructionby oil of the insects in the open pools. The total cost would hardlyhave exceeded $200, 000. But there was no yellow fever in the city then;the public had recovered from its latest scare; and the bill was voteddown with derision. I suppose the saving of that $200, 000 cost NewOrleans some forty or fifty million dollars in all. 

Seldom does a Southern State discover yellow fever within its ownborders. It is always Mississippi that finds the infection in NewOrleans, and Louisiana that finds it in Galveston. This apparentlycurious condition of affairs is explicable readily enough, on the groundthat no State wishes to discover the germ in its own veins, but is quitewilling, for commercial reasons, to point out the bacillus in thesystem of its neighbor. In 1897 Texas was infected pretty widely withyellow fever; but pressure on the boards of health kept them fromreporting it for what it was. In light cases they called it dengue orbreakbone fever. Now, dengue has this short-coming: that people do notdie of it. Disobliging sufferers from the alleged "dengue" began to fillup the cemeteries, thereby embarrassing the local authorities, until oneof the health officers had a brilliant idea. "When they die, " he said, "we'll call it malarial fever. " And as such it went upon the records. Two recalcitrant members of the Galveston Health Board reported certainextremely definite cases as yellow fever. They were forced to resign, and the remainder of the Board passed resolutions declaring that therewas no yellow fever, there never had been any yellow fever, and therenever would be any yellow fever as long as they held their jobs--orwords to that effect. San Antonio also had the epidemic; so much of itthat the mail service was suspended; but nothing worse than dengue waspermitted to go on the records. Later a Marine Hospital Service surgeonwas sent by the government to investigate and report on the Texassituation. He told the truth as he found it and became exceedinglyunpopular. Lynching was one of the mildest things they were going to doto him in Texas. And all this time, while Texas was strenuously claimingfreedom from the yellow plague, her emissaries were discovering cases inNew Orleans that the local authorities there had somehow carelesslyoverlooked. The game of quarantine, as played by the health authoritiesof the far Southern States, and played for money stakes, if you please, is not an edifying spectacle in twentieth century civilization. 

_Newspapers, Politicians, and the Bubonic Plague_

But if it is bad in the South, it is worse in the West. To-dayCalifornia is paying for her sins of eight years ago in suppressinghonest reports of bubonic plague, when she should have been suppressingthe plague itself. That the dreaded Asiatic pest maintains its footholdthere is due to the cowardice and dishonesty of the clique then inpower, which constituted a scandal unparalleled in our history, ascandal that, with the present growing enlightenment, can never berepeated. 

Early in 1900 the first case of the present bubonic plague onsetappeared in San Francisco's Chinatown. I say "present" because I believeit has never wholly died out in the last eight years. A conference ofthe managing editors of the newspapers, known as the "midnightmeeting, " was held, at which it was decided that no news should beprinted admitting the plague. The _Chronicle_ started by announcingunder big headlines: "Plague Fake Part of Plot to Plunder. " "There Is NoBubonic Plague in San Francisco. " This was "in the interest ofbusiness. " Meantime the Chinese, aided by local politicians, were hidingtheir sick. Out of the first 100 cases, I believe only three werediscovered otherwise than by the finding of the dead bodies. SickChinamen were shipped away; venal doctors diagnosed the pest as "chickencholera, " "septemia hemorrhagica, " "diphtheria" and other known andunknown ailments. 

In May, 1900, came the blow that all San Francisco had dreaded: Texasand New Orleans quarantined against the city, and business languished. At this time two men were in control of the plague situation: Dr. Williamson of the City Board of Health and Dr. J. J. Kinyoun of theMarine Hospital Service. Dr. Williamson and Dr. Kinyoun both declaredplague to be present in the city. The business interests represented inthe Merchants' Association appealed to Kinyoun to suppress his reportsto Washington. In return he invited them to read the law which compelledhim to make reports. They then tackled Dr. Williamson, who replied thathe'd tell the truth as he found it, and if it was distasteful to them, they needn't listen. They went to Mayor Phelan demanding Williamson'shead on a salver. Mayor Phelan stuck by his man. Governor Gage theyfound more amenable. He issued a proclamation declaring that there wasno plague. Governor Gage is not a physician or a man of scientificattainment. There is nothing in his record or career to show that hecould distinguish between a plague bacillus and a potato-bug. Nevertheless he spent considerable of the State's money wiring positiveand unauthorized statements to Washington. His State Board of Healthrefused to stand by him and he cut off their appropriation; whereuponthey resigned, and he secured another and more servile board, remoldednearer to the heart's desire. Meantime the newspapers were strenuouslydenying all the real facts of the epidemic, their policy culminating inthe complete suppression of plague news. Before this, however, they soinflamed public opinion against Dr. Kinyoun and Dr. Williamson thatthese two gentlemen became pariahs. Here are a few of the amenities ofjournalism in the golden West, culled from the display heads of thepapers:

 "Kinyoun, Enemy of the City. "

 "Has Kinyoun Gone Mad?"

 "Desperate, Kinyoun Commits Another Outrage on San Francisco. "

 "Board of Health for Graft and Plunder. "

 "Our Bubonic Board. "

One gentle patriot in the State Senate suggested in a thoughtful andlogical speech that Dr. Kinyoun should be hanged. This practical spiritso appealed to the Chinese organizations (it was Chinatown that sufferedchiefly from the quarantine rigors) that those bodies put a price of$10, 000 on Kinyoun's head--not his political head, understand, but thehead which was very firmly set on a pair of broad shoulders. Some of theofficer's friends went to the Chinese Consul-General and explainedunofficially that they would hold him responsible for any accident toDr. Kinyoun. That personage, supposing that they were suggesting theslow accounting of diplomacy, smiled blandly and said:

"Gentlemen, I sympathize with you; but what can I do?" "Do?" said thespokesman, "Why, you can climb a lamp-post at the end of a rope withinone hour of the time that Kinyoun is killed. That's what you can andwill do. "

The bland smile disappeared from the Oriental's face. He summoned aconference of the secret societies, and the reward for Kinyoun's deathwas abrogated. Next, the white politicians of Chinatown tried their handand organized a lynching bee, but the intrepid doctor fortified hisquarters, armed his men, and was so obviously prepared for trouble thatthe mob did nothing more than gather. Arrested twice on trumped-upcharges, threatened for contempt of court, he continued to fulfill hisduties. Governor Gage and the Republican State Committee now inaugurateda campaign of influence upon President McKinley, which resulted in aFederal Commission, consisting of Drs. Flexner, Barker, and Novy, alleminent scientists, being sent to the troubled city; where, instead ofbeing received with honors, they were abused by the newspapers; insultedby the Governor; and had the humiliation of seeing the doors of theUniversity of California slammed in their faces after they had beeninvited there. Of course, the Commission found bubonic plague, becauseit was there for any one to find. 

Thus far the United States Marine Hospital authorities had stood back oftheir men. Now they began to weaken. The findings of the FederalCommission were kept out of the weekly service reports, and data of theepidemic were edited out of the public health bulletins, in disregard ofthe law. Even this subserviency did not satisfy the Californiadelegation; they wanted Kinyoun out. 

And, on April 6, 1901, after a year's brave fight in the face of publiccontumely and constant physical danger, Dr. Kinyoun was kicked up-stairsinto a soft berth at Detroit. He resigned. So the M. H. S. Lost a brave, faithful, and able public servant and for once blackened its own finerecord. 

There isn't space to give the rest of the plague history; how it croppedout in other parts of California; how it was shipped to Matanza, Mexico, and all but ruined that town; how the hated local Health Board, in theface of the Governor of the State, and the Federal authorities, stuck totheir guns and won the fight, for San Francisco finally admitted thepresence of the plague, and asked for governmental aid. Rupert Blue, oneof the best surgeons in the Marine Hospital Service, was assigned to theterrified city, and though he has not been able to wipe out thepestilence, the fact that the smoldering danger has not broken intodevastating flame is due largely to his unremitting watchfulness and hisunhampered authority. "Business Interests" have had their trial in SanFrancisco. And San Francisco has had enough of "suppression. " To-day thetruth is being told about bubonic plague in the public health reports, and, I believe, in the newspapers. 

Rochester, New York, one of the most progressive cities in the countryin hygienic matters, has established an excellent system of schoolinspection and free treatment. But the children who most need attentionlack it through the carelessness or negligence of their parents. Now, itis this very "submerged tenth" who are set to work early in life. Underthe law, the health officer cannot say, "Unless you are sound, you shallnot attend school. " But there is an ordinance providing that, without acertificate of good physical condition, no child shall be permitted towork in a store or factory. So Dr. Goler refuses these certificates, notonly in cases of low vitality and under-nutrition, but for any defect inthe applicant's teeth, sense-apparatus, or tonsils, a fertile source offuture debility. What is the result? There is a rush of these neglectedyoungsters to the clinics, and the Rochester schools graduate every yearinto the world of labor a class of young citizens in splendid physicalcondition, unhandicapped by the taints which make, not for death alone, but for vice and crime. For the great moral lesson of modern hygiene isthat debility and immorality run in a vicious parallel. 

As I have said, the most thoroughly organized city department is that ofNew York City, and this is so because public opinion in New York, taughtby long experience that its trust will not be betrayed, is, in so far asit turns upon sanitary matters at all, solidly behind its healthdepartment. Hence its guardians work with a free hand. 

_Fighting Prejudice and the Death Rate in Charleston_

But what is the guardian to do when the guarded refuse to bear theirshare of the burden; refuse, indeed, to manifest any calculableinterest, except in the way of occasional opposition? Such is the casein Charleston, South Carolina, where every man aspires to do just as hisremotest recognizable ancestor did, and the best citizens would all livein trees and eat nuts if they were fully convinced of the truth of theDarwinian theory. Charleston, lovely, romantic, peaceful Charleston, swept by ocean breezes and the highest death rate of any considerableAmerican city; breathing serenely the perfume of its flowers and thebacilli of its in-bred tuberculosis; Charleston, so delightful to theeye, so surprising to the nose!

By accident Charleston got an efficient health officer not long ago. Adeserved epidemic of smallpox had descended upon the unvaccinatednegroes and scared the tranquil city. Dr. J. Mercier Green was calledfrom private practice to tackle the situation. For weeks he waded in thegore of lacerated arms, and his path through darkest Charleston could befollowed by rising and falling waves of Afro-American ululations; but hechecked the epidemic, and when three months later the city physiciandied, he got the place. Now, had Dr. Green been wise in his generation, he would have been content to keep his municipal patient reasonably freefrom smallpox and live a quiet life. But he straightway manifested anexasperating interest in other ailments. He stirred up the matter of thewater supply, regardless of the fact that all Charleston'sgreat-great-grandfather had drunk water from polluted cisterns and diedof typhoid as a gentleman should. He pitched into doctors nearly oldenough to be his own great-great-grandfather because they failed toreport diseases properly. He answered back, in the public prints, theunanswerable Good-Old-Way argument. He opined, quite openly, that therewas too much tuberculosis, too high an infant mortality, too prevalent ahabit of contagious disease, and he more than hinted that the cityitself was at fault. 

In the matter of the cisterns, for instance. Charleston now has a goodcity water supply, fairly free from contamination where it starts, andsafely filtered before it reaches the city. But a great many of "ourbest citizens" prefer their own cisterns, on the grandfather principle. These are underground, for the most part, and are regularly suppliedfrom the roof-drainage. Also, they are intermittently supplied byleakage from adjacent privy-vaults, Charleston having a very rudimentaryand fractional sewerage-system. Therefore typhoid is not only logicalbut inevitable. I have no such revolutionary contempt for private rightsas to deny the privilege of any gentleman to drink such form of sewageas best pleases him; but when it comes to supplying the public schoolswith this poison, the affair is somewhat different. Yet, as far as theCharleston Board of School Commissioners has felt constrained to go, upto date, is this: they have written to the City Physician asking that"occasional inspection" of the cisterns be made, and decorating theirabsurd request with ornamental platitudes. 

With sewage it is the same situation. There is, indeed, a primitivesewer system in part of the city. But any attempt to extend it meetswith a determined and time-rooted opposition. The Charlestonians areafraid of sewer-gas, but apparently have no fear of the filth whichgenerates sewer-gas; said filth accumulating in Charleston's streets, subject only to the attention of the dissipated-looking buzzards, whichare one of the conservative and local features of the place. I have seenthese winged scavengers at work. It is not an appetizing sight. But withone exception they afford the only example of unofficial effort towardthe betterment of sanitary conditions, that I witnessed in Charleston. The other came from a policeman, patiently poking with his club at thevent of one of the antediluvian sewers, which had--as usual--becomeblocked. Yet, despite public indifference and opposition, Dr. Green, without any special training or brilliant ability as a sanitarian, is, by dogged, fighting persistency lowering the death-rate of his city. 

There is also a non-medical legislator to whom Charleston owes a debt ofunacknowledged gratitude. Mr. James Cosgrove succeeded in getting theCharleston Neck marshes, wherein breeds the malaria-mosquito, drained. Since then the death rate from malaria, which was nothing less thanscandalous, has dwindled to proportions that are almost respectable--if, indeed, it were respectable to permit any deaths from an easilydestructible nuisance like the mosquito. Nearly all our cities, by theway, are curiously indifferent to the depredations of this man-eater. Suppose, for an example, that Trenton, New Jersey, were suddenly besetby a brood of copperhead snakes, which killed, let us say, two or threepeople a week and dangerously poisoned ten times that number. What ananti-snake campaign there would be in that aroused and terrifiedcommunity! Well, that much more dangerous wild creature, the Anophelesmosquito, in a recent year slew more than 100 people in Savannah, Georgia, without arousing any public resentment. And Jacksonville's homebrood in 1901 slaughtered 90 of its 30, 000 citizens and dangerouslypoisoned probably 1000 more. New Orleans, by the way, having executed atriumphant massacre of the yellow fever mosquito (stegomyia) is nowundertaking to rid itself of all the other varieties. And Baltimore'shealth bureau has succeeded in obtaining a grant of $10, 000 for thepurpose of demonstrating the feasibility of mosquito-extermination. 

_Killing Off the City Negro_

Throughout the South, figures and conditions alike are complicated bythe negro problem. Southern cities keep a separate roster ofmortalities; one for the whites, one for the blacks. In so far as theyexpect to be judged by the white rate alone, this is a manifestly unfairprocedure, since, allowing for a certain racial excess of liability todisease, the negro in the South corresponds, in vital statistics, to thetenement-dweller in the great cities. If New Orleans is to set aside itsnegro mortality, that is; the death rate among those living in the leastfavorable environment, New York should set apart the deaths in theteeming rookeries east of the Bowery, the most crowded district in theworld, and ask to be judged on the basis of what remains after thatexclusion. New York, however, would be glad to diminish the mortality inits tenements. New Orleans, Atlanta, Charleston, or Savannah would beloath to diminish their negro mortality. That is the frank statement ofwhat may seem a brutal fact. The negro is extremely fertile. He breedsrapidly. In those cities where he gathers, unless he also died rapidly, he would soon overwhelm the whites by sheer force of numbers. But, as itis, he dies about as rapidly as he breeds. Recent statistics inSavannah, for instance, showed this curious situation:

Excess of births over deaths among the whites, 245. 

Excess of births over deaths among the blacks, 10. 

Health Officer Brunner has stated the case, in a manner which, I fancy, required no little courage in an official of a Southern community:

 We face the following issues: First: one set of people, the Caucasian, with a normal death-rate of less than 16 per thousand per annum, and right alongside of them is the Negro race with a death-rate of 25 to 30 per thousand. Second: the first named race furnishing a normal amount of criminals and paupers and the second race of people furnishing an abnormal percentage of lawbreakers and paupers. 

 Is the Negro receiving a square deal? Let this commission investigate the houses he lives in; why, in his race, tuberculosis is increasing; why he furnishes his enormous quota to the chain-gang and the penitentiary. Observe the house he must live in, the food that he must eat, and learn of all his environments. The negro is with you for all time. He is what you will make him and it is "up" to the white people to prevent him from becoming a criminal and to guard him against tuberculosis, syphilis, etc. _If he is tainted with disease you will suffer; if he develops criminal tendencies you will be affected. _

Will not the white South, eventually, in order to save itself fromdisease, be forced to save its negroes from disease? It would seem aninevitable conclusion. 

_Private Interests in Public Murder_

Always and everywhere present are the private influences which workagainst the public health. Individuals and corporations owning foultenements or lodging-houses resent, by all the evasions inherent in ourlegal system, every endeavor to eliminate the perilous conditions fromwhich they take their profit. For the precious right to dump refuse intostreams and lakes, sundry factories, foundries, slaughter-houses, glueworks, and other necessary but unsavory industries send delegations tothe legislature and oppose the creation of any body having authority toabate the nuisances. 

Purveyors of bad milk decline to clean up their dairies until theoutbreak of some disease which they have been distributing by the canbrings down the authorities upon them. Could the general public but knowhow often minor accesses of scarlet fever, diphtheria, and typhoidfollow the lines of a specific milk route, there would be a tremendousand universal impetus to the needed work of milk inspection. In thisrespect the country is the enemy of the city: the country, which, withits own overwhelming natural advantages, distributes and radiates whatdisease it does foster among its urban neighbors, by sheer ignorance orsheer obstinate resistance to the "new-fangled notions of science. " Suchmen as the late Colonel Waring of New York, Dr. Fulton of Baltimore, andDr. Wende of Buffalo have repeatedly pointed out the debt of death andsuffering which the city, often well organized against infections, owesto the unorganized and uncaring rural districts. Reciprocity in healthmatters can be represented, numerically, by the figure zero. Itoccasionally happens that the conflict between private and publicinterests assumes an obviously amusing phase. The present admirable Foodand Drug Department of the Indiana board was not established withoutconsiderable opposition. One of the chief objectors was a member of thelegislature, who made loud lamentation regarding the expense. Up roseanother legislator, all primed for the fight, and asked if the objectorwould answer a few questions. The objector consented. 

"Do you know the W---- baking-powder?"

"Yes. "

"Do you know that it would naturally come to the food laboratory foranalysis, were such a laboratory established?"

"I suppose it might. "

"Do you know that the W---- baking-powder is 20 per cent. Clay?"

"No. "

"Would it surprise you to learn that it contained a high percentage ofclay?"

No answer. 

"Are you counsel for the W---- Baking Powder Co. ?"

"Yes. "

"That's all. "

It was enough. The bill passed. 

Everybody's health is nobody's business. There, as I see it, is the baneof the whole situation at present. To be sure, epidemics occasionallywake us up. And, really, an epidemic is a fine thing for a city to have. It is the only scourge that drives us busy Americans to progress. Ittook an epidemic of typhoid, a shameful and dreadful one, to teachIthaca that it must not drink filth. Only after Scranton faced athousand cases of the fever did it assert itself and demand protectionfor its water supply. New Orleans would probably be having (andconcealing) yellow fever yet, but for the paralysis of fright which theonset of three years ago caused. Boston's fine system of medicalinspection in the schools is the outcome of a diphtheria scare. Smallpoxis a splendid stimulator of vaccination; so much so that some of thecountry's leading sanitarians now advocate the abolition of pest-housesfor this avoidable ailment, and dependence upon the vaccine virus alone. 

But epidemics are only the guerrilla attacks of the general enemy. It isin the diseases always with us that the peril lies. Tuberculosis, carrying off ten per cent. Of the entire nation, and making its worstravages upon those in the prime of life, is a more terrible foe than wasever smallpox, or cholera, or yellow fever, or any of the grislysounding bugaboos. Why, not so long ago, three highly civilized Stateswent into quite a little frenzy over a poor dying wretch of a leper whohad got loose; whereas every man that spits on the floor of a buildingwherein people live or work is more of an actual peril, in that one foulact, than the leper in his whole stricken life. The twin shames ofvenereal disease, blinked by every health board in the country (Detroitpossibly deserves a partial exception) are, in their effect upon therace, in blindness, deafness, idiocy, and death so dreadful a menaceto-day, that consumption alone can march beside them in the leadershipof the destroyers. Typhoid, so easily conquerable, claims its annualthousands of sacrificed victims. And the slaughter of the innocents goesendlessly on, recorded only in the dire figures of infant mortality. To-day, as I write, the whole nation is thrilled with horror at thetragedy of 150 young lives snuffed out in a needless school panic inCleveland. Had my pen the power, perhaps I could thrill the nation withhorror over the more dreadful fact that some 1100 children under fiveyears of age die yearly in Fall River, the vast majority of themsacrificed to bad food and living conditions that might better be calleddying conditions. One half of the total mortality of that busy, profit-yielding city is among children under five years of age, two-fifths among children under one year. Does no baneful light shinefrom those figures?

Yet, over and above the minor discouragements, failures, and set-backs, looms the tremendous fact of a universal and gathering movement. It isstill, in any general sense, inchoate, and, except in certain specificrelations, invertebrate. But one cannot follow the work of the publichealth guardians without feeling the cumulative force of progress. As Ihave said, the newspapers have been a vital element in awaking thepublic. Associations are being formed the country over for theprevention of disease. There is a steady increase in the power andauthority of those officially charged with hygienic control. Makers ofdeleterious or poisonous foods, and the vultures who prey on the sickthrough fraudulent patent medicines are being curbed by pure food anddrug laws. Milk inspection is saving the lives of more children everyyear, as meat inspection is prolonging the lives of the poor. Definiteinstances of progress are almost startling: the fact that Massachusettshas so purified its public waters that for a year there has been notyphoid epidemic ascribable to any public supply; the passage of aradical law in Indiana which forbids the marriage of imbeciles, epileptics, and persons suffering from a contagious or venereal disease;the saving of babies' lives at $10 a life in Rochester by pure milkprotected and guaranteed by the municipality; the halving of thediphtheria death rate by the free distribution of antitoxin; the slowbut sure and universal yearly decrease in the Great White Plague--allthese and more are the first, slow, powerful evidences of nationalprogress. 

A LITTLE VICTORY FOR THE GENERAL

BY JOSEPHINE DASKAM BACON

ILLUSTRATIONS BY REGINALD BIRCH

Caroline, Miss Honey, and the General were taking the morning air. Caroline walked ahead, her chin well up, her nose sniffing pleasurablythe unaccustomed asphalt, the fresh damp of the river, and the wateredbridle path. The starched ties at the back of her white pinafore fairlytook the breeze, as she swung along to the thrilling clangor of themonster hurdy-gurdy. Miss Honey, urban and blasé, balanced herself withdignity upon her long, boat-shaped roller-skates, and watched withpatronizing interest the mysterious jumping through complicated diagramschalked on the pavement by young persons with whom she was unacquainted. 

The General sucked a clothespin meditatively: his eyes were fixed onsomething beyond his immediate surroundings. Occasionally a ravishingsmile swept up from the dimples at his mouth to the yellow rings beneathhis cap frill; he flapped his hands, emitting soft, vague sounds. Atsuch times a wake of admiration bubbled behind him. Delia, who propelledhis carriage, pursed her lips consciously and affected not to hear theenraptured comments of the women who passed them. 

To the left the trees, set in a smooth green carpet, threw out tiny, polished, early May leaves; graceful, white-coated children dotted thelong park. Beyond them the broad blue river twinkled in the sun, thetugs and barges glided down, the yachts strained their white sailsagainst the purple bluffs of the Palisades. To the right towered thelong, unbroken rows of brick and stone; story on story of shiningwindows, draped and muffled in silk and lace; flight after flight ofclean granite steps, polite, impersonal, hostile as the monuments in agraveyard. 

Immobile ladies glided by on the great pleasure drive, like large tintedstatues, dressed altogether as the colored pictures in fashion books, holding white curly dogs in their curved arms; the coachmen in front ofthem seemed carved in plum-colored broadcloth; only by watching thegrooms' eyelids could one ascertain that they were flesh and blood. Young girls, two, three, and four, cantered by; their linen habits roseand fell decorously, their hair was smooth. Mounted policemen, gloriousin buttons, breathing out authority, curvetted past, and everywhere andalways the chug-chug-chug of the gleaming, fierce-eyed motor cars filledone's ears. They darted past, flaming scarlet, somber olive, and lividwhite; a crouching, masked figure intent at the wheel, veiled, shapelesswomen behind, a whir of dust to show where they had been a breathbefore. 

And everywhere, as far as the eye could reach, a thin stream of whiteand pink and blue, a tumbling river of curls and caps and bare legs, were the children. A babble of shrill cries, of chattering laughter, offretful screams, an undercurrent of remonstrance, of soothing patience, of angry threatening, marked their slow progress up and down the walk. 

To Caroline, fresh from untrammeled sporting through neighborly suburbanyards, this disciplined procession, under the escort of Delia and theGeneral, was fascinating to a degree. Far from resenting the authorityshe would have scorned at home, she derived an intense satisfaction fromit, and pranced ostentatiously beside the perambulator, mimicking MissHoney's unconscious reference to a higher power in the matter ofsuitable crossings and preferred playfellows with the absorbed gravityof the artist. 

"See! General, see the wobblybubble, " Delia murmured affectionately. "(Will you see that child turn his head just like a grown person? Didyou ever see anything as smart as that?) Did he like the red one best?So does Delia. We'll come over here, and then you won't get the sun inyour precious eyes. Do you want me to push you frontwards, so you cansee me? Just wait till we get across, and I will. Look out, Miss Honey!Take hold of your cousin's hand and run across together, now, like goodgirls. "

Miss Honey made an obedient snatch at Caroline's apron strings, anddarted forward with a long roll of her skates. The road was clear for ablock. Delia, with a quick glance to left and right, lowered theperambulator to the road level and forged ahead. Caroline, nose in air, studied the nearest policeman curiously. 

"Look out, there! _Look out!_"

A man's voice like a pistol shot crashed behind them. Caroline heardquick steps and a woman's scream, and looked up at a huge, blood-redbulk that swooped around the corner and dashed forward. But Miss Honey'shand was clutching her apron string, and Miss Honey's weight as shefell, tangled in the skates, dragged her down. Caroline, toppling, caught in one dizzy backward glance a vision of a face staring down onher, white as chalk under a black mustache and staring goggles, andanother face, Delia's, white too, with eyes more strained and terriblethan the goggles themselves. One second that look swept her and MissHoney, and then, shifting, fell upon the General strapped securely intohis carriage. Even as Caroline caught her breath, he flew by her like anarrow, his blue eyes round with surprise under a whirl of white parasol, the wicker body of the perambulator swaying and lurching. With thatbreath still in her nostrils, she was pushed violently against MissHoney, who was dragged over her from the other side by a large hairyhand. A sharp blow from her boot heel struck Caroline's cheek, and shescreamed with the pain; but her cry was lost in the louder one thatechoed around her as the dust from the red monster blew in her eyes andshut out Delia's figure, flat on the ground, one arm over her face asthe car rushed over. 

"My God! She's down!" That was the man. 

"Take his number!" a shrill voice pierced the growing confusion. 

Caroline, crying with pain, was forced to her feet and stumbled along, one apron string twisted fast in Miss Honey's hand. 

"Here, get out o' this--don't let the children see anything! Let's gethome. "

"No, wait a minute. Let's see if she's alive. Have they got theambulance?"

"Look out, there, Miss Dorothy, you just stop by me, or you'll be runover, too!"

"See! She's moving her head! Maybe she's not----"

Sobbing with excitement, Caroline wrenched herself free from the tangleof nurses and carriages, and pushed her way through the crowd. Againstthe curb, puffing and grinding, stood the great red engine; on the frontseat a tall policeman sat; one woman in the back leaned over another, limp against the high cushions, and fanned her with the stiff vizor ofher leather cap. 

"It's all right, dear, it's all right, " she repeated monotonously, withset lips, "the doctor's coming. It's all right. "

Caroline wriggled between two policemen, and made for a striped blue andwhite skirt that lay motionless on the ground. Across the white apronran a broad, dirty smudge. 

Caroline ran forward. 

"Delia! Delia!" she gulped. "Is she--is she dead?"

A little man with eye-glasses looked up from where he knelt beside theblue and white skirt. 

"I don't believe so, my dear, " he said briskly. "Is this your nurse?See, she's opening her eyes now--speak to her gently. "

As he shifted a leather-covered flask from one hand to the other, Caroline saw a strange face with drawn, purplish lids where she hadalways known two merry gray eyes, and tight thin lips she could notbelieve Delia's. A nervous fear seized her, and she turned to run away;but she remembered suddenly how kind Delia had been to her; how thatvery morning--it seemed so long ago, now--Delia had helped her with herstubby braids of hair, and chided Miss Honey for laughing at herignorance of the customs of the park. She gathered her courage togetherand crouched down by the silent, terrifying figure. 

"Hel--hello, Delia!" she began jerkily, wincing as the eyes opened andstared stupidly at the ring of anxious faces. "How do you feel, Delia?"

"Lean down, " said the little man softly, "she wants to say something. "

Caroline leaned lower. 

"General, " Delia muttered, "where's General?"

The little man frowned. 

"Do you know what she means?" he asked. 

Caroline patted her bruised cheek. 

"Of course I do, " she said shortly. "That's the baby. Oh, " as sheremembered, "where is the General?"

"Here--here's the baby, " called some one. "Push over that carriage, " anda woman crowded through the ring with the General, pink and placid underhis parasol. 

"Lift him out, " said the little man, and as the woman fumbled at thestrap, he picked the baby out neatly and held him down by the girl onthe ground. 

"Here's your baby, Delia, " he said, with a kind roughness in his voice. "Safe and sound--not a scratch! Can you sit up and take him?"

And then, while the standing crowd craned their necks, and even thesteady procession, moving in the way the police kept clear for them, paused a moment to stare, while the little doctor held his breath andthe ambulance came clanging up the street, Delia sat up as straight asthe mounted policeman beside her and held out her arms. 

[Illustration: "CAROLINE WALKED AHEAD, HER CHIN WELL UP, HER NOSESNIFFING PLEASURABLY THE UNACCUSTOMED ASPHALT"]

"General, oh, General!" she cried, and buried her face in his fat warmneck. 

The men coughed, the women's faces twisted, but the little doctorwatched her intently. 

"Move your leg, " he said sharply. "Now the other. Hurt you? Not at all?"

He turned to the young man in a white jacket, who had jumped from theback of the ambulance. 

"I thought so, " he said. "Though it didn't seem possible. I saw thething go over her. Right over her apron--never touched her. Half an inchmore----"

"Please, is Miss--the other little girl--is she----"

This was Delia's old voice, and Caroline smiled happily at her. 

"She's all right, Delia--here she is!"

Miss Honey limped across on one roller skate, pale, but conscious of herdramatic value, and the crowd drew a long breath of relief. 

"You are a very brave girl, " said the doctor, helping Delia to her feetand tucking the General, who alternately growled and cooed at hisclothespin, into the perambulator. "You have undoubtedly saved the livesof all three of these children, and their parents will appreciate it, you may be sure. The way you sent that baby wagon flying across thestreet--well, any time you're out of a job, just come to me, that's all. Dr. Gibbs, West Forty-ninth. Can you walk now? How far do you have togo?"

The crowd had melted like smoke. Only the most curious and the idlestlingered and watched the hysteria of the woman in the automobile, whoclutched her companion, weeping and laughing. The chauffeur sat stolid, but Caroline's keen round eyes saw that he shook from the waist downlike a man in a chill. 

"Yes, sir, I'm all right. It's not so very far. " But Delia leaned on thehandle she pushed, and the chug-chug of the great car sent the blood outof her cheeks. The little doctor frowned. 

"Look here, " he said, "I'll tell you what you'll do. You come down thesesteps with me, there aren't but three of them, you see, and we'll juststep in here a moment. I don't know what house it is, but I guess it'llbe all right. "

Before Delia could protest, he had pressed the button, and a man inlivery was opening the door. 

"We've just escaped a nasty accident out here, " said the little doctoreasily. "You were probably looking out of the window? Yes. Well, thisyoung woman is a sort of a patient of mine--Dr. Gibbs, West Forty-ninthStreet--and though she's very plucky and perfectly uninjured, I want herto rest a moment in the hall here and have a drink of water, if yourmistress doesn't object. Just take this card up and explain thecircumstances and"--his hand went into his pocket a moment--"that'sabout all. Sit down, my dear. "

The man took in at a glance the neat uniform of the nurse, the General'ssmart, if diminutive, apparel, and the unmistakable though somewhatruffled exterior of Miss Honey. 

"Very well, sir, " he said, politely, taking the card. "It will be allright, sir, I'm sure. Thank you, sir. Sit down, please. It will be allright. I will tell Madame Nicola. "

"Well, well, so this is Madame Nicola's!" The little doctor lookedaround him appreciatively, as the servant ran up the stairs. 

"I wish I could stay with you, chickens, but I'm late for an appointmentas it is. I must rush along. Now, mind you, stay here half an hour, Delia, and sit down. You're no trouble at all, and Madame Nicola knowswho I am--if she remembers. I sprayed her throat once, if I'm notmistaken--she was on a tour, at Pittsburg. She'll take care of you. " Heopened the door. "You're a good girl, you biggest one, " he added, nodding at Caroline. "You do as you're told. Good-bye. "

[Illustration: "YOUNG GIRLS ... CANTERED BY; THEIR LINEN HABITS ROSE ANDFELL DECOROUSLY, THEIR HAIR WAS SMOOTH"]

The door shut, and Caroline, Miss Honey, and Delia looked at each otherin a daze. Tears filled Delia's eyes, but she controlled her voice andonly said huskily, "Come here, Miss Honey, and let me brush you off--youlook dreadful. Did it--were you--are you hurt, dear?"

"No, but you pushed me awful hard, Delia, and a nasty big man grabbed meand tore my guimpe--see! I wish you'd told me what you were going todo, " began Miss Honey irritably. 

"And you gave me a big kick--it was _me_ he grabbed--look at my cheek!"Caroline's lips began to twitch; she felt hideously tired, suddenly. 

"Children, children, don't quarrel. General, darling, _won't_ you sitstill, please? You hurt Delia's knees, and you feel so heavy. Oh, I wishwe were all home!"

The man in uniform came down the stairs. "Will you all step up, madamesays, and she has something for you up there. I'll take the baby, " asDelia's eyes measured the climb. "Lord, I won't drop her--I've got twoo' my own. 'Bout a year, isn't she?"

"He's a boy, " panted Delia, as she rested her weight on the rail, "andhe's only eight months last week, " with a proud smile at the General'smassive proportions. 

"Well, he _is_ a buster, isn't he? Here is the nurse, madame, and thechildren. The doctor has gone. "

Caroline stretched her eyes wide and abandoned herself to a frankinspection of her surroundings. For this she must be pardoned, for everysquare inch of the dark, deep-colored room had been taken bodily fromItalian palaces of the most unimpeachable Renaissance variety. Withquick intuition, she immediately recognized a background for many a taleof courts and kings hitherto unpictured to herself, and smiled withpleasure at the Princess who advanced, most royally clad in long, pink, lace-clouded draperies, to meet them. 

"You are the brave nurse my maid told me about, " said the Princess;"she saw it all. You ought to be very proud of your quick wit. I havesome sherry for you, and you must lie down a little, and then I willsend you home. "

Delia blushed and sank into a high carved chair, the General staringcuriously about him. "It wasn't anything at all, " she said awkwardly;"if I could have a drink----"

Caroline checked the Princess as she moved toward a wonderful coloreddecanter with wee sparkling tumblers like curved bits of rainbow groupedabout it. 

"Delia means a drink of water, " she explained politely. "She only drinkswater--sometimes a little tea, but most usu'lly water. "

"The sherry will do her more good, I think, " the Princess returned, noticing Caroline for the first time, apparently, her hand on thedecanter. 

[Illustration: "THE STANDING CROWD CRANED THEIR NECKS, AS DELIA SAT UPSTRAIGHT AND HELD OUT HER ARMS"]

At this point Miss Honey descended from a throne of faded wine-coloredvelvet, and addressed the Princess with her most impressive andexplanatory manner. 

"It won't do you any good at all to pour that out, " she began, with hercurious little air of delivering a set address, prepared in private sometime before, "and I'll tell you why. Delia knew a nurse once that dranksome beer, and the baby got burned, and she never would drink anythingif you gave her a million dollars. Besides, it makes her sick. "

The Princess looked amused and turned to a maid who appeared at thatmoment, with apron strings rivaling Caroline's. 

"Get me a glass of water, please, " she said, "and what may I giveyou--milk, perhaps? I don't know very well what children drink. "

"Thank you, we'd like some water, too, " Miss Honey returned primly; "wehad some soda-water, strawberry, once to-day. "

Caroline cocked her head to one side and tried to remember what thelady's voice made her think of. Suddenly it came to her. It was not likea person talking at all, it was like a person singing. Up and down hervoice traveled, loud and soft; it was quite pleasant to hear it. 

"Do you feel better now? I am very glad. Bring in that reclining chair, Ellis, from my room; these great seats are rather stiff, " said thePrincess, and Delia, protesting, was made comfortable in a large curvedlounging basket, with the General, contentedly putting his clothespinthrough its paces, in her arm. 

"How old is it?" the Princess inquired after an interval of silence. 

"He's eight months, madame, last week--eight months and ten days, really. "

"That's not very old, now, is it?" pursued the lady. "I suppose theydon't know very much, do they, so young?"

"Indeed he does, though, " Delia protested. "You'll be surprised. Justwatch him, now. Look at Delia, darlin'; where's Delia?"

The General withdrew his lingering gaze from the clothespin, and turnedhis blue eyes wonderingly up to her. The corners of his mouth trembled, widened, his eyelids crinkled, and then he smiled delightfully, straightinto the eyes of the nurse, stretched up a wavering pink hand, andpatted her cheek. A soft, gurgling monosyllable, difficult ofclassification but easy to interpret, escaped him. 

The Princess smiled appreciatively, and moved with a stately, long steptoward them. 

"That was very pretty, " she said, but Delia did not hear her. 

"My baby, my own baby!" she murmured with a shiver, and hiding her facein the General's neck she sobbed aloud. 

Miss Honey, shocked and embarrassed, twisted her feet nervously andlooked at the inlaid floor. Caroline shared these feelings, but thoughshe turned red, she spoke sturdily. 

"I guess Delia feels bad, " she suggested shyly, "when she thinksabout--about what happened, you know. She don't cry usu'lly. "

[Illustration: "'I'VE GOT TWO O' MY OWN'"]

The Princess smiled again, this time directly at Caroline, who fairlyblinked in the radiance. With her long brown eyes still holdingCaroline's round ones, she patted Delia's shoulder kindly, and bothchildren saw her chin tremble. 

The General, smothered in that sudden hug, whimpered a little and kickedout wildly with his fat, white-stockinged legs. Seen from the rear hehad the appearance of a neat, if excited, package, unaccountably frilledabout with embroidered flannel. Delia straightened herself, dabbedapologetically at her eyes, and coughed. 

"It's bottle time, " she announced in horror-stricken tones, consulting alarge nickel watch hanging from her belt, under the apron. "It's down inthe carriage. Could I have a little boiling water to heat it, if youplease?"

"Assuredly, " said the Princess. "Ellis, will you get the--the bottlefrom the baby's carriage and some boiling water, please. Do you mix ithere?"

"Mix--the food is all prepared, madam. " Delia spoke with repressedscorn. "I only want to heat it for him. "

"Oh, in that case, Ellis, take it down and have it heated, or, " as thenurse half rose, "perhaps you would feel better about it if you attendedto it yourself?"

"Yes, I think I will go down if you don't mind--when persons aren't usedto 'em they're apt to be a little careless, and I wouldn't have it breakand him losing his three o'clock bottle, for the world. You know how itis. "

The Princess shook her head whimsically. "But surely you will leave thebaby, " and she moved toward them again. "I will hold it, " with a halfgrimace at her own condescension. "It seems so very good and cheerful--Ithought they cried. Will it come to me?"

Delia loosened her arms, but tightened them again as the little creatureleaned forward to catch at the swinging lace on the lady's gown. 

"I--I think I'll take baby with me. Thank you just the same, and he'llgo to any one--yes, indeed--but I feel sort of nervous, I think I'dbetter take him. If anything should happen.... Wave your hand good-bye, now, General!"

The General flapped his arms violently, and bestowed a toothless butaffectionate grin upon the wearer of the fascinating, swaying lace, before he disappeared with the delighted Ellis in the van. 

"And can you buy all that devotion for twenty, thirty, or is it fortydollars a month, I wonder?" mused the Princess. "Dear me, " she added, petulantly. "It really makes one actually _want_ to hold it! It seems ajolly little rat--they're not all like that, are they? They howl, I'msure. "

Again Miss Honey took the floor. 

"When babies are sick or you don't treat them right, " she announceddidactically, "they cry, but not a well baby, Delia says. I"--withconscious pride--"screamed night and day for two weeks!"

"Really!" observed the Princess. "That must have been--er--trying foryour family!"

"Worried to death!" Miss Honey rejoined airily, with such an adultintonation that the Princess started. 

"The General, he just laughs all the time, " Caroline volunteered, "unless you tease him, " she added guiltily, "and then he squawks. "

"Yes, indeed, " Miss Honey bore witness, jealous of the lady's flashingsmile to Caroline, "my mother says I'm twice the trouble he is!"

The Princess laughed aloud. "You're all trouble enough, I can wellbelieve, " she said carelessly, "though you particular three arecertainly amusing little duds--for an afternoon. But for a steadydiet--I'm afraid I'd get a bit tired of you, eh?"

She tapped their cheeks lightly with a cool, sweet-smelling finger. MissHoney smiled uncertainly, but Caroline edged away. There was somethingabout this beautiful tall lady she could not understand, something thatalternately attracted and repelled. She was grown up, certainly; herskirts, her size, and her coiled hair proved that conclusively, and theservants obeyed her without question. But what was it? She was not likeother grown-up people one knew. One moment she sparkled at you and thenext moment she forgot you. It was perfectly obvious that she wanted theGeneral only because Delia had not wanted to relinquish him, which wasnot like grown people; it was like--yes, that was it: she was like alittle girl, herself, even though she was so tall and had such large redand blue rings on her fingers. 

Vaguely this rushed through Caroline's mind, and it was with anunconscious air of patronage that she said, as one making allowances forinexperience, "When you get married, then you'll _have_ to get tired ofthem, you know. "

"But you'll be glad you've got 'em, when they're once in bed, " MissHoney added encouragingly. "My mother says I'm a real treasure to her, after half-past seven!"

The Princess flushed; her straight dark eyebrows quivered and met for aninstant. 

"But I _am_ married, " she said. 

There was an utter silence. 

"I was married five years ago yesterday, as it happens, " she went on, "but it's not necessary to set up a day nursery, you know, under thosecircumstances. "

Still silence. Miss Honey studied the floor, and Caroline, after anastonished stare at the Princess, directed her eyes from one tapestry toanother. 

"I suppose you understand that, don't you?" demanded the Princesssharply. She appeared unnecessarily irritated, and as a matter of factembarrassed her guests to such an extent that they were utterly unableto relieve the stillness that oppressed them quite as much as herself. 

The Princess uttered an angry exclamation and paced rapidly up and downthe room, looking more regal and more unlike other people than ever. 

"For heaven's sake, say something, you little sillies!" she cried. "Isuppose you want me to lose my temper?"

Caroline gulped and Miss Honey examined her shoe-ties mutely. 

Suddenly a well-known voice floated toward them. 

"Was his nice bottle all ready? Wait a minute, only a minute now, General, and Delia'll give it to you!"

The procession filed into the room, Delia and the General, Ellisdeferentially holding a tiny white coat, the man in livery bearing asmall copper saucepan in which he balanced a white bottle with somedifficulty. His face was full of anxious interest. 

Delia thanked them both gravely, seated herself on the foot of thebasket-chair, arranged the General flat across her knees, and, amid theexcited silence of her audience, shook the bottle once or twice with theair of an alchemist on the brink of an epoch-making discovery. 

"Want it? Does Delia's baby want it?" she asked enticingly. The Generalwaved his arms and legs wildly; wreathed in smiles, he opened and shuthis mouth in quick alternation, chirping and clucking, as she held it upbefore him; an ecstatic wriggling pervaded him, and he chuckledunctuously. A moment later only his deep-drawn, nozzling breaths couldbe heard in the room. 

"He takes it beautiful, " said Delia, in low tones, lookingconfidentially at the Princess. "I didn't know but being in a strangeplace might make a difference with him, but he's the best-baby!----"

She wiped his mouth when he had finished, and lifting him, stillhorizontal, approached her hostess. 

"You can hold him now, " she said superbly, "but keep him flat for twentyminutes, please. I'll go and take the bottle down, and get his carriageready. He'll be good. He'll take a little nap, most likely. "

She laid him across the rose-colored lap of the Princess, who lookedcuriously down on him, and offered him her finger tentatively. "I neverheld one before, " she explained. "I--I don't know. " ... The Generalsmiled lazily and patted the finger, picking at the great sapphire. 

"How soft its hands are, " said the Princess. "They slip off, they are sosmooth! And how good--does it never cry?" This she said half to herself, and Caroline and Miss Honey, knowing there was no need to answer her, came and leaned against her knee unconsciously, and twinkled theirfingers at the baby. 

"Hello, General! Hello!" they cried softly, and the General smiledimpartially at them and caressed the lady's finger. 

The Princess stroked his cheek. "What a perfectly exquisite skin!" shesaid, and bending over him, kissed him delicately. 

"How good it smells--how--how different!" she murmured. "I thoughtthey--I thought they didn't. "

Miss Honey had taken the lady's other hand, and was examining the squareruby with a diamond on either side. 

"My mother says that's the principal reason to have a baby, " sheremarked, absorbed in the glittering thing. "You sprinkle 'em all overwith violet powder--just like doughnuts with sugar--and kiss 'em. Somepeople think they get germs that way, but my mother says if she couldn'tkiss 'em she wouldn't have 'em!"

The Princess bent over the baby again. 

"It's going to sleep here!" she said, half fearfully, with an inquiringglance at the two. "Oughtn't one to rock it?"

Miss Honey shook her head severely. "Not General, " she answered, "hewon't stand it. My mother tried again and again--could I take that bluering a minute? I'd be awful careful--but he wouldn't. He sits up and helies down, but he won't rock. "

"I might sing to him, " suggested the Princess, brushing a damp lock fromthe General's warm forehead and slipping her ringless finger into hiscurved fist carefully. "Would he like it?"

"No, he wouldn't, " said Miss Honey bluntly, twisting the ring around herfinger. "He only likes two people to sing--Delia and my mother. Was thatruby ring a 'ngagement ring?"

Caroline interfered diplomatically, "General would be very muchobliged, " she explained politely, "except that my Aunt Deedee is a verygood singer indeed, and Uncle Joe says General's taste is ruined forjust common singing. "

The Princess stared at her blankly. 

"Oh, indeed!" she remarked. Then she smiled, again in that whimsical, expressive way. "You don't think I could sing well enough for him--aswell as your mother?"

Miss Honey laughed carelessly. "My mother is a singer, " she said, "areal one. She used to sing in concerts--real ones. In theaters. Realtheaters, I mean, " as the lady appeared to be still amused. 

"If you know where the Waldorf Hotel is, " Caroline interrupted, "she hassung in that, and it was five dollars to get in. It was to send the poorchildren to a Fresh Air Fund. It--it's not the same as you wouldsing--or me, " she added politely. 

The lady arose suddenly and deposited the General, like a doll, with oneswift motion, in the basket-chair. Striding across the room she turned, flushed and tall, and confronted the wondering children. 

[Illustration: "'WHO--WHO--WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?' HE WHISPEREDHOARSELY"]

"I will sing for you, " she said haughtily, "and you can judge better!"

With a great sweep of her half bare arm, she brushed aside a portiéreand disappeared. A crashing chord rolled out from a piano behind thecurtains and ceased abruptly. 

"What does your mother sing?" she demanded, not raising her voice, itseemed, and yet they heard her as plainly as when they had leanedagainst her knee. 

"She sings, 'My Heart's Own Heart, '" Miss Honey called back defiantly. 

"And it's printed on the song, 'To Madame Edith Holt'!" shrilledCaroline. 

The familiar prelude was played with a firm, elastic touch, the openingchords struck, and a great, shining voice, masterful, like a goldentrumpet, filled the room. Caroline sat dumb; Miss Honey, instinctivelyhumming the prelude, got up from her foot-stool and followed the music, unconscious that she walked. She had been privileged to hear more goodsinging in her eight years than most people in twenty-four, had MissHoney, and she knew that this was no ordinary occasion. She did not knowshe was listening to one of the greatest voices her country had everproduced--perhaps in time to be known for the head of them all--but hersensitive little soul swelled in her, and her childish jealousy wasdrowned deep in that river of wonderful sound. 

Higher and sweeter and higher yet climbed the melody; one lasttriumphant leap, and it was over. 

"_My heart--my heart--my heart's own heart!_"

The Princess stood before them in the echoes of her glory, her breathquick, her eyes brilliant. 

"Well?" she said, looking straight at Miss Honey, "do I sing as well asyour mother?"

Miss Honey clenched her fists and caught her breath. Her heart wasbreaking, but she could not lie. 

"You--you"--she motioned blindly to Caroline, and turned away. 

"You sing better, " Caroline began sullenly, but the lady pointed to MissHoney. 

"No, you tell me, " she insisted remorselessly. 

Miss Honey faced her. 

"You--you sing better than my m--mother, " she gulped, "but I _love_ herbetter, and she's nicer than you, and I don't love you at _all_!"

She buried her face in the red velvet throne, and sobbed aloud withexcitement and fatigue. Caroline ran to her: how could she have lovedthat cruel woman? She cast an ugly look at the Princess as she went tocomfort Miss Honey, but the Princess was at the throne before her. 

"Oh, I am abominable!" she cried. "I am too horrid to live! It wasn'tkind of me, _chérie_, and I love you for standing up for your mother. There's no one to do as much for me, when _I'm_ down and out--no one!"Sorrow swept over her flexible face like a veil, and seizing Miss Honeyin her strong, nervous arms, she wept on her shoulder. 

Caroline, worn with the strain of the day, wept too, and even theGeneral, abandoned in the great chair, burst into a tiny warning wail. 

Quick as thought the Princess was upon him, and had raised him againsther cheek. 

"Hush, hush, don't cry--don't cry, little thing, " she whispered, andsank into one of the high carved chairs with him. 

"No, no, I'll hold him, " she protested, as Delia entered, her arms out. "I'm going to sing to him. May I? He's sleepy. "

Delia nodded indulgently. "For half an hour, " she said, as one allowinga great privilege, "and then we must go. "

"What do you sing to him?" the Princess questioned humbly. 

"I generally sing 'Flow Gently Sweet Afton, '" the nurse answered. "Doyou know it?"

"I think so, " and the Princess began a sort of glorified humming, like agreat drowsy bee, all resonant and tremulous. 

 Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise. 

Soft the great voice was, soft and widely flowing: to Caroline, who hadretreated to the further end of the music-room, so that Delia should notsee her tears, it seemed as if Delia herself, a wonderful new Delia, were singing her, a baby again, to sleep. She felt soothed, cradled, protected by that lapping sea of melody that drifted her off hermoorings, out of the room.... 

Vaguely she saw Miss Honey, relaxed on the red throne, smile in hersleep, one arm falling over the broad seat. Was it in her dream thatsome one in a blue and white apron--not Delia, for Delia wassinging--leaned back slowly in the long basket-chair and closed hertired eyes? Who was it that held the General close in her arms, andsmiled as he patted her cheek at the familiar song, and mumbled herfingers with happy, cooing noises?

 My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream!

The General's head was growing heavy, but he smiled confidingly into thedark eyes above him and stretched himself out in full-fed, drowsycontent. One hand slipped through the lace under his cheek and rested onthe singer's soft breast. She started like a frightened woman, and hervoice broke. 

Down in the hall the butler and the maid sat on the lower stair. 

"Ain't it grand?" she whispered, and Haddock nodded dreamily. 

"Mother used to sing us that in the old country, " he said. "There wasTom and 'Enry an' me--Lord, Lord!"

The General was asleep. Sometimes a tiny frown drew his eyebrowstogether. Sometimes he clenched and uncurled his warm hands. Sometimeshe sucked softly at nothing with moist, reminiscent lips. But on and on, over and over, rose and fell the quaint old song. 

 My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream!

It flooded the hushed house, it spread a net of dreams about thelistening people there and coaxed them back to childhood and a child'sprotected sleep. It seemed a song that could not stop, that must returnon its simple refrain so long as there were arms to encircle and breaststo lean upon. 

Two men came softly up a smaller stair than the grand entrance flight, and paused in amazement at sight of Caroline stretched full lengthacross the threshold. The older and smaller of the men had in factstepped on her, and confused and half awake, she listened to hisapologies. 

"Sh! sh!" he whispered excitedly, "not a vordt! not a vordt! Mein Gott!but it is marvelous! My friend, vot is this?"

He peeped behind the drawn curtains and withdrew a face of wonder. 

"It is nodding but children--and they sleep!" he hissed. "Oh, butlisten, listen! And I offered her fifteen hundert dollars for two hoursonly of that!"

The other man peeped behind the curtains in his turn, and seizingCaroline by the arm tiptoed with her to a farther room. 

"What--who--what is the meaning of this?" he whispered hoarsely. "Thatchild--where----"

Caroline rubbed her eyes. The golden voice rose and fell around her. 

"General--Delia, " she muttered, and stumbled against him. He lifted herlimp little body and laid it gently on a leather sofa. 

"Another time, " he said softly to the other man, "I--we cannot talk withyou now. Will you excuse us?"

The man looked longingly at the curtains. 

"She will never do more well than that. Never!" he hissed. "Oh, myfriend, hear it grow soft! Yes, yes, I am going. "

It seemed to Caroline that in a dream some one with a red face andglasses askew shook her by the shoulder and said to her sternly, "Sh!sh! Listen to me. To-day you hear a great artist--hey? Vill you forgetit? I must go because they do not vant me, but you vill stay and listen. There is here no such voice. Velvet! Honey! Sh! sh!" and he went the wayof dreams. 

The man who stayed looked long through the curtains. 

As a swing droops slow and slower, as the ripples fade from a stonethrown in the stream, the song of the Princess softened and crooned andhushed. Now it was a rich breath, a resonant thread. 

 Flow gently, sweet Afton----

The man stepped across the room and sank below the General at her feet. With her finger on her lips she turned her eyes to his and looked deepinto them. He caught his breath with a sob, and wrapping his arm abouther as he knelt, hid his face on her lap, against the General. She laidher hand on his head, across the warm little body, and patted ittenderly. Around them lay the sleepers; the General's soft breath was intheir ears. The man lifted his head and looked adoringly at thePrincess; her hand caressed his cheek, but her eyes looked beyond himinto the future. 

[Illustration]

[Illustration: AMERICAN IMPRESSIONS BY ELLEN TERRY]

ILLUSTRATED WITH PHOTOGRAPHS AND WITH A DRAWING BY ERIC PAPE

_Copyright, 1908, by Ellen Terry (Mrs. Carew)_

It is only human to make comparisons between American and Englishinstitutions, although they are likely to turn out as odious as theproverb says! The first institution in America that distressed me wasthe steam heat. It is far more manageable now than it was, both inhotels and theatres, because there are more individual heaters. But howI suffered from it at first I cannot describe. I used to feel dreadfullyill, and when we could not turn the heat off at the theatre, the playalways went badly. My voice was affected, too. At Toledo, once, itnearly went altogether. Then the next night, after a good fight, we gotthe theatre cool, and the difference to the play was extraordinary. Iwas in my best form, feeling well and jolly!

If I did not like steam heat, I loved the ice which is such a feature atAmerican meals. Everything is served on ice. I took kindly to theirdishes--their cookery, at its best, is better than the French--and Isadly missed planked shad, terrapin, and the oyster--at its best and atits cheapest in America--when I returned to England. 

_Travelling in America_

The American hotels seemed luxurious even in 1883; but it only takes tenyears there for an hotel to be quite done, to become old-fashioned anduseless as a rusty nail. Hotel life in America is now the perfection ofcomfort. Hotels as good as the Savoy, the Ritz, the Carlton, andClaridge's can be counted by the dozen in New York, and are to be foundin all the principal cities. 

I liked the travelling, but then we travelled in a very princelyfashion. The Lyceum Company and baggage occupied eight cars, and Henry'sprivate parlour-car was lovely. The only thing that we found was betterunderstood in England, so far as railway travelling is concerned, was_privacy_. You may have a _private_ car, but all the conductors on thetrain, and there is one to each car, can walk through it. So can anyofficial, baggage-man, or newsboy who has the mind!

There were, of course, people ready to say that the Americans did notlike Henry Irving as an actor, and that they only accepted him as amanager--that he triumphed in New York, as he had done in London, through his lavish spectacular effects. This is all moonshine. Henrymade his first appearance in "The Bells, " his second in "Charles I, " histhird in "Louis XI. " By that time he had conquered, and without the aidof anything at all notable in the mounting of the plays. It was notuntil we did "The Merchant of Venice" that he gave the Americansanything of a "production. "

My first appearance in America in Shakespeare was as Portia, and I couldnot help feeling pleased by my success. A few weeks later I playedOphelia at Philadelphia. It is in Shakespeare that I have been bestliked in America, and I consider that Beatrice was the part about whichthey were most enthusiastic. 

During our first tour we visited in succession New York, Philadelphia, Boston, Baltimore, Brooklyn, Chicago, Cincinnati, St. Louis, Detroit, and Toronto. To most of these places we paid return visits. I think itwas in Chicago that a reporter approached Henry Irving with thequestion: "To what do you attribute your success, Mr. Irving?"

"To my acting, " was the simple reply. 

We never had poor houses except in Baltimore and St. Louis. Our journeyto Baltimore was made in a blizzard. They were clearing the snow beforeus all the way from New Jersey, and we took forty-two hours to reachBaltimore. The bells of trains before us and behind us sounded veryalarming. We opened in Baltimore on Christmas Day. The audience waswretchedly small, but the poor things who were there had left their warmfiresides to drive or tramp through the slush of melting snow, and eachone was worth a hundred on an ordinary night. 

At the hotel I put up holly and mistletoe, and produced from my trunks areal Christmas pudding that my mother had made. We had it for supper, and it was very good. 

_Burned Hare Soup and Camphor Pudding in Pittsburg_

It never does to repeat an experiment. Next year at Pittsburg my littleson Teddy brought me out another pudding from England. For once we werein an uncomfortable hotel, and the Christmas dinner was deplorable. Itbegan with _burned hare soup_. 

"It seems to me, " said Henry, "that we aren't going to get anything toeat, but we'll make up for it by drinking!"

He had brought his own wine out with him from England, and the companytook him at his word and _did_ make up for it. 

"Never mind!" I said, as the soup was followed by worse and worse. "There's my pudding!"

It came on blazing and looked superb. Henry tasted a mouthful. 

"Very odd, " he said, "but I think this is a camphor pudding. "

He said it so politely--as if he might easily be mistaken. My maid inEngland had packed the pudding with my furs! It simply reeked ofcamphor. 

So we had to dine on Henry's wine and L. F. Austin's wit. This dear, brilliant man, now dead, acted for many years as Henry's secretary, andone of his gifts was the happy knack of hitting off people'speculiarities in rhyme. This dreadful Christmas dinner at Pittsburg wasenlivened by a collection of such rhymes, which Austin called a "LyceumChristmas Play. "

Everyone roared with laughter until it came to the verse of which he wasthe victim, when suddenly he found the fun rather laboured. 

The first verse was spoken by Loveday, who announces that the "Governor"has a new play which is "_wonderful_"--a great word of Loveday's. 

George Alexander replies:

 But I say, Loveday, have I got a part in it, That I can wear a cloak in and look smart in it? Not that I care a fig for gaudy show, dear boy-- But juveniles must _look_ well, don't you know, dear boy; And shall I lordly hall and tuns of claret own? And may I murmur love in dulcet baritone? Tell me, at least, this simple fact of it-- Can I beat Terriss hollow in one act of it?[1]

Norman Forbes:

 Pooh for Wenman's[2] bass! Why should he make a boast of it? If he has a voice, I have got the ghost of it! When I pitch it low, you may say how weak it is, When I pitch it high, heavens! what a squeak it is! But I never mind; for what does it signify? See my graceful hands, they're the things that dignify: All the rest is froth, and egotism's dizziness-- Have I not played with Phelps? (_To Wenman_) I'll teach you all the business!

[Illustration: HENRY IRVING AS CARDINAL WOLSEY IN "HENRY VIII. "

FROM A DRAWING BY ERIC PAPE]

T. Mead (of whom much has already been written in these pages):

 What's this about a voice? Surely you forget it, or Wilfully conceal that _I_ have no competitor! I do not know the play, or even what the title is, But safe to make success a charnel house recital is! So please to bear in mind, if I am not to fail in it That Hamlet's father's ghost must rob the Lyons Mail in it! No! that's not correct! But you may spare your charity-- A good sepulchral groan's the thing for popularity!

[Illustration: ELLEN TERRY

FROM A PAINTING, NEVER BEFORE REPRODUCED, BY GEORGE FREDERICK WATTS]

H. Howe (the "agricultural" actor, as Henry called him):

 Boys take my advice, the stage is not the question But whether at three score you'll all have my digestion, Why yearn for plays, to pose as Brutuses or Catos in, When you may get a garden to grow the best potatoes in? You see that at my age by Nature's shocks unharmed I am! Tho' if I sneeze but thrice, good heavens, how alarmed I am! But act your parts like men, and tho' you all great sinners are, You're sure to act like men wherever Irving's dinners are!

J. H. Allen (our prompter):

 Whatever be the play, _I_ must have a hand in it, For won't I teach the supers how to stalk and stand in it? Tho' that blessed Shakespeare never gives a ray to them, I explain the text, and then it's clear as day to them! Plain as A, B, C is a plot historical. When _I_ overhaul allusions allegorical! Shakespeare's not so bad; he'd have more pounds and pence in him, If actors stood aside, and let me show the sense in him![3]

[Illustration: ELLEN TERRY

WITH HER FOX-TERRIERS, DUMMY AND FUSSIE; FROM A PHOTOGRAPH TAKEN IN1889]

Louis Austin's little "Lyceum Play" was presented to me with a silverwater-jug, a souvenir from the company, and ended up with the followingpretty lines spoken by Katie Brown, a clever little girl who played allthe small pages' parts at this time:

 Although I'm but a little page, Who waits for Portia's kind behest, Mine is the part upon this stage To tell the plot you have not guessed. 

 Dear lady, oft in Belmont's hall Whose mistress is so sweet and fair, Your humble slaves would gladly fall Upon their knees, and praise you there. 

 To offer you this little gift, Dear Portia, now we crave your leave. And let it have the grace to lift Our hearts to yours this Christmas eve. 

 And so we pray that you may live Thro' many, many, happy years, And feel what you so often give, The joy that is akin to tears!

How nice of Louis Austin! It quite made up for my mortification over thecamphor pudding!

[Illustration: MISS ROSA CORDER

FROM THE PAINTING BY JAMES McNEILL WHISTLER

_Reproduced from an approved print in the possession of the LenoxLibrary. _]

_The Best Ophelia of My Life_

When I played Ophelia for the first time in Chicago, I played the partbetter than I had ever played it before, and I don't believe I everplayed it so well again. _Why_, it is almost impossible to say. I hadheard a good deal of the crime of Chicago, that the people were a rough, murderous, sand-bagging crew. I ran on to the stage in the mad scene, and never have I felt such sympathy. This frail wraith, this poordemented thing could hold them in the hollow of her hand! The audienceseemed to me like wine that I could drink, or spill upon the ground.... It was splendid! "How long can I hold them?" I thought. "For ever!" ThenI laughed. That was the best Ophelia laugh of my life--my life that issuch a perfect kaleidoscope, with the people and the places turninground and round. 

At Chicago I made my first speech. The Haverley Theatre, at which wefirst appeared in 1884, was altered and rechristened the "Columbia" in1885. I was called upon for a speech after the special performance inhonour of the occasion, consisting of scenes from "Charles I. , " "LouisXI. , " "The Merchant of Venice, " and "The Bells, " had come to an end. Ithink it must be the shortest speech on record:

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I have been asked to christen your beautifultheatre. 'Hail Columbia'!"

[Illustration: SIR HENRY IRVING

FROM A SNAP-SHOT TAKEN IN THE UNITED STATES]

"_Lonesome Brooklyn_"

When we acted in Brooklyn, we used to stay in New York and drive overthat wonderful bridge every night. There were no trolley cars on itthen. I shall never forget how it looked in winter, with the snow andice on it--a gigantic trellis of dazzling white, as incredible as adream. The old stone bridges were works of art--this bridge, woven ofiron and steel for a length of over five hundred yards, and hung high inthe air over the water so that great ships can pass beneath it, is thework of science. It is like the work of some impersonal power. 

It was during our week at Brooklyn in 1885 that Henry was ill, too illto act, for four nights. Alexander played Benedick and got through itwonderfully well. Then old Mr. Mead did (_did_ is the word) Shylock. There was no intention behind his words or what he did. 

I had such a funny batch of letters on my birthday that year: "Dear, sweet Miss Terry, etc. , etc. Will you give me a piano?" etc. , etc. ;another: "Dear Ellen. Come to Jesus. Mary"; another, a lovely letter ofthanks from a poor woman in the most ghastly distress; and lastly anoffer of a two _years'_ engagement in America. There was a simplecoming-in for one woman acting at Brooklyn on her birthday!

Brooklyn is as sure a laugh in New York as the mother-in-law in a Londonmusic-hall. "All cities begin by being lonesome, " a comedian explained, "and Brooklyn has never got over it. "

_My_ only complaint against Brooklyn was that they would not take Fussiein at the hotel there. Fussie was still my dog during the early Americantours. Later on he became Henry's. He had his affections alienated by acourse of chops, tomatoes, strawberries, "ladies' fingers" soaked inchampagne, and a beautiful fur rug of his very own presented by theBaroness Burdett-Coutts. 

[Illustration: MISS ELLEN TERRY

FROM A SNAP-SHOT TAKEN IN THE UNITED STATES]

_Fussie_

How did I come by Fussie? I went to Newmarket with Rosa Corder, whomWhistler painted. She was one of those plain-beautiful women who are sofar more attractive than some of the pretty ones. She had wonderfulhair, --like a fair, pale veil, --a white, waxen face, and a very goodfigure; and she wore very odd clothes. She had a studio in SouthamptonRow, and another at Newmarket, where she went to paint horses. I went toCambridge once and drove back with her across the heath to her studio. 

"How wonderfully different are the expressions on terriers' faces, " Isaid to her, looking at a painting of hers of a fox-terrier pup. "That'sthe only sort of dog I should like to have. "

"That one belonged to Fred Archer, " Rosa Corder said. "I daresay hecould get you one like it. "

We went out to find Archer. Curiously enough, I had known the famousjockey at Harpenden, when he was a little boy, and I believe used tocome round with vegetables. 

"I'll send you a dog, Miss Terry, that won't be any trouble. He's got avery good head, a first-rate tail, stuck in splendidly, but his legs aretoo long. He'd follow you if you went to America. "

Prophetic words! On one of our departures for America, Fussie was leftbehind by mistake at Southampton. He found his way back from there tohis own theatre in the Strand, London. 

Fred Archer sent him originally to the stage door at the Lyceum. The manwho brought him out to my house in Earl's Court said:

"I'm afraid he gives tongue. Miss, he don't like music anyway. There wasa band at the bottom of your road, and he started hollering. "

_Fussie and "Charles I. "_

We were at luncheon when Fussie made his début into the family circle, and I very quickly saw that his _stomach_ was his fault. He had a greatdislike to "Charles I. , " we could never make out why. Perhaps it wasbecause Henry wore armour in one act--and Fussie may have barked hisshins against it. Perhaps it was the firing off of big guns. But moreprobably it was because the play once got him into trouble. As a rule, Fussie had the most wonderful sense of the stage, and at rehearsal wouldskirt the edge of it, but never cross it. But at Brooklyn one night whenwe were playing "Charles I. , " the last act, and that most pathetic partof it where Charles is taking a last farewell of his wife and children, Fussie, perhaps excited by his run over the bridge from New York, suddenly bounded on to the stage! The good children who were playingPrincess Mary and Prince Henry didn't even smile; the audience remainedsolemn; but Henry and I nearly went into hysterics. Fussie knew directlythat he had done wrong. He lay down on his stomach, then rolled over onhis back, a whimpering apology, while carpenters kept on whistling andcalling to him from the wings. The children took him up to the window atthe back of the scene, and he stayed there cowering between them untilthe end of the play. 

America seems to have been always fatal to Fussie. Another time whenHenry and I were playing in some charity performance in which John Drewand Maude Adams were also acting, he disgraced himself again. Henryhaving "done his bit" and put on hat and coat to leave the theatre, Fussie thought the end of the performance must have come; the stage hadno further sanctity for him, and he ran across it to the stage doorbarking! John Drew and Maude Adams were playing "A Pair of Lunatics. "Maude Adams, sitting looking into the fire, did not see Fussie, but wasamazed to hear John Drew departing madly from the text:

 "Is this a dog I see before me, His tail towards my hand? Come, let me clutch thee. "

She began to think he had really gone mad!

[Illustration: _From the collection of Robert Coster_

AUGUSTIN DALY AND HIS COMPANY OF PLAYERS

ADA REHAN, MRS. GILBERT, AND JOHN DREW FORM THE GROUP DIRECTLY FACINGDALY]

When Fussie first came, Charlie was still alive, and I have often goneinto Henry's dressing-room and seen the two dogs curled up in both theavailable chairs, Henry _standing_ while he made up, rather than disturbthem!

When Charlie died, Fussie had Henry's idolatry all to himself. I havecaught them often sitting quietly opposite each other at Grafton Street, just adoring each other. Occasionally Fussie would thump his tail on theground to express his pleasure. 

_Irving's Strategy_

Wherever we went in America, the hotel people wanted to get rid of thedog. In the paper they had it that Miss Terry asserted that Fussie was alittle terrier, while the hotel people regarded him as a pointer; andfunny caricatures were drawn of a very big me with a very tiny dog, anda very tiny me with a dog the size of an elephant. Henry often walkedstraight out of an hotel where an objection was made to Fussie. If hewanted to stay, he went in for strategy. At Detroit the manager of thehotel said that dogs were against the rules. Being very tired, Henry letFussie go to the stables for the night, and sent Walter to look afterhim. The next morning he sent for the manager. 

"Yours is a very old-fashioned hotel, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir, very old and ancient. "

"Got a good chef? I didn't think much of the supper last night--butstill--the beds are comfortable enough--I am afraid you don't likeanimals?"

"Yes, sir, in their proper place. "

"It's a pity, " said Henry meditatively, "because you happen to beoverrun by rats!"

"Sir, you must have made a mistake. Such a thing couldn't----"

"Well, I couldn't pass another night here without my dog, " Henryinterrupted. "But there are, I suppose, other hotels?"

"If it would be any comfort to you to have your dog with you, sir, do, by all means, but I assure you that he'll catch no rat here. "

"I'll be on the safe side, " said Henry calmly. 

And so it was settled. That very night Fussie supped off, not rats, butterrapin and other delicacies in Henry's private sitting room. 

[Illustration: _Photograph by Sarony_

AUGUSTIN DALY]

It was the 1888 tour, the great blizzard year, that Fussie was leftbehind by mistake at Southampton. He jumped out at the station, justoutside where they stopped to collect tickets. After this longseparation, Henry naturally thought that the dog would go nearly madwith joy when he saw him again. He described to me the meeting in aletter:

 "My dear Fussie gave me a terrible shock on Sunday night. When we got in, J----, H----, and I dined at the Câfé Royale. I told Walter to bring Fussie there. He did, and Fussie burst into the room while the waiter was cutting some mutton, when, what d'ye think--one bound at me--another instantaneous bound at the mutton, and from the mutton nothing would get him until he'd got his plateful. 

 "Oh what a surprise it was indeed! He never now will leave my side, my legs, or my presence, but I cannot but think, alas, of that seductive piece of mutton!"

_The Death of Fussie_

Poor Fussie! He met his death through the same weakness. It was atManchester, I think. A carpenter had thrown down his coat with a hamsandwich in the pocket, over an open trap on the stage. Fussie, nosingand nudging after the sandwich, fell through and was killed instantly. When they brought up the dog after the performance, every man took hishat off. Henry was not told until the end of the play. He took it sovery quietly that I was frightened, and said to his son Laurence, whowas on that tour:

"Do let's go to his hotel and see how he is. "

We drove there and found him sitting, eating his supper, with the poordead Fussie, who would never eat supper any more, curled up in his rugon the sofa. Henry was talking to the dog exactly as if it were alive. The next day he took Fussie back in the train with him to London, covered with a coat. He is buried in the dog's cemetery, Hyde Park. 

His death made an enormous difference to Henry. Fussie was his constantcompanion. When he died, Henry was really alone. He never spoke of whathe felt about it, but it was easy to know. 

We used to get hints how to get this and that from watching Fussie. Hislook, his way of walking! He _sang_, whispered eloquently and low--thenbarked suddenly, and whispered again. Such a lesson in the law ofcontrasts!

The first time that Henry went to the Lyceum after Fussie's death, everyone was anxious and distressed, knowing how he would miss the dog in hisdressing-room. Then an odd thing happened. The wardrobe cat, who hadnever been near the room in Fussie's life-time, came down and sat onFussie's cushion! No one knew how the "Governor" would take it. But whenWalter was sent out to buy some meat for it, we saw that Henry was notgoing to resent it! From that night onwards the cat always sat, nightafter night, in the same place, and Henry liked its companionship. In1902, when he left the theatre for good, he wrote to me:

 "The place is now given up to the rats--all light cut off, and only Barry (the stage door-keeper) and a foreman left. Everything of mine I've moved away, including the Cat!"

[Illustration: _Photograph by Sarony_

JOHN DREW

AS PETRUCHIO IN "THE TAMING OF THE SHREW"]

_The Old Daly Company_

The Daly players were a revelation to me of the pitch of excellencewhich American acting had reached. My first night at Daly's was a nightof enchantment. I wrote to Mr. Daly and said: "You've got a girl in yourcompany who is the most lovely, humorous darling I have ever seen on thestage. " It was Ada Rehan! Now, of course I didn't "discover" her or anyrubbish of that kind; the audience were already mad about her; but I didknow her for what she was, even in that brilliant "all-star" companyand before she had played in the classics and got enduring fame. Theaudacious, superb, quaint Irish creature! Never have I seen suchsplendid high comedy. Then the charm of her voice, --a little like EthelBarrymore's when Miss Ethel is speaking very nicely, --her smiles, anddimples, and provocative, inviting _coquetterie_! Her Rosalind, herCountry Wife, her Helena, her Railroad of Love, and above all, herKatharine in "The Taming of the Shrew!" I can only ejaculate. Directlyshe came on I knew how she was going to do the part. She had such shy, demure fun--she understood, like all great comedians, that you must notpretend to be serious so sincerely that no one in the audience seesthrough it. 

[Illustration: _Photograph by Sarony_

ADA REHAN

AS KATHARINE IN "THE TAMING OF THE SHREW"]

As a woman off the stage Ada Rehan was even more wonderful than as ashrew on. She had a touch of dignity, of nobility, of beauty, ratherlike Eleonora Duse's. The mouth and the formation of the eye werelovely. Her guiltlessness of make-up off the stage was so attractive!She used to come in to a supper with a lovely shining face which scorneda powder-puff. The only thing one missed was the red hair which seemedsuch a part of her on the stage. 

Here is a dear letter from the dear, written in 1890:

 "My dear Miss Terry:

 "Of course, the first thing I was to do when I reached Paris was to write and thank you for your lovely red feathers. One week is gone. To-day it rains and I am compelled to stay at home, and at last I write. I thought you had forgotten me and my feathers long ago. So imagine my delight when they came at the very end. I liked it so. It seemed as if I lived all the time in your mind; and they came as a good-bye. 

 "I saw but little of you, but in that little I found no change. That was gratifying to me, for I am over-sensitive, and would never trouble you if you had forgotten me. How I shall prize those feathers--Henry Irving's presented by Ellen Terry to me for my Rosalind Cap. I shall wear them once and then put them by as treasures. Thank you so much for the pretty words you wrote me about 'As You Like It. ' I was hardly fit on that matinée. The great excitement I went through during the London season almost killed me. I am going to try and rest, but I fear my nerves and heart won't let me. 

 "You must try and read between the lines all I feel. I am sure you can if anyone ever did; but I cannot put into words my admiration for you--and that comes from deep down in my heart. Good-bye, with all good wishes for your health and success. 

 "I remain, "Yours most affectionately, "Ada Rehan"

I wish I could just once have played with Ada Rehan. When Mr. Tree couldnot persuade Mrs. Kendal to come and play in "The Merry Wives ofWindsor" a second time, I hoped that Ada Rehan would come and rollickwith me as Mrs. Ford, --but it was not to be. 

[Illustration: _From the collection F. H. Meserve_

HELENA MODJESKA]

Mr. Daly himself interested me greatly. He was an excellent manager, aman in a million. But he had no artistic sense. The productions ofShakespeare at Daly's were really bad from the pictorial point of view. But what pace and "ensemble" he got from his company!

May Irwin was the low comedian who played the servants' parts in Daly'scomedies from the German. I might describe her--except that she was farmore genial--as a kind of female Rutland Barrington. On and off thestage her geniality distinguished her like a halo. It is a rare qualityon the stage, yet without it the comedian has up-hill work. Generous MayIrwin! Lucky those who have her warm friendship and jolly, kindcompanionship!

_The John Drew Family_

John Drew, the famous son of a famous mother, was another Daly playerwhom I loved. With what loyalty he supported Ada Rehan! He never playedfor his own hand, but for the good of the piece. His mother, Mrs. JohnDrew, had the same quiet methods as Mrs. Alfred Wigan. Everything thatshe did told. I saw Mrs. Drew play Mrs. Malaprop, and it was a lesson topeople who overact. Her daughter, Georgie Drew, Ethel Barrymore'smother, was also a charming actress. Maurice Barrymore was a brilliantlyclever actor. Little Ethel, as I still call her, though she is a big"star, " is carrying on the family traditions. She ought to play LadyTeazle. She may take it from me that she would make a success in it. 

[Illustration: _From the collection of Robert Coster_

MARY ANDERSON]

Modjeska, who, though she is a Polish actress, is associated with theAmerican stage, made a great impression on me. She was exquisite in manyparts, but in none finer than in "Adrienne Lecouvreur. " Her last actelectrified me. I have never seen it better acted, although I have seenall the great ones do it since. Her Marie Stuart, too, was a beautifuland distinguished performance. Her Juliet had lovely moments, but I didnot so much care for that, and her broken English interfered with theverse of Shakespeare. Some years ago I met Modjeska and she greeted meso warmly and sweetly, although she was very ill. 

During my more recent tours in America, Maude Adams is the actress ofwhom I have seen most, and "to see her is to love her!" In "The LittleMinister" and in "Quality Street" I think she is at her best, but aboveall parts she herself is most adorable. She is just worshipped inAmerica, and has an extraordinary effect--an _educational_ effect--uponall American girlhood. 

[Illustration: _From the collection of F. H. Meserve_

JOSEPH JEFFERSON AS RIP VAN WINKLE]

_Mary Anderson_

I never saw Mary Anderson act. That seems a strange admission, butduring her wonderful reign at the Lyceum Theatre, which she rented fromHenry Irving, I was in America, and another time when I might have seenher act, I was very ill and ordered abroad. I have, however, had thegreat pleasure of meeting her and she has done me many littlekindnesses. Hearing her praises sung on all sides, and her beautiesspoken of everywhere, I was particularly struck by her modest evasion ofpublicity _off_ the stage. I personally only knew her as a mostbeautiful woman--as kind as beautiful--constantly working for herreligion--_always_ kind, a good daughter, a good wife, a good woman. 

She cheered me before I sailed for America by saying that her peoplewould like me. 

"Since seeing you in Portia and Letitia, " she wrote, "I am convinced youwill take America by storm. " Certainly _she_ took _England_ by storm!But she abandoned her triumphs almost as soon as they were gained. Theynever made her happy, she once told me, and I could understand herbetter than most, since I had had success too, and knew that it did notmean happiness. 

Henry and I were so fortunate as to gain the friendship and approval ofDr. Horace Howard Furness, perhaps the finest Shakespearean scholar inAmerica, and editor of the Variorum Shakespeare, which Henry consideredthe best of all editions--"the one which counts. " It was in Boston, Ithink, that I disgraced myself at one of Dr. Furness' lectures. He wasdiscussing "As You Like It" and Rosalind, and proving with muchelaboration that English in Shakespeare's time was pronounced like abroad country dialect, and that Rosalind spoke Warwickshire! A littlegirl who was sitting in the front of me had lent me her copy of the playa moment before, and now, absorbed in Dr. Furness' argument, I forgotthe book wasn't mine and began scrawling controversial notes in it withmy very thick and blotty fountain pen. 

"Give me back my book! Give me my book!" cried the little girl. "Howdare you write in my book!" she cried with rage. 

Her mother tried to hush her up: "It's Miss Ellen Terry. "

"I don't care! She's spoilt my nice book!"

I am glad to say that when the little girl understood, she forgave me. Still, it was dreadful of me and I did feel ashamed at the time. 

_Joseph Jefferson_

In November, 1901, I wrote in my diary: "Philadelphia. Supper atHenry's. Jefferson there, sweeter and more interesting than ever--andyounger. "

Dear Joe Jefferson--actor, painter, courteous gentleman, _profound_student of Shakespeare! When the Bacon-Shakespeare controversy wasraging in America (it really _did_ rage there!) Jefferson wrote the mostdelicious doggerel about it. He ridiculed, and his ridicule killed theBacon enthusiasts all the more dead because it was barbed witherudition. 

He said that when I first came into the box to see him as "Rip, " hethought I did not like him, because I fidgetted and rustled and moved myplace, as is my wicked way. "But I'll get her, and I'll hold her, " hesaid to himself. I was held indeed--enthralled!

_The Night of the Great Blizzard_

Our first American tours were in 1883-1884; the third was in 1887-88, the year of the great blizzard. We were playing in New York when thestorm began, and Henry came to fetch us at half-past ten in the morning. His hotel was near the theatre where we were to play at night. He saidthe weather was stormy, and we had better make for his hotel whilethere was time. The German actor, Ludwig Barnay, was to open in NewYork that night, but the blizzard affected his nerves to such an extentthat he did not appear at all and returned to Germany directly theweather improved!

Most of the theatres closed for three days, but we remained open, although there was a famine in the town and the streets were impassable. The cold was intense. Henry sent Walter out to buy some violets forBarnay, and when he brought them in to the dressing-room--he had onlycarried them a few yards--they were frozen so hard that they could havebeen chipped with a hammer. 

We rang up on "Faust" three-quarters of an hour late. This was not bad, considering all things. Although the house was sold out, there washardly any audience, and only a harp and two violins in the orchestra. But discipline was so strong in the Lyceum Company that every member ofit reached the theatre by eight o'clock, although some of them had hadto walk from Brooklyn Bridge. The Mayor of New York and his daughtermanaged to reach their box somehow. Then we thought it was time tobegin. A few members of Daly's company, including John Drew, came in, and a few friends. It was the oddest, sparsest audience! But theenthusiasm was terrific. 

Five years went by before we visited America again. Five years in acountry of rapid changes is a long time, long enough for friends toforget. But they didn't forget. This time we made new friends, too, inthe Far West. We went to San Francisco, among other places. We attendedpart of a performance at the Chinese theatre. Oh, those rows ofimpenetrable faces gazing at the stage with their long, shining, inexpressive eyes. What a look of the everlasting the Chinese have! "Wehave been before you--we shall be after you, " they seem to say. 

The chief incident of the fifth American tour was our production atChicago of Laurence Irving's one-act play "Godefroi and Yolande. " Iregard that little play as an inspiration. By instinct the young authordid everything right. 

In 1900-1 I was ill and hated the parts I was playing in America. TheLyceum was not what it had been. Everything was changed. 

In 1907--only the other day--I toured in America for the first time onmy own account--playing modern plays for the first time. I made newfriends and found my old ones still faithful. 

But this tour was chiefly momentous to me because at Pittsburg I wasmarried for the third time, and married to an American, Mr. JamesUsselman of Indiana, who acts under the name of James Carew. 

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Alexander had just succeeded Terriss as our leading young man. 

[2] Wenman had a rolling bass voice of which he was very proud. He was avaluable actor, yet somehow never interesting. Young NormanForbes-Robertson played Sir Andrew Ague-Cheek with us on our secondAmerican tour. 

[3] Once when Allen was rehearsing the supers in the Church Scene in"Much Ado about Nothing, " we overheard him "show the sense" inShakespeare like this:

"This 'Ero, let me tell you, is a perfect lady, a nice, innercent youngthing, and when the feller she's engaged to calls 'er an 'approvedwanton, ' you naturally claps yer 'ands to yer swords. A wanton is a kindof--well, you know--she ain't what she ought to be!"

Allen would then proceed to read the part of Claudio: "... Not to knitmy soul to an approved wanton. "

Seven or eight times the supers clapped their "'ands to their swords"without giving Allen satisfaction. 

"No, no, no, that's not a bit like it, not a bit! If any of your sisterswas 'ere and you 'eard me call 'er ---- ----, would yer stand gapin' atme as if this was a bloomin' tea party?"

THE HERITAGE OF HAM

BY

LIEUTENANT HUGH M. KELLY, U. S. A. 

ILLUSTRATIONS BY ARTHUR S. COVEY

"To be hanged by the neck until dead. " Well, no one was surprised. Itwas a foregone conclusion. Desertion to the enemy in time of war is oneof the crimes military that cuts a man off from any chance for clemency. When he lifts his hands against his former comrades, he is as onealready dead; that is, if he is caught. Private Wilson made the fatalmistake of being caught. The result was inevitable. 

Though Private Wilson was expecting these very words, the sound of them, cutting the absolute silence, sent a cold contraction to his heart, andhis thick lips drew themselves over his white teeth. Doubtless, if ithad been possible, he would have turned pale; but since he was as blackas the proverbial ace of spades, this was out of the question. PrivateWilson belonged to the 19th Cavalry, which, as the initiated know, is anegro regiment. 

There was no movement in the still line of the squadron when the fatalorder was read, except a slight tremor, almost imperceptible, like thefirst faint rustling of leaves in the dead quiet that precedes a storm. Then from the right of "B" Troop there came a deep, indrawn breath, andthe first sergeant's horse sprang sideways, in amazement, against thatof the guidon. The animal was accustomed to being treated as tenderly asan infant, and now, for no fault whatever, he had received a roughpressure from his rider's knees, and a sharp dig from the spurs. Thefirst sergeant was old Jeremiah Wilson, and the prisoner, standing tothe "front and center" in the gathering dusk, and hearing his fatepronounced, was Jeremiah's son. 

Sergeant Wilson was the one man in the squadron who had hoped againsthope, and now that hope was dead. It died hard, and its death wasrecorded in that contraction of the knees and dig of the spurs. Theguidon paid no attention. In his heart he believed that the sentence wasjust; but his pity went out to the old soldier on his right. His eyes, however, were fixed on Private Wilson, as were those of the rest of thesquadron. The prisoner had acquired a new status. Here was a human beingwithin two weeks of the solution of the greatest of all mysteries. Hewas worth looking at. The condemned man saw the interest shown in him, and, upheld by the feeling of self-importance inherent in the negrocharacter, and always brought to the surface by applause or othermanifestation of unusual attention, bore himself jauntily. 

There was nothing of this to sustain his old father. He had participatedin executions before. For him there were no visions of walking to deathwith a "firm tread, " as the papers say, and "dying game" before theadmiring eyes of soldiers and natives. With him it was steel-ribbedfacts. He could hear the bang of the trap, the snap of the rope, and thequivering creak of the scaffold. And afterward, the lonely, hopelessyears. Besides, the dishonor of it. What irony to parade with thirtyyears of service chevrons on his sleeves, and be pointed out as thefather of a man hanged for deserting to the Filipinos!

The officers went to the front and center and the formation was over. Private Wilson departed to his closely guarded prison, and old Jeremiahtook the troop to quarters and dismissed it. For the first time intwenty years he forgot to "open chamber and magazine, " and publish thedetails for the next day. He wanted to be alone; away from the pityingeyes of the black men of the troop. 

He had honestly believed that there were grounds for hope. He could notsee now, in the face of the evidence, how the court could have given"Buff" the extreme penalty. He thought he had explained thecircumstances so clearly. Hadn't he told the tribunal of the balefulinfluence of Mercedes Martinez? how this _mestiza_, had lured his boy tohis downfall? He thought he had shown positively, by his testimony, that this woman had terrible "voodoo" powers and had _conjured_ "Buff. "Hadn't they apparently listened with wonder while he related the charmsthat had been brought to bear on his son? the devils that had pursuedhim; the angels that had beckoned him away to the hills; the divine callhe had received to be the George Washington of the Filipinos, and leadthem to freedom?

[Illustration: "ALL DAY LONG OLD SERGEANT WILSON SAT IN THE CORNER OFTHE SQUAD ROOM, CLASPING AND UNCLASPING HIS STRAINING HANDS"]

The old soldier's pride in his son's physical perfection had alwaysblinded him to the fact that the private was constantly in trouble, andwas known as a "bad egg. " If any one had told him that he was an objectof pity because of his boy's worthlessness, he would have sputtered withindignation. He never realized that Buff escaped many a "bawling out"because the officers respected the father's long years of faithfulservice and did not want to humiliate him. He knew that his boy flewhigh occasionally, but that was because he was "jess nachally sprightlyand full o' devilment. " No one could deny that Private Wilson was one ofthe finest animals, physically, that ever wore the uniform; or that hehad gained a wide reputation among his comrades and the Filipinos onaccount of his terrible abilities in a hand-to-hand engagement. It wasthis very notoriety that had attracted the insurgents' attention to him, and led to his downfall. 

[Illustration: "CABLE THE PRESIDENT! WHAT A JOKE!"]

The little brown men stood in awe of this black demon, and wanted him ontheir side. His military training and reputation as a fighter would beof inestimable value. With their usual craft the insurgent officialswent about to wean the soldier from his allegiance, and by the aid ofthe _mestiza_ beauty, Mercedes Martinez, succeeded in their purpose. Between retreat and reveille of one July night, Private Wilson, led byvisions of love and a brigadier-general's star, took to the hills. Helonged to emulate the black renegade, Fagan, but having none of Fagan's"foxiness" or ability, he was soon laid by the heels. Men of his ownsquadron took him. He demanded at first to be treated as befitted hisrank; but none of his self-importance went with his black captors. "We'll brigidiale-gene'al yer, yer black scound'al, " they remarkedcheerfully, as they stripped off his tinsel stars. "Yer oughter belynched. "

They "Gen'al Wilsoned" him until he was sick of it and begged them tostop. Then, when they got back to the station, they popped him into the"jigger" along with privates charged with sassing the cook and otherheinous offenses--a most humiliating experience for a brigadier general. Now he must die; and it came to him that it was as hard for a generalofficer to die as ever it was for a private. 

[Illustration: "THE CIRCLE CLOSED IN AS THE SEA SURGES UP UPON THELAND"]

When his son had disappeared, old Sergeant Wilson had borne himselfproudly, even in the face of rumors and insinuations. His boy would notdesert. That he might have gone outside the lines to see some "ladyfriend" and been captured, yes; but no desertion. Even when tales of hislurid doings out in the province began to come in, old Jeremiah had notfaltered in his faith. They were lies, all of them, or it was some otherman. Nor when Buff was taken, with his patent-leather boots and tinstars, was the old man shaken; for the explanation that the private gaveas to how he had been conjured was easier for Wilson to believe thanthat his "baby" had been false to his salt. But now the case wasdifferent. The disgrace of being parent to a "bobtailed" and condemnedcriminal was as the bitterness of death. 

Up to now, for all his hard sixty years of life, he had carried himselflike a lance. The whiteness of age in his woolly hair was not reflectedin the iron spirit that upheld his wrinkled body. But the shame of thosewords spoken on parade had undone that, as suddenly as ashes crumblebefore the touch. 

The days immediately following the publishing of Buff's sentence werenightmares of pain and humiliation. The old negro could hardly bringhimself to go to headquarters at first sergeant's call. When he did go, he moved heavily, like a man asleep, and with his eyes fixed on theground, that he might not meet the curious, pitying glances of hisfellow soldiers. 

After a week of this, old Jeremiah began to make mistakes at drill andmistakes in his troop papers; a thing hitherto unknown. FinallyLieutenant Perkins, the troop commander, lost his patience at some bullthe old sergeant made, and called him down roughly, in the presence ofthe troop. 

"Look here, Sergeant Wilson, I won't have any more of this. I'll bustyou higher than a kite. I don't care if you've had fifty years ofservice. If you are mooning about that worthless boy of yours, you hadbetter get over it. It's a damn good riddance, and you know it as wellas I do. You'll have to take a brace or something will drop. "

If Perkins had not been born several degrees north of Mason and Dixon'sline he would have known better than that; as it was, he did notunderstand these negroes. He hadn't the faintest conception of how tohandle these simple-hearted black men. He was not popular with them atany time, and this unheard-of piece of cruelty cut every tender-heartedtrooper as deeply as if it had been aimed at him personally. This wasthe first break, and, as a consequence, something did drop, in a waythat Perkins hardly expected. 

The old sergeant made no reply to this reprimand, but simply stood atattention, though his black, weazened face worked and his lips trembled. It was the first time since he was a buck private that he had beenspoken to in such a manner. For the first time, the yoke of disciplinegalled him. The bitterness of his inferiority and servitude was aswormwood within him. The harsh injustice of such treatment in this, hisblack hour, after years of faithful work, aroused in him a demon ofresentment that made him long to strike back. 

The occurrence startled him from his lethargy. He suddenly realized thathis son's few remaining hours on earth were slipping by, and the boy hadnot been comforted. When this came to him, his self-reproach cut himsharply, and he resolved to make amends at once. He obtained permissionfrom the officer of the day, and that evening, after retreat, went tosee Buff. 

He found the general plucked of his plumage. The prospect of death soclose to him had narrowed the black boy's perspective. "The worldly hopemen set their hearts upon" had turned ashes, and it were hard to find "aman who looked so wistfully on the day" as this doomed soldier. Hewanted to live. Every atom of animal strength in his perfect body wascharged with a desire to exist. This living, day after day, in closeproximity to the grave had tended to a simplification of ideas. He hadharked back to childhood, and when his father came, the prisoner, in hisclanking irons, turned to him as a pickaninny might have done forprotection from some bugaboo. 

Old Jeremiah sat on the cot, while Buff occupied a small stool directlyin front of him. They talked in low tones, of ordinary subjects, atfirst; then gradually went back through the years. The white-haired oldnegro and the young soldier both smiled as they recalled childishescapades of the latter, 'way back in "God's country. " They lostthemselves in reminiscence, and forgot the present, until the wan moon, coming up, cast the shadows of the bars in the window across them. Thenwith a shiver they remembered. 

Suddenly the private began to talk of his death, and as he spoke theterror of it grew on him. This man, known to have killed more than oneAmerican soldier and to be absolutely fearless in battle, quaked withabject fright. He would contend gladly in a contest against hopelessodds; but at the thought of his end creeping on him thus, slowly, inexorably his soul writhed in terror. He leaned forward and pressed hisface on his father's knees. 

"Oh, paw, ain't yer gwine ter help me? Won't you do somethin' fer me? Ahdoan' wanter die yit. Tain't my time ter die. Ah nevah meant no hahm, paw. Ef they'll just give me one moah chanst, ah'll do anything theysay. Honest, ah will. Gawd! paw, yer ain't gwine ter let 'em kill me, isyer?"

The soldier raised his head and looked into the sergeant's black face asthough the latter were omnipotent, and only had to say the word to makehim free. Then, with a shivering sigh, he laid his head on his father'sknees again. 

"Sh--sh, " the old sergeant said softly, "Sh--sh"; and that was all hecould do; but his wrinkled hand wandered tenderly over the prisoner'sblack, kinky hair, and tears rolled down his seamed face. 

When Buff's panic wore off a bit, he was made to lie down, and Jeremiah, sitting beside him, crooned softly, as the old black mammies do to thelittle children. By the time call to quarters sounded, the condemnedman's quiet breathing told that his earthly troubles were forgotten, fora time at least. 

After this visit, Sergeant Wilson's apparent neglect of his dutiesbecame more pronounced than ever. The simplest orders and directionsreceived from his troop's commander, he either forgot to perform orexecuted in such a bunglesome manner as to drive Lieutenant Perkins'irritable nature to the verge of hysteria. The latter, with his narrowsympathies, could make no allowance for the old negro's state of mind, and his "roasts" became more frequent and rougher with each repetition. The sergeant took it all with apparent resignation; but within him thetroubled spirit was surging to and fro. How could he be expected to copytroop returns and muster rolls, with that cry--"Gawd, paw, yer ain'tgwine ter let 'em kill me, is yer?" ringing in his ears, hour by hour?It was the unfairness of it that aroused his resentment. 

If the "ole Cap'n" were only here, all would be well. It was anothercruel stroke that he should be absent on detached service just whenJeremiah needed him most. 

Soldiers are a peculiar breed. They are more nearly like children incertain characteristics than any other class of men. They are soaccustomed to being taken care of by their officers that they look tothe latter for everything. When they find one who they know will standup for them, and whom they can trust, their faith and confidence in himare absolute. They will follow him through fire and flood, and obey anyorder that he may give, in the blind belief that he knows what is bestfor them. This is true of white soldiers, and much more so of thedarkies. This is the feeling that old Jeremiah and the men of the troopheld for Captain North, whom they all called the "ole Cap'n. "

In all the years these two had served together, since the battle of theRosebud, when Lieutenant John T. North earned a medal of honor for"bringing in Private J. Wilson, 19th Cavalry, who was wounded, under aheavy fire from the Indians, at the imminent risk of his own life, " thesergeant had never received a harsh word or a rebuke that he did notknow was merited. But the sullen fury that this young prig aroused inhim was unbearable. He felt that his inherent subordination todiscipline was being torn to shreds. 

This went on for three days. The discipline in the troop was growingragged with startling rapidity, and Perkins felt it. The men, under theconstant abuse heaped upon one whom they respected and pitied, weregrowing sullen and restive. Each of these soft-hearted troopers wasgradually acquiring and nursing a personal grudge. They were forgettingtheir ideas of the fitness of things. They lost sight of everythingexcept a clearly monumental piece of injustice. 

Instead of meeting the issue fairly, and acknowledging the error of hisposition, Perkins became obstinately harsher and harsher. Not only washe unnecessarily abusive to old Jeremiah, but his treatment of the wholetroop was stern to a degree. Finally, on this third day, after a violentharangue in presence of the troop, he reduced the old negro from firstsergeant to sergeant. 

This was the second break, and when Perkins went that morning to inspectthe old church that served as quarters, he found the men congregated inlittle groups in the squad room. There was not the usual loud-voicedchatter and laughter, but a sullen murmur that dropped to quick silencewhen he entered. This was bad. There was nothing specific, but heinstinctively felt that he was losing his hold. He chafed to dosomething to "smash these niggers, " but there was nothing to seize upon;so he swore at a man loudly for not having his clothing arrangedproperly, and ordered him to the guard-house. When the officer left, thesame ominous murmur arose in the quarters. 

It was evident, also, that outside influences were beginning towork--the sign of the Katapunan. There was hardly a man in "B" Troop buthad his _querida_ or sweetheart among the native women. As one of theblack soldiers remarked: "Ef de gem'men Filypinos had 'a' been ascomplacent as de ladies, der nevah would 'a' bin no insurrecshun nohow. "In their off hours the men, in their grim anger, confided their troublesto these dusky females, and the crafty women began to work upon thespirit of rebellion amongst the simple colored soldiers. 

Why did they submit themselves to such a wretch as this _Teniente_Perkins? Why didn't they show him that they were men to be feared? Whydid they allow that magnificent black comrade, Wilson, to be hanged, without making an effort to save him; when doing so would be the onething that would make _Teniente_ Perkins wild with rage? They were toocunning to urge open mutiny, but the seed they sowed gave growth tothought. 

The darkies of "B" Troop were, first of all, soldiers. Subordination tothe wills of their superiors was ingrained in their natures. They didnot want to "buck, " but it seemed as if the troop commander were tryingto force them to rebel. They endeavored to forget the words of theFilipino women; but how could they, when all day long old SergeantWilson sat in the corner of the squad room, clasping and unclasping hisstraining hands; while on his sleeves were the marks where his firstsergeant's chevrons had been ripped off?

Two more days dragged by, and conditions in the troop grew worse. Perkins had heard some loud-mouthed private baying forth incendiary, notto say uncomplimentary remarks; had placed the troop on the straightration, and suppressed the pass list. The men wandered about thequarters with a nervous, preoccupied air. They did not look at eachother. They felt that if they gave rein to their feelings, somethinghorrible would happen. They did not want it to happen; they wanted to begood soldiers. But this man was forcing them; forcing their hands. Thereis a limit to everything. What he had done was nothing if they haddeserved it. It was the rank injustice that made them furious. They feltthat they must have some escape for their feelings or they would burstthrough the bonds. Consequently, when Sergeant Potter broached hisscheme, they hailed it with acclamation. A little conference was held inone end of the quarters, and after it was over Potter went to speak toold Jeremiah. 

The ex-first sergeant had taken no part in the proceedings--in fact, heknew nothing of them. He had stayed in his corner, where he had sat forthe last three days, with his eyes fixed on the floor, clasping andunclasping his hands. Sergeant Potter sat down on a bunk beside him andtouched him on the shoulder. The old man started. 

"Look a yere, sarge, yer oughter take a brace. Me and the res' of deboys is mighty sorry fer yer--we showly is. But yer mussent grieve so, cause yer showly gwineter be sick ef yer does. "

"I'se obleeged to yer, Potter, you and de boys. "

"Yes, suh, me an de boys feels mighty bad cause yer got busted, an'--an'about the other things. Ef yer'll 'scuse me, sarge, fer talkin' aboutit, we wondered ef dere wahnt somethin' yer could do fur--fur Buff. "

Seeing the drawn look come back to the older man's face, Pottercontinued hurriedly----

"Thar now, sarge, I'se powerful sorry ef I'se hu't yoh feelin's, but mean' de boys thought ef yer'd telegraph to Division Headquatahs, deymight do somethin'. 'Twon't do no hahm, nohow. "

He then went on and talked in such a persuasive strain that, in spite ofhis common-sense, a gleam of hope began to burn in Jeremiah's eyes. Yes, it would cost something, but the boys had got together a little purse todefray the expenses of the telegram. This could be turned over to theLieutenant, who would doubtless have no difficulty in getting thenecessary permission from the squadron commander. The old man had beeninactive and without hope for so long that the idea of any effortembracing a chance of success aroused in him a fierce energy. Oncepersuaded, he was impatient to be at work. If anything were to be done, it must be done at once. In the next day and the next, Private Wilson'ssands would have run out. 

It was apparently a good omen that Lieutenant Perkins should walk intothe quarters while they were talking. Potter and Jeremiah went to himwithout loss of time and respectfully broached their request. The restof the men stood around at attention, trying to look as though they werenot listening, but straining their ears to catch every word. The officerheard them through, and then burst out impatiently----

"Well, of all the wild-cat schemes I ever heard of, that is the worst. The idea, Wilson, of a man of your length of service proposing such athing. Hanging is too good for that son of yours, and you know it. I'llhave nothing to do with this, and don't want to hear any more of it. That'll do now. "

The silence that followed these words was silence indeed. Every man inthe room caught them, and there was not one of the fifty present who didnot feel a hot, uncomfortable throbbing at his temples. 

In the old sergeant, the last connecting link of discipline was strainednearly to the breaking point. An angry gleam appeared in his eyes, andhe said in a low, shaking voice:

"Ve'ly well, Suh, I shall go to de commandin' officah. "

"All right, you can do as you please about that; but you will hear fromit, " and Perkins walked into the orderly room, where he proceeded tomake life miserable for the subdued wretch who was acting first sergeantof the troop. 

In a few minutes the commanding officer's orderly presented thecommanding officer's compliments to Lieutenant Perkins, and informed himthat the commanding officer would like to see him at the office. 

Major Don Carlos Bliss, who was known throughout the service as asplendid soldier, did not think much of Perkins. He had had his eye on"B" Troop lately, and did not like the looks of things a little bit. Hewas a man of strong convictions and never hesitated to express them. Hehad known old Jeremiah Wilson for years, and when he learned of thelatter's reduction, his opinion that Perkins was a fool was dulyconfirmed. He knew that much of the lieutenant's irritability was due to"nerves" acquired by a steady and conscientious course of drinking, withwhich procedure he had no patience. 

Perkins, when he entered, found the sergeant standing at the desk. 

"Mr. Perkins, " the Major said shortly, "while Sergeant Wilson's requestis a little out of the ordinary, I have no objection to his sending atelegram through this office. I can put no recommendation for clemencyin it, however, for I consider the sentence a just one. When you getthis message drafted the way Sergeant Wilson wants it, bring it to me, and let me see it, and, " he concluded, looking Perkins steadily in theeye from under his bushy brows, "I advise you to do it at once. "

The telegram went that afternoon. The plea for clemency was based, principally, upon Sergeant Wilson's years of faithful service, and thefact that his son was too young to appreciate the enormity of his crime. 

Twenty-four hours passed, and there was no answer to the message. Inthat time Sergeant Jeremiah Wilson drank deeply of the bitter cup. Hehad aged suddenly in the last two weeks. Brooding in the hot, sticky, tropical days is not good for a man, especially when that man is nolonger young. Shapes and shadows in the brain grow rapidly, and soonassume enormous proportions. Now the fluctuating tides of hope anddespair gnawed steadily at the weakened foundation of his reason. Themen of the troop were more restless and ill at ease than ever. They hadlost sight of the fact that the prisoner's guilt was as black as themouth of the pit. All they saw was a darky soldier clinging tenaciouslyto his life, and the agony of that darky's father. Each sympathetictrooper had begotten a personal interest that ruled him completely. Besides, the mad hatred they bore Perkins and the hope of backsettinghim led them on. Shapes and shadows were growing in their minds also. 

Twenty-seven hours after the appeal was sent to Division Headquarters asignal corps private walked into "B" Troop's barracks and asked forSergeant Jeremiah Wilson. When the latter was pointed out, the manhanded him the familiar yellow envelope, with the crossed signal flagson the cover, and the burning torch. An instant quiet fell in the room, as Jeremiah received the crackling paper. He took it deliberately, andwith trembling fingers fumbled for his glasses. Deliberately he put themon, and deliberately abstracted the message from the envelope, while thesilent troopers watched him with fascinated gaze. He unfolded the paperand stared at it, then, taking off his glasses, wiped them and staredagain; but it was no use, the mist dimmed the lenses. 

"Heah, Potter, you read hit, " he said finally with unsteady voice. "Delight's too bad. Ah can't see. "

Sergeant Potter took the telegram and spelled it out slowly:

 MANILA, P. I. , OCT. 2, 1900. 5. 30 P. M. 

 SERGEANT J. WILSON, TR, "B, " 19TH CAV. 

 (Thro the Commanding Officer Guinibongbong, P. I. )

 The Division Commander will take no action nor grant any delay in case of Private B. Wilson, Nineteenth Cavalry. Has no objection to laying of case before President provided cable is without expense to government. Upon receipt of cable through this office indicating that such action is contemplated order of suspension will be issued. 

 By order MAJOR GENERAL WHEATLEY, CASTIN, ADJUTANT GENERAL. 

So that was the end of it. The irony, the humor of giving permission tolay the case before the President; by cable, too, with cable-grams onlycosting fifty cents a word! What magnanimity, what sarcasm, in sendingsuch permission to a negro sergeant drawing twenty-six dollars a month!It would have been better for Jeremiah's peace of mind if that part hadbeen left out. After it was over, and in the years to come, he wouldnever be able to escape the thought that one thing more might have beendone to save Buff's life--that once chance was left untried because ofthe lack of a few paltry dollars. Potter handed back the telegramslowly, and Jeremiah walked out into the darkness to fight his fightalone. 

The sergeant stopped on the small stone porch and looked out into thetown plaza. The clouds were low and dark in the late twilight, and ashe stood, a few big drops fell, slowly increasing until there was aheavy down-pour. The rains had come, and soon the monotonous roar on themetal roofs, steady as the beating of a giant heart, told that the earthwas receiving its semi-annual deluge. 

Jeremiah stood in a small niche where he was partially exposed to therain. When it and the water from a broken gutter, striking a balustradebeside him, splashed him with fine spray, he made no effort to move. Whyshould he care? He was only a worthless old nigger. A little wetnessmore or less would make no difference. A carelessness for all thingsearthly and pertaining to his own worn-out old body grew upon him. Thenhe suddenly ceased to think of himself. The sound of the rain in hisears seemed to be boring into his brain. Steady, inexorable, unanswerable as fate, it weighed upon him like a giant hand, and it cameto him that he was comparing that roar to the death that was approachinghis son. 

 * * * * *

When old Jeremiah left the squad room, there had been general silencefor a time, and then events began to move rapidly, as they continued todo until the end of this peculiar episode. Sergeant Potter stood for amoment, with his hands behind his back, gazing at the floor, then helooked up, and cried out to the whole room:

"Look a heah, boys, is yer gwine ter be beat dis a way? Is yer gwine tertuck yer tails atween yer laigs, and say 'let 'er go!' as long as dereis a chanst? Is yer goin' to 'low dat monkey-faced lootinint to grin atyer sarcastic? Yer know me. I'se as strong fur discipline as any pu'son;but dere's a eend to every man's patience. " He jerked a hat off a bunknear him, and threw it down. "Dis is all de dough I got in de worl', " hesaid, holding up two silver dollars, "but she'll send fo' words to dePresydent of dese United States, so heah she goes, " and he tossed theminto the hat at his feet. "Come on, boys, dem as wants to be high-toneand pass de time o' day with de Presydent, chip in. "

As soon as they grasped the idea, the appeal was effectual. Out came allthe cash the black men had. It was mostly Mex. _medio pesos_ and_pesetas_, for "pay day, pay day" had not sounded for over a month. Thesilver jingled merrily into the hat, and the affair became a sort ofjollification, each man vying with the others to see how much more hecould "dig up. " Their volatile natures, guided solely by impulse and anundercurrent of generosity, led them to give all they had withoutthinking. Man after man, in high good-humor, plunged his hands intosome corner of his box locker and raked up little hoards of cash that hehad saved for tobacco, soap, and such necessities. However, when thesilver was poured on the bed and counted, Sergeant Potter scratched hiswoolly head. 

"Tain't no kinder use, boys. Twenty-fo' dollars an' ten cents. Dat'llsen' fo'ty-eight big words and one little 'un. Dat ain't nowhere neara'nuf. He'd show'ly feel mightly slighted, de Presydent would, ef wedid'n sen' 'im no mo' talk dan dat. We gotter 'spress dis thing logicalan' ellygant, ur he won't take no notice uf it, none whatever. Wenacherally gotter have mo' uf de muzuma. "

This was very discouraging, and produced more deep thought and headrubbing, until Private Andy Smith broke out:

"Well, dis ain't no time fer tu back out. Damn de 17th Article uvWah[4]! Jess watch my smoke, niggers. "

The rest of the men observed him curiously as he shouldered his way outof the circle. He went to his gold medal cot, and jerking off one of thefine, heavy army blankets, spread it on the floor. Then he rummagedamongst the clothing in his locker, and taking out a pair of extrashoes, a flannel shirt, and a white stable suit, rolled them into hisblanket. Throwing the bundle thus made over his shoulder, he stalked outinto the rain. 

The effect of this eminently lawless example was instantaneous. Thesplendid regulation blankets and flannel shirts were at a premium amongthe natives, and the market was never dull. They could be coined into_pesos_ on sight. There was a grand rush, and soon the blankets andspare articles of clothing went forth into the night, lugged by theirrespective owners. Shortly the darkies, wet and steaming, began to stampback into the quarters, and the "dobie dollars" again clinked into thecrown of Potter's old campaign hat. 

 * * * * *

Lieutenant Roger Williams Perkins was what is known as a solitarydrinker. They are the worst kind. They drink by themselves, and purelyfor the effect. Doubtless their mental processes at such times arecurious indeed. 

The rain was falling steadily outside. There was no chance that any ofthe other men would come in to-night. Perkins sat alone at his table, ashe had sat since six o'clock. It was now eight, and as he reached totake "another one, " he heard two persons coming up the steps. He sworeto himself and set the glass down. Turning, he found Sergeants Potterand Wilson at the head of the stairs, their dripping hats in theirhands. Their ponchos glistened in the lamp-light, and from them ranlittle streams of water that gathered in globular pools, likequick-silver, on the oiled floor. 

Perkins, of course, had heard of the answer to the telegram, and hadthought the matter closed; but now these niggers had come to trouble himagain. They came forward, trailing their streams of water behind them. He heard them through. He answered them craftily, smiling behind hishand, with the cunning born of the fog in his brain. Shortly they wentaway again, leaving on the table a pile of silver. Cable the President!What a joke! and he chuckled aloud. He would teach them to come andworry him with their foolishness. 

Still the rain roared on the roof. Still he sat and drank, and drankagain, until the lamp-light grew sick and wan in the damp gray day. 

The first sergeant, with the Morning Report, found Perkins seated in thesame place. Perkins signed the book in a sprawling scrawl, and thesergeant went his way. The Chino cook brought the meals, and then cameand took them off again. The day dragged through, the gray evening fell;the rain streamed down; and still the officer sat as before. 

At eight fifteen he looked up to find Wilson and Potter before him. There were the same glistening ponchos, the same little streams ofwater, the same pools on the oiled floor. He himself sat in the sameplace. The soldiers might have been gone ten minutes instead oftwenty-four hours, for all the change there was in the scene. Only thepile of silver had disappeared. 

No, no answer to the cablegram had been received, and Perkins couldhardly conceal his desire to roar with laughter, as the two turned andtrailed their streams of water back down the stairs. 

At four o'clock he wobbled to the bed and threw himself down with allhis clothes on. He awoke at six, and, getting up uncertainly, went tothe window and looked out. Still rain and murky grayness everywhere. Ashe stood, the assembly went; for when a man is to be hanged, a littlething like rain does not interfere. Perkins turned from the windowquickly, and plunged his head into a basin of cold water. Then, in spiteof the early hour, he took a stiff "bracer, " and throwing on hisslicker, went out. At the foot of the stairs he found the orderly withthe horses, and, mounting with suspicious care, he rode to the stables. 

The troop was in ranks and waiting. Before the roll was called, Sergeant Wilson, his face drawn and wrinkled like old parchment, cameforward and asked hesitatingly if there were any news from Washington. The officer shook his head. The cords in the old negro's throat workedconvulsively, and he requested rather brokenly that he might be excusedfrom this formation, and be allowed to remain in charge of quarters. 

"No, " the Lieutenant replied thickly; "there is no reason why _you_should be excused any more than any one else. The regular man willremain in charge of quarters. " The whole troop heard, as he intendedthey should. The "bracer" was getting in its work, and Perkins wasfeeling good again. The wily schemes, the shapes and shadows of theprevious night, were growing in his brain once more. He would teachthese niggers who was who. 

And so they took Private Buff Wilson out into the falling rain andhanged him. In the center of the square, formed by the squadron he haddisgraced, he paid the price. The solemn hills, shrouded in mist, lookeddown, sadly, impassively. They were not more motionless on theireverlasting foundations than was Sergeant Jeremiah Wilson, sitting hisbig bay like a granite statue, the tragedy of the ages and of his racedeep in the hollow sockets of his eyes. For is it not written: "_Aservant of servants shall he be unto his brethren_"?

The signal was given. The trap fell with a bang; the spray flew from thesnapping rope; and Private Wilson was jerked unceremoniously into thepresence of his Maker. Justice was satisfied, and the account wasbalanced. 

When a man is hanged, he must be buried. To bury a man it takes a detailin charge of a non-commissioned officer. The non-commissioned officer isdesignated by name from the sergeant-major's office. He is also chosenby roster in his proper order. It happened to be Sergeant JeremiahWilson's turn for duty. Consequently Sergeant Jeremiah Wilson was toldoff to bury his own son. 

There was no detachment, no ceremony, no firing squad--only an escortwagon containing a black Q. M. Coffin, upon which were perched four orfive wet, disconsolate troopers armed with picks and shovels. OldJeremiah followed, mounted, a feverish light in his eyes and drops ofmoisture standing on his grizzled mustache. So he went forth and sawthem consign to earth the clod that had been his son--or rather, consignto water, for the grave was half full when they reached it. He did notsee it, either; but he heard it. 

He heard the splash as the casket was dropped into the half-filledgrave. He heard the grating of the bamboo poles used to hold it downuntil the earth could be placed upon it. He heard the sucking andbubbling as the water forced its way in and the air forced its way out. He heard the splash of the muddy clay until the heaviness of it seemedto descend upon his own heart. The shapes and shadows struggled to andfro in his aching brain until they triumphed. Sergeant Wilson, to thenaked eye as sane as any man, was mad; mad as a hatter. 

He went back to the quarters and to his old corner. There, as before, hesat hour after hour, clasping and unclasping his hands. At times hestartled all in hearing by throwing back his head and laughing harshly. The men regarded him furtively and with uneasiness. 

The dreary night, with its drearier unending rain, had dropped oncemore. Lieutenant Perkins was seated in his old place. He had been theresince the execution in the morning. This was the longest session he hadever indulged in; but the moral fiber degenerates rapidly in thetropics. Besides, the friendly rain had curtained him and kept away thespoil-sports. All day he had sat communing with the shapes and shadows. And it was very pleasant. He had triumphed. 

Lately, however, an unpleasant idea had been flitting elusively throughhis consciousness--a something that marred the full measure of hisachievement. Time and again he almost grasped it, only to have it slipfrom him. What was it? What was it?

Ah, yes; he had it. They were, as yet, ignorant of how he had fooledthem! They must know it to make the joy complete. What sport to taketheir money back to them and tell them to their faces what monkeys hehad made of them! Why not do it now? Yes; what a brilliant idea! Hewould do it at once. 

Just before call to quarters Perkins staggered into the main squad room. The men stood to attention and observed him with wonder. He was soakingwet, and the water was streaming down from his uncovered hair. Withoutspeaking, he walked to the end of the big nara-wood table in the centerof the room, and began to take silver coins from his bulging pockets. Heclawed out handfuls of them and planked them down in a pile; the smallerones leaking through his fingers and falling to the stone floor, wherethey rolled away with musical tinklings, or hid themselves in thecracks. Finally, when he had succeeded, with laborious care, inextracting one last dime from the depths of his pocket, he said thickly, waving his arms with an all-embracing oratorical gesture:

"All you men come here. " The troopers moved close, and formed on threesides of the table. They stepped quietly, some hint of what was to behaving come to them. 

"Got somethin' to tell you. You think you are very smart, doncher? Youthink you--" he rubbed his forehead reflectively and struggled forwords. What _was_ it he wanted to tell them? Oh, yes; that was it. "Youthink you're smart, doncher?" and he leaned forward on the table, peering around the circle; "but 'cher all damn fools. Me, I'm a smartman, " and he indicated the center button of his blouse with his thumb, drawing himself up haughtily. 

"You thought I cabled to the President, din'cher?" he continued, leaningforward again, and returning to his confidential tone. "Not on yourlife. See, there's the money. What a joke, " and he burst into drunkenhilarity, reeling from side to side, while the tears ran down his face. 

The quiet in the room was absolute, except for the officer's unholymirth, and the steady fall of the rain. At the sound of that laughter, old Jeremiah, who had sat in his corner unmindful of the officer'spresence, got up and came forward to the opposite end of the table. There was a dazed look in his face as though he were just waking from adeep sleep. He glanced around at the other negroes, standing silentlywith wide eyes, then at the drunken officer, and finally at the pile ofsilver. Then he knew. As soon as Perkins saw the old soldier, hechuckled with renewed glee. 

"Hallo, sergeant, you ole fool. The joke's on you. Yessir, the joke's onyou. You thought I cabled to the President; but I did'n'. Nosir, Idid'n'. " And he went off into renewed peals of laughter. 

Suddenly he stopped short. He saw that there was no appreciation of hiswitticisms; only a blur of blank black faces and white, rolling eyes. 

"Why don't you laugh, you damn apes? You damn black idiots, why don'tyou laugh? You----you----"

He ceased quickly, for another voice broke the silence. It was oldSergeant Wilson speaking. No one could tell when he had begun. He stoodslightly crouched, with his hands on the edge of the table. His face wasabsolutely blank and expressionless, while his eyes were fixed on theofficer with a tense, glassy stare. His voice was cold and monotonous, without rise or fall, halt or intonation, and seemed to be more the wailof the spirit rising from somewhere deep within him than the voice ofthe flesh. 

"You heah that, boys? You heah what he says? He calls us apes; us thatGod made as well as him. 'Cause we ahr black he calls us apes. We ahr nobetter dan de dirt undah his feet. He tooken ouh money an' fooled us, an' now he is laughin' 'cause he fooled us. He tooken ouh money andlied to us. An' while he wuz a-foolin' us, us apes, dey taken mah boy, mah baby, out an' killed him. Out in de rain. An' ah heered de trapfall, an' de rope snap. An' _he_ heered it, an' laughed when he heeredit!"

As he spoke, the sergeant never took his eyes from the officer's face, and moved slowly around the table, crouching a little, and creepingstealthily as a beast of prey might move upon an animal that it wasattempting to fascinate. And the officer was being fascinated. He stoodas though transfixed, his jaw hanging and his straining glance bent onthe approaching soldier. 

The body of troopers was getting restless. Their eyes, too, had taken ona peculiar shine, and were all focused upon the white face of theofficer. 

The wail of that dead, monotonous voice was to these negroes as the callof the wild. It touched a chord in them that antedated the deluge. Theymoved closer, imperceptibly, and moistened their dry lips with theirtongues. There is something mortally appalling in that simple action. The dead voice continued: "An' dey sent me out to bury him, my own baby. An' _he_ laughed when ah went. Ah seen 'im laugh. An' dey tooken mah boyand put 'im in a deep black grave; an' de col', col' watah wuz on 'iman' raoun' 'im, an' ah heerd it splash when dey put 'im thar. An' he isthar now, in de col' black grave, an' de watah is on 'im, an' ah kinfeel de watah; an' de dirt is a-weighin' me down. Heah on my ches'. An'dis man is a-laughin' at us an' says hit is a joke!"

The old sergeant was now within three feet of the officer. The latterwas gray as putty, and sober. It did not take the inclosing circle, theheavy breathing, the wild, staring eyes and tight-drawn lips to tell himhis danger. He felt the Presence. The air was pregnant with it. He tooka step backward and moved his stiff lips as though to speak; but therewas no sound. The voice went on:

"He laughed at us; but he won't laugh no moah. God done made 'im to looklak a man; but he ain't no man. He is a snake an' creeps in de grass. God sez in his book dat all snakes mus' be killed an'--" the sergeanttook another step; the officer took a step backward, and the crowdsurged forward with a quick, hoarse gasp. Then the terror gripped him, and turning, the officer made a dash for the door. 

Again the circle closed in as the sea surges up upon the land. Therewere tossing arms; there was the hissing of breath through clenchedteeth, the sickening thud of blows, and a gurgling cry of mortal agony. Then the sea surged out again, and there on the floor lay the thingthat had been Lieutenant Roger Williams Perkins. 

The ring of negroes stood fast. Their shoulders rose and fell as theirconvulsive breaths were indrawn and exhaled. They seemed to be wonderingwhat had happened. Several raised their hands and observed themcuriously, first one and then the other, as though they were strangeobjects never seen before. One placed his fingers to his nose and smeltthem furtively. Another tried to rub off the thick, dark stain, but withlittle success. The "moving finger" had written. 

When the catastrophe occurred, five or ten of the weak-kneed had rushedfrom the building, and even as these guilty ones stood there, there wasa clatter of arms outside. Some one yelled: "the guahd, " and they knewthat their deeds had overtaken them. 

In the momentary pandemonium that followed, old Sergeant Wilson washeard calling above the din: "Out with dem lights! Pile de bunks agin'de doahs an' winders!" They had learned to obey that voice before, inmany a tight place, and now it had its old-time ring. So they went anddid. A saber hilt rattled on the portal. "Open the door! This is theofficer of the guard. "

"To hell wiff de officah of de guahd. Open hit yo'se'f!" was bellowed inreply. The strain was relieved, and the sally was greeted with a wildyapping from the rest, such as might have risen from a den of trappedwolves. Several ran to the windows. There was a sputtering volley ofcarbine shots, and Troop "B, " 19th U. S. Cavalry, was in open mutiny. 

Now when a troop of United States cavalry rises against those inauthority, incidents begin to occur at once. The times when such a thinghas happened can be counted on the fingers of one hand, with some digitsto spare. There was, in this case, no room for parley or exchange offlags of truce. The thing with which the ants were already busy there onthe floor was an uncontrovertible fact. Consequently, there being nogrounds upon which to arbitrate the matter, the mutineers blazed awaycheerfully at anything that showed itself on the plaza. They had nownothing to lose. 

Then, shortly, there sounded from the guard-house, through therain-drenched night, the call that jerks the soldier out of his bunk, all standing, from any sleep but that of death: the "call to arms. "

In fifteen minutes "B" Troop's quarters were surrounded on all sides bythe other troops of the squadron, the men of which, from safe cover, observed the carbine flashes and wild yells emanating therefrom withmild surprise, and wondered "what de hell had broke loose. "

Major Bliss sat under the smoky lantern at the guard-house, surroundedby the officers of the station. He questioned sharply the men who hadescaped from "B" Troop's barracks. At intervals he swore mightily andcursed the day that Roger Williams Perkins was born. 

"And to think that old Wilson should be at the head of this! Old Wilson, of all men! Why, he is worth fifty thousand Perkinses, dead or alive. Iam only sorry that Perkins didn't get away. I should like to have gothold of him myself, damn him. "

There was no hesitation in the makeup of Major Bliss. He intended tosuppress this outbreak in a manner that would tend to discourage anysuch ebullitions in the future. Consequently, he made his dispositionswith grimness and determination. His plan was simple, his orders beingto "rush 'em and give 'em hell. " His greatest regret was that theinterests of discipline should make such a step necessary, since he wassure that a majority of the mutineers had acted upon impulse, and werealready excessively sorry for themselves. 

In the midst of these untoward events, the "Tarlac, " coastwise transportblew into the bay through the murk and rain, and Captain North, of "B"Troop, the "Ole Cap'n, " returned to the station. Hearing the shots andyells, he concluded that the Major was "shooting up the town, " andsplashed hurriedly to his quarters for his saber and revolver. There inthe darkness he stumbled over his _muchacho_, who had deposited himselfat the foot of the steps and was earnestly beseeching his patron saintto have him spared this once; promising an altar cloth and innumerablecandles if he should be allowed to exist long enough to secure them, thus putting on that gentleman's intercession a premium that he trustedwould be effective. The Captain being naturally impulsive, the accidentdid not improve his temper to any appreciable extent. Besides this, thematches were wet, and there was no oil in the lamp. Consequently he hadto search for his weapons in the dark. After falling over his bunk andnumberless chairs, and upsetting his field desk, he found his saber andrevolver, only to discover that both, owing to the neglect of that samesanctified _muchacho_ on the stairs, were covered with rust; that thecylinder of the revolver would not revolve; and that at least two strongmen and a boy would be required to coax the saber from its scabbard!

All this while the shooting and yelling were going on, and by the timehe splashed out into the rain once more, the good Captain was what istechnically known as "mad as a hornet!" He started on a run to "B"Troop's quarters, to take command of his men, only to be stopped by asentinel, who informed him that "B" Troop was in no mood to be takencommand of, and that he had "bettah go to de guahd-house. " Being orderedto the guard-house by a private did not tend to quiet his state of mindany, even when the situation was explained. By the time he burst in onthe assembled officers at the post of the guard, Captain North wasmadder than ever. 

"What the devil is going on here, Bliss? What's this I hear about 'B'Troop's busting loose? This is a hell of a state of affairs. "

"That is just what I think, North, and very neatly expressed, " the Majorreplied dryly. "Lovely discipline you have in that band of Indians ofyours. They've mutinied, no less, and apparently they have got Perkins. A nice----"

"Mutinied, have they? Why, the infernal black scoundrels, " almost roaredthe irate officer, striding up and down the room. "Mutinied, have they?What the devil do they mean by doing a thing like that without sayinganything to me about it? I'll mutiny 'em! Don't you interfere with me, Bliss, " he continued, halting in his walk, "don't you interfere with me. This is my troop, and I can handle them. Don't you interfere with me. "

"My dear North, no one has shown any inclination to interfere with you, has he?"

"That's right, " and the Captain continued his march, "that's right. Ican attend to these gentlemen. This plan of rushing them, though, is allwrong, all wrong"; and he stopped again. "They'll fight, fight like thedevil. I ought to know. I've seen them do it often enough. You'll losegood men. In opposing them with force you recognize the strength inthem. What you need is moral force. One man power. Same principle intraining lions. Same principle. If a lion-tamer went into a cage of tenlions with ten men, he'd have trouble on his hands from the jump; but hecan go alone and bluff 'em. Same principle here. If I could get into themiddle of that bunch over there without their seeing me until I _was_there, I'd scare them out of ten years' growth. How to get there, that'sthe question. "

"Why, North, you are crazy. They'd get you, sure. They'd eat you up, man. "

"Eat _me_ up? Why, they'd as soon think of tackling the late Mr. PeterJackson. They know me. How to get there, that's the question. Walkingacross the plaza they couldn't tell _me_ from any one else. "

"Beg yoah pahdin', sah, " and Private Massay of "B" Troop, who was thecommanding officer's orderly for the day, spoke up, "Ef de Cap'n couldgit in through de little doah in de stoah-room, and go through dekitchen, I speck he could git in widout bein' ketched. "

"Right, Massay, the very thing. Somebody give me a lantern. Confound it, one of you men get me a lantern, and be quick about it. " A member of theguard gave him the required article, and concealing it carefully underhis poncho, he went quickly out. The Major and other officers jumped upand followed. All the way down the dreary, rain-swept street the Majorattempted to persuade the Captain to give up his foolhardy enterprise, but without result. Finally, when they reached the cordon of surroundingtroops, the senior officer said:

"Well, North, this is absolutely absurd, and out of the question. If youinsist, I shall have to give you an order not to go. "

"No, you won't do that, Bliss. " The Captain's anger had left him now, and he spoke quietly. "We have known each other a long time, and seen alot of service together. You won't take advantage of your rank to stopme now. I am only doing what you would do in my place. It is my troop. The shame and disgrace are mine. You won't stop me now. "

The Major hesitated a moment and then spoke slowly, and with evidentfeeling:

"Well--well. Have your way; but be careful, John, be careful. "

They saw him move quietly along under the shadow of a wall, cross thestreet, and disappear in a small side door of "B" Troop's quarters. Hewas not discovered. 

 * * * * *

For the last half hour the silence and the blackness of the grave hadexisted in "B" Troop's big squad room. The "shouting and the tumult" haddied a lingering death. One cannot yell and hurl challenge indefinitely, and shouting up one's courage begins to lose its efficacy if longcontinued. One big-lunged mutineer had held out with his firing andbellowing until the nerves of the rest could stand it no longer. Theythen rudely suppressed him. He sounded so absurdly and patheticallyfoolish. He was typical of their own status. "One nigger shootin' abluff at de whole United States Army!" They realized that with fifty itwas no less idiotic. 

If it had not been for old Wilson passing stealthily to and fro amongthem, with that wild light in his eyes, and those crazy mumblings, doubtless there would have, already, been breaks in the ranks. But no;there was that other thing, lying over there where it fell. There was nouse now; there could be no looking back. Each turned wearily to his dooror window and renewed his wide-eyed effort to pierce the web ofblackness over the square. And the everlasting rain still fell. 

A door swung cautiously somewhere. There was the sound of some onemoving with steady, determined step down the center of the room. Then, without warning, their unaccustomed eyes were momentarily blinded by alight taken suddenly from under a poncho; and there in the center of theroom stood a lone officer; in one hand a lantern, in the other a bigblue revolver. 

For an instant there was no movement. Then there was a counter reaction. With the snarl of wild animals, the fifty negroes sprang toward thecenter of the room. Sergeant Wilson was first. With a cry of: "Kill him!kill him!" he bounded over a bunk, and landed within three feet of theofficer, revolver upraised. As he did so, the officer lifted the lanternto a level with his own face. The sergeant stopped. The whole circlehalted, as though Circe had transfixed them. They had recognized the"Ole Cap'n. "

"Well, Wilson. " At the sound of the voice the old negro's countenancechanged instantly. It became the face of a man in mortal anguish, asindeed he was. In that moment the scales had fallen from his vision. Hesaw his position clearly in the light of the sorrowful glance from the"ole Cap'n's" eyes. It was as though the main pillar of the heavens hadbeen pulled out, and the skies were thundering down about his dazed oldears. 

"Oh, Gawd, oh, Gawd!" he groaned, putting one hand to his head, androcking it from side to side, as though the pain there were more than hecould stand. 

"Oh, Gawd, oh, Gawd. " The revolver was lowered slowly from its upraisedposition, and suddenly, before the officer could stop him, the sergeantturned it against himself. There was a flash, an earsplitting report, and the old soldier sank to the floor. There he stretched himselfwearily, as though for a long sleep, and Sergeant Jeremiah Wilson, ofthe "old Army, " was gathered to his fathers. 

The Captain turned away abruptly. He knew that old Wilson was a goodshot. 

"Open the doors, " he said to the troopers, as though he had been tellingthem good morning. Compliance to that voice, raised in command, was tothese soldiers a second nature. There was not the slightest hesitation. With eager alacrity they hastened to obey, like children who had beencaught misbehaving. 

In the first faintness of the dawn the tired-faced troopers cheerfullyfiled out and formed in front of the quarters, each one, as he passedthrough the door, depositing his arms at the officer's feet. Oh, but itwas good to be on the right side again; and the "ole Cap'n" would takecare of his own. 

FOOTNOTES:

[4] Art. 17. Any soldier who sells, or through neglect loses or spoilshis horse, arms, clothing, or accoutrements, shall be punished as acourt martial may adjudge, subject to such humiliations as may beprescribed by the President, by virtue of the power vested in him. 

[Illustration]

THE SINGER'S HEART

BY

HARRIS MERTON LYON

ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. B. MASTERS

 _"I never cared for the singer's fame, But, oh, for the singer's heart Once more-- The bleeding, passionate heart!"--"B. V. "_

These are a few films from the human biograph of Harry Barnes, oldactor. You know, when you are old, you accept life with more or less ofa sigh of quiet acquiescence, and by your cozy fire you sit and nod toan inner voice, a gentle old voice which over and over whispers andmurmurs--"Once upon a time, once upon a time. " And possibly Barnes wouldhave nodded, too, but he lacked the cozy fire. Life has its dramaticunities, it would seem, and if one thing or another is awry we are aptnot to perform as the book says we should. No cozy fire, says the GreatStage Manager; no nodding acquiescence, replies the Mummer in the Play. 

Barnes listened, it is true, over and over to the voice which murmured"Once upon a time, " but he sat not by a comfortable open grate, amidgrandchildren. Instead, he lurked in East Fourteenth Street amiddecaying agents' offices, hunting a chance to do a bad monologue in aworse vaudeville show. He had outlasted his time; he could not get work. He lived on those two heartless things, Hope and Memory. And for all Iknow he is living on them yet. 

Now, you will not in your careless youth or your sceptical maturity findbeauty in this story, you will not "get under the skin" of it, as thesaying is, unless you have stopped sometime in your busy going, toconsider, aside and with understanding, the pathos of the old actor. Itis a curiously poignant human thing, written about by a few, suffered bymany, and ignored by the loud, inordinate world. 

The old actor out of employment! A target for jokes, a piece ofbattered, ancient "property" cluttering up a new and very busy stage. You smile at his curious figure, unconscious of the broken misery thataches beneath, where life has died and living goes paradoxically on;and only sometimes late at night do you get a part of that hidden achewhen you hear old legs drag weary feet up the boarding-house stairs, past your door and on up into the skylight room on the roof, despondently to bed; and you know that the old man has had anotherunsuccessful day among the agents and the managers. You can sometimesinterpret the querulous little laugh over the thin oatmeal at breakfast, sometimes you can guess the water in the rapidly winking eyes; but ofcourse you do not proclaim your deductions. Civilization is a process ofmaking less noise about things. 

This is a segment of the life-film of Harry Barnes, old actor, as hetraveled the stones of Fourteenth Street. Not the Rialto, where fat menadorned with fat diamonds smoke fat cigars in order to narcotize fatconsciences; but Fourteenth Street, grimy with old, sparsely-tenantedbuildings, where theatrical offices three flights up bargain for thedriblets of trade among the low music-halls and the cheapest vaudevillehouses, where niggardly, gray-haired agents have for two generations satamong their dusty contracts and their rusty pens, haggling overbread-and-water salaries with the jetsam of a too-volatile profession. 

Harry was old and dropsical with drink, a sad hero for a careless story. The only ideal he had ever had, besides one, was to arrive at the finefame of printer's ink: headlines, bill-boards, critical notices, reproductions of his photograph. But this was long ago. He had longed tobe chronicled in his time, preëminent and large; this he had desiredwith that hungry passion for display which only an actor can feel. Butthis, remember, was once upon a time. His other ideal--no need tomention it amid Momus and his mimes!--was to sway people with laughterand tears, to burn them with romance, to chasten them with tragedy, tocarry them with him in his frenzy, to play upon them with his art. 

Art! Do you care for a grotesque, serious evening in its humblestpresence? Have you time to listen, over beer glass and cigarette, to abroken-down old actor out of a job?

[Illustration: HARRY BARNES, OLD ACTOR]

Barnes was incongruously named when he was given the name of Harry. Itis a flippant name. It calls up merriness, youth, bravado, color, song. Barnes was forty-nine, streaked with grey, heart-sick, pallid, shuffling, timorous, sorry, and forlorn. Three decades of grease painthad made his skin flabby; and three decades of what the grease paintstood for had done likewise by his soul. It was thus that he driftedfrom doorway to doorway in Fourteenth Street, down by the Elevated, where dry little agents told him in dry little voices that there wasnothing for him from day to day. It was thus that he dragged his feet upthe boarding-house stairs to his skylight room, night after night, carrying the two heartless fardels, Hope and Memory. 

It was approaching a certain holiday, a holiday which came on Sunday. 

"Harry, " said old Tony Sanderson, after he had finished informing theactor that there was no news for him, "why don't you do a littlepress-agent work for yourself? Get your name in the paper. That mighthelp you get something to do. "

The other listened despondently. 

"Now here's a chance, " went on the agent, in a confidential tone. "Nomoney in it, of course, but, as I said, there's a chance to get intoprint. Some sort of a newsboys' benefit bunch is going to get togetherSunday night and give a little entertainment fer the kids up in Beals'gymnasium on the Bowery. They're callin' for volunteers among theactors. You take your monologue stunt down there and get onto theprogram. The newspapers always plays up this newsboy dope strong andyou'll get a good mention sure. Clip the notices and _then_ you've gotsomethin' to flash. See?"

Barnes stood uneasily by the desk. "I--I don't know, Tony, " he answered. "To tell yuh the truth, I'd be a little bit scared to try it. Yuh see, I--well, if you wasn't an old friend of mine, I couldn't say it--but, confidentially, Tony, I--I've kind o' lost my grip. I'm a--a backnumber, Tony. I'm afraid o' them kids; they're too wise. My old actwouldn't go. " He waited, awkwardly; then, as if he hoped he were wrong, he asked: "Would it?"

Sanderson snapped his grim eyes. "What're yuh tryin' to put it on fer, at all, then--if yuh think it won't take with a gang of kids at a freedoin's?" Then his tone softened. "Look here, Harry. It'll only be ten ortwenty minutes. Go ahead. You'll get through all right. You ain't asmuch of a dead one as you think you are. "

Barnes straightened up. It was all right for him to make a slightconfession, but Sanderson had wounded his professional vanity. "A deadone!" he exclaimed. "Certainly not. Harry Barnes a dead one! After athirty years' career in the companies of the best----"

The agent shoved a card in his hand and cut him off short. "Go aroundthere and tell 'em to put you down for a monologue. " And Harry went, with dignity and misgivings. 

His misgivings were all the more increased when he saw the list ofpromised performers: La Belle Marie, the famous little toe dancer in herattractive transformations; the Brothers Zincatello, Risley experts atthe Hippodrome; Julian Jokes, "in his inimitable Hebrew monologue"; theSeven Sebastians, the world's most marvelous Herculean acrobaticperformers; Mlle. Joujou, the popular singing comedienne, Prima Donnaand Star, direct from her unusual and most distinguished triumph at thePalace Theater, London; and a dozen more of the younger and more popularpeople of the stage, all adorned, with adjectives and hyperbole. Down atthe bottom of the list with a trembling pencil he wrote: "Harry Barnes, Singing and Talking. " Then he shook hands with the secretary of theorganization and walked back to his boarding-house in a mild fever ofexcitement. 

In his room he went eagerly about his work. He rehearsed again and againhis meager little bag of tricks, his funny Irishman, his Chinaman--no, the Chinaman came first, because he used the queue afterward to wraparound his chin and simulate Irish "galloways"--his Dutch comedianmonologue about married life, his old-time songs and dances. Hefurbished up some old "patter" and injected new anecdotes. And this hekept up morning and evening until the notable Sunday came. 

[Illustration: "HE GRINNED AND WINKED AND FRISKED AND CAPERED"]

He was so nervous, this old actor of a thousand parts, that he could eatno supper that night. He almost trotted to the gymnasium in hisexcitement, and, though his pockets bulged with grease paint, mustaches, wigs, and other paraphernalia, he forgot almost half of his material. Atthe door he had to push his way through a wriggling, impish mass ofsmall boys who blocked the steps and the sidewalk. Inside the hall, young faces packed the place to the window-sills. To the old man thenewsboys seemed as so many antagonistic bits of the younger generation, the generation which evidently would have none of him, which relegatedhim carelessly to the warehouse for old scenery and old settings. 

He stood in dismay behind an extemporized "wing" and peered out at therestless little bodies. He fancied already that he could see grins ontheir sophisticated faces, ridicule in their eyes; he remembered oncehearing a gallery god shout "Twenty-three!" in the middle of an actor'smonologue, and what had then seemed humorous precocity now seemed hard, bitter cruelty. He fumbled at his make-up in his pockets, shuffleduneasily, and waited. 

It was almost time to begin. Where were the other actors who hadpromised to come? The boys out front were whistling, kicking their feetupon the floor, clapping their hands, and shouting to one another. Adistracted official raced here and there among other officials, askingsome sort of exasperated question. Barnes could not hear what it was;but telepathically he felt that there was a hitch in the program. 

At last, after waiting a quarter of an hour, the manager stepped forwardand said:

"Boys, we had arranged a fine program for you to-night----"

"Good fer you!" yelled a voice. 

The speaker held up his hand. "But it seems that actors are better_promisers_ than they are _actors_. " He smiled at his own joke, but theaudience gave one long "Aw-w-w!"

"However, " he continued, "we are all here now and we intend to do thebest we can. If we make up our mind to, we can have a bully good timejust the same. We have with us at least one kind gentleman whoappreciates what a celebration like this means to the boys. " ... Barnesheard and saw things as if through a fog. The arms of the speaker weregyrating and a voice shouted in the ear of the old actor: "What's yourname?"

"Harry Barnes, " he said, moistening his lips. Nobody had shown up excepthim, he kept thinking over and over to himself: nobody except him. Hehad the thankless job of "opening the show. "

"... Harry Barnes, " echoed the speaker at the end of some sort ofpractical talk concerning the newsboys' organization and its management. "Mister Harry Barnes"--he squinted at the program--"in singing andtalking. "

He turned and smiled at the old man, and to Barnes the smile seemeddiabolical. Somebody clapped him on the back. There was a hurricane ofwhistles and shouts, and before he knew it he was in the middle of therostrum. 

Mechanically he had made his old comic entrance, tripping his right toeover his left heel, and turning to shake his fist at an imaginary enemy. The boys, determined to be pleased, giggled appreciatively. 

"How--how are you, boys?" Barnes asked, seriously. 

The audience snickered with delight. He was such a funny-looking oldman!

"I hope you'll like my work, " he went on, desperately, "or else we mightas well go home. I guess I'm the whole show, for a little while, atleast, as the feller said when he fell out o' the balloon. " The houseroared with approval. 

"Go wan, Barnesy, " shouted a young pair of lungs in the front row. 

He straightened up, turned his back for a moment, stuck a queer set ofmustaches on his upper lip, faced the crowd again, and began: "I waswalkin' down the street the other day when my friend J. Pierpoint Morganstepped up to me an' says, 'Barney, my boy'".... 

The show had begun. Harry Barnes, singing and talking, had opened hiscarefully rehearsed bag of tricks. 

There is some peculiar psychology about humor. If people make up theirminds that they are going to laugh and that a performance is bound to befunny, nothing on earth can keep them from enjoying themselves. The mostserious remark will be greeted with howls of approval; the most ancientjoke takes on a novel and present sprightliness. In the slang of thestage, Barnes' line of patter took. 

Four hundred boys simpered, smirked, grinned, giggled, tittered, chuckled, and guffawed. A wine of merriment flushed the crowd andmounted to the old mummer's brain and heart. He skipped and danced andsang; he went through all the drollery and tomfoolery, all the old comicbusiness he could recall. 

The children nudged each other, dug their fists into each other, andcheered: "Oh, you Barnesy!" "Kill it, Kid!" "Whatcha know about dat!""Sand it down, Barnesy!" The old-timer was doing the famous lock-stepjig he had done with Pat Rooney in "Patrice" fifteen or twenty yearsbefore. It was so old that it was new. Encore followed encore. Theperspiration cascaded through his pores; he grinned and winked andfrisked and capered. They would not let him stop. At the end oftwenty-five minutes he bowed himself off the stage, and still theycalled him back. When he gave them, for the "call, " the Little JohnnyDugan pantomime from "The Rainmakers, " the East Side children, bornsince the day of such things, were suffocated with delight. 

 What did Dugan do to him? --They say he was untrue to him. Did Dugan owe him money? --No; he stole McCarthy's wife! Who? Little Johnny Dugan?

sang Barnes with a quizzical flirt of his head; and lungs that were wontto fill the city streets with news could not even gasp for laughter. 

The secretary of the organization followed with a speech about futureentertainments; another official read a letter from a prominentfinancier promising the boys a swimming-pool and a half dozen summerexcursions. 

"Somebody bang de box!" suggested a voice, after a pause. 

Nobody could--except Barnes; and he volunteered. The whole affair wasnow like one big family circle, each one secure in the amity of theother, and when the old man sat down at the cracked piano, he sang as ifhe were singing to himself, easily and without restraint. A quiet heldthe house, and even the children were touched; for Harry Barnes wasquavering through the simple lines of "Should Auld Acquaintance BeForgot. " After that he gave them the Lullaby Song from "Erminie, " andsomehow it did not at all appear incongruous that a careworn mimic offifty should be singing to careworn workingmen of ten, down on theBowery, in a gymnasium, a verse about pretty little eyelids and sleepingdarlings. The world, fortunately, is not always with us; and the songended in a silent applause. 

For two hours the entertainment went on, speeches and official plansinterspersed with the antics of Barnes. 

[Illustration: "'OH, YOU DIVVIL, YOU! YOU OLD, BLATHERSKITING DIVVIL'"]

Was there anything he could not do? He mimicked birds and animals; heimitated a wheezy phonograph playing "When We Were a Couple of Kids"; herecited "The Raven" and "Paul Revere's Ride"; he gave a cutting fromDickens and one from Sheridan Knowles; he showed how Joe Jeffersonplayed Rip Van Winkle, how Sol Smith Russell did "A Poor Relation. "

And all through his soul and body, as he watched his haphazard audiencefollow him in his moods and changes, ran the quiet magic of ArtSatisfied. It is a noble braggart madness, this glorification of a cheapart by an old actor. 

"Barnes, my boy, " he said to himself, with a glow of rapid blood, "youhave not lost them yet! See them laugh with you! Feel them cry! Whatdoes it matter if you eat watery oatmeal and live in a skylight room;are you not an artist, a resonant instrument of poetry and music andmirth, a true actor of the best parts? You are; and these are matters ofthe undying soul. A boarding-house is a vulgar, temporal thing. You wereright to come here to-night, and do this thing without pay, for Art'ssake. You uphold the honor of a calling which is founded upon Art. And, oh, most of all, you have not lost your power, you have not outlivedyour time! Sanderson intimated that you were a dead one--very well, to-morrow you shall triumphantly cut the acquaintance of Sanderson! Tohave lived until this evening before the youth of this land; to havecaught the right intonation, the proper gesture; to have swept throughthe hearts of your hearers like a vibration of music--this is to havetranscended, this is to have justified yourself! And justified yourselfto whom? To Sanderson? To the world? No! You have justified Harry Barnesto Harry Barnes! You carry this human throng over the footlights andinto your soul with a Chinaman's queue and a putty nose. Your Art isstill that fine, secure Art which you have carried in your memory as youtraversed dingy stairways on Fourteenth Street. Barnes, you live, youact, you accomplish! Bravo!"

He shook hands abstractedly all around when the affair came to a close. He remembered bundling his make-up and trinkets into a piece ofnewspaper and tucking it under his arm. A pleased face presented itselfat one time before his eyes and a voice said, confidentially, "Mr. Barnes, I congratulate you; and the dramatic critic of the _Star_ washere to-night. "

He found himself at last out in the cool darkness of the street, and hehad to stop a moment to think which way his boarding-house lay. Then hewalked home, to save carfare. All the way up the silent streets hisbrain sang with triumph. His blood jumped in gladness; he could hardlykeep from running. He declaimed aloud bits of Shakespeare, tag ends ofpoems; he snapped his fingers and flung out his arms in sheer excess ofenthusiasm. He smiled, threw back his head, even made faces at thepassersby. He boomed into a solo from an opera, and kicked his foot at acigar stub on the sidewalk. And had anybody wished to observe when hereached his house, the spectacle would have presented itself of acaricature, funny-paper barn-stormer tramping merrily up the rattlingstairs and humming, "The flowers that bloom in the spring, tra-la, havenothing to do with the case. "

All the next day he did not leave his room, save at meal times; for hewished to be alone and hug his exultation. To the four flat walls herepeated snatches of the things he had done the night before; up anddown the rag carpet he smirked and grimaced and laughed and jigged. Hesang the songs that had "taken" so well. He went through certaingestures and then deliberately exaggerated them, in a high good-humor. He was as young again as on the day when he had signed his firstcontract. He puffed out his chest, looked at himself in the glass withmock seriousness, and then, when the pent-up good feeling burst out inhis merry eye, he winked it gleefully and said: "Oh, you divvil, you!You old blatherskiting divvil!"

At half-past four he went down to the corner and bought a copy of the_Star_, the late edition which had the dramatic news in it. 

There it was! He felt like jumping up in the air and whooping the lengthof the street. On the editorial page it was. His name was in theheadlines! Beneath, in the article itself, almost every other wordseemed to be Barnes. It praised him here, it admired him there, itthanked him, it congratulated him, it asserted that he had saved thenight for four hundred newsboys. He was so anxious to read it throughand to read it fast that he skipped from paragraph to paragraph. Therewas over a column of it! He hurried back up to the room; and thenregretted that he had not stopped to buy more copies of the paper. Helocked the door and spread the paper out on the little center-table. Hisheart and breath almost stopped as he read the good words slowlythrough. When he had finished, he threw the paper aside and bounded intothe middle of the room. 

"Press agent, hey?" he laughed. "Press agent! I guess yes! A smallmatter of a column and a quarter; that's all. _Only_ a column and aquarter about Harry Barnes! Wonder what Sanderson will think about that?Wonder if he won't get me something to do? Oh, no; I guess not. A columnand a quarter!"

He sat down again and smoothed out the paper before him. This time hebegan noticing little niceties of the critic's phrasing ... "entertaining, not to say pathetic rendition, " etc. , etc.... "_Not_ tosay?" Funny; look at it a moment, and it seems to mean it wasn'tpathetic. But here it said: "Infectious and heart-tickling old-timeIrish humor" ... "excellent characterization of Uriah Heep" ... And soon. 

[Illustration: "HE SAT STARING INTO THE BLANKNESS OF THE LITTLE ROOM"]

After a few minutes he ceased reading and sat, picking at the edge ofthe paper, staring into the blankness of the little room. He stayed thusimmovable for a long, long time, and then slowly the tears slippedacross his cheeks, down on the forgotten "notice, " his throat ached witha tender sobbing, and he bowed his head into the newspaper. 

He was thinking of the children; he had made them laugh and cry. Andthis was the thrill, once more, of the singer's heart. 

[Illustration: THE REPUDIATION OF JOHNSON'S POLICY

BY

CARL SCHURZ]

ILLUSTRATED WITH PHOTOGRAPHS

In consequence of the threatening situation which the President'sreactionary policy had precipitated, the belief grew stronger andstronger in the Northern country that the predominance of the Republicanparty was--and would be for a few years, at least--necessary for thesafety and the honor of the Republic; and steps taken to insure thatpredominance, even such as would have in less critical times evokedstrong criticism, were now looked upon with seductive leniency ofjudgment. Mr. Stockton of New Jersey was unseated in the Senate upongrounds which would hardly pass muster in ordinary times, to make roomfor a Republican successor, and even Mr. Fessenden approved thetransaction. Advantage was taken in the same body of the sickness orcasual absence of some Democratic senator to rush through a vote when atwo-thirds majority was required to kill a veto; and other proceedingswere resorted to at a pinch which were hardly compatible with the famous"courtesy of the Senate. " But there was more thorough and lasting workto be done to prepare for the full restoration of the States lately inrebellion. The Republican majority was by no means of one mind as to theconstitutional status of the communities that had been in insurrectionagainst the National Government. I have already spoken of the theory ofState-suicide advanced by Mr. Stevens and a comparatively small schoolof extremists. The theory most popular with most of the Republicans, which was finally formulated by the Joint Committee on Reconstruction, was that the rebel States had not been out of the Union, but had losttheir working status inside of the Union, and had to be restored totheir regular constitutional relations to the Union by action ofCongress, upon such conditions as Congress might deem proper. 

To meet the dangers which so far had become visible on the horizon, theJoint Committee on Reconstruction devised the Fourteenth Amendment tothe Constitution, which was long and laboriously debated in both Houses. In the form in which it was finally adopted it declared (1) that allpersons born or naturalized in the United States are citizens of theUnited States and of the States in which they reside, and that no Stateshall make or enforce any law abridging the privileges or immunities ofcitizens, nor deprive any person of life, liberty, or property withoutdue process of law, nor deny to any person the equal protection of thelaws; (2) that if in any State the right to vote at any election forthe choice of national or State officers is denied or in any wayabridged, except for participation in rebellion, or other crime, thebasis of representation in Congress or the electoral college shall bereduced in the proportion which the number of such male citizens shallbear to the whole number of male citizens twenty-one years of age insuch State; (3) that no person who had taken part in the rebellion, having previously, as a national or State officer, military or civil, sworn to support the Constitution of the United States, shall be aSenator or Representative in Congress or hold any office, civil ormilitary, under the United States, or any State, unless relieved of thatdisability by a two-thirds vote of each house of Congress; (4) that thevalidity of the public debt of the United States shall not bequestioned, nor shall any debt or obligation contracted in aid ofrebellion, or any claim for emancipated slaves be paid. 

_The Fourteenth Amendment_

Thus the Fourteenth Amendment stopped short of the extension of thesuffrage to negroes--a subject which many Republicans were still afraidto touch directly. But by implication it punished the States denyingthat extension by reducing the basis of representation; it excluded fromoffice, unless relieved of the disability by a two-thirds vote ofCongress, the most influential class of those who had taken an activepart in the rebellion; and it safeguarded the public debt. With only oneof its provisions serious fault could be found;--not with that whichguaranteed to the freedmen the essential civil rights of free men, norwith that which excluded the freedmen from the basis ofrepresentation--so long as they were not permitted to vote. Only theadvocates of negro suffrage might logically have objected to thisclause; inasmuch as it by implication recognized the right of a State toexclude the colored people from the suffrage if the State paid a certainpenalty for such exclusion. Neither could the clause safeguarding thepublic debt and prohibiting the payment of debts incurred in aid of therebellion be objected to. The really exceptionable provision was thatwhich excluded so large a class of Southern men from public office, andjust that class with which a friendly understanding was most desirable. The provision that their disqualification could be removed by atwo-thirds vote in each House of Congress mended the mischief thus donea little, but not enough for the public good. 

It was not expressly enacted, but it was generally understood, thatthose of the States lately in rebellion, which ratified the FourteenthAmendment, would thereby qualify themselves for full restoration in theUnion. Tennessee, where a faction of the Union party hostile toPresident Johnson had gained the ascendency, did so, and was accordinglyfully restored by the admission to their seats in Congress of itsSenators and Representatives. The full restoration of the other laterebel States would probably have been expedited in the same way, hadthey followed the example of Tennessee. But President Johnson, as becamepublicly known in one or two instances, obstinately dissuaded them fromdoing so, and the fight went on. He also vetoed a second Freedmen'sBureau bill in which some of the provisions he had objected to in hisveto of the first were remedied. But things had now come to such a passbetween Congress and the President that his veto messages were hardlyconsidered worth listening to, but were promptly overruled almostwithout debate by two-thirds votes in each House. 

_A Campaign to Destroy a President_

Under such circumstances the Congressional election of 1866 came on. Thepeople were to pronounce judgment between the President and Congress. The great quarrel had created excitement so intense as to affect men'sbalance of mind. About the time of the assembling of Congress Mr. Preston King of New York (the same rotund gentleman with whom, in theNational Convention of 1860, I conducted Mr. Ashmun to the chair), whohad been a Senator of the United States and had been appointed Collectorof Customs by President Johnson, committed suicide by jumping into theNorth River from a ferry-boat. He had been a Republican of the radicaltype, and when he took the office he supposed the President to be of thesame mind; but Mr. Johnson's course distressed him so much that hebecame melancholy; his brain gave way, and he sought relief in death. Another suicide which greatly startled the country a few months later, that of Senator Lane of Kansas, was attributed to a similar cause. "Jim"Lane had been one of the most famous free-State fighters in KansasTerritory. Since then he was ranked among the extreme anti-slavery menand as a Senator he was counted upon as a firm opponent of PresidentJohnson's policy. To the astonishment of everybody he voted against theCivil Rights bill. This somewhat mysterious change of front, whichnobody seemed able satisfactorily to explain, cost him his confidentialintercourse with his former associates in the Senate, and brought uponhim stinging manifestations of disapproval from his constituents. He wasreported to have expressed profound repentance of what he had done andfinally made away with himself as one lost to hope. He was still in thefull vigor of manhood--only fifty-one years old--when he sought thegrave. 

[Illustration: JOHN POTTER STOCKTON

THE DEMOCRATIC SENATOR FROM NEW JERSEY WHO WAS UNSEATED IN THE SENATE OF1866 TO MAKE ROOM FOR A REPUBLICAN SUCCESSOR. HE WAS LATER REELECTED TOTHE SENATE]

The campaign of 1866 was remarkable for its heat and bitterness. Incanvasses carried on for the purpose of electing a President, I had seenmore enthusiasm, but in none so much animosity and bad blood as in this, an incidental object of which was politically to destroy a president. Andrew Johnson had not only manifested a disposition to lean upon theDemocratic party in the pursuit of his policy, but he had also begun todismiss public officers who refused to coöperate with him politicallyand to put in their places men who adhered to him. This touched partisanspirit in an exceedingly sensitive spot. The so-called "bread-and-butterbrigade" was looked down upon with a contempt that could hardly beexpressed in words. 

_Killing of Negroes at Memphis and New Orleans_

But there were more serious things to inflame the temper of the North. The Southern whites again proved themselves their own worst enemies. Early in May news came from Memphis of riots in which twenty-fournegroes were killed and one white man was wounded. The conclusion laynear and was generally accepted that the whites had been the aggressorsand the negroes the victims. In the last days of July more portentoustidings arrived from New Orleans. An attempt was made by Union men torevive the constitutional convention of 1864 for the purpose ofremodeling the constitution of the State. The attempt was ofquestionable legality, but, if wrong, it could easily have been foiledby legal and peaceable means. The municipal government of New Orleanswas in possession of the ex-Confederates. It resolved that the meetingof the remnant of the convention should not be held. When it did meet, the police, consisting in an overwhelming majority of ex-Confederatesoldiers, aided by a white mob, broke into the hall and fired upon thoseassembled there. The result was thirty-seven negroes killed and onehundred and nineteen wounded, and three of the white Union men killedand seventeen wounded, against one of the assailants killed and tenwounded. General Sheridan, the commander of the Department, telegraphedto General Grant: "It was no riot; it was an absolute massacre by thepolice which was not excelled in murderous cruelty by that of FortPillow. It was a murder which the Mayor and the police of this cityperpetrated without the shadow of necessity. " A tremor of horror andrage ran over the North. People asked one another: "Does this mean thatthe rebellion is to begin again?" I heard the question often. 

The Administration felt the blow, and to neutralize its effects anational convention of its adherents, North and South, planned byThurlow Weed and Secretary Seward, was to serve as the principal means. This "National Union Convention" met in Philadelphia on August 14th. Itwas respectably attended in point of character as well as of numbers. Itopened its proceedings with a spectacular performance which underdifferent conditions might have struck the popular imaginationfavorably. The delegates marched into the Convention Hall in pairs, onefrom the South arm in arm with one from the North, Massachusetts andSouth Carolina leading. But with the Memphis riot and the New Orleans"massacre" and Andrew Johnson's sinister figure in the background, thetheatrical exhibition of restored fraternal feeling, although callingforth much cheering on the spot, fell flat, and even became the subjectof ridicule, since it earned for the meeting the derisive nickname ofthe "arm-in-arm convention. " The proceedings were rather dull, and muchwas made by the Republicans of the fact that the Chairman, SenatorDoolittle from Wisconsin, was careful not to let Southern members saymuch lest they say _too_ much. It was also noticed and made much of thatamong the members of the convention the number of men supposed to curryfavor with the Administration for the purpose of getting office--menbelonging to the "bread-and-butter-brigade"--was conspicuously large. Among the resolutions passed by the convention was one declaring slaveryabolished and the emancipated negro entitled to equal protection inevery right of person and property, and another heartily endorsingPresident Johnson's reconstruction policy. 

No doubt many of the respectable and patriotic men who attended thatconvention thought they had done very valuable work for the generalpacification by getting their Southern friends publicly to affirm thatslavery was dead never to be revived, and that the civil rights of thefreedmen were entitled to equal protection and would have it. But theeffect of such declarations upon the popular mind at the North was notas great as had been expected. Such affirmations by respectable Southerngentlemen, who were perfectly sincere, had been heard before. In fact, almost everybody in the South was ready to declare himself likewise, andwith equal sincerity, as to the abolition of the old form of chattelslavery. But the question of far superior importance was, what he wouldput in the place of the old form of chattel slavery. _There_ was therub, and this had come to be well understood at the North in the lightof the reports from the South, which the advocates of PresidentJohnson's policy could not deny nor obscure. The moral effect of theNational Union Convention was therefore very feeble. 

[Illustration: _From the collection of Joseph Keppler_

SENATOR CARL SCHURZ

FROM A PHOTOGRAPH TAKEN ABOUT 1879]

_Johnson "Swings Around the Circle"_

If the members of the National Union Convention thought that theirconciliatory utterances would pour oil on the angry waves of thecampaign, they reckoned without their host. When a committee appointedfor that purpose presented to President Johnson a copy of itsproceedings, there was rather a note of defiance to his opponents, thanof conciliation, in his response. "We have witnessed in one departmentof the government every endeavor to prevent the restoration of peace, harmony, and union, " he said. "We have seen hanging upon the verge ofthe government, as it were, a body called, or which assumes to be, theCongress of the United States, while, in fact, it is a Congress of onlya part of the United States. We have seen a Congress in a minorityassume to exercise power which, allowed to be consummated, would resultin despotism or monarchy itself. " Here was again the thinly veiledthreat that, because certain States were not represented in it, thevalidity of the acts of Congress might be attacked. But worse was tofollow. It is a well-known fact that presidents, under the influence ofthe Washington atmosphere, are apt to become victims of the delusionthat they are idolized by the American people. Even John Tyler is saidto have thought so. It may have been under a similar impression thatPresident Johnson, who had great confidence in the power of hisinfluence over the masses when he personally confronted them, acceptedan invitation requesting his presence at the unveiling of a Douglasstatue in Chicago, and he made this an occasion for a "presidentialprogress" through some of the States. He started late in August. Severalmembers of his cabinet, Seward among others, accompanied him, and so didGeneral Grant and Admiral Farragut, by command, to give additionalluster to the appearance of the chief. 

[Illustration: _Reproduced by permission of the New York Customs House_

SENATOR PRESTON KING

WHOM PRESIDENT JOHNSON APPOINTED COLLECTOR OF THE PORT OF NEW YORK. HISSUICIDE IN 1865 WAS ATTRIBUTED TO WORRY OVER THE PRESIDENT'SRECONSTRUCTION POLICY]

His journey, the famous "swinging around the circle, "--a favorite phraseof his to describe his fight against the Southern enemies of the Union, the Secessionists, at one time, and against the Northern disunionists, the radical Republicans, at another--was a series of the most disastrousexhibitions. At Philadelphia he was received with studied coldness. AtNew York he had an official reception, and he used the occasion torehearse his often-told story of his wonderful advancement from theposition of alderman in his native town to the presidency of the UnitedStates, with some insignificant remarks about his policy attached. AtCleveland he appeared before a large audience, according to abundanttestimony, in a drunken condition. Indeed, the character of his speechcannot be explained in any other way. He descended to the lowest tone ofpartizan stump speaking. He bandied epithets with some of his hearerswho interrupted him. The whole speech was a mixture of inane drivel andreckless aspersion. His visit at Chicago passed without any particularscandal. But the speech he made at St. Louis fairly capped the climax. He accused the Republicans in Congress of substantially having plannedthe New Orleans massacre. He indulged himself in a muddled tirade aboutJudas, Christ, and Moses. He declared that all his opponents were afterwas to hold on to the offices; but that he would kick them out; thatthey wanted to get rid of him, but that he defied them. And so on. AtIndianapolis a disorderly crowd hooted him down and would not let himspeak at all. 

[Illustration: _Lent by the Century Co. _

SENATOR JAMES LANE

ONE OF THE MOST FAMOUS FREE-STATE FIGHTERS IN KANSAS TERRITORY. HISDEFECTION TO THE SIDE OF PRESIDENT JOHNSON WAS BITTERLY CRITICISED BYHIS CONSTITUENTS, AND WAS THOUGHT TO BE RESPONSIBLE FOR HIS SUICIDE IN1866]

_New Congress Overwhelmingly Anti-Johnson_

He returned to Washington an utterly discomfited and disgraced man, having gone out to win popular support, and having earned only populardisgust. The humorists, pictorial as well as literary, pounced upon the"swinging around the circle" as a fruitful subject for caricature orsatire, turning serious wrath into a bitter laugh. Andrew Johnson becamethe victim not only of detestation but of ridicule. 

The campaign was then--about the middle of September--virtually decided. There was no longer any doubt that the election would not only preserve, but materially increase, the anti-Johnson majority in Congress. Butbefore President Johnson started on his ill-starred journey, arrangements had been made for the other national conventions. One ofthem was designed to bring Southern loyalists, that is, Southern men whohad stood loyally by the National Government, together with NorthernRepublicans. It met at Philadelphia on the 3rd of September. SenatorZachariah Chandler and myself attended it as delegates sent there by theRepublicans of Michigan. It was a large gathering, the roll of whichbore many distinguished names from all parts of the country. Southernmembers having been permitted to say but very little in the Johnsonconvention a fortnight before, it was a clever stroke of policy on thepart of our managers to give the floor to the Southern loyalistsaltogether. They availed themselves of the opportunity to lay before thepeople of the country an account of their experiences and sufferings, since the promulgation of the Johnson policy, which could not fail tostir the popular heart. Their recitals of the atrocities committed inthe South were indeed horrible. Over a thousand Union citizens had beenmurdered there since the surrender of Lee and in no case had theassassins been brought to judgment. But after Mr. Johnson's "swingaround the circle" no further exertions could have saved his cause, andno further exertion could have very much augmented the majority againsthim. I am convinced he would have been beaten without his disgracefulescapade. But his self-exhibitions made his defeat overwhelming. TheRepublicans won in one hundred and forty-three Congressional districts, the Democrats in only forty-nine. President Johnson was more at themercy of Congress than ever. 

During the canvass I was somewhat in demand as a speaker and addressedlarge meetings at various places. One of my speeches, delivered atPhiladelphia on the 8th of September, was printed in pamphlet form andwidely circulated as a campaign document. I have read itagain--thirty-nine years after its delivery--and I may say that afterthe additional light and the experience which this lapse of time hasgiven us, I would now draw the diagnosis of the situation then existingsubstantially as I did in that speech--barring some, notmany--extravagances of oratorical coloring, and the treatment of thedisqualification clause of the Fourteenth Amendment to the Constitution. 

_The Movement Toward Negro Suffrage_

It was in this campaign that the matter of negro suffrage was firstdiscussed on the hustings with a certain frankness. Efforts have sincebeen made, and are now being made, to make the Southern peoplebelieve--and, I deeply regret to say, many of them actually dobelieve--that the introduction of negro suffrage was a device of someparticularly malignant and vindictive radicals, to subject the South tothe extreme of distress and humiliation. Nothing could be farther fromthe truth. Admitting that there were people in the North who, before thepassions of the War had subsided, wished to see the rebels and theirsympathizers and abettors in some way punished for what they had done, negro suffrage never was thought of as a punitive measure. I may saythat in all my intercourse with various classes of people--and myopportunities were large--I have never heard it mentioned or suggested, still less advocated, as a punitive measure. It never was in itselfpopular with the masses--reason enough for the ordinary politicians tobe afraid of openly favoring it. There were only two classes of men whoat all thought of introducing it generally; those whom, without meaningany disparagement, I would for the sake of convenience call thedoctrinaires, --men who, like Mr. Sumner, would insist as a generalprinciple that the negro, being a man, was as a matter of right as muchentitled to the suffrage as the white man; and those who, after afaithful and somewhat perplexed wrestle with the complicated problem ofreconstruction, finally landed--or, it might almost be said, werestranded--at the conclusion that to enable the negro to protect his ownrights as a free man by the exercise of the ballot was after all thesimplest way out of the tangle, and at the same time the most inaccordance with our democratic principles of government. 

[Illustration: SENATOR ZACHARIAH CHANDLER

WHO WAS SENT, TOGETHER WITH CARL SCHURZ, TO THE PHILADELPHIA CONVENTIONOF 1866, BY THE REPUBLICANS OF MICHIGAN]

This view of the matter grew rapidly in popular appreciation as theresults of reconstruction on the Johnson plan became more and moreunsatisfactory. It gained very much in strength when it appeared thatthe tremendous rebuke administered to the President's policy by theCongressional elections of 1866 had not produced any effect upon Mr. Johnson's mind, but that, as his annual message delivered on December3rd showed, he was doggedly bent upon following his course. It was stillmore strengthened when all the Southern legislatures set up under thePresident's plan, save that of Tennessee, rejected the FourteenthAmendment to the Constitution, --some unanimously, or nearly so, --andeven with demonstrations of contemptuous defiance. Then the question wasasked at the North with great pertinency: Are we to understand that thewhite people of the States lately in rebellion will not agree that allpersons born or naturalized in the United States shall beconstitutionally recognized as citizens entitled in their civil rightsto the equal protection of the laws? That those States insist, not onlythat the colored people shall not have the right of suffrage, but thatthose people so excluded from the franchise shall even serve to increasethe basis of representation in favor of the whites--or in other words, that the white people of the South shall come out of the rebellionpolitically stronger than they were when they went into it? That allthose who engaged in the rebellion and fought to destroy the Union shallbe entitled to participate on even more favorable terms than ourselvesin the government of the same Union which but yesterday they sought todestroy? That they refuse to safeguard the public debt incurred forsaving the Union and wish to keep open the possibility of an assumptionof the debts incurred by the rebel States for destroying the Union?

The fact was not overlooked that the great mass of the Southern negroeswere grossly ignorant and in other respects ill-fitted for the exerciseof political privileges. Many who then favored negro suffrage would havegreatly preferred its gradual introduction, first limiting it, as Mr. Lincoln suggested to Governor Hahn of Louisiana, to those who had servedas soldiers in the Union army and those who were best fitted for it byintelligence and education. But this would have reduced the negro voteto so small a figure as to render it insufficient to counteract orneutralize the power of the reactionary element. To that end the wholevote was required; and for that reason it was demanded, in spite of theimperfections it was known to possess and of the troubles itthreatened--which, however, at that period were much underestimated, asis apt to be the case under similar circumstances. 

_Reconstruction Under Military Control_

When the session of Congress opened on the 3rd of December, it wasvirtually certain that unrestricted negro suffrage would come and thatPresident Johnson's reconstruction policy would be swept out of the way. The Republican majority without delay passed a bill extending thesuffrage to the negroes in the District of Columbia, which then had amunicipal government of its own. The President put his veto on the bill, but the veto was promptly overruled by two-thirds majorities in bothHouses. Then followed a series of legislative measures designedsubstantially to substitute for the reconstruction work done by thePresident a method of reconstruction based upon universal suffrageincluding the negro vote, and to strip the President as much as possibleof all power to interfere. The first, upon the ground that life andproperty were not safe under the existing provisional governments, divided the late rebel States into five military divisions, each to beunder the command of a general officer who was to have the power todeclare martial law and to have offenders tried by military commission, as the condition of public safety and order might seem to them torequire. Under their protection conventions were to be elected byuniversal suffrage including the negro vote and excluding thedisqualified "rebel" vote, to frame new State constitutions containingprovision for the same sort of universal suffrage, such constitutions tobe subject to the approval of the people of the respective States and ofCongress. The State officers to be elected under these new constitutionswere, of course, to be elected by the same electorate, and the Stateswere to be regarded as entitled to representation in Congress, afterhaving ratified the Fourteenth Amendment to the National Constitution, and after that Amendment had been ratified by a sufficient number of theStates generally to make it a valid part of the Constitution. Asupplementary reconstruction act gave the military commanders veryextensive control over the elections to be held, as to the registrationof voters, the mode of holding the elections, the appointment ofelection officers, the canvassing of results, and the reporting of suchresults to the President and through him to Congress. In order to stripPresident Johnson of all power to interfere with the execution of thismeasure beyond the appointment of the commanders of the various militarydivisions, a provision was introduced in the Army Appropriation billwhich substantially ordained that all military orders and instructionsshould be issued through the General of the Army (General Grant), whowas to have his headquarters at Washington; and that all orders andinstructions issued otherwise should be null and void. And when thegenerals commanding the several divisions had expressed some doubt asto the interpretation of some provisions of the Reconstruction Act, andthe President had issued instructions concerning those points whichdispleased Congress, another act was passed, which, by way ofexplanation of the meaning of its predecessors, still further enlargedthe powers of the military commanders and made them virtually rulersover everything and everybody in those States. In the mean time, to tiethe President's hands still farther, the Tenure of Office Act had beenpassed, which was to curtail or hamper President Johnson's power todismiss office-holders from their places so as to reduce as much aspossible his facilities for punishing the opponents and for rewardingthe friends of his policy, and thus, as it would now be called, forbuilding up an office-holders' machine for his use. 

_The Public Fear of Johnson_

President Johnson in every case promptly vetoed the bills objectionableto him or fulminated his protests against what he consideredunwarrantable encroachments upon his constitutional prerogatives. Someof his messages, reported to have been written either by Mr. Seward orby Mr. Jeremiah Black, a man of brilliant abilities, were strong inargument as well as eloquent in expression. But they were not listenedto--much less considered. Mr. Johnson had personally discredited himselfto such a degree that the connection of his personality with anything headvocated fatally discredited his cause. The air, not only inWashington, but throughout the country, was buzzing with rumors ofiniquities which Andrew Johnson was meditating and would surely attemptif he were not disarmed. He was surely plotting a _coup d'état_; he hadalready slyly tried to get General Grant out of the way by sending himon a trumped-up diplomatic errand to Mexico. When, therefore, the newscame from Washington that Andrew Johnson was to be impeached, to deprivehim of his office, it was not only welcomed by reckless partizanship, but as everybody who has lived through those times will remember, itstruck a popular chord. There was a widespread feeling amongwell-meaning and sober people that the country was really in some sortof peril, and that it would be a good thing to get rid of that dangerousman in the presidential chair. 

But for this vague feeling of uneasiness approaching genuine alarm, Idoubt whether Congress would ever have ventured upon the tragi-comedy ofthe impeachment. 

It explains also the fact that so many lawyers in Congress, as well asin the country, although they must have seen the legal weakness of thecase against Andrew Johnson, still labored so hard to find some pointupon which he might be convicted. It was for political, not for legalreasons that they did so--not reasons of political partizanship, but thehigher political reason that they thought the public interest made theremoval of Andrew Johnson from his place of power eminently desirable. Ihave to confess that I leaned somewhat to that opinion myself--not thatI believed in the sinister revolutionary designs of Mr. Johnson, butbecause I thought that the presence of Mr. Johnson in the presidentialoffice encouraged among the white people of the South hopes andendeavors which, the longer they were indulged in, the more grievous theharm they would do to both races. It can indeed not be said thatPresident Johnson failed to execute the reconstruction laws enacted byCongress by refusing to perform the duties imposed upon him, such as theappointment of the commanders of military divisions. He even effectivelyopposed, through his able and accomplished Attorney-General, Mr. Stanbery, the attempts of two Southern governors to stop the enforcementof the Reconstruction Act by the legal process of injunction. But themere fact that he was believed to favor the reactionary element in theSouth and would do all in his power to let it have its way was in itselfan influence constantly inflaming the passions kindled by mischievoushopes. 

_The Fatal Bungling of Reconstruction_

The condition of things in the South had become deplorable in theextreme. Had the reconstruction measures enacted by Congress, harsh asthey were, been imposed upon the Southern people immediately after theWar, when the people were stunned by their overwhelming defeat, and whenthere was still some apprehension of bloody vengeance to be visited uponthe leaders of the rebellion--as was the case, for instance, in Hungaryin 1849 after the collapse of the great insurrection--those measureswould have been accepted as an escape from something worse. Even negrosuffrage in a qualified form, as General Lee's testimony before theReconstruction Committee showed, might then have been accepted as apeace-offering. 

But the propitious moment was lost. Instead of gently persuading theSoutherners, as Lincoln would have done, that the full restoration ofthe States lately in rebellion would necessarily depend upon thereadiness and good faith with which they accommodated themselves to thelegitimate results of the War, and that there were certain things whichthe victorious Union government was bound to insist upon, not in aspirit of vindictiveness, but as a simple matter of honor andduty--instead of this President Johnson told them that their instantrestoration to their old status in the Union, that is, to completeself-government and to participation in the National Government, onequal terms with the other States, had become their indefeasibleconstitutional right as soon as the insurgents laid down their arms andwent through the form of taking an oath of allegiance, and that thosewho refused to recognize the immediate validity of that right were nobetter than traitors and public enemies. Nothing could have been morenatural, under such circumstances, than that the master class in theSouth should have seen a chance to establish something likesemi-slavery, and that, pressed by their economic perplexities, theyshould have eagerly grasped at that chance. No wonder that what shouldhave been as gentle as possible a transition from one social state intoanother degenerated into an angry political brawl, which grew more andmore furious as it went on. No wonder, finally, that when at last theCongressional reconstruction policy, which at first might have beenquietly submitted to as something that might have been worse, and thatcould not be averted, came at last in the midst of that brawl, it wasresented in the South as an act of diabolical malice and tyrannicaloppression not to be endured. And the worst outcome of all was, thatmany white people of the South who had at first cherished a kindlyfeeling for the negroes on account of their "fidelity" during the War, now fell to hating the negroes as the cause of all their woes; that, onthe other hand, the negroes, after all their troubles, raised to aposition of power, now were tempted to a reckless use of that power; andthat a selfish partizan spirit growing up among the Republican majority, instead of endeavoring to curb that tendency, encouraged, or, at least, tolerated it for party advantage. 

I have to confess that I took a more hopeful view of the matter at thetime, for I did not foresee the mischievous part which selfish partizanspirit would play in that precarious situation. I trusted that thestatesmen of the Republican party would prove clear-sighted enough toperceive in time the danger of excesses which their reconstructionpolicy would bring to the South, and that they would be strong enough ininfluence to combat that danger. Nothing could have been farther from mymind than the expectation that before long it would be my lot to take anactive part in that combat on the most conspicuous political stage inthe country. 

THE THIRTEENTH MOVE

BY ALBERTA BANCROFT

ILLUSTRATIONS BY M. J. SPERO

Ikey stood on the street corner and fingered her veil to keep passersbyfrom seeing her lips tremble. She was sure that she was going to cryright there in the open, and she was furious about it, because she didnot approve of weepy females. 

"If you dare, " she whispered fiercely, "if you dare, I'll--I'll--youshan't have that nickel's worth of peanut candy, or those currant buns, either. "

This threat proving effective, she turned, head held high, and enteredthe bakery. 

There was the usual Saturday afternoon crowd, jostling on the shoddythoroughfare. To-day the jostling was intensified; for the car strikewas on in full blast, feeling ran high, and demonstrations were beingmade against the company. Now and again a car passed slowly up or downthe street, drays and express wagons blocking its progress whereverpossible, scab conductor and motorman hooted at by San Francisco men andbeplumed ladies for their pains. 

Ikey looked at the mob in disgust. Then she hurried around the cornerand away from the scene of commotion. 

"And to think that it has come to this, that I can't ride up and down inthose cars all day long--_just to show 'em_. "

The beach was what she really wanted--one of those little sand hummockswith juicy plants sprawling over it, that protect one from the wind andyet reveal beyond ravishing glimpses of cliff and breaker and sapphireshining sea. 

But the beach was not to be found in the heart of town. And she was tootired to walk there--not having had any lunch and being very angrybesides. And she would lose her "job"--her miserable, wretched, disgusting, good-for-nothing job (Ikey loved adjectives), if she rode. For any and all women connected with any and all union men had beenforbidden to use the company's cars. And business houses--who hadanything to gain from it--had promised their employees instant dismissalfor even one ride. And the firm that employed Ikey would losethree-fourths of its trade if the union boycotted it. 

So the sand-dunes would have to wait. But there were some vacant lots, backed by a scraggle of rough, red rock, only half a dozen blocks away. If luck were with her, the loafers might be in temporary abeyance andthe refugee tents not unduly prominent. 

Luck was with her. And Ikey sat down on the lea of the little cliff, quite alone, spread out her buns, --you got three for ten cents thesecatastrophe days, --and faced the situation. 

The landlady had raised the rent. 

Ikey could have screamed with laughter over the situation--if only thematter were not so vital. 

"This'll make the thirteenth move for you, Ikey, my love, since theeighteenth of April--and the thirteenth move is bound to be unlucky. Butyou'll have to go, sure as Fate; for you can't stand another raise. TheWandering Jew gentleman takes the road again. "

She pursed her lips as she said it. She had invented the appelation forherself after nine moves in three months. "I don't know what his namereally was, " she confessed--there was no one else to talk to, no one shecared for, so she talked, sub voice, to herself--"but it must have beenIkey. I'm sure it was Ikey--and that I look just like him. " And derivingmuch comfort from this witticism, she went on her way. 

"Ikey, the Wandering Jew, on the move again, " she repeated. "But whereto move _to_, that is the question. It's funny what a difference moneymakes"--her eyebrows went up--"or rather, lack of it. I've neverconsidered that until recently. "

Then her eyes fell on her shoes. 

They had been very swagger little shoes in the beginning--Ikey had maderather a specialty of footgear--but they were her "escape" shoes; andtheir looks told the tale of their wanderings. Also, she had had noothers since. 

She wriggled her toes. 

"You'll be poking through before long, looking at the stars, " she toldthem severely. "Imagine your excitement. "

And her suit. 

[Illustration: "'I'VE BEEN FOLLOWING YOU EVER SINCE YOU LEFT YOUROFFICE, ' HE SAID"]

Ikey looked away so as not to see the perfect cut of it, the perfect fitof it, the utter shabbiness of it. It was her "escape" suit, too. Shehad slept on the hills in it to the tune of dynamiting and the flare ofthe burning city. She would never have another like it--never. For herjob----

Her job. 

She leaned back suddenly and closed her eyes. Her job. The rage of thisnoon was coming back again; rage, and with it a strange, newsensation--fear. She had never known fear before, not even during theearthquake days. "Only at the dentist's, " she told herself, gigglinghalf hysterically behind closed lids. 

And back of it all--back of the landlady's unconcealed dislike andlatest slap, back of the disintegration of a wardrobe that could not bereplaced, and the question as to whether her "job" had not become animpossibility since to-day--and that job simply could not become animpossibility: one had to live--back of all this was the dull hurt, smothered and always coming again, that Bixler McFay had not taken thetrouble to look her up when his regiment came through on the way toManila. 

"You may as well face that, too, while you're about it, " Ikey observedsarcastically. She opened her eyes with a snap and bit into the firstbun. 

"The regiment was only here three days, " a little voice inside of herwhispered fearfully. 

"Three days!" Ikey's scorn was unbounded. "If he had cared, he couldhave found you in three hours--and he always said he cared. It's a thingyou've got to live with. It's nothing so unusual. It happens every day. Why can't you treat it like a poor relation?"

And her thoughts went back to Fort Leavenworth, and the gowns on gownsshe had worn, all burned up at the St. Francis last spring, with therest of her things, a week after she had reached the city; and CousinMary, suave and elegant and impressive as her chaperon; and herself, petted and made much of on all sides, and incidentally pointed out asthe richest girl on the field, and an orphan; and Bixler McFay, handsome, brilliant, devoted, always on hand, always protesting----

A whimsical, sarcastic little smile curved her lips for a moment. Theearthquake had certainly made a difference. A vision of Cousin Maryarose--not the suave and elegant chaperon of a wealthy young relative, but a frightened, self-centered, middle-aged woman, who had taken theearthquake as a personal affront put upon her by her young charge andinsisted on being the first consideration in no matter what environmentshe found herself. 

[Illustration: "'IT'S A DESPICABLE LETTER, ' SHE TOLD HERSELF"]

Then came another vision. She recalled her parting with Bixler McFay inthe late winter, when she had left Leavenworth for the Coast, saying itwasn't decent not to know anything about the place where all your incomecame from, and he had left Leavenworth to rejoin his regiment inArizona. How his voice had trembled that morning as he bade hergood-bye, declaring he should always consider himself engaged to her, even if she did not consider herself engaged to him; begging that shewear his class pin, or at least keep it for him if she would not wearit, because the thought of its being in her possession would comfort himin his loneliness. 

It had comforted her in those first dreadful days after the fire tothink that he was alive and on his way to her. It never entered her headbut what he would come at once: when friends were looking for friendsand enemies were succoring one another, how should he fail her?

And then--not one word. Not even an inquiry in the paper; when that wasabout all the papers were made up of for days after--column after columnof addresses and inquiries, along with the death notices. 

And afterwards--not one word----

II

"I won't pretend this is accidental, Miss Stanton. "

Ikey looked up startled, began to curl her feet up under her skirt, decided that it was not worth while, --he was only one of theboarders, --and offered buns and candy with indifferent promptness. 

"There's a gang of toughs coming down over the hill. Strikers, maybe. Ithought they might startle you. "

He seated himself unceremoniously on a rock near by. 

Ikey settled back with a little comfortable movement against her ownrock and raised her eyebrows. 

"The proper thing for me to do at this stage is to inquire in a haughtyvoice how you happened to know I was here. "

"I followed you. "

There was no hint of apology, and she looked at him more closely. Shehad sat opposite him at the unesthetic boarding-house dining-table forthe past six weeks now. He ate enormously, --but in cultured wise, --neversaid anything, was something over six feet tall, wore ready-made, dust-colored clothes, and was utterly inconspicuous. "Like a big graywall. " Just now it was the expression of his face, intangiblydifferent--or had she never taken the trouble to notice himbefore?--that fixed her attention. 

He was looking straight at her. 

"I've been following you ever since you left your office, " he said aftera deliberate pause; and Ikey's eyes grew large and frightened as shetook in his meaning. 

"Then you saw----"

"I did. " There was another pause. "It won't happen again. " His tone wasquite final. "Why do you lay yourself open to that sort of thing? Don'tyou know that the burnt district is no place for any woman at all thesedays--not even one block of it? Why don't you ride?"

His voice was quite cross, and Ikey could have laughed aloud. This, toher, who had the burnt district on her nerves to such an extent that shedreamed of the brick-and-twisted-iron chaos by night--the miles ofdesolation, punctuated by crumbling chimneys and totteringwalls--dreamed of it by night and turned sick at the sight of it by day. Did this stupid hulk of a person think she _liked_ the burntdistrict--and to walk there?

After all, his attitude was less funny than impertinent. She would beangry. It was better. She would respond icily and put him in his place. 

At least, such was her intention. But she discovered to her amazementthat she was trembling--her encounter of the noon was responsible forthat--and her teeth seemed inclined to hit against each other rapidlywith a little clicking noise. So it seemed on the whole more expedientto blurt out her remarks without any attempt at frills or amplification. 

"Why don't you ride?"

Ikey gathered herself together. 

"My dear Mr. Hammond, there is a street car strike on here in SanFrancisco. No union wagons run out this way--and I lose my position if Iuse the cars. "

He was welcome to that. She looked off into the distance while heassimilated it. 

"I had not thought of that, " he said at last slowly. "In that case thereis but one thing to do. You must stop that work at once. "

"And stand in the bread line? Now? Along with--those others?" A littlesmile twisted her lips. "I should look handsome doing that. "

"But surely----"

His tone was beginning to be puzzled. So was his expression. Ikeyascertained this by allowing a glance to brush past him. 

[Illustration: "'HOW DO YOU SUPPOSE I FEEL, BEING IN THIS POSITION--TOYOU?'"]

Suddenly he had changed his position. He was beside her on the ground, facing her, staring her out of countenance. 

"We may as well get the clear of this right now----"

"It is needlessly clear to me, Mr. Hammond. "

"But not to me. In the first place----"

"I will not trouble you----"

"It is no trouble. In the first place, has that fellow followed you, spoken to you before?"

"Never--never like that. "

She wondered whether he had noticed her unsuccessful effort to rise andput an end to the interview. 

"Do you know who he is?"

"He is the junior member of the firm I work for. "

"_What!_ Well, I _am_ glad I smashed him. " Then he added quickly, "This, of course, puts an end to your going there, at once. You've been at ittoo long anyway. It's stopped being a joke, and as a pose----"

"'Pose. '"

The intonation was subtle. A moment's bewilderment, and he burst out, "You're not doing this because you--_have_ to?"

"That--or something. "

"But--but--Good Lord, child! Where is your money?"

With pomp and ceremony--but languidly withal, for her head was beginningto ache, and she wanted desperately to cry--she laid her purse in hishand. But she did not look at him. 

The big hand closed over the flat little thing impatiently. 

"I am referring to your bank account. "

"And by what right----"

"We'll settle that later. The banks have opened up again----"

"That's all I have. "

"But what has become--You're not going to faint?"

"No. "

"Then what has become----"

Quite against her will she was beginning to find herself faintly amused. Of all pigheaded, impertinent people, this individual with whom she hadhardly had more than five minutes' conversation, except at meal timesduring the past six weeks, was certainly the worst. 

"I really must know, Miss Stanton, what has become----"

"I gave it away. "

"You--gave it--_away_!" Italics could never do justice to hisintonation. He was staring at her as though he considered her demented. "To whom?" came his indignant question. 

After all, why not tell him? It was none of his business; and he wasdesperately impertinent; but she was desperately forlorn; and, though itcould not better the situation to talk about it, it might better herfeelings. 

She slipped farther down against her rock; and he bent forward, listening intently. 

"I gave it to--a relative. She was living with me at the time of thefire. We had only just come up from Los Angeles--because I wanted to--Ihad some property here; all my income came from it; and I felt I oughtto know more about it--in case anything happened. And after theearthquake she acted as though I had led her up to the--jaws ofdeath--and pushed her in--and later she was so afraid of typhoid--andeverything. And so--at last, when the banks opened up again--I gave herall the money I had in the bank--and she went East right away--and Istayed here. "

"With nothing?"

"I had fifty dollars. I was doing relief work at the Presidio, waitingfor the vaults to cool off--I had a lot of paper money in a boxthere--and for the insurance companies to pay--and for the man wholooked after my affairs to get well: he'd been hurt in the earthquake. But he didn't get well: he had a stroke, instead, and died. And hispartner--they were lawyers--went away; all their books and papers andeverything had been burnt up, and he didn't seem to think he could everstraighten things out; and when the vaults were opened, the paper moneyI had in the box was all dust--and the insurance companies haven'tpaid. "

She shrugged her shoulders delicately over the situation, alreadydisgusted with herself at having descended to disclosing her privateaffairs to a stranger. 

Meanwhile, "So that's it, " the stranger was saying. "I've wondered alot. "

"You needn't have troubled. "

"No trouble, " he blandly assured her. "Houghton always was anass"--(Houghton was the younger lawyer. How had he known? the girlwondered)--"lighting out for Goldfield when he ought to be here, straightening out his clients' business. And so you went to work on somebeggarly salary, instead of seeing about having your property put inshape again. Why didn't you lease, or----"

"I couldn't find out where it was, " she retorted, furious. "I'd onlybeen here a week when the fire came; and not for years before that. "

----"and not put yourself in a position where you get insulted by somelittle scrub who isn't fit for you to walk on. --Are you going to faint?"

"No. "

"Then what's the matter?" inquired the clod at her side. 

"Nothing, " she fibbed promptly. How different this creature was fromBixler McFay! Bixler had never pried into her private affairs, orevinced an interest in her possessions, or insisted on answers she didnot wish to give, or pursued topics she did not care for. Bixler hadnone of the bluntness, the pigheadedness, the brutality of this--butthen, there was no comparing the two. Only, she had vowed not to thinkof Bixler any more. He was not worth it. 

"Nothing's the matter with me, " she said. "Only, when I got back to theboarding-house after--after downtown to-day, the landlady said I'd haveto pay sixty a month or leave at once, and--and she hadn't saved anylunch for me, and----"

"And you've been eating----"

He looked at the candy-bag and the morsel of bun with horror. 

"I thought they'd cheer me up, " Ikey murmured meekly, "but they've mademe feel--kind of queer. "

"That settles it. " The big hand came down forcefully upon his knee. "We'll get the thickest steak you ever laid your eyes on in about twominutes. But first--we'll get married. "

"What!"

III

What happened after that Ikey could never clearly remember. Bits of theensuing conversation came back to her, memories of the sickening rage, the stupefying bewilderment that possessed her, and the exhaustion thatfollowed. But order there was none. And she was sure she never got thewhole of it. 

At one stage in the proceedings she had observed in a haughty voice thatshe did not care to have his sympathy--or pity--take that form. 

"Oh, it's not that, " he assured her pleasantly; "but I'm tired ofknocking around the world alone. I need an anchor. I think you"--helooked at her impersonally, but politely--"would make a good anchor. "

"You mean you want me to reform you!"

He smiled a careful smile. 

"No-o. I don't feel the need of reforming. There's nothing the matterwith me----"

"How lovely to have such a high opinion of oneself. "

"Yes. Isn't it? But as I was saying----"

At another stage she tried to take refuge behind the usual platitude:she did not love him. 

He considered this--at ease before her, his hands in his pockets. 

"Well, when it comes to that, I don't love you, either"--Ikeygasped--"but I don't consider that that makes any difference. "

Another break. 

Then, "What'll you do, if you don't?" he had asked her in a businesslikemanner. "You're just on the verge of a breakdown"--She knew it; and histone of conviction did not add to her sense of security--"Another scenelike to-day's would upset you completely. You say you have no friends orrelatives here; and there's no one you want to go to away from here. Andbesides, I can look after you a great deal better than you can lookafter yourself. "

There must have been much arguing after that. There must have; for shehad not the slightest intention of being disposed of in this medievalfashion. But in the midst of some determined though shaky sentence ofhers, he had said quite kindly and finally that they need not discussthe matter any further--besides, she had to have a good stiff lunchright off--and had piloted her carefully, but with no over-powering airof devotion, out of the empty lots, around the corner, and into anautomobile. 

"It was all the fault of that wretched beefsteak, " mourned Ikey an houror two later. "If I'd only had it before, it never would havehappened--never. I shall always have a grudge against it. What am I todo now?"

The automobile had conveyed them smoothly, first, to a clergyman's, ofall people; next, to a restaurant; then, to the boarding-house, whereher few belongings had found their way into a telescope basket; and nowit was conveying them through the bedraggled outskirts of the city intothe country beyond. 

A hatchet-faced chauffeur was manipulating things in front; while theunspeakable man in gray sat unemotionally beside her in the tonneau andlooked the other way. 

"What am I to do now?" The bewildered girl found no answer to the onequestion of her mind. "Why don't you faint?" she asked herself severely. "Why don't you faint? If you had an idea of helping me out of thispickle, you'd do it at once, and never come to at all, and then havebrain fever. It's the only decent solution. Instead of that, here youare, feeling--actually comfortable. "

She stared ahead of her with miserable eyes. 

"It was all that miserable beefsteak. The thing must have been sixinches thick. Beast; why couldn't he have taken me to the restaurantfirst? Then I'd never have gone to the clergyman's. And that license. Where did he get it? We never stopped for one--he just pulled it out ofhis pocket, as though it had been a handkerchief. Ikey, you're married, _married_--do you quite understand?--to a man who wears ready-madeclothes and doesn't love you and lives in an attic boarding-housebed-room. And what is he doing with this automobile? And what is hisbusiness? Oh, he's probably a chauffeur; and he's borrowed hisemployer's bubble; and this other chauffeur in front's his best friendand ashamed of him on account of the beefsteak business. He'd better be. But what shall I say to him? What shall I _say_?--Oh--h"--heaven-sentinspiration--"I'll say nothing at all. I will be--so different. "

On and on and on went the machine. The girl closed her eyes upon thedusty, dun-colored landscape. 

"Serves me right for turning over my bank account to Cousin Maryand--and----"

She had fallen asleep, propped up in her corner of the machine--worn outby this climax to the weeks that had gone before. 

The man at her side turned and looked at her. His face no longer woreits placidly and conventionally polite expression. 

IV

"The thirteenth move. Didn't I _say_ it would be unlucky!"

Ikey had fled to the garden, letter in hand, to review the situation. The low clouds threatened rain. But what did that matter? The housestifled her with its large, low, mannish rooms and continued reminder ofArthur Hammond; and she had to think--think--think everything out fromthe very beginning. 

That first evening--when she wakened in the dusk at his side in theautomobile and stared bewildered at the dim outline of the low, ramblingbrown house tucked away among shrubbery under a load of vines--how quickhe had been to reassure her, to explain that a friend of his, who hadexpected to come here with his bride, had had to go to Mexico insteadand had asked him to occupy the bungalow until their return. A woman anda Chinaman went with the place; and she would have the run of a largegarden. She could get rested there; and he could go to and from townevery day. 

And the days that followed--how careful he had been; how matter-of-factand unemotional; never touching her; never making any sudden motiontowards her; never referring to that short ten minutes at theclergyman's; never going near the two rooms the respectable Englishhousekeeper had conducted her to that first evening. 

"Almost as though he were trying to tame a bird, " she had thought halfwhimsically, after the first days, when the feeling of weariness andfright had worn down and a great relief and great thankfulness had takenits place, that she should never see the boarding-house again with itssneering, insulting landlady, or the office where that man with theeager, shifty, cruel little eyes held rule. 

And so she had set herself about it, resolutely, though bewildered, tobe an anchor to this big, unemotional young man who had so suddenly comeout of the background of her existence and was occupying all possiblespace immediately behind the footlights. 

She did not at all know what an anchor did, or said, or how it acted. But the very perplexity for some reason or other sent her spiritssky-high. And she pottered about the garden with him, and whizzed aboutthe country in the automobile, --it belonged to the same friend whowanted him to look after the place, --and poked about the queer, ramblinghouse, content to see no one else and talk to no one else and amazed atherself that this should be so. 

Only once had he made any reference to their situation, when hesuggested that it might be as well under the circumstances for her tocall him Arthur. 

"I shall never call you Arthur. Never, " she told him hotly. "I loathethe name. Always have. It sounds so deadly respectable. "

"You don't care for respectability?" His tone was _so_ affable. 

Ikey considered. "It may have advantages, in some cases. But----"

"Then what am I to be called?"

She might have retorted that she should call him nothing at all: henever addressed her by any name. Instead, she answered, "Boobles. "

"Boobles?"

"Boobles, " she repeated firmly. And then came laughter. Ikey's rages hada way of breaking up in inconvenient bursts of hilarity these days. 

But what difference did that make now? What difference did anythingmake?

"I don't see, " Ikey said to herself desperately, "what makes me sostupid. I'm afflicted with chronic mental nearsightedness. Mostdistressing. This is really a tragedy I'm mixed up in--a tragedy. Andtragedy's a thing I never cared for. "

She collapsed miserably on a bench and stared at the letter. 

"It's queer how tragedy and going to sea give you the same feeling. "

It was not pity--oh, no--that had made him want to marry her. And it wasnot love. And it was not because he needed an anchor. Not he. He was notthat kind. It was simply because she was his opportunity. Yes; that wasthe word. And she had never suspected. 

Not that afternoon in the vacant lot, when he had inquired soexhaustingly as to her bank account. 

Not the next week, when he appeared from town in the middle of theafternoon, all unheralded and paler than ordinary, with papers to sign, and the exhilarating news that the insurance companies had paid up, anda new bank-book with her name and comforting fat figures in it. 

How desperately glad she had been over that. For hot shame possessed herat her appearance--shabby clothes and hardly any of them, when hisready-made dust-colored garments had immediately been replaced by thewell-fitting blue serge that was her special weakness in masculineattire. She had invested heavily in frills and slowly regained herself-respect. 

And not when he had appeared with a list of her property--how had hecome by that list?--stating that he had made arrangements to leasecertain pieces and rebuild at once on the others, and asking herapproval of the final arrangements. 

She had not suspected him then, either, idiot that she was. She had beentoo busy being rested, being thankful, being happy in the big garden, tucked away from the people who had failed her and the ghastly city andthe memory of its great disaster. 

She turned to the letter again. Bixler McFay had always written a goodletter. This time he quite surpassed himself. 

Heart-broken, unreconciled; his hopes shipwrecked; his faith destroyed. How could she have treated him so? She had been practically engaged tohim; and she had left him a prey to every horrible emotion at a timewhen one word would have put his mind at rest. No clew as to herwhereabouts by which he could trace her. 

She passed that over with her little crooked, sarcastic smile. She hadtelegraphed and written both--and the second letter had been registered. He had probably forgotten that little fact. But it was of littleconsequence now. The sting lay in what followed. 

And then what did he learn? the letter inquired. That a man he supposedto be his friend, a fellow he had met daily in Arizona for a couple ofmonths at a time, had systematically pumped him about her; had takenmeans of ascertaining her financial status, and, recognizing her as hisopportunity (that was where the word came from) had rushed off to SanFrancisco, married her hand over fist, and launched himself as acapitalist--on her capital. And she had allowed it. 

The girl dropped the pages in her lap. Her little fist came down on topof them. 

"It's a despicable letter, " she told herself hotly. "And what he thinksto gain by it, I don't know. He just wants to make trouble. --And hehas, " she breathed with a downward sigh. 

The question was, what to do now. And pride stood at her elbow andpointed out the only course. 

This Arthur Hammond, this big, quiet, self-contained, efficient, indifferent young man--whose opportunity she was--must never know thatshe knew, or, knowing, cared. 

That was the only solution. Pride forbade a scene--on his account; onhers; on Bixler McFay's; on everybody's, when it came to that. No oneshould know--anything. 

"After a while I shall get quite old and pin-cushiony, " she assuredherself, "and pricks won't prick; and nothing will matter. I must bequite affable, and quite indifferent, and always polite--for women areonly rude to men they care about. " Her lips trembled. "It's all happenedbefore, hundreds of times to hundreds of women--and money is veryinteresting to men--and there's no reason why this shouldn't happen toyou, Ikey, dear--and a hundred of years from now it won't make anydifference anyway. 

"But I'll never tell him anything again----"

For latterly she had told him many things about herself--younglonesomenesses that nothing could dispel; family hunger for brothers andsisters and all the ramifications of a home; and, half unconsciously, her utter content with the present. She turned hot at the thought of itall. 

"But one thing I won't stand. " She jumped up and made for the house. "Heshan't have my photograph on his dressing-table. "

She had seen it there one day on passing his open door, and hadwondered, wide-eyed, how he came by it--it was one she had had taken inthe East--and had felt unaccountably shy at the thought of asking himabout it. 

She tore into the house, to get it, to destroy it, to tear it into tinybits, and trample upon it--at once, without a moment to lose--when, rushing up the porch steps, she collided with the one person of allothers she least expected to see. 

V

Late afternoon. The house was very still. Outside, the rain was falling, falling, and the shrubs bent under their burden of shining drops. Inside, the fire crackled and whispered and the girl lay in the bigarmchair and looked around the room. 

The fireplace; the big, rich rugs; the dark paneling; the fine, unemotional pictures--no wonder the whole place had reminded her ofArthur Hammond. She ought to have known. She ought to have known. 

She heard his step in the hall. His door banged, once; twice; again. Then, his voice, asking Eliza some question, and the murmur of thehousekeeper's reply. 

Then he came in. 

She did not speak or move, and his, "Good-evening" was presentlyfollowed by the easy question: "What's the matter?"

Then she turned on him. 

"Is it true that this house belongs to you?"

A pause. Then he answered slowly, "Yes. "

"And the grounds?"

"Yes. "

"And the automobile--is yours?"

"Yes. "

He stood quietly watching her. She knew it, though she did not look athim. She took a deep breath. 

"Those insurance companies have not paid, " she said in a stifled voice. "You told me they had. You--you gave me--Where did all that money comefrom I've been spending?"

"Well, I suppose originally it was mine. "

"Then it's true you are a millionaire?"

"Ye-es. Just about, I guess. "

"And my property--all those buildings that burnt up were mortgagedand--and I couldn't have rebuilt--and everybody knew it--except me. Themoney that's putting them up again----"

"I arranged about that. But what difference does it make?"

"What did you do it for?"

"I thought you'd feel better to have an income again--and on account ofother people, too. It made me hot to have you treated as though youwere--just anybody at all--simply because your income happened to beshort for a time. And--and I thought you'd rather have it that way thantake it from me--at the first, " he ended lamely. 

She jumped up and confronted him, white with rage. 

"How dared you do that? How dared you? How do you suppose I feel, beingin this position--to you?"

"I hope you don't feel at all. And besides--But how did you find outabout this?"

"Cousin Mary has been here, " the girl burst out, losing all idea ofkeeping anything back. "She had all sorts of things to say: how badlyshe'd been treated--how she was shipped off East, and I never wrote toher, nothing about my affairs, or that I was married, or anything. Shecouldn't talk enough. She said everybody sympathized with her, becauseher prospects were ruined, because the companies I'd insured in wouldn'tpay and my land was mortgaged so I couldn't rebuild. She knew that--andshe'd never told me. And then she spoke a piece about my conduct ingetting married and never telling her a word about it beforehand. Shesaid she was mortified to death to have to learn about my marriage fromstrangers--strangers--just accidentally. But there wasn't anything shedidn't know: that you were a millionaire, but very eccentric and notgiven to going around like a rational being--in society; and that youhad places around in different States and always made it a point not toknow your neighbors, so you wouldn't have them come dropping ininterfering with you; and that you were amusing yourself now withputting my affairs on their legs again; and how lucky it was for me; andhow strange it was, when I was making a brilliant marriage, not to makeit, at least, in a dignified, even if not in a brilliant manner, with achurch wedding and all. There wasn't anything she didn't know. I believeshe used detectives to find out. And she ended up by saying that she hada lovely disposition and would forgive me--I could have killed her--Iwas her only first cousin's only child--and she was coming here tolive. "

"The deuce she did!"

"But what did you do it for?" She turned on him furiously. "What did youdo it for?"

"Yes--but where's this Cousin Mary?"

"We had a scene--at least, part of one: we didn't either of us say halfwe wanted to--and she's left. She'll probably decide in the end, though, that her disposition's lovely enough to overlook it, and insist onmaking her home with her eccentric millionaire cousin-in-law--What didyou do this for?"

He stood there, frowning in perplexity. Then with a sigh of relief, "Supposing we sit down, " he said, as one who has a happy inspiration. "Idon't know as I can explain this to your satisfaction--exactly. But I'lltry. It seemed to me--Don't you know, I thought--Hang it all, that KingCophetua business--was that the chap's name?--never did appeal to me alittle bit. I'm dead sure that Beggar Maid had it in for him from thestart for his beastly condescending ways to her. And I was afraid youmight think--you see, it seemed to me that when your affairs were backin the position they ought to be, perhaps you'd feel better towards me. "

He looked at her with boyish entreaty in his eyes. It was as though shewere suddenly in the room with a new person. The expression of his faceleft her breathless. 

"Then you came to that boarding-house deliberately to----"

"I did. Deliberately to let you get a bit used to me. It might haveupset you to have a perfect stranger come up and marry you offhand. "

"But--but"--she gasped. 

She was flushed to the eyes. Suddenly he turned and switched on theelectric lights. Then he turned back and looked at her--hard. The rosedeepened. 

"Surely, you're not pretending to tell me, " he said slowly, as onethoroughly bedazed, "that you don't know I'm so looney about you my handshakes whenever you come into the room?"

The girl looked away. 

"You said that day--that day--that day, you know----"

"Well?"

"You said most distinctly that--you didn't love me. "

He turned an exasperated face toward her. 

"Said that? Of _course_ I said it. What did you expect me to say? Howapt would you have been to have taken me----"

"_Taken_ you!"

"----if I'd come up with the confession that your eyes set me crazy andthe impudent tilt of your little nose was very much on my nerves?Supposing I'd told you that you bowled me over the moment I sawyou--It's God's truth. I saw you at the theater in New York just beforeyou left for Fort Leavenworth. I followed you there, but nothing thatwasn't brass buttons seemed to be having an inning; and I didn't care tomeet you at all, unless I could win out. So I left and went down toArizona, where there was some land business I had to look after. ThenMcFay came down there and talked a good deal with his mouth; and I wassure it was all off and was doubly glad I hadn't met you. Then came thenews of the earthquake and the fire; and I kept waiting for the beggarto get leave and go to you--and he didn't go. And then one nighthe--well, he was drunk, or he wouldn't have done it--but he talked somemore with his mouth; and so I knew what to expect from him and--er, removed your photograph from his rooms--he hadn't any business having itaround for men to stare at, anyway--and then I came here to find you;and--and that's about all, I guess. "

He laughed an embarrassed laugh. 

"I was pretty well done for before--it seems to me everybody I met kepttalking about you--but the boarding-house business finished mecompletely. There were you--you'd lost more than all that trash puttogether, and had been badly treated, and all--but you held your headhigh and never peeped and made that dining-table a thing to look forwardto beyond everything. No wonder the landlady hated you. I could havekneeled down and kissed your little boots--not that you'd have caredabout it especially. "

He laughed his boyish, embarrassed laugh again. 

"But to go back a bit--how apt would you have been to have takenme--after your experiences and that cur down at your office, besides--ifI'd have trotted up and told you how I felt and asked you please to haveme? How apt would you have been? I got the license and kept it dark andbided my time. There was nothing else to do--then. "

They were standing again, facing one another, wide-eyed, and both ratherbreathless. 

The girl turned away. 

"I won't be humble, " she whispered to herself tremulously. "I won't. It's a wretched policy for women, and the effects are dreadful on men. "

She trailed away towards the other end of the room. 

"I'm not Ikey any more. I'm not the Wandering Jew. The thirteenth moveis a glorious move, and I've come home--to a man in a million. "

Aloud she observed disdainfully, "The whole performance from beginningto end has been unspeakable--simply unspeakable; and I insist----"

She had reached the bay-window and pressed her little nose tight againstthe window-pane. 

"I insist you're no gentleman, " came her muffled, shaky voice frombehind the curtains, "or I wouldn't have to be standing here quite bymyself, waiting for you to come over here and--and kiss me. "

[Illustration]

GIFFORD PINCHOT, FORESTER

BY WILL C. BARNES

ILLUSTRATED WITH PHOTOGRAPHS

For almost a century the unoccupied government lands of the West havebeen used as a public commons. The stockmen have used the grass andwater; the mining, sawmill, and railroad men the timber; until--simplybecause no one made it his business to object to the spoliation that wasgoing on--what had been done wholly on the suffrance of the nationalgovernment had come to be regarded and most lustily defended as aninherent privilege and right. 

[Illustration: GIFFORD PINCHOT]

And so when, a decade ago, the tall, pleasant-voiced young man from thefar East, now known throughout the United States as Gifford Pinchot, thenational forester, appeared in the West, and suggested to the stockmenthat they were ruining the country by over-grazing, they laughed him toscorn. 

He told the mining and sawmill men that through reckless and extravagantmethods of lumbering they were bringing on a timber famine by greatstrides; he characterized their whole policy as one of utter disregardfor the future of the country; and he demanded forcible and immediateaction on the part of the Federal authorities. These pioneers had seenuncounted millions of buffalo melt away because no one took enoughinterest in the matter to stop the wanton waste. They had seen greatbillowy prairies, once knee-deep in the most splendid covering of grassand vegetation, grazed down until they were hardly more than dust heaps;and mountains that were clothed with magnificent forests sweptbare--first by the woodsman's ax and later by forest fires that burnedeach year millions and millions of feet of the finest timber a countryever possessed, while no one raised a hand even to quench the firebecause "it was only government land. "

_The Fight against the "Pinchot Policies"_

These hard-headed, adventurous Western pioneers, indignant at thethought of any curtailment of their freedom; resentful of interferencein what they were pleased to call their "inalienable right" to do asthey pleased with the country they had conquered; utterly regardless ofits future, and thinking but of the present and their own selfishinterests, arose in their wrath and protested vigorously against whatthey called the "Pinchot policies" of the government. 

That the writer, then a range cattle-raiser in Arizona, was one of thefirst to feel the effects of the new forest policy gives him all themore right to speak as he does of these things; that he joined with loudtongue and bitter pen in the general denunciation of the "Pinchotpolicies" makes it all the more a pleasure to him now to defend andexplain them in so far as he can. 

Although there had been a small start toward forest preservation, it wasnot until Mr. Pinchot was placed at the head of the movement in 1898(six years after the first reserve was made), and organized andreconstructed the force of officials, that we really had any nationalforest policies worth mentioning. 

His enemies first attacked his motives. He was a "notoriety seeker, " a"political adventurer" looking for personal advancement. To theirsurprise they found that he showed not the slightest disposition toexploit himself; that, having millions at his command, he could expectto gain nothing financially by his course; and that he was absolutelydevoid of any political ambitions. 

They then took another point of attack. "He is an Eastern swell whoknows nothing of forests, or the West and its needs. By what right doeshe tell us how to use the public lands?"

And again they found him invulnerable, for, after graduating from Yalein 1889, he had made a systematic and thorough study of forestry. Hetraveled in Europe, through Russia, on the great steppes of Siberia, inthe Philippines, and in every part of the United States where there wereforests he investigated conditions and studied the water problem, thegrazing of cattle and sheep, and the effect of lumbering and forestfires. There is hardly a corner of our whole Western country from theMissouri to the Pacific where forests are found that he has not visitedand inspected. Days, weeks, and months spent on horseback and on foot inthe roughest, most inaccessible portions of the Rocky Mountain regionfrom the Canadian to the Mexican line have made him familiar with everyproblem of forest preservation. He has studied the attendant and equallyimportant question of watershed protection and utilization of themountains for conserving the sources of all our great Western streams, by which millions of acres are to be irrigated and millions of homesbuilt up in the West. He was from the first no "tenderfoot" adventurer, no visionary enthusiast, but a practical, hard-headed man far moreearnestly and disinterestedly concerned in the Westerners' future thanthey themselves had ever been. 

Born in Simsbury, Connecticut, in 1865, of old New England ancestry, Mr. Pinchot is just in the prime of life. A man of tremendous energy andresourcefulness, tactful, quick to see a point, frank to admit hiserrors, open and friendly in his intercourse with all men, and in thegame of politics the equal of any one in Washington, he is giving thebest years of his life to a cause that will bring him no personaladvantage save a place in our national history greater than that ofgreat generals and war captains. For while their armies destroy, hislittle army is saving and preserving; while their forces are evernon-productive, he and his small force are making "two blades of grassgrow where one grew before"; are building up and developing to theuttermost the great region lying around and about the national forestareas. 

_Training an Army of Foresters_

Mr. Pinchot rapidly gathered about him a force of expert assistants. Theforest schools in the East were just turning out their first crop ofyoung men, trained and educated as scientific foresters, and he broughtthem into the work. A year or two in the forests, mapping, scaling, estimating, and studying the western timber conditions, made thempractical as well as scientific. The old sawmill men, themselveseducated in the college of "Hard Knocks, " first laughed at thesecollege-bred foresters, but soon learned to respect and trust them. Theybegan to adopt their plans and follow their suggestions, and to-day oneof the most serious embarrassments the forester has to meet is thecontinual hiring away from him of his best men by the Western lumber andsawmill men, who offer salaries far beyond what the government pays. 

To handle the stockmen's interests--by far the most difficult andperplexing of all the problems connected with the administration of thenational forests--Pinchot went to the Southwest and persuaded one of themost intelligent and level-headed young stockmen in the country tobecome head of the grazing department. A. F. Potter had been for years acow-boy and range cattleman, then for several years a sheep owner, andnot only knew every branch of the stock business through practicalexperience, but had the administrative ability to handle successfullythe intricate and perplexing questions of ranges, priority of rights, effects of grazing, and methods of handling stock that must be passedupon. With this corps of assistants, and with Mr. Overton W. Price, aman second only to himself in ability, as his chief lieutenant, Mr. Pinchot began in earnest in the year 1898 the work of saving theremaining forested areas of the United States. 

A few years ago the mining men, lumbermen, and the stockmen were almostunited in their opposition to the policies of the Government ForestService. Then the mining men found to their surprise that instead ofbeing ruined and forced out of business they were being helped. If aminer had a valuable claim on some national forest lying idle, theforest ranger of that district saw that not one stick of timber upon itwas cut by unauthorized persons. In the past, when a miner returned tohis claim after a year's absence, he generally found it stripped of thetimber which some day he would need for its development. Under the newservice, he discovered also that, when there was no timber on his ownclaim, he could buy at a reasonable figure all the timber he desired forthe development of his mine. In many cases, in southern Arizona, forinstance, where the wood haulers were in the habit of taking from theminers' claims fuel which they would be likely to need for their enginessooner or later, the rangers stopped the practice and gave the woodhaulers other areas from which to cut, where no such injury to theminers would result. 

_Land Piracy Checked_

Of course, where mining companies, organized solely to obtain vast areasof timber land, under cover of the mining laws, especially the Timberand Stone Act, and the Placer Mining laws, found their work exposed bythe activity and watchfulness of the forest officers, they naturallyraised a cry against the Service that woke the echoes. 

The Placer laws allow a company to obtain title to twenty acres of landsimply by showing five hundred dollars' worth of mining work done uponit. No signs of mineral need be shown, no further attempt to develop itis required. Prove that five hundred dollars' worth of work has beendone, and the patent is issued. The takers are not limited to a singletract, but can have just as many tracts as they have sums of fivehundred dollars to invest. Under this Placer law whole townships, covered with the finest timber on the Pacific coast, were taken upsolely to obtain title to the land for the timber upon it. 

Wherever the final patents had not been issued on these lands, theForest Service stepped in and put a stop to it, thus saving thousands ofacres of timber land for the people. Small wonder that these licensedpirates look upon a forest ranger as the embodiment of all that is bad, and the forest policy as an encroachment upon sacred vested rights!

_The Case of the Wood Haulers_

And the poor wood haulers! How they complained because they thoughttheir divine right to cut and slash as they chose was to be invaded!What happened to them? To-day they are better off than ever. True, theypay a little for the wood--from as low as ten cents a cord in someforests up to fifty cents in others. But what do they get in return forit?

If a wood hauler wants to buy ten cords of wood or any amount up tofifty dollars' worth, he simply goes to the nearest ranger, and in tenminutes the deal is over; the ranger accompanies him to the area wherehe wishes to cut and shows him by marks and bounds just where he maycut; the trees are marked, and the man sets to work knowing full wellthat no one else will invade this little tract or steal his wood when itis cut and piled up waiting for him to haul it away, as was the caseover and over again in the old days of free and unlimited competition. 

_How the Government Sells Timber_

What of the next class, the sawmill men? Every stick of matured, merchantable timber in the forests, not needed for protection ofwater-sheds, is for sale. By matured timber is meant a tree that hasreached its maximum growth and development, and is beginning slowly todeteriorate, and should, like any ripe crop, be harvested. There is nolimit either high or low. In New Mexico one contract for 1907 called for50, 000 feet and another for 10, 000, 000, and each was made and carriedout under the same conditions; little man and big both got the samesquare deal. 

"But, " cry some of the politicians with both eyes upon the politicalbarometer, "the Forest Service, in selling lumber by such methods, isplaying into the hands of the Lumber Trust and boosting prices. "

What are these methods? If a citizen wants to buy some saw-logs for hismill, he goes to the nearest forest officer and states his case, indicating where the timber lies that he wishes to cut. A careful surveyand cruise of the timber is then made by experienced and competent mentrained especially for that work. If they report favorably upon thecutting, a minimum price is set at which the timber will be sold, andthe sale is duly advertised for thirty days, if it amounts to more thanone hundred dollars in value. If it comes to less, the forest officer onthe ground makes the sale without delay. When the bids are opened, thehighest bidder gets the timber. 

[Illustration: A SECTION OF THE BIG HORN NATIONAL FOREST, WYOMING, SHOWING THE FOREST SERVICE METHODS OF LUMBERING. A CERTAIN PROPORTION OFTHE TREES HAVE BEEN LEFT STANDING FOR SEED PURPOSES. THE REST HAVE BEENCUT CLOSE TO THE GROUND, TO AVOID WASTE, AND THE BRANCHES PILED AT ASAFE DISTANCE FOR BURNING]

There is seldom much competition on the small lots, but the large tractsare frequently bid up to very much more than the minimum price set bythe forest expert. In New Mexico, for instance, several large sales weremade in 1907, where the keen competition ran the price up from threedollars, set by the Service, to five and six dollars a thousand. Surelythis was not playing into the hands of the Lumber Trust. 

"_Two Blades of Grass Where One Grew Before_"

Moreover, when the buyers come to cut, the ranger marks each tree, leaving out all those below a certain size for future growth, and also acertain number for seed purposes, that reproduction may follow. Again, the buyers are required to cut the stumps low, generally at a heightequal to the diameter. Under old methods they cut them off high up, where it was easier for the ax and saw men to work, thus leaving in thestump a waste equal to more than ten per cent. Of the measured value ofthe tree. "Two blades of grass" here surely!

Under the old methods, if the logs had to be "snaked" out, the loggerstook the shortest cut, and if that cut led through a dense thicket ofyoung trees, the logs were dragged through them, so that millions ofyoung trees were destroyed each year by this recklessness alone. To-daythe ranger sees to it that they go around such little groves, or, if itis absolutely unavoidable, a straight and narrow way is cut through themto which the loggers must keep, thus reducing the damage to the minimum. "Two blades of grass" here also. 

In the old days of reckless lumbering only the best of the tree wasused. A single log was taken, and the rest left to waste. Now thewatchful "scaler" sees to it that the logs are cut with judgment, so asto utilize every foot of saw timber. 

When the logging is finished on a tract, according to the governmentcontract, the brush must be carefully piled by the lumberman far enoughaway from other trees or young stuff to cause no damage when it isburned by the rangers. Under the early methods the "slashings, " ascut-over areas were called, were an almost impassable mass of deadtree-tops and logs, a most fruitful and dangerous source and auxiliaryof forest fires. 

[Illustration: SECTION OF A REDWOOD FOREST IN CALIFORNIA, SHOWINGWASTEFUL AND DESTRUCTIVE METHODS OF LUMBERING. THE TREES HAVE BEEN CUTHIGH UP, LEAVING A LARGE PROPORTION OF WASTE IN THE STUMP. THE LAND HASBEEN STRIPPED BARE OF ITS TIMBER, AND IS IN CONDITION TO ENCOURAGE FIRE, EROSION, AND DESTRUCTIVE FLOODS]

_The Forest Service and the Stock-Raisers_

The only remaining class opposed to the policy of the Forest Service isthat composed of the stock-raisers; and for their interests and welfarethe Forest Service has worked harder than for all the other users of theforests combined. 

That mistakes were made in handling the livestock interests; that insome cases individuals were unduly hampered with rules enforced byover-zealous forest officers, is not to be denied. It was a huge task. Almost in a day the Forest Service sprang full-fledged into the world, charged with the care and responsibilities of more than a hundredmillion acres; to-day it controls a third of the area of grazing countryin the United States, whereon graze about eight million sheep and amillion and a half cattle and horses. 

Trained foresters there were to be had in plenty, but men who knew thestockman's trade, whose training fitted them to handle the vexatiousquestions of range divisions, over-grazing, and relative injury done bycattle, sheep, and goats, were hard to find, and when found were notwilling to enter the Service for the niggardly pay allowed by thegovernment. However, the Forest Service, with its ranger system, isto-day training up a class of young men, who, in a few years, will be atonce expert lumbermen, scientific foresters, and excellent all-roundfrontiersmen and stockmen. 

In this work there have been no precedents to follow, no rules to lookto for guidance. Instead, rules must be made and tested through use;precedents must be established and certain fundamental principles workedout and made a basis for future government. 

[Illustration: THE EFFECT OF EROSION ON A HILLSIDE FROM WHICH THE FORESTCOVER HAS BEEN REMOVED]

Further than this, every section has its own necessities. Rules thatwould apply to Oregon and Washington, with their sixty inches ofrainfall a year, would not apply to Arizona, with its ten. One greatmountain region, whose waters drained off into the ocean and could neverbe used for irrigating purposes, might safely be let open to all kindsof grazing; while another equally large section, just as well grassed, would have to be closed to sheep and goats, with their erosive littlefeet and habits of grazing in large bands, because all the drainage wentinto creeks, streams, and rivers that lower down on the desert wereneeded to irrigate vast areas of valuable farming lands. 

_The Roosevelt Dam Case_

Take a single case: that of one national forest in Arizona. At the upperend of this forest--which is a long, narrow tract covering a greatmountain chain--rise two or three streams; on the eastern slope, the RioVerde and the Salt River, on the western, the Agua Fria. A hundred milesbelow these heads the government is building, at a cost of more than$4, 000, 000, the great Roosevelt Dam which will furnish water to irrigate250, 000 acres of the richest of soils around the city of Phoenix in theSalt River valley. One of the most serious problems in the constructionof the great dams in the West is the question of silt, which is washeddown in the streams and will eventually fill up and render useless theseexpensive dams and reservoirs. 

Careful studies of silt prove beyond doubt that its primal cause is theremoval of the forest cover, such as underbrush, weeds, and grasses, along the streams, which allows the rainfall to run off rapidly. Thegrazing over these areas by sheep and goats not only exhausts thisforest cover, but from the cutting up of the soil and the looseningeffect of the thousands of tiny hoofs, the erosive action of the rainbecomes disastrous. The wash of the hills and mountain-sides carrieswith it into the streams tons and tons of silt to fill up the dams andbeds of the streams, as well as working irreparable injury to thecomparatively thin soil covering the mountains. 

On this national forest the watershed on the eastern side all runs intostreams which eventually reach the Roosevelt Dam; on the western slopethe water runs unused to the Gulf of California. So the NationalReclamation Service, charged with the building and maintenance of thesehuge reservoirs, said to the Forest Service: "The watershed of theRoosevelt Dam must be protected from over-grazing, so that the forestcover may be preserved, and the deposit of silt reduced to the verylowest possible percentage. "

[Illustration: THE SAME HILLSIDE AFTER TWO YEARS OF CAREFUL ANDSYSTEMATIC GRAZING]

The Forest Service whose duty it was under the law to protect andpreserve, not only the timber of the mountains, but the water supply aswell, had no alternative but to say to the sheep and goat men using thisarea: "You cannot longer graze sheep or goats upon the eastern side ofthis forest, but may do so on the western slope. " But since cattle domuch less damage than sheep, in order that the grazing may not goentirely unused, the Service allows cattle to graze there in suchnumbers as will not injure the watershed. 

Naturally the sheep owners set up a cry that could be heard from Dan toBeersheba. But an analysis of the situation shows that while some fiftyindividual sheep men, owning probably 100, 000 sheep valued at about$300, 000, were forced to rearrange their business to meet the newconditions, their loss was overwhelmingly offset by the benefit to theentire population of the Salt River valley, a population to-day of notfewer than 50, 000 people, every soul of whom is absolutely dependentupon the agricultural lands of the valley for a living; these landsconsisting of more than 100, 000 acres, valued at an average of sixtydollars an acre, already under cultivation, with 150, 000 acres moreready to be cultivated the instant the Roosevelt Dam is finished. 

_Irrigation Revolutionized by National Forestry_

Surely such conditions fully justify the Forest Service in its course ofpursuing the greatest good for the greatest number. In Colorado a smallnumber of stock men, principally cattle owners, aided and abetted by afew political malcontents, have attempted to discredit the ForestService, but no one has heard a word against the Service from thethousands of contented irrigationists, who, with countless acres to bewatered by more than 12, 000 miles of irrigation ditches, see theirsource of water supply amply protected, and realize that already thesupply has increased and the flow is more regular than it has been inthe past. 

In the great Kern River district about Bakersfield in southernCalifornia, a careful measurement shows that since the restrictions ongrazing in the mountains at the heads of the streams, together with thealmost complete absence of forest fires, the flow of water in the greatcanal system has become fully twenty per cent. Greater in volume thanever before. And so one could go on without end, if necessary, for allover the West are smaller or larger areas wholly dependent upon therivers and streams for their water supply, and to them the ForestService guarantees full protection for their lands and homes. 

[Illustration: HERD OF SHEEP GRAZING UPON A NATIONAL FOREST. THE SHEEPGRAZE IN LARGE BANDS AND VERY CLOSE TOGETHER, AND THE CUTTING ACTION OFTHE THOUSANDS OF HOOFS IS VERY INJURIOUS TO THE SOIL. FOR THIS REASON, SHEEP-GRAZING IS ONLY ALLOWED ON CERTAIN AREAS OF THE NATIONAL FORESTS. ]

_The Free Grass Question_

The range stockmen of to-day are in much the same position as thereservation Indian. The tides of civilization, advancing from east andwest, have met and threaten to overwhelm them. Like the Indian they mustmeet the new conditions with new methods. They must not, and need not, be overwhelmed, but can be assimilated in the new order of things. Theday of free grass in the State of Texas came to an end twenty years ago. The old-timers shook their heads and prophesied all sorts of direhappenings to the State. To-day Texas has more cattle and sheep, andbetter ones, too, than ever before, and they are still growing innumbers. 

A convention of stockmen was held at Denver in 1898, at which theburning question was the then new plan of forest reserves. The sheep menfrom Wyoming, Utah, and one or two other Western States, declared with abitterness born of conviction that if the government made any forestreserves in their States it would mean the total annihilation of thesheep industry there. To-day these States are plastered with nationalforests, and each has three or four times as many sheep as it had tenyears ago. 

There has arisen, of course, from the men who have used these governmentlands without money and without price, a continuous cry that the grazingfees the Forest Service collects are "illegal, unjust and doubletaxation, " The complaint, of course, will not bear analysis. The landbelongs, not to the stockmen, but to the whole people. Why should thegovernment give something to a stockman in Wyoming, that belongs equallyto a stockman in Ohio, who is raising live stock on private land, inkeen competition with Western free grass men?

The fees are scarcely illegal. If the government can sell one man onehundred acres of public land, it certainly can sell another man thegrass and forage crop produced upon any portion of the public lands. Oneis no more a case of merchandizing than the other. As for the doubletaxation argument, that too is equally childish, because the grazing feeis not a tax but the price of a commodity. 

As a matter of fact, the government spends annually, in trail and roadbuilding through the forests, that the stock may more easily and safelyreach the higher grazing areas, in fighting the fires, in buildingtelephone lines to the very remotest corners of the forests, in hiringhunters to exterminate the wolves and other wild animals that prey uponthe stockman's herds, in digging deep wells and erecting windmills andother pumping engines to furnish water where there is none on thesurface, a sum almost equal to the entire amount paid in fees by thestockmen, and all for their sole benefit and use. 

The total amount of fees paid by stockmen in the year 1907 amounted to$836, 920. If the lands were under private control, the fees would bemore than double what they now are. In New Mexico, for instance, theusual price for pasturing cattle upon the large land grants is from twodollars to three dollars a year, while on the government forestsimmediately adjoining the grant, and almost the same country, the fee isonly seventy-five cents a year per head and twenty-five cents per headfor sheep. And these are the highest fees charged on any national forestfor all-the-year-round grazing permits. In Colorado, California, Nevada, and Arizona, the charge for sheep or cattle grazing on the large areasof railroad and State lands is on an average fully twice as great as thesame fees upon the national forest, and in the former the stockmen getno other return from the land owners. 

The last and loudest wail was that these "great areas of segregatedlands, " as the protestants love to call the national forests, were abarrier to the settler and homesteader; that the Forest Service wasmaking vast areas of forest solitudes in the heart of the WesternStates. 

To this the Forest Service replied by throwing open to agriculturalsettlement every acre of land, lying within the limits of the nationalforests, which was more suitable for agriculture than forest culture. Six thousand new homes were selected in the different forests in theyear 1907, and with vastly less red tape and delay than under theregular homestead laws now in force upon other public lands. 

If the Forest Service had done no more than keep down the fire losses, their work would not have been in vain. In 1901 the total area burnedover in the government forests equalled 2-3/4 acres in every thousand, while in 1907 the burned area was only 9/10 of an acre in everythousand. No record of the money value of the earlier fire losses waskept, but that the loss ran into the millions, no one who has seen themiles of burned over tracts can doubt. 

The following table shows the fire losses in the national forests forthe past three years:

 Year Area of Acres Value of Forests Burned Over Timber Burned

 1905 85, 627, 000 279, 592 $101, 282 1906 106, 999, 000 115, 416 76, 183 1907 164, 154, 000 212, 850 31, 589

That is, in 1905 the loss from fire was more than three times as greatas in the year 1907, with an area of forests almost twice as great toprotect and control. 

_$1, 000, 000 Saved by the Forest Hunters_

Another important feature of Mr. Pinchot's work is the employment ofexperienced hunters for killing wild animals which destroy stock. In theyear 1907, according to records kept of all predatory animals killedupon the various national forests, or on lands adjoining them, no fewerthan 1600 wolves, 19, 469 coyotes, 265 mountain lions, 368 bears, and2285 wild cats and lynxes were killed by the various hunters andsettlers. Of these, it is probably fair to credit the rangers and thehunters employed by the Forest Service with at least one-fourth. 

Now, any well-posted stockman will tell you that, on an average, afull-grown wolf will destroy one thousand dollars' worth of stock everyyear of its life. Mountain lions prefer horses to any other food, butstill they will put up with calves and sheep. They, too, are easilychargeable with a thousand dollars' worth of damage each year. Thecoyotes, bob-cats, and lynxes do less harm, and that mostly to sheep. Yet I think it is a very conservative estimate to say that each coyoteor lynx annually destroys stock to the value of fully one hundreddollars. 

Taking these figures as a basis for comparison, it is very easily seenthat the value of the animals killed by the Forest Service men is morethan $1, 000, 000. Hence, so far as return for their $836, 920 in grazingfees is concerned, the stockmen get it back in full and with some tospare. 

[Illustration: _Copyrighted by E. S. Curtis, Seattle_]

CHIEF KITSAP, FINANCIER

BY

JOSEPH BLETHEN

ILLUSTRATED WITH PHOTOGRAPHS

When young Johnny Kitsap, having made up his mind that his clerkship inthe reservation agency did not offer the chance of advancement to whichthe son of a Puyallup chief and a graduate of Carlisle was entitled, applied for work to the President of the Elliott Bay National Bank, itwas not an act of such presumption as some might suppose. No one, to besure, when he saw the high cheek-bones, wiry black hair brushedpompadour, dull brown eyes, and copper complexion, could possibly havebeen deceived by Johnny's well-cut clothes, clean linen, and goodEnglish. Nor did Johnny affect these things as a disguise or assignifying that, in adopting the apparel and speech of the white man, hehad renounced his nationality--had, to all intents and purposes, becomea dead Indian. Quite to the contrary, what secured Johnny his positionin the bank was precisely that, besides having a pleasant manner andcivilized ways, he was so manifestly an exceptionally live Indian. 

The Elliott Bay National's famous line of "red paper" had paid from thestart. When, some years before, the proposition to loan old PeterCoultee, a full blood of the Puyallup reservation, was laid before thedirectors, they had laughed, but, like true Western men, they wanted toknow the details. What they learned was that old Peter Coultee owned onehundred and sixty acres of fine reservation land, well stocked andhighly cultivated; that his crop of hops was fast ripening; that heneeded money to pay the hop-pickers of his own tribe; and that hop-housereceipts in the White River Valley were as good as wheat receipts in thePalouse. This put the matter in other, at least, than a sneering light, and one of the laughing directors offered to visit the reservation andmake a full report. The result was that old Peter Coultee got his loan, and that this turned out to be the first of many others, both to himselfand to his tribesmen, and all of much mutual profit alike to white manand red. 

When, accordingly, Johnny Kitsap did the Elliott National the honor ofpreferring its employment to that of the government, the president didnot laugh, but, with all due formality, laid his application before theboard, and suggested that a bank which loaned money to Indians might intime find it convenient to have a clerk who could interpret not only thelanguage of the Siwash customers, but the more subtle emotions of theIndian heart. And so Johnny came by his job, and the bank had as littlecause to regret it as the first loan to old Peter Coultee, which was theoriginal cause of it. 

To the young Indian, the bank became a magic house. The brass-barredwindows before the tellers; the wire cages; the tiled floors; the greatdoors of the vault, with the _tick-tick-tick_ of the time locks; allseemed to him to be parts of a powerful chieftain's house. The vaultitself, with its store of gold and currency, and its cabinet ofmysterious treaties, which the _tyee_ made with the busy white men, filled him with awe. This was the white man's magic treasure-chest, wherein money bred money. No one bought or sold, so far as he could see, yet this treasure-chest paid salaries, distributed profits, and alwayscontinued full. With his imagination thus enlisted in firing his workwith the zest of play, it is no wonder that he proved an apt pupil andin a rapidly flying trio of years had filled various positions and hadearned high appreciation. 

With his entrance upon the duties of collection clerk, Kitsap became thecredit man on all "red paper. " Every bit of Indian business received theapproval of the Chief before the discount committee would act upon it. Thus the young Indian became surely, even if indirectly, a power on thereservation, where the tribal leaders regarded him as being at heart awhite man and continued to address him quizzingly as _Italapas_ (TheCoyote That Wanders). Kitsap maintained a modest room in Seattle, enjoyed the privileges of an athletic club, owned a one-twentiethinterest in a yacht, and, out on the reservation, kept a cayuse infather Kitsap's corral and a suit of Indian finery in father Kitsap'shouse. Thus he zigzagged across the borderland of civilization and led amost picturesque, but strictly honorable, double life. 

Kitsap had been four years in the bank when three hop-buyers from St. Louis attempted to raid the White River hop fields in advance of pickingand to buy the entire crop of the valley at fourteen cents a pound. Theraid had progressed far towards success when Kitsap accidentally heardof it. 

The Indian hop-growers of the reservation had made their fall estimates, Kitsap had inspected their fields and approved their items, and some tenthousand dollars in "red paper" was entered on the books of the ElliottBay National Bank, the loans to be secured by the warehouse receipts onhops. Kitsap had spent the first Sunday of the picking on thereservation, greeting friends who had come on their annual pilgrimageto the hop fields from other reservations; and early on Monday morninghe was on the way to take a train for Seattle, when Peter Coultee'scayuse overtook him, bearing Peter Coultee's oldest son. 

"Good morning, _Italapas_. Is your bank short of money?" called theyoung Indian, with enough dire suggestion in his tone to start a WallStreet panic. 

Kitsap faced his questioner. "It has more gold than the son of Coulteecan count, " he retorted sharply. 

"Then why is Lamson, who owns the largest fields of all the white men inthe valley, saying that the bank will not loan him enough to pay thepickers?"

Lamson, who was wealthy, as ranchers go, was a heavy client of theElliott Bay National, but, since he was a white man, his accounts wereunknown to Kitsap. The bank clerk was thus taken at a disadvantage andcould not give a direct answer. But, desiring to learn what he could, hebantered the younger Indian to talk on, and listened carefully, that hiswords might be carried to the cashier. 

"Lamson is paying two picking tickets out of every three in cash; forthe third ticket he gives an order on the stores in the village. Whenthe pickers complain, he laughs and says that the bank has loaned theIndians so much that it cannot lend him the little he needs. PeterCoultee sends word to you: Let _Italapas_ run to the bank and count thegold. " Then the younger Indian smiled suggestively, whirled his cayuse, and rode away. 

Kitsap was troubled by young Coultee's words. Not that any thought ofweakness in the Elliott Bay National entered his mind; but he felt atonce that such a report, if allowed to circulate undenied, would beharmful to the magic treasure-chest. He was all nerves when he reportedto the cashier. 

As soon as the president arrived, the cashier went to him with thereport. Together they reviewed Lamson's account, and decided that nodanger was to be found there. Lamson's hops were being delivered to awarehouse, and the warehouse receipts were being delivered to the bankas security for the hop-gathering loan. All this was regular andcustomary. But Lamson's motive in making such talk disturbed thepresident. He sent for Kitsap to question him. 

Never before had the young red man been called into a conference withthe president. He felt both proud and alarmed at the incident. When toldthe facts, Kitsap was greatly relieved, but he could suggest no motivefor Lamson's story. He volunteered to visit the valley in an endeavor toascertain the facts. The suggestion pleased the president, who at onceordered it put into effect. 

"I suppose, " said the gray-headed president, "that you will enjoy thisscouting expedition all the more because you are on the trail of a whiteman. But while I am going to trust to your own good sense and yourknowledge of your people in running this lie right back to the man whofathered it, I want to caution you to play well inside the rules of thegame. 

"Now, you are out to hit the trail of that lie and chase it home. Whenyou have corralled it, let me know what company it is keeping and I willtell you what to do next. Lamson has been a good client and this lie mayrun away from him. If so, we must not offend him and thus lose hisaccount. But if it hikes home to his ranch house, then I want to knowwhat he is doing, and the nearer he is related to this rumor, thequicker we shall cash his hop receipts and cancel his note. 

"If you find it necessary to use the bank's authority, then come outstrong as ambassador plenipotentiary and read the stiffest kind of abluff to your man in the name of the Elliott Bay National Bank. Talk aslittle as possible about the bank; but when you do talk, make every manjealous of your connection with the institution. A conservative remarkmay bring a new customer to our books; a flippant word may go intobusiness for itself and start a run that no bank could weather. Now getat it, and let us hear something from you by day after to-morrow. "

Scout! The president himself had said it! The Indian's blood thrilledwith his commission. His voice shook a little in its attempt to be very, very steady as he telephoned out to the reservation station for asaddle-horse. Then he ran for the five o'clock south-bound train. 

At eight o'clock Kitsap arrived at the reservation. On all sides werethe lights among the camps, where the hop-pickers were making merry. More than one group hailed him as he passed, demanding to know if he hadcome out from town to dance, to gamble, or to see a maid. But he hadreplied to each in kind and pressed on to his father's house. Kitsap theelder greeted his son in the native tongue. 

"Huh! Is The Coyote still prowling?"

"The Coyote hunts big game for his _tyee_, my father. Let The Coyote'shorse be cared for till he returns. "

Then Kitsap, the bank clerk, decked himself as an Indian should and asThe Coyote went forth to listen at many camp-fires and to hear whattales were telling there. Till far into the night he prowled, learningwhat families of Indians were picking for Lamson, what form Lamson'sbank story was taking, and to what store the orders were sent forredemption. The fires were low and the valley was still when he soughthis father's house and slept. 

The next morning he resumed the dress of the white man. It was a dayspent in the saddle. He rode from store to store, from ranch to ranchand warehouse to warehouse, the length and breadth of the valley, questioning, listening, brisk, businesslike, and polite, in all respectsthe decorous representative of the white man's bank. Yet, as he stoodthat evening at the white man's telephone, and recounted to his cashierthe facts he had learned, the gleam in his eyes and the pride in hisheart were those of the young red warrior who has tracked his foe andmakes report to the high chiefs of his tribe. He concluded by asking hiscashier to telegraph to St. Louis and the other hop markets andascertain the probable trend of hops, and telephone him in the morning. 

And then Kitsap, the clerk, donned the tribal finery of his ancestorsand again The Coyote prowled among the camp-fires. At each he dropped afaggot for thought:

"Lamson, the biggest hop rancher in the valley, is buying hops atfourteen cents and paying his pickers with store orders. That's why helied about the bank. "

The pickers buzzed the news about the fires till the overseers heard it;the overseers bore the tale to the ranchers; the ranchers went to theirtelephones and set the tale to flashing. In the morning, when the valleyrose to resume picking, Lamson's raid was in cold type in the Seattlepapers and at eight o'clock Lamson himself read it. Then he realizedthat the pool had been betrayed, and he went on the war-path to find themysterious Indian. 

Kitsap rose late, and loitered about, gossiping with the idle, till teno'clock. Then he called up the bank. The cashier had received a wirefrom the East. 

"Hops opened in St. Louis at sixteen cents, Milwaukee sixteen cents, Cincinnati seventeen cents, " said the cashier over the telephone. "Cropreports indicate light yield abroad and heavy demand on American hops. Rise in price certain. I have asked a Seattle broker to cable Liverpool. The president says to spread the news and call me again at fouro'clock. "

Then Kitsap mounted his own spotted cayuse and rode from ranch to ranchtill every Indian planter on the reservation had heard his news:

"The _biyu tyee_ of the money house sends greetings. Hops are seventeencents and going up. "

At four o'clock Kitsap was once more at the telephone, and received amessage from the cashier which sent his heart pounding in his throat forvery enthusiasm. 

[Illustration: _Copyrighted by E. S. Curtis, Seattle_

"KITSAP, THE CLERK, DONNED THE TRIBAL FINERY OF HIS ANCESTORS"]

"I have sent you an important letter by express on the three o'clocktrain, " said the cashier. "Get it and read what I have written. Stay aslong as you need to, but smash that pool, and teach Lamson not to lieabout the Elliott Bay National. "

Then Kitsap waited for the train, secured his express package, andopened it. It contained a letter from Lamson to the bank--a letter thatwas ammunition for the Indian--and instructions to make certain use ofit. 

He could make no more progress indirectly; he must face the raiders, orhis own people would doubt him. He must seek out Lamson, and standing infront of that white man, the Indian must throw back into his teeth thatlie about the bank. The warm red blood in him yearned for a clash and atussle. He would go to the store to spend the evening. If a collisionwith the fourteen-cent raiders was to be effected anywhere, the storewould afford it. 

To the store that night came Lamson and the St. Louis buyers, all inevil mood. Kitsap's news had completely arrested the effect of theirpessimistic talk. No rancher would sell at fourteen cents with a bank'smessenger rioting over the valley quoting hops in Liverpool at eighteencents. Indeed, those who had already contracted to sell were grumbling, and many of them came to the store that night, eager to hear the truthof a market which had been misrepresented to them. These men werelistening to Kitsap, whose words put them in a very sullen temper, whenLamson and the three buyers entered. 

"So you're the Injun who's been going around bulling the market, "shouted Lamson, his voice keyed high with temper. He stepped quicklyinto the crowd of ranchers about Kitsap, conscious that he must rout theIndian or see the end of the pool. 

The young Indian faced the irate rancher and looked him coolly up anddown. This was Lamson; the heaviest owner of land in the valley. Thiswas the white man who had lied about the Elliott Bay National. Themeeting for which he had hoped had come. The Indian drew a deep breathof sheer delight. Then, in a clear, ringing tone, he returned the whiteman's fire:

"So you are the rancher who lied about the Elliott Bay National Bank?"

The blood leaped to the rancher's temples and he stepped menacinglytoward the Indian. But before he could strike, Kitsap's voice again rangout:

"You are a double liar! You borrowed money to pay pickers, but used itto buy hops at fourteen cents, after telling the ranchers that you hadsold. That was the first lie. You told the Indians that the bank wouldnot loan you enough to pay them. That was another lie. But the bank hasfound you out!"

The rancher stood speechless before the unexpected words of the Indian. The clenched fist fell to his side. The young man who stood there beforehim, with the straight proud poise of the savage chieftain, spoke thewords of the white man's warfare, the warfare of the mart and of barter. He must be met and beaten on his own ground. Clearly, he had spoken toeffect, and the rancher must justify his position before his fellowranchers, whose eyes were so intently watching him. 

"You seem to know a lot about the bank's business, " he began, with anattempt at sarcasm. "I suppose the president consults you on loans. "

"The president did on this one, " replied the Indian. The rancherslaughed. 

"Then perhaps he told you that this one was amply secured by my hopreceipts, " boasted Lamson. 

"He did. "

"Then what the bloomin' ---- is it to him what I do with the cash?"

"He sent me to give you back that lie about the bank. "

"Well"----

"I have. I called you a liar, and then proved it. Your name is--TwoLies!"

Lamson's color came back, but this time it was the color of anger. Hishand went half-way to his revolver, but a broad-shouldered ranchercaught his arm. 

"None o' that, Lamson. "

Lamson wrenched his arm away. The big rancher faced him. 

"This here Kitsap is telling the truth, " said he. "I reckon he's gotstill more of it to give us. And we will expect you to fish or cut bait. But I'll hold this. " Then he clapped his hand on Lamson's gun pocket anddisarmed him. The three St. Louis hop buyers looked wistfully toward thedoor. But prudence held them to the spot. 

"You are making a big fuss over nothing, " sputtered Lamson. "Whosebusiness is it if I do buy hops? The bank is secured on its loan. "

"It's our business a whole lot, " said the big rancher, gently tappingthe handle of Lamson's revolver on Lamson's chest. "You give out thatyou are selling hops at fourteen cents and advise a lot of us fellows todo the same. Now we're told that you've been buyin' at fourteen cents. It's our business to find out which end up you're playin' this market. "

"Oh, rot!" roared Lamson. "Hops are fourteen cents now. I'm buying a fewto hold 'em. If I can afford to take the risk, I'm entitled to theprofit. "

"The bank knows that hops are eighteen cents to-day, " broke in Kitsap. 

"That's another lie, " yelled the enraged Lamson, and the rancherslaughed at the unconscious admission. 

"Is it?" said Kitsap quietly. "Do you dare to bet on it?"

"I'll bet you a hundred dollars, " roared the rancher, "that you can'tget over fourteen cents for hops in this valley this fall. "

"I will bet you that amount that I can get at least sixteen cents forthe Indians on the reservation. "

"Where's your money?" said Lamson, drawing out a roll of bills. 

Kitsap had not looked for this. He was puzzled for a moment. Then hedrew forth a pocket check-book, signed a check, and handed it to anIndian rancher, who endorsed it. Turning to Lamson, Kitsap said:

[Illustration: _Copyrighted by E. S. Curtis, Seattle_

"ON ALL SIDES THE HOP-PICKERS WERE MAKING MERRY"]

"Will this do, or shall I telephone the cashier to assure its payment?"

"It's good, " said Lamson. 

"Very well. But if you are so sure about the price of hops, Mr. TwoLies, why don't you make it two to one that I can't get seventeencents?"

"That's my money!" and Lamson began counting out another hundred. 

"Or three to one that I can't get eighteen cents?"

"It goes!"

"Or four to one that I can't get nineteen cents?"

"Yes; or five to one that you can't get twenty, " roared the exasperatedplanter. 

"Five to one, " replied Kitsap. "And if I win, I will throw your money insilver from the steps of the reservation school to the Indian children. "

Kitsap noted the effect on the Indians in the room as the money wasplaced in the hands of the town marshal. He knew how every red man onthe reservation would work for twenty-cent hops now. 

But the Indian was not through with the white man. He turned on himagain. 

"If you think the bank lied when it said eighteen cents, there is atelephone. Call up the cashier at his home. He sent me here to tell thewhite men and Indians who are our clients. Ask him for yourself. "

Lamson and the three buyers noted the words "Our clients. " To Lamson itbrought identification of the Indian as Johnny Kitsap, the clerk; to thebuyers it was just mysterious enough to be alarming. 

"Confound the cashier! All he knows is what somebody else has told him. "

"Mr. Lamson, do you yourself think that fourteen cents for hops to-dayis a fair price?" asked Kitsap, suddenly taking a conciliatory tone. 

"Certainly I do. But if I want to buy hops at fourteen cents now andhold them on a speculation, it's my own business. "

"Entirely, " said the Indian. "But I believe your conduct with theranchers who have agreed to sell is based on your statement that you hadalready sold your own hops to these buyers from St. Louis for fourteencents. "

"That's right, " said Lamson boldly. "I can sell my hops for what Ilike. "

"Liar, " said Kitsap, "you have _not_ sold your hops. "

Lamson sprang to his feet, but the big rancher put out a big hand andshoved him back. 

"Sit down, " said the big man. "Can't you see this here Kitsap's got thefloor?"

"As I understand it, " continued Kitsap, turning to the men who hadsigned the contract to sell to the raiders, "unless Mr. Lamson hasalready delivered his hops to the buyers under his contract, the veryagreement is void, and you are all released. "

"You bet your life that's right, " said the big man with the gun, andfrom all parts of the crowd came words of confirmation. 

Lamson, for the first time during the encounter, felt uneasy. He lookedblankly at the three buyers. One of the gentlemen from St. Louis drewthe contract from his pocket. 

"The young man is right, " said the gentleman from St. Louis, in aconciliatory tone. "Here is the contract, and I can safely assure ourfriends that Mr. Lamson has carried out his part of the agreement. "

"You bet, " shouted Lamson, recognizing a very pretty bluff on the partof the buyer. 

"May I see the contract?" asked Kitsap. 

The buyer passed it to him. Kitsap read the contract aloud, and thentossed it over his head into the hands of the men who had signed it. Thebuyers and Lamson came to their feet. 

"Worthless paper, " said Kitsap. "Lamson has not delivered his hopreceipts and therefore there is no contract. "

A yell of delight went up from the crowd, and a shower of tiny bits ofwhite papers showed the fate of the instrument. Kitsap pointed hisfinger at the enraged Lamson, and as the shower of paper fell about himfairly shouted his denunciation:

"I, Kitsap, the clerk, am a representative of the Elliott Bay NationalBank. I come here by the orders of the _tyee_--the president. Your hopreceipts are in the bank's treasure-chest, and here is your letterreceived at the bank last Monday. " Kitsap opened the letter that hadcome to him by express and read:

 Picking is progressing well, and the valley will yield a big crop. A few hungry ranchers are selling at fourteen cents cash at the warehouse, but I look for better prices later. I hope you will be willing to carry my receipts _till November, when I look for a price close to twenty cents_. 

As Kitsap read, his voice rose, and, as he ended, there was absolutesilence for an instant. Then the ranchers took their spellbound eyesfrom the quivering Indian and looked at the pale face of the speechlessLamson. The store-keeper looked with the others, and it was his groanthat broke the spell:

"Thunder! I stood to make a thousand on the deal. "

Then the overjoyed ranchers found their voices in a wild laugh, and laidenthusiastic hands on Kitsap. Lamson and the buyers slipped away, beatenand humiliated, to lament the failure of the fourteen-cent raid, and tospend a few bitter hours in planning a new offer next morning at abetter price, for there was need to cover promises made to Easternhouses. 

The ranchers quickly formed themselves into a meeting and sent couriersout to notify all signers of the contract that the deal was off. Thenthey appointed a committee to go to the bank next day with Kitsap and bewitnesses to his report to his superiors. 

Before another day passed, the spirit of the valley had changed from adesire to sell quickly for cash into a determination to hold the cropfor a twenty-cent market. The Elliott Bay National secured dailybulletins from inside sources and kept the world's markets before theentire valley. Picking progressed to an end, and the Indians held theirlast feast and departed. Then buyers came from other markets, inspectedthe crop, and made offers. Gradually the valley ranchers joined the leadof the reservation Indians and placed their receipts with the ElliottBay National, to be held for a rise and sold as near twenty cents aspossible. The cashier sent East for a prominent broker, who replied thathe would arrive by the Sound in mid-October. Then the other buyers beganbulling the market, hoping to induce a rancher here and there to selland, by thus breaking the ranks, run prices down. But Kitsap, on theground, and the cashier, in the bank, were able to hold them togethertill the new broker arrived. 

[Illustration: _Copyrighted by E. S. Curtis, Seattle_

"PICKING PROGRESSED TO AN END, AND THE INDIANS HELD THEIR LAST FEAST ANDDEPARTED"]

The new man was business from the ground up. He knew where he could sellhops, and for what price. He inspected the valley crop of hops andfrankly announced his intention to pay twenty-one cents. Then the otherbuyers rushed in to get a share, and the result was an agreement bywhich the new broker got half the crop at twenty-one cents and the latelamented fourteen-cent raiders divided the other half among themselvesat twenty-three cents, the money to be distributed through the ElliottBay National to all ranchers at the average of twenty-two cents. 

Kitsap telephoned the news to the reservation, and the priest sent theson of Peter Coultee on his spotted cayuse to ride into the village withthe news. DeQuincey's Royal Mail with the news of Waterloo did notcreate more enthusiasm than the Indian's triumphant shout. As he dashedalong he yelled to the white men:

"Hops sold at twenty-two cents!"

To the Indian ranchers he called out the same news in the jargon:

"_Hops marsh mox-taltum-tee-mox. _"

Down the street he rode, yelling and winning yells in return. The newsspread from street to street, men carried it into the valley, and thatnight many a heart among the ranches beat quicker and many a voice atthe firesides murmured the name of "Kitsap. "

The town marshal made the trip to Seattle and delivered thesix-hundred-dollar wager to Kitsap. The Indian told the cashier theterms of the wager and asked to be excused on the following Saturday, that he might assemble the reservation children and scatter the Lamsonmoney. 

"It will be a great event to them, " said Kitsap. "I shall take all ofLamson's five hundred dollars in dimes, and the whole reservation willcome out to see the fun. "

The cashier granted the leave of absence gladly. 

"If you will hold the event in the afternoon, I think the presidentwould be pleased to go out and see it, " said he. 

Kitsap needed no other hint, but went boldly to the president andinvited him to witness the scattering of the coins. 

"With pleasure, " replied the president. 

"Come on the three o'clock train, and I will have a carriage for you, "said Kitsap. 

The reservation had been waiting for twenty-cent hops as a band ofchildren wait for the circus. Five thousand dimes to be thrown to lessthan three hundred children! It would be a rare scramble. Indianchildren raided their mothers' button-baskets that they might throw thebuttons in the sand and practise scrambling for them. Then came the newsof twenty-two cent hops, and every Indian, young or old, jumped up anddown and shouted that Kitsap had won that Lamson money. 

"Saturday afternoon at four o'clock, " was Kitsap's message to thereservation priest, and the priest assembled ten young men for aconference. It was decided to mark off ten squares on the lawn in frontof the schoolhouse. On each square a squad of thirty children shouldstand, the children of each squad graded so as to be nearly of a size, girls and boys in alternate squares. Before each square one of the tenyoung men should stand with five hundred silver coins in a dish. At asignal from Kitsap, who should stand on the school steps, the ten youngmen should throw the dimes in the air and the scramble would begin. 

When the train stopped at the reservation station that Octoberafternoon, the president of the Elliott Bay National found Kitsap theelder there to meet him, with a clean spring wagon. During the shortdrive to the reservation school, he noted that the road was deserted, but when the school was reached a scene of color and animation met hiseye. The tribe was out in full regalia, even the clients of the bank, who came gravely to the president's wagon to greet him. Kitsap the elderdrove to a spot reserved for the head men of the tribe, and the chief ofthe money-house was welcomed to a place among them. Then a hush fellupon the assembly. 

A procession of young men, headed by Kitsap, decked in tribal finery, came out of the schoolhouse. Kitsap remained on the stairs, as the tenyoung men, bearing dishes of dimes, took their places before thesquares. Every child stood waiting--every grown person held his breath. The voice of Kitsap, speaking each sentence first in the jargon and thenin English, made a short harangue. The president smiled as he caughtthis glimpse of Kitsap's own interpretation of a bank. 

"Lamson, the white man, told a lie about the money-house. The great_tyee_ of the treasure-chest sent Kitsap, who is a brave of the white_tyee's_ house, to tell the Puyallups the truth. The Great Spirit madeLamson angry and caused him to lose this money to Kitsap, who serves thegreat white _tyee_. But the great white _tyee_ said: 'Behold, the GreatSpirit has punished Lamson. Forever will he be called Two Lies. Themoney shall be for the children, as Kitsap said. I will go myself to seeKitsap throw the silver coins to the children, for it is a lesson. Letthem always speak true words, or the Great Spirit will punish them, andthey will have an evil name like Lamson!' And look, children, Kitsap's_tyee_ sits with the _tyee_ of the Puyallups to see you scramble. Remember, keep on your own square and do not strike. Push and pull, butdo not strike. Show the white _tyee_ who lives in the magictreasure-house that you can play your games fairly. Then he will bepleased and tell his own people of the silver coins that Kitsap throwsto the children. "

There was silence a moment, and then Kitsap raised a feathered wand. Inthe native tongue he shouted:

"All ready? Throw!"

Ten lithe Indians threw their silver treasure into the air. Fivethousand silver coins flashed in the sun and fell in a sparkling showeron the heads of the tribal children. With one voice the childrenscreamed and sprang to the scramble; with one voice the Puyallup triberoared in glee; with one motion the tribal hats went into the air, andthe president of the Elliott Bay National yelled in his enthusiasm, pounded a red man on the back, waved a silk hat on high, and became asone of these child-hearted aborigines. 

Late that night, while the president sat at his club, hoarse but happy, and told what he had seen, a band of Indians out on the reservation helda ceremony in a big tent. The rite was as old as the tribal memory--therite of formally adopting a chief--and a young man was declared to havewon a great fight, and to be worthy of a high place in the councils ofthe tribe. They wanted to name him Chief Who-Made-The-Silver-Rain, butthe young man replied that Chief Kitsap, being his father's name, wasgood enough for him. 

THE WAYFARERS

BY

MARY STEWART CUTTING

AUTHOR OF "LITTLE STORIES OF COURTSHIP, " "LITTLE STORIES OF MARRIEDLIFE, " ETC. 

ILLUSTRATIONS BY ALICE BARBER STEPHENS

XXIII

Justin was in Chicago--the fact was verified--and he would start forhome on the morrow. There seemed to be no details, save the comfortingone that Billy Snow was with him. After that first sharp immediaterelief from suspense, Lois again felt its filminess settling down uponher. 

Girard had gone back very early to the Snows' to breakfast. He talked toLois by telephone, but he did not come to the house; while Dosia, wrapped in an outward abstraction that concealed a whirl within, wentabout her daily tasks, living over and over the scene of the nightbefore. The shattering of the pitcher seemed to have shattered somethingelse. Once he had felt, then, as she had done; once--so far away thatnight of disaster had gone, so long was it since she had held thatprotecting hand in her dreams, that the touch brought a strangeresurrection of the spirit. She had an upwelling new sense of gratitudeto him for something unexpressed, some quality which she passionatelyrevered, and which other men had not always used toward her. 

"Oh, he's good, he's _good_!" she whispered to herself, with the tearsblinding her, as she picked up Redge's blocks from the floor. She feltLawson's kisses on her lips, her throat--that cross of shame that sheheld always close to her; George Sutton's fat face thrust itselfleeringly before her. How many girls have passages in their lives towhich they look back with the shame that only purity and innocence canfeel! Yet the sense of Girard's presence before was as nothing to hersense of it now--it blotted out the world. She saw him sitting alone inthe dining-room, with his head resting on his hand, the attitudeinformed with life. The turn of his head, the shape of his hand, wereinsistent things. She saw him standing in front of her, long-limbed, erect of mien. She saw--If she looked pale and inert, it was becausethat inner thought of her lived so hard that the body was worn out withit. 

Neither telegram nor any other message came from Justin, except the bareword that he had started home. On the second morning, just as Lois hadfinished dressing, she heard the hall door open and shut. She called, but cautiously, for fear of disturbing her baby, who had dropped off tosleep again. 

Justin was standing by the table, looking at the newspaper, as sheentered the dining-room. With a cry, she ran toward him. "Justin!"

He turned, and she put her arms around him passionately. He held her fora moment, and then said, "You'd better sit down. "

"But, Justin--oh, my dearest, how ill you look!" She clung to him. "Where have you been? Why didn't you send me any word?"

"I've been to Chicago. "

"Yes, yes, I know. Why did you go?"

"I don't know. "

"You don't _know_?"

"Lois, will you give me some coffee?"

She poured out the cup with trembling hands, and sat while he took aswallow of the hot fluid, still scanning the newspaper. At last shesaid:

"Aren't you going to tell me any more?"

"There isn't any more to tell. There's no use talking about it. Ibelieve I had some idea of selling the island when I went to Chicago, but I don't know how I got there. I didn't know I was there until I wokeup two nights ago at a little hotel away out on the West Side. Billypounded on the door, and said they told him I had been asleep fortwenty-eight hours. I suppose I was dead tired out. I don't want tospeak of it again, Lois; it wasn't a particularly pleasant thing tohappen. Will you tell Mary to bring in the rest of the breakfast? I mustcatch the eight-thirty train back into town. I thought you might bebothered, so I came out first. Where are the children?"

"They are coming down now with Dosia, " said his wife, helping Mary withthe dishes. Redge ran up to his father, hitting him jubilantly with asmall stick which he held in his chubby hand, and bringing irritatedreproof down upon him at once; but Zaidee, her blue eyes open, her lipsparted over her little white teeth, slid into the arm outstretched forher, and stood there leaning against "Daddy's" side, while he ate anddrank hurriedly, with only one hand at his disposal. Poor Lois could nothelp one pang of jealousy at being shut out, but she heroicallysmothered it. 

"Mr. Harker was here the evening before last; he brought me some money, "she ventured at last. 

"That was all right. "

"And Mr. Girard was very kind; he stayed here all that night--until yourmessage came. "

"I hope you haven't been talking about this all over the place. "

"No--oh, no, " said Lois, driving back the tears at this causelessinjury. "Mr. Leverich said it was best not to. Nobody knows about yourbeing away at all. You're not going _now_, Justin--without even seeingbaby?"

"I'll see him to-night when I come home, " said Justin, rising. He kissedthe children and his wife hastily, but she followed him into the hall, standing there, dumbly beseeching, while he brushed his hat with thehat-brush on the table, and then rummaged hastily as if for somethingelse. 

"Here are your gloves, if that is what you are looking for, " she said. 

"Yes, thank you. " He bent over and kissed her again, as if really seeingher for the first time, with a whispered "Poor girl!" That momentaryclose embrace brought her a needed--oh, so needed!--crumb of comfort. She who had hungered so insatiably for recognition could be humblythankful now for the two words that spoke of an inner bond. 

But all day she could not get rid of that feeling of suspense that hadbeen hers for five days past; the strain was to end, of course, withJustin's return, but it had not ended--in some sad, weighting fashion itseemed just to have begun. What was he so worried about? Was she neverto hear any more?

That night Girard came over, but with him was another visitor--WilliamSnow. No sun could brown that baby-fair skin of William's, but he had anindefinably large and Western air; the very way in which he wore hisclothes showed his independence. Dosia did not notice his swift, covert, shamefaced glance at her when she came into the room where he wastalking to Lois--his avoidance of her the year before had dropped clearout of her mind; but his expression changed to one of complacent delightas she ran to him instantly and clasped his arm with both hands to cry, "Oh, Billy, Billy, I'm so glad to see you! I am so glad--I can't tellyou how glad I am!"

[Illustration: "STOOD THERE LEANING AGAINST 'DADDY'S' SIDE"]

"All right, Sweetness, you're not going to lose me again, " said Williamencouragingly. "My, but you do knock the spots out of those Westerngirls. Can't we go in the dining-room by ourselves? I want to ask you tomarry me before we talk any more. "

"Yes, do, " said Dosia, dimpling. 

It was sweet to be chaffed, to be heedlessly young once more, to takerefuge from all disconcerting thoughts--from a new embarrassment--withBilly, in the corner of the other room, where she sat in a low chair, and he dragged up an ottoman close in front of her. Through the openwindow the scent of honeysuckle came in with the gloom. 

"Oh, but you've grown pretty!" he said, his hands clasped over hisknees, gazing at her. "That's right, get pink--it makes you prettier. Ilike this slimpsy sort of dress you've got on; I like that black velvetaround your throat; I--have you missed me much?"

"No, " said Dosia, with the old-time sparkle. "I've hardly thought of youat all. But I feel now as if I had. "

Billy nodded. "All right, I'll pay you up for that some day. Oh, Dosia, you may think I'm joking, but I'm not! There have been days and nightswhen I've done nothing but plan the things I was going to do and say tomake you care for me--but they're all gone the moment I lay eyes on you. I'll talk of whatever you like afterward, but I've got to sayfirst"--Billy's voice, deep and manly and confident, had yet a littleshake in it--"that nobody is going to marry you but me, and don't youforget it. I'm no kid any more. " Something in his tone gave his wordsemphasis. "I know how to look out for you better than any one elsedoes. "

"Dear Billy, " said Dosia, touched, and resting her cheek momentarilyagainst the rough sleeve of his coat, "it's so good to have you backagain. "

Lois, who had been longing intolerably all day for evening to come, sothat she could be alone with her husband, sat in the drawing-room, trying to sew with nervous, trembling fingers, while her husband, looking frightfully tired, and Bailey Girard smoked and talked--of allthings in the world!--of the relative merits of live or "spoon" bait introlling, and afterward went minutely into details of the manufacture ofartificial lures for catching trout. 

Those wasted "social" hours of non-interest, non-satisfaction, how long, how unbearably long, they can seem! Lois' face twitched, as well as herfingers; she did not realize, as women often do not, that to Justin thisconversation, banal and irrelevant to any action of his present life orhis present anxiety, was like coming up from under-depths to breathe ata necessary air-hole. 

After five days of torturing, unexplained absence, to talk of nothingbut fishing, as if his life depended on it! Girard himself had wondered, but he accepted the position allotted to him as a matter of course. Hehad thought, from Justin's manner to-day, that he was to know somethingof his affairs; but if Justin did not choose to confide in him--that wasall right. Possibly the affairs were all right, too; they were none ofhis business, anyway. 

[Illustration: "IT WAS SWEET TO BE CHAFFED, TO BE HEEDLESSLY YOUNG ONCEMORE"]

Suddenly a word caught the ears of the two who were sitting in thedining-room. 

"That was the kind Lawson Barr used when he went down on theSusquehanna. By the way, I hear that he's dead. "

Lawson! Dosia's face changed as if a whip had flicked across it, andthen trembled back into its normal quiet. William leaned a littlenearer, his eyes curiously scanning her. 

"Hadn't you heard before?"

"No; what?"

"He's dead. "

"Lawson _dead_! Not Lawson?" Her dry lips illy formed the words. 

"Yes, Dosia. Don't look like that--don't let them see in there, Girardis looking at you; turn your face toward me. Leverich told us, coming upto-night. Lawson died a week ago. "

"How?"

"Fell from his horse somewhere up in a canyon--he was drunk, I reckon. They found him twenty-four hours afterward. The superintendent of themines wrote to Leverich. He'd tried to keep pretty straight out there, all but the drinking, I guess that was too much for him. It was thebest thing he could do--to die--as Girard says. Girard hates the verysound of his name. "

"Oh, " breathed Dosia painfully. 

"The superintendent said that some of the miners chipped in to bury him, and the woman he boarded with sent a pencil scrawl along with thesuperintendent's letter to say that she'd 'miss Mr. Barrdreadful, '--that he'd get up and get the breakfast when she was sick, and 'the kids, they thought the world of him. ' She signed herself, 'Atrue mourner, Mrs. Wilson. '"

Lawson was dead!

Dosia sat there, her hand clasping Billy's sleeve as at first--somethingtangible to hold on to. Her gaze had gone far beyond the room; even thathaunting consciousness that Bailey Girard was near her was but a far, hidden subconsciousness. She was out on a rocky slope beside a deadbody--Lawson, his head thrown back, those mocking, caressing eyes, thosecurving, passionate lips, closed forever, the blood oozing from betweenhis dark locks. As ever with poor Dosia, there was that sharp, unbearable pang of self-reproach, of self-condemnation. Of what availher prayers, her belief in him, when he had died thus? Oh, she had notprayed enough. She had not been good enough to be allowed to help; shehad not believed hard enough. Perhaps it had helped just a little--hehad "tried to keep pretty straight, all but the drinking; that was toomuch for him. "

That covered some resistance in an underworld of which she knew nothing. Poor Lawson, who had never had the right chance, whose youth had beenpoisoned at the start! In that grave where he lay, drunkard and reveler, part of the youth of her, Dosia Linden, --once his promised wife, to whomshe had given herself in her soul, --must always lie too, buried withhim; nothing could undo that. To die so causelessly! But the miners hadcared a little; he had been kind to a woman and her littlechildren--"the kids had thought the world of him"; she was "a truemourner, Mrs. Wilson. " Dosia imagined him cheeringly cooking for thispoor, worn-out mother, carrying the children from place to place as shehad once seen him carry that little boy home from the ball, long, longago. 

A strain from that unforgotten music came to her now, carrying her tothe stars! Oh, not for Lawson the splendid rehabilitation of the strong, except in that one moment of denial when he had risen by the might ofhis manhood in renunciation for her sake; only the humble virtues of hisweakness could be his--yet perhaps, in the sight of the God who pities, no such small offering, after all!

"Dosia, you didn't really _care_ for him!"

She smiled with pale lips and brimming eyes--an enigmatic answer whichBilly could not read. He sat beside her, smoothing her dress furtively, until she got up, and, whispering, "I must go, " left the room, unconscious of Girard's following gaze. 

"I think we'd better be getting back, " said the latter, in an odd voice, rising in the middle of one of Justin's sentences, as Billy camestraying in to join the group. 

Lois' heart leaped. She had felt that another moment of live bait andreminiscences would be more than she could stand. 

"You need some rest, " she said gratefully. "You have been tired out inour service. "

"Oh, I'm not tired at all, " he returned, shortly. Her work seemed tocatch his eye for the first time and, in a desire to change the subject, "What are you making?" he asked. 

"A ball for Redge. I made one for Zaidee, and he felt left out--he's ofa very jealous disposition, " she went on abstractedly. "Are you of ajealous disposition, Mr. Girard?"

"I!" He stopped short, with the air of one not accustomed to takingaccount of his own attributes, and apparently pondered the question asif for the first time. When he looked up to answer, it was with abruptdecision: "Yes, I am. "

"Don't look so like a pirate, " said young Billy, giving him a thump onthe back that sent them both out of the house, laughing, when Lois roseand went over to Justin's side. 

Husband and wife were at last alone. 

XXIV

In the days that followed, Justin, going away in the morning very earlywith a set face, coming home very late in the evening with that set facestill, hardly seemed to notice the children or Dosia. 

"Justin has so much on his mind. " Lois kept repeating the words over andover, as if she found in them something by which to hold fast. Rich inbeauty as she was, full of love and tender favor, with the sweetness andthe pathos of an awakening soul, her husband seemed to have no eyes, nothought for her. That one murmured sentence in the hallway was all herfood to live on--his only personal recognition of her. 

[Illustration: "SHE CREPT OUT UPON THE LANDING OF THE STAIRS, AND SATTHERE DESOLATELY ON THE TOP STEP"]

On the other hand, he poured out his affairs and his plans to her with afreedom of confidence unknown before, a confidence which seemed topre-suppose her oneness of interest with him. He had talked exhaustivelyabout everything but those few days' absence; that was a sore that shemust not touch, a wound that could bear no probing. She had striven veryhard not to show when she didn't understand, taking her cues for assentor dissent as he evidently wished her to, letting him think aloud, sinceit seemed to be a relief to him, and saying little herself. The onlytime when she broke in on her own account was when he told her aboutCater, and the defective bars, and Leverich's ultimatum. Her "Justin, you wouldn't do that; you wouldn't tell!" met his quick response: "No, Icouldn't. "

"Oh, I know that. I'd rather be a hundred times poorer than we are!Aren't you glad that you couldn't do it?"

"No; I think I'm rather sorry, " said Justin, with a half-smile. Thepeculiar sharpness of the thought that it was between Cater andLeverich--his friends, Heaven save the mark!--that he was being pushedtoward ruin, had not lost any of its edge. 

There had been a tonic in a certain attitude of Cater's mind towardJustin--an unspoken kindliness and admiration and tenderness such as anolder man who has been along a hard road may feel toward another who hascome along the same way. Cater's kind, unobtrusive comradeship, thefair-dealing friendliness of his rivalry, had seemed to be one of thefactors of support, of honesty, of commercial righteousness. Justincould smile proudly at Leverich, but he couldn't smile when he thoughtof Cater--it weighed upon and humiliated him for the man who had beenhis friend. 

"I am glad, anyway!" said Lois. "It wouldn't have been _you_ if you had!Can't you take a rest now, dear, when you look so ill? No, no; I didn'tmean that--of course you can't!"

"A _rest_!" He rose and walked up and down the room. "Lois, do you knowthat, in some way, I've got to get it before the 13th? Those days inChicago--at the worst time! It makes me wild to think of the time I'velost. I'm looking out for a partner who will buy out Leverich andMartin, and we've got a chance yet--I'll swear we have! But Lewiston'snote has got to be paid first; then I can take time to breathe. Harkersaw a man from Boston from whom we might have borrowed the money, if Ihad only been here. If we get that, we can hold over; if we don't, we goto smash, and so does Lewiston. Lewiston _trusted_ me. I've been toseveral places to-day to men that would be willing enough to lend themoney if they didn't know I needed it. "

"George Sutton?" hazarded Lois. 

Justin's lips curved bitterly. "Oh, he's a cur. He had some moneyinvested last year when he was sweet on Dosia, and drew it all outafterward! And, after all, I went to him to-day, like a fool!"

"Can't you go to Eugene Larue?"

"No. We talked about it once, but he fought shy; he didn't think thesecurity enough. If he thought so then, it would be worse than uselessnow. "

"Mr. Girard?"

"There's no use telling things to him, he hasn't any money. " Justinturned a dim eye on her. "I tell you, Lois, I haven't left a stoneunturned, so far, that I could get at. If we could only sell the island!Girard's looking it up for me; there may be a chance of that. There arelots of chances to be thought out. I don't even know how we keeprunning, but we do. Harker's a trump! If I can hold up my end, we'll beall right. "

"Then go to bed now, " said Lois, with a quick dread that gave hercourage. "And you must have something to eat first--and to drink, too. Come, Justin! Do as I say. " Her voice had a new firmness in it which heunconsciously obeyed. She crept to her bed at last, aching in everylimb, but with her baby pressed close to her, her one darling comfort, the source from which she drew a new love as the child drew its lifefrom her. It was the first time in all her married life that she hadborne the burden of her husband's care, a burden from which she mustseek no solace from him. 

She bent all her energies, these next days, to keeping him well fed, andordering everything minutely for his comfort when he came home, aidedand abetted by Dosia. The two women worked as with one thought betweenthem, as women can work, for the well-being of one they love, with fondand minute care. Every detail, from the time he went away in themorning, stooping slightly under the weight of something mysterious andunseen, was ordered with reference to his home-coming at night--thehusband and father on whose strength all this helpless little familyhung for their own sustenance. 

Everything that was done for him had to be done covertly, it was found;he disliked any manifestation of undue attention to his wants. Sometimeshe was terribly irritable and unjust, and at others almostheartbreakingly gentle and mild. Lois had persuaded him to have thedoctor, who told him seriously that he must stay home and rest--a futileprescription, which he treated with scorn. Rest! He knew very well thatit was not rest that he needed, but money--money, money, the elixir oflife!

It was near the end of this week when Justin came home, as Lois couldsee at once, revived and encouraged, though still abstracted. He had aninvitation to take a ride in the doctor's motor, the doctor being a manwho, when the hazard of dangerous cases had been extreme, absentedhimself for a couple of hours, in which, under a breathless and unholyspeed of motoring, he reversed the pressure on his nerves, and came tothe renewed sanity of a wind-swept brain when every idea had been rushedout of it. 

Lois felt that it would be good for Justin, too, and was glad that hehad been persuaded to go; yet she caught him looking at her with suchstrange intentness a couple of times during the dinner that itdiscomposed her oddly. It made her a little silent; she pondered over itafter she had gone up, as usual, to the baby. Was there something wrongwith her appearance? She looked anxiously in the glass, and was annoyedto find that the white fichu, open at the throat, was not on quitestraight, and her hair was a little disarranged. She was pale, and therewere dark lines under her eyes. She hated not to look nice. Yet it mightnot be that. Was it, perhaps, that something else was wrong--that he hadbad news which he did not like to tell? Was he to leave her again onsome journey? She turned white for a moment, and sat down to get thebaby to sleep, and then resolutely tried to drive the thought from her. Yet, as she sat there rocking gently, the thought still came back toher, oddly, puzzlingly. Why had he looked at her like that? The smoke ofhis pipe down-stairs kept her still aware of his presence. 

Presently he came up-stairs and tiptoed into the room in clumsy fashion, for fear of waking the baby, in his quest of a pair of gloves in achiffonier drawer. After finding them, he stopped for a moment in frontof her, with that odd, arrested expression once more. 

"You don't mind my going out to-night and leaving you?" he murmured. "The doctor ought to have asked _you_, instead; you need it more thanI. "

"Oh, no, no!" she hastened to reassure. "I don't mind at all, really!"Her eyes gazed up at him, limpidly clear, and emptied of self. "I haveto run up and down stairs so many times to baby now that I couldn't go, no matter how much I was asked to. I'm only glad that you will have thedistraction--you need it. I hope you'll have a lovely time. "

She listened to his descending footsteps, and after a moment or twoarose and laid the sleeping child down in his crib. 

In the dim light she went about the room, picking up toys and littlediscarded garments left by the children, folding the clothes away, hertall, graceful figure, in the large curves of its repeated bending andstraightening, seeming to exemplify some unpainted Millet-like idea ofmother-work, emblematic of its unceasing round. She was hanging up atiny cloak in the half gloom of her closet, when she heard her husband'sstep once more stealing into the room, and the next moment saw himbeside her. 

"What's the matter?" she asked, with quick premonition. 

"Nothing, nothing at all; we haven't started yet. " He put one arm aroundher and with the other lifted her face up toward his. "I only came backto tell you"--His voice broke; there seemed to be a mist over the eyesthat were bent on hers. "I can't talk. I can't be as I ought to be, Lois, until all this is over--but--I don't know what's getting into melately, you look so beautiful to me that I can't take my eyes off you! Iwent around all to-day counting the hours, like a foolish boy, until itwas time to come back to you; I grudge every minute that I spend awayfrom my lovely wife. "

Sometimes we have a happiness so much greater, so much more blessed thanour easily imagined bliss, that we can only hide our eyes from it atfirst, like those of old, when in some humble and unthought-of placethey were visited by angels. 

XXV

Very late that night Bailey Girard arrived at the house, after anabsence of ten days. Dosia had gone to bed unusually early, but shecould not sleep. She could not seem to sleep at all lately--the tiredershe was, the more ceaselessly luminous seemed her brain; it was liketrying to sleep in a white glare in which all sorts of trivial thingsbecame unnaturally distinct. Darkness brought, not a sense of rest, butthat dread knowledge that she was going to lie there staring through allthe hours of it. Since that night that the pitcher had broken, she wasever waiting tensely for the day to bring her something that it neverbrought. Lawson's death--Girard--Billy, who was getting a littletroublesome lately--the dear little brothers far away, mixed up withtiny household perplexities, kept going through and through her mind. Her heart was wrung for Justin and Lois; yet they had each other! Dreamscould no longer comfort and support Dosia. Prayer but wakened herfurther. If she could only sleep and forget!

To-night she heard Justin's return from the automobile ride; apparentlythe machine had broken down, but the accident seemed only to have addedto the zest. Lois was still dressed and waiting up for him. Then Girardcame--he had seen the light in the window. Dosia could hear themurmuring of the voices down-stairs--Girard's sent the blood leaping toher heart so fast that she pressed her hands against it. For a momenthis face seemed near, his lips almost touched hers--her heart stoppedbefore it went on again. Why had he come now? It seemed suddenly anunbearable thing that those others down-stairs should see him and hearhim, and that she could not. Why, oh, why, had she gone to bed so earlyto-night of all nights? She was ready to cry with the passion of adisappointment that seemed, not a little thing, but something crushingand calamitous, a loss for which she never could be repaid. She couldimagine Justin and Lois meeting the kind glances of those gray eyes, smiling when he did. He was beautiful when he smiled! She was within afew yards of him, but convention, absurd yet maddening, held her in itschains. She couldn't get dressed and break in upon their intimateconference--or it seemed as if she could not. Besides, he would probablygo very soon. But he did not go! After a while she could lie there nolonger. She crept out upon the landing of the stairs, and sat theredesolately on the top step, "in her long night-gown, sweet as boughs ofMay, " with her little bare feet curled over each other, and her handsclasping the balustrade against which her cheek was pressed, watchingand waiting for him to go. The ends of her long fair hair fell intolarge loose curls where it hung over her shoulder, as she bent tolisten--and to listen--and to listen. 

"I want to be there, too--I want to be there, too!" she whispered, withquivering lips, in her voice the sobbing catch of a very little child. "I want to be there, too. They're having it all--without me. And I wantto be there, too. They might have called me to come down, and theydidn't. " They might have called her! All her passion, all herphilosophy, all her endurance, melted into that one desire. If she hadonly known at first that he was going to stay so long, she would havedressed and gone down. She could hardly bear it a moment longer. 

After a while a door on the landing of the second story below opened, and a little figure crept out--Zaidee. She stood irresolute in the hall, looking down; then she looked up, and, seeing Dosia, ran to her andclimbed into her lap, resting her little pigtailed head confidinglyagainst Dosia's warm young shoulder. 

"They woke me up, " she said placidly. "Did they woke you up, too, CousinDosia?"

"Yes, " said Dosia, hugging the child close. "Hush! some one is coming;you'll get sent to bed again. " This time it was Lois. Her abstractedgaze seemed to take in the two on the upper stairway as a matter ofcourse. 

"Oh, it's you, is it?" she said. "I thought I heard some one talking. "She rested on the post below, looking up. "I came to see if you'd takeZaidee in with you for the rest of the night, Dosia. I want to giveJustin's room to Mr. Girard. "

"Is he going to stay?" asked Dosia. 

"Yes. It's too late for him to disturb the Snows, and he's beentraveling all day; he's dreadfully tired. He wanted to sleep on the sofadown-stairs, but I wouldn't let him. " She was carrying Zaidee, alreadyhalf asleep again, in her arms as she talked, depositing her in Dosia'sbed, while Dosia followed her. 

"Did he sell the island?" asked Dosia. 

Lois shook her head. "No. They may really sell it next week, but notnow--only that will be too late to save the business. Of course, Mr. Girard doesn't know that, and Justin will not tell him--he says Mr. Girard cannot help. Oh, Dosia, when Justin came in from that ride helooked so well, and now--" She covered her face with her hands, beforerecovering herself. "It's time you were both asleep. "

"Can't I help you?" asked Dosia; but Lois only answered indifferently, "No, it's not necessary, " and went around making arrangements, whileDosia, with Zaidee nestling close to her, slept at last. 

It was late the next morning before Girard came down. Justin had hadbreakfast, and gone; Lois was up-stairs with the children, and Dosia, who had been tidying up the place, was arranging some flowers in thevases when he strode in. There was no vestige of that sick-hearted, imploring maiden of the night before; no desolate frenzy was to be seenin this trim, neat, capable little figure, clad in blue gingham, thatmade her throat very white, her hair very fair. Something in Girard'sglance seemed to show an instant pleasure that she should be the one togreet him, but he bent anxiously over the watch he held in his hand. 

"Will you tell me what time it is? My watch has stopped. "

"It's half-past nine, " said Dosia. 

"Half-past _nine_!" He looked at her in a sort of quick, horrifiedarraignment. "What do you mean?" His eye fell upon the clock, andconviction seemed to steal upon him against his will. "Heavens andearth, why wasn't I called? On this morning of all others, when everymoment's of importance! I thought I asked particularly to be wakedearly. "

"I suppose they thought you were tired and needed the rest, " apologizedDosia. 

"Needed the rest!" His tone was poignant; he looked outraged; but hisanger was entirely impersonal--there was in it even a sort of boyishappeal to her, as if she must feel it, too. 

"You had better sit down and have some breakfast. "

"Oh, _breakfast_!" His gesture deprecated her evident intention. "Pleasedon't. Thank you very much, but I don't want any breakfast; I only wantto get to town. "

"There isn't any train for twenty-five minutes, so you might as well sitdown and eat, " said Dosia firmly. "Come out to this little table on thepiazza. " She led the way to the screened corner at the end, sweet withthe honeysuckle that swung its long loops in the wind, and faced himsternly. "Do you take coffee?"

"Please don't, please don't cook me anything! I'd hate to trouble you. "He seemed so distressed that she relented a little. 

"A glass of milk and some fruit, then; you'll _have_ to take that. "

"Very well--if I must. Can't I get the things myself?"

"No. " She ran away to get them for him, with some new joy singing in herheart as she went backward and forward, bringing a pitcher of milk, aglass, a dish of strawberries, some cream, and the sugar, sitting downherself by the table afterward as he ate and drank. He gave her a suddensmile, so surprised and pleased that the color surged in her cheeks. 

"I'm not used to this, " he said simply. "What is that dress you haveon--silk?"

[Illustration: SHE TOOK THE PISTOL FROM HIS RELAXED HOLD]

"No, it's cotton; do you like it?"

"_Very_ much. Oh, please don't get up--Zaidee wasn't calling you. Iwon't eat another mouthful unless you stay just where you are--please!"

"Well!" said Dosia, with laughing pleasure. 

"Besides, I've been wanting to consult you about the Alexanders, " hewent on, leaning across the table toward her, intimately. "It's sobeautiful to see them together, that to feel that they're in troubledistresses me beyond words. You're so near to them both, I thought thatperhaps"--His face clouded partly. "Do you know anything about the realstate of Mr. Alexander's affairs?"

Dosia shook her head. "No; only that he is very much worried over them. "

"He wanted to sell the island; he sent me off on that business lately. He'll sell it sometime, of course, but I don't know how complicating thedelay is. He's the kind of man you can't ask; you have to wait until hetells you. You can't _make_ a person have confidence in you. Won't youplease have some of these strawberries with me? Do!"

"No; you must eat them _all_, " said Dosia, with charming authority, herarms before her on the table, elbow-sleeved, white and dimpled, as sheregarded him. He seemed to take up all the corner, against thebackground of the green honeysuckle in the fresh morning light. Withthat smile upon his face, he seemed extraordinarily masculine andabsorbing, yet appealing, too. 

Dosia felt carried out of herself by a sudden heady resolution--or, rather, not a new resolution, but one that she had had in mind for along, long time, before, oh, before she had even known who this manwas. She had planned over and over again how she was to say those words, and now the time had come. She could not sit here with him in this new, sweet friendliness without saying them. She had imagined the scene in somany different ways! When she had gone over it by herself, her cheekshad flushed, her eyes had shone with the tears in them. The words as shespoke them had gone deeply, convincingly, from heart to heart--orperhaps, in an assumed, tremulous lightness, the meaning in her impulsehad shown all the clearer to one who understood. For a year and a halfthe uttered thought had been the climax to which her dreams had led; itwould have seemed a monstrous, impossible thing that it had not beenreached before. 

She began now, in a moment's pause, only to find, too late, that allwarmth and naturalness had left her with the effort. Fluentdream-practice is only too apt to make one uncomfortably crude andconscious in real life. 

"I want to thank you for being so kind to me the night of that accidenton the train coming up from the South. " Poor Dosia instantly feltcommitted to a mistake. Her eyes fell for a moment on his hand, as itlay upon the table, with a terribly disconcerting remembrance that hershad not only rested in it, but that in fancy she had more than oncepillowed her cheek upon it, and, knowing that he had seen the look, shecontinued in desperation, with still increasing stiffness and formality:"I have always known, of course, that it was you. You must pardon me fornot thanking you before. "

The old unapproachable manner instantly incased him, as if inremembrance of something that hurt. "Oh, pray don't mention it, " hesaid, with a formality that matched hers. "It was nothing but whatanyone would have done--little enough, anyway. "

What happened afterward she did not know, except that in a few minuteshe had gone. 

She watched him go off down the path with that swift, long, easy step;watched till the last vestige of the gray suit was out of sight--he hada fashion of wearing gray!--before clearing off the table. Then she wentand sat on the back steps that led into the little garden, bright withthe sunshine and a blaze of tulips at her feet.... 

She had never supposed that any girl could care for a man until he hadshown that he cared for her--it was the unmaidenly, impossible thing. And now--how beautiful he was, how dear! A wistful smile trembled aroundher lips. All that had gone before with other men suddenly became asnothing, forgotten and out of mind, and she herself made clean by thispurifying fire. Even if she never had anything more in her whole life, she had this--even if she never had anything more. Yet what had she?Nothing and less than nothing. If he had ever thought of her, if he hadever dreamed of her, if her soft, frightened hand trustfully clingingfast to his, only to be comforted by his touch, had been a sign and asymbol to him of some dearer trust and faith for him alone--if in someway, as she dimly visioned it, the thought had once been his, it hadgone long ago. Every action showed it. And yet, and yet--sounconquerably does the soul speak that, though he might deny herattraction for him, she knew that she had it. It was something to whichhe might never give way, but it was unalterably there--as it wasunalterably there with her. All that year at home, when she believed shehad not been thinking of him, she really had been thinking of him. Welearn to know each other sometimes in long absences. She began toperceive in him now a humility and a pride strangely at variance witheach other and both equally at variance with the bright assurance of hisouter manner. He gave to every one; he would work early and late forothers, in his yearning sympathy and affection: yet he himself, from thevery intenseness of his desire for it, stood aloof, and drew back fromthe insistence of any claim for himself. They might meet a hundred timesand grow no closer; they might grow farther and farther away. 

Dosia felt that other women must have loved him--how could they havehelped it? She had a pang of sorrow for them--for herself it made nodifference. If she had pain for all her life afterward, she was glad atthis moment that he was worthy to be loved; she need never be ashamed ofloving him--he was "good. " The word seemed to contain some beautifulcomfort and uplifting. No matter what experience he had passed throughin his struggle with the world, he had held some simple, honorable, _clean_ quality intact. The Dosia who must always have some heart-warmdream to live by had it now; for all her life she could love him, prayfor him. She had always thought that to love was to be happy; now shewas to love and be unhappy--yet she would not have it otherwise. 

So slight, so young, so lightly dealt with, Dosia had the patheticallyclear insight and the power that comes to those who see, not themselvesalone, their own desires and hopes, but the universe in which theystand, and view their acts and thoughts in relation to it. She must seeTruth, "and be glad, even if it hurt. "

The sunshine fell upon her in the garden; she was bathed in it. Whethershe had nights of straining, bitter wakefulness and days of heartacheafterward, this joy of loving was enough for her to-day--the joy ofloving him. She saw in that lovely, brooding thought of him what thatfirst meeting had taught of his character, and molded in with it herknowledge of him now, to make the real man far more imperfect, thoughfar dearer. Yet, if he ever loved her as she loved him, part of that forwhich she had always sought love would have to be foregone--she couldnever come to him, as she had fondly dreamed of doing, and pour out tohim all those hopes and fears, those struggles and mistakes and trialsand indignities, the shame and the penitence that had been hers. Shecould never talk of Lawson--her past must be forever unshriven anduncomforted. Bailey Girard would be the last man on earth to whom shecould bare her heart in confession; these were the things that touchedhim on the raw. He "hated the sound of Lawson's name. " How many timeshad George Sutton's face blotted out hers? If he knew _that_! She mustforever be unshriven. There would be things also, perhaps, that _she_could not bear to hear! The eternal hurt of love, that it never can betruly one with the beloved, touched her with its sadness, and thenslipped away in the thought of him now--not the man who was just to helpand protect her with his love, but the man whom she longed to help also. His pleased eyes, his lips, the way his hair fell over his forehead--Shethought of him with the fond dream-passion of the maiden, that is oftenthe shyest thing on earth, ready to veil itself and turn and elude andhide at the first chance that it may be revealed. 

"Dosia! Dosia, where are you?"

Suddenly she saw that the sunshine had faded out, the sky had growngray, a chill wind had sprung up. All the trouble, all the stress of theworld, seemed to encompass her with that tone in the voice of Lois. 

XXVI

"Justin has come home ill; he was taken with a chill as soon as he gotto town; he came in a carriage from the station. I want you to telephonefor the doctor, and ask him to get here as soon as he can. " Lois spokewith rapid distinctness, stooping as she did so to pick up the scatteredtoys on the floor and push the chairs into place, as one whomechanically attends to the usual duties of routine, no matter what maybe happening. "And, Dosia!" she arrested the girl as she wasdisappearing, "I may not be down-stairs again. Will you see about whatwe need for meals? My pocket-book is in the desk. And see about thechildren. They're in the nursery now, but I'll send them down; they hadbetter play outdoors, where he won't hear them. "

"Oh, yes, yes; I'll attend to everything, " affirmed Dosia hurriedly, going off for her first duty at the telephone, while Lois disappearedup-stairs. For a man to stop work and come home because he is not wellargues at once the most serious need for it. It is the public crossingof the danger zone. 

With all her anxiety, Dosia was filled now with a wondering knowledge ofsomething unnatural about Lois, not to be explained by the fact ofJustin's illness. There was something newly impassioned in the duskinessof her eyes, in the fulness of her red lips, in every sweeping movementof her body, which seemed caused by the obsession of a hidden fieryforce that held her apart and afar, goddess-like, even while she spokeof and handled the things of every-day life. She looked at thecommon-place surroundings, at the children, at Dosia; but she saw onlyJustin. When she was beside him, she smiled into his gentle, strickeneyes, telling him little fondly-foolish anecdotes of the children tomake him smile also; patting him, talking of the summer, when they wouldgo off together--anything to make him forget, even though the effortleft her breathless afterward. When she went out of the room and cameback again, she found him still watching the place where she had beenwith haggard, feverish, burning eyes. He would not go to bed, but lay onthe outside of it in his dressing-gown, so that he might get ready themore quickly to go downtown again if the doctor "fixed him up, " thoughnow he felt weighted from head to foot with stones. 

There was a ring at the door-bell in the middle of the morning, whichmight have been the doctor, but which turned out surprisingly to be Mr. Angevin L. Cater. 

"I heard Mr. Alexander was taken ill this morning and had gone home, andas I had to come out this way on business, I thought I'd just drop inand see if there was anything I could do for him in town, " he stated toDosia. 

"I'll find out, " said Dosia, and came down in a moment with the wordthat Justin would like to see the visitor. 

Cater himself looked extraordinarily lean and yellow. The fact that hisclothes were new and of a fashionable cut seemed only to make him themore grotesque. He looked oddly shrunken; the quality of his smile ofgreeting seemed to have shrunk also--something had gone out of it. 

"Well, Cater, you find me down, " said Justin, with glittering, coldcheerfulness. 

"I hope not for long, " said the visitor. 

"Oh, no; but, when I get up, you won't see me going past much longer. I'll soon be out of the old place. I guess the game is up, as far as I'mconcerned. Your end is ahead. "

"Mr. Alexander, " began Cater, clearing his throat and bending earnestlytoward Justin, "I hope you ain't going to hold it up against me that Ihad to make a different business deal from what we proposed. I've beenthinking about it a powerful lot. There wasn't any written agreement, you know. "

"No, there was no written agreement, " assented Justin; "there wasnothing to bind you. "

"That's what I said to myself. If there had been, I'd 'a' stuck to it, of course. But a man's got to do the best he can for himself in thisworld. "

"Has he?" asked the sick man, with an enigmatic, questioning smile. 

"I'd be mighty sorry to have anything come between us. I reckon I took ashine to you the first day I met up with you, " continued Caterhelplessly. "I'd be mighty sorry to think we weren't friends. "

Justin's brilliant eyes surveyed him serenely. Something sadly humorous, yet noble and imposing, seemed to emanate from his presence, weak and afailure though he was. "I can be friends with you, but you can't befriends with me, Cater; it isn't in you to know how, " he said. "Good-by. "

"Well, good-by, " said the other, rising, his long, angular figureknocking awkwardly against chairs and tables as he went out, leavingJustin lying there alone, with his head throbbing horribly. Yet, strangely enough, in spite of it, his mind felt luminously clear, inthat a certain power seemed to have come to him--a power of correlatingall the events of the past eighteen months and placing them in theirrelative sequence. A certain faith--the candid, boyish, unquestioningfaith in the adequacy of his knowledge of those whom he had called hisfriends--was gone; the face of Leverich came to him, brutal in itsunveiled cupidity, showing what other men felt but concealed; yet hisown faith in honor and honesty remained, stronger and higher than everbefore. Nothing, he knew, could take it from him; it was a faith that hehad won from the battle with his own soul. 

By to-morrow night that note of Lewiston's would be protested, andthen--the burning pain of failure gripped him in its racking clutchesonce more, though he strove to fight it off. He would have to get wellquickly, so as to begin to hustle for a small clerkship somewhere, toget bread for Lois and the babies. Men of his age who were successfulwere sought for, but men of his age who were not had a pretty hard rowto hoe. 

Lois was long gone--probably she was with the baby. He missed hishandkerchief, and rose and went over, with a swaying unsteadiness, tohis chiffonier drawer in the farther corner to get one. A pistol lyingthere in its leather case, as it had done any time this five years, fora reserve protection against burglars, caught his eyes. He took it outof its case, examining the little weapon carefully, with his finger onthe trigger, half cocking it, to see if it needed oil. It was a prettylittle toy. Suddenly, as he held it there, leaning against thechiffonier, his thin white face with its deep black shadows under theeyes reflected by the high, narrow glass, the four walls faded away fromhim, with their familiar objects; his face gleamed whiter and whiter;the shadows grew blacker; only his eyes stared----

A room, noticed once a year and a half ago, came before him now with acreeping, all-possessing distinctness--that loathsome, dreadful room(long since renovated) which, with its unmentionable suggestion ofhorror, had held him spellbound on that morning when he had begun hiscareer at the factory. It held him spellbound now, evilly, insidiously. He stood by that blackened, ashy hearth in the foul room, with its damp, mottled, rotting walls, his eyes fastened on that hideous sofa to whichhe was drawn--drawn a little nearer and a little nearer, the thing inhis hand--did it move itself? Cold to his touch, it moved----

The door opened, and Lois, with a face of awful calm, glided up to him. She took the pistol from his relaxed hold; her lips refused to speak. 

"Why, you needn't have been afraid, dear, " he said at once, looking ather with a gentle surprise. "I'm not a coward, to go and leave you_that_ way. You need never be afraid of that, Lois. "

"No, " said Lois, with smiling, white lips. She could not have told whatmade the frantic, overmastering fear, under the impulse of which she hadsuddenly thrown the baby down on the bed and fled to Justin--whatstrange force of thought-transference, imagined or real, had called herthere. 

She busied herself making him comfortable, divining his wants andgetting things for him, simply and noiselessly, and then knelt downbeside him where he lay, putting her arms around him. 

"You oughtn't to be doing this for me; I ought to be taking care ofyou, " he said, with a tender self-reproach that seemed to come from anew, hitherto unknown Justin, who watched her face to see if it showedfatigue, and counted the steps she took for him. 

The doctor came, and sent him off sternly to bed, and came again later. The last time he looked grave, ordered complete quiet, and leftsedatives to insure it. Grip, brought on by overwork, had evidentlytaken a disregarded hold some time before, and must be reckoned withnow. What Mr. Alexander imperatively needed was rest, and, above allthings, freedom from care. Freedom from care!

Every footfall was taken to-day with reference to this. An impression ofJustin as of something noble and firm seemed to emanate from the roomwhere he lay and fill the house; in his complete abdication, hedominated as never before. More than that, there seemed to be a peculiarpoignancy, a peculiar sweetness, in every little thing done for him; itmade one honorable to serve him. 

The light was still brightly that of day at a quarter of seven, whenDosia, who had been putting Zaidee and Redge to bed, came into Lois'room, and found her with crimson cheeks and eyes red from weeping. AtDosia's entrance she rose at once from her chair, and Dosia saw that shewas partially dressed in her walking-skirt; she flared out passionatelyin speech as she was crossing the room, as if in answer to some impliedcriticism:

"I don't care what you say--I don't care what anybody says. I can'tstand it any longer, when it's _killing_ him! He _can't_ rest unless hehas that money. Am I to just sit down and let my husband die, when he'sin such trouble as this? Is _that_ all I can do? Why, whose trouble isit? Mine as well as his! If it's his responsibility, it's mine, too--mine as well as his!"

She hit her soft hand against the sharp edge of the table, and wasunconscious that it bled. "If there's nobody else to get that money forhim, _I'll_ rise up and get it. He's stood alone long enough--longenough! He says there is no help left, but he forgets that there's hiswife!"

"Oh, Lois, " said Dosia, half weeping. "Oh, Lois, what can _you_ do?There, you've waked the baby--he's crying. "

"Get me the waist to this and my walking-jacket. No, give me the babyfirst; he's hungry. "

[Illustration: "THE TWO WOMEN SITTING ON THE BENCH, WRAPPED AROUND BYTHE LONELINESS AND THE INTENSE STILLNESS OF THE ONCOMING NIGHT"]

She spoke collectedly, bending over the child as she held him to her, and straightening the folds of the little garments. "There, there, dearlittle heart, dear little heart, mother's comfort--oh, my comfort, myblessing! Get my things out of the closet now, Dosia, and my gloves fromthat drawer, the top one. Oh, and get out baby's cloak and cap, too. Iforgot that I couldn't leave him. I must take him with me. " She sank hervoice to a low murmur, so as not to disturb the child. 

"Where are you going?" asked Dosia. 

"To Eugene Larue. "

"Mr. Larue!"

"Yes. He'll let me have the money--he'll understand. He wouldn't letJustin have it, but he'll give it to me--if I'm not too proud to ask forit; and I'm not too proud. " She spoke in a tone the more thrilling forits enforced calm. "There are things a man will do for a woman, when hewon't for a man, because then he has to be businesslike; but he doesn'thave to be businesslike to a woman--he can lend to her just because sheneeds it. "

"Lois!"

"Oh, there's many a woman--like me--who always knows, even though shenever acts on the knowledge, that there is some man she could go to forhelp, and get it, just because she was _herself_--a woman and introuble--just for that! Dosia, if I go to Eugene Larue myself, introuble--_such_ trouble----"

"But he's out at Collingswood!" said Dosia, bewildered. 

"Yes, I know. The train leaves here at seven-thirty, it connects atHaledon. It only takes three quarters of an hour; I've looked it up inthe time-table. I'll be back here again by ten o'clock. I--" She stoppedwith a sudden intense motion of listening, then put the child from herand ran across the hall to the opposite room. 

When she came back, pale and collected, it was to say: "Justin's gone tosleep now. The doctor says he will be under the influence of theanodynes until morning. Mrs. Bently is in there--I sent for her; shesays she'll stay until I get back. " Mrs. Bently was a woman of theplainer class, half nurse, half friend, capable and kind. "If thechildren wake up, they won't be afraid with her; but you'll be here, anyway. "

"Leave the baby with me, " implored Dosia. 

"No, I can't--suppose I were detained? _Then_ I'd go crazy! He won't beany bother, he's so little and so light. "

"Very well, then; I'll go, too, " stated Dosia in desperation. "I am notneeded here. You must have some one with you if you have baby! Let mego, Lois! You _must_!"

"Oh, very well, if you like, " responded Lois indifferently. But thatthe suggestion was an unconscious relief to her she showed the nextmoment, as she gave some directions to Dosia, who put a few necessariesand some biscuits in a little hand-bag, and an extra blanket for thebaby in case it should grow chilly. 

The train went at seven-thirty. The house must be lighted and the gasturned down, and the new maid impressed with the fact that they would beback at a little after nine, though it might really be nearer ten. AfterLois was ready, she went in once more to look at Justin as he slept--hishead thrown forward a little on the pillow, his right hand clasped, andhis knees bent as one supinely running in a dream race with fate. Loisstooped over and laid her cheek to his hair, to his hand, as one whosought for the swift, reviving warmth of the spirit. 

Then the two women walked down the street toward the station, Loisabsorbed in her own thoughts, and Dosia distracted, confused, halfassenting and half dissenting to the expedition. 

"Are you sure Mr. Larue will be there?" she asked anxiously. 

"Justin saw him Saturday. He said he was going out there then for thesummer. "

So far it would be all right, then. They had passed the Snows' house, and Dosia looked eagerly for some sign of life there; she hesitated, andthen went on. As they got beyond it, at the corner turning, she lookedback, and saw that Miss Bertha had come out on the piazza. 

"I'll catch up with you in a moment, " she said to Lois, and ran backquickly. 

"Miss Bertha!"

"Why, Dosia, my dear, I didn't see you; don't speak loud!" Miss Bertha'sface, her whispering lips, her hands, were trembling with excitement. "We've been under quite a strain, but it's all over now--I'm sure I cantell _you_. Dear mother has gone up-stairs with a sick-headache! Mr. Sutton has just proposed to Ada--in the sitting-room. We left them theparlor, but they preferred the sitting-room. Mother's white shawl is inthere, and I haven't been able to get it. "

"Oh!" said Dosia blankly, trying to take in the importance of the fact. "Is Mr. Girard in? No? Will he be in later?"

"No, not until to-morrow night, " said Miss Bertha, as blankly, but Dosiahad already gone on. She did not know whether she were relieved or sorrythat Girard was not there. She did not know what she had meant to say tohim, but it had seemed as if she _must_ see him!

Lois did not ask her why she had stopped; her spirit seemed to bewrapped in an obscurity as enshrouding as the darkness that wasgathering around them. Only, when they were at last in the train, shethrew back her veil and smiled at Dosia, with a clear, triumphant reliefin the smile, a sweetness, a lightness of expression that was almostroguish, and that communicated a similar lightness of heart to Dosia. 

"He will lend me the money, " said Lois, with a grateful confidence thatseemed to shut out every conventional, every worldly suggestion, and tobreathe only of her need and the willingness of a friend to help--notalone for the need's sake, but for hers. 

Dosia tried to picture Eugene Larue as Lois must see him; his beardedlips, his worn forehead, his quiet, sad, piercing eyes, were notattractive to her. The whole thing was very bewildering. 

It was twenty miles, a forty-minute ride, to Haledon, where they changedcars for the little branch road that went past Collingswood--a signalstation, as the conductor who punched their tickets impressed on Lois. Haledon itself was a junction for many lines, with a crowd of people onthe platform continually coming and going under the electric lights. AsLois and Dosia waited for their train, an automobile dashed up, and aman and a woman, getting out of it with wraps and bundles, took theirplace among those who were waiting for the west-bound express. Thewoman, large and elegantly gowned, had something familiar in her outlineas she turned to her companion, a short, ferret-faced man with a fairmustache--the man who lately had been seen everywhere with Mrs. Leverich. Yes, it was Mrs. Leverich. Dosia shrank back into the shadow. The light struck full athwart the large, full-blown face of Myra as sheturned to the man caressingly with some remark; his eyes, evillycognizant, smiled back again as he answered, with his cigar between histeeth. 

Dosia felt that old sensation of burning shame--she had seen somethingthat should have been hidden in darkness. They were going off together!All those whispers about Mrs. Leverich had been true. 

There were only a few people in the shaky, rattly little car when Loisand Dosia entered it, whizzing off, a moment later, down a lonely roadwith wooded hills sloping to the track on one side and a wooded brook onthe other. The air grew aromatic in the chill spring dusk with the odorof damp fern and pine. Both women were silent, and the baby, rolled inhis long cloak, had slept all the way. It was but seven miles toCollingswood, yet the time seemed longer than all the rest of thejourney before they were finally dumped out at the little empty stationwith the hills towering above it. A youth was just locking up theticket-office and going off as they reached it. Dosia ran after him. 

"Mr. Larue's place is near here, isn't it?" she called. 

"Yes, over there to the right, " said the youth, pointing down the boardwalk, which seemed to end at nowhere, "about a quarter of a mile down. You'll know when you come to the gates. They're big iron ones. "

"Isn't there any way of riding?"

"I guess not, " said the youth, and disappeared into the woods on abicycle. 

"Oh, it will be only a step, " said Lois, starting off down the walk, followed perforce by Dosia, with the hand-bag, both walking in silence. 

The excursion, from an easily imagined, matter-of-fact daylightpossibility, had been growing gradually a thing of the dark, unknown, fantastic. A faint remnant of the fading light remained in the west, vanishing as they looked at it. High above the treetops a pale moon hunghigh; there seemed nothing to connect them with civilization but thatiron track curved out of sight. 

The quarter of a mile prolonged itself indefinitely, with that strangelyeternal effect of the unknown; yet the big iron gates were reached atlast, showing a long winding drive within. It was here that Eugene Laruehad built a house for his bride, living in it these summers when she wasaway, alone among his kind, a man who must confess tacitly before theworld that he was unable to make his wife care for him--a darkened, desolate, lonely life, as dark and as desolate as this house seemed now. An undefined dread possessed Dosia, though Lois spoke confidently:

"The walk has not really been very long. We'll probably drive back. It'sodd that there are no lights, but perhaps he is sitting outside. Ah, there's a light!"

Yet, as she spoke, the light left the window and hung on the corniceabove--it was the moon, and not a lamp, that had made it. They ascendedthe piazza steps; there was no one there. 

"There is a knocker at the front door, " said Lois. She pounded, and thehouse vibrated terrifyingly through the stillness. At the same instant ascraping on the gravel walk behind them made them turn. It was the boyon the bicycle, who had sped back to them. 

"Mr. Larue ain't there, " he called. "The woman who closed up the housetold me he had a cable from his wife, and he sailed for Europe thisafternoon. She says, do you want the key?"

"No, " said Lois, and the messenger once more disappeared. 

[Illustration: "'THEY'LL GET FULL OF EARTH AGAIN, ' SHE PROTESTED"]

This, then, was the end of her exaltation--for this she had passionatelynerved herself! There was to be neither the warmth of instantcomprehension of her errand nor the frank giving of aid when necessityhad been pleaded; there was nothing. She shifted the baby over to theother shoulder, and they retraced their way, which now seemed familiarand short. There was, at any rate, a light on a tall pole in front ofthe little station, although the station itself was deserted; theyseated themselves on the bench under it to wait. The train was notscheduled for nearly an hour yet. 

"Oh, if I could only fly back!" Lois groaned. "I don't see how I canwait--I don't see how I can wait! Oh, why did I come?"

"Perhaps there is a train before the one you spoke of, " said Dosia, withthe terribly self-accusing feeling now that she ought to have preventedthe expedition at the beginning. She got up to go into the little box ofa house, in search of a time-table. As she passed the tall post thatheld the light, she saw tacked on it a paper; and read aloud the wordswritten on it below the date:

 NOTICE

 NO TRAINS WILL RUN ON THIS ROAD TO-NIGHT AFTER 8. 30 P. M. ON ACCOUNT OF REPAIRS

Dosia and Lois looked at each other with the blankness of despair--thefrantic, forlornly heroic impulse, uncalculating of circumstances, nowshowed itself against them in all its piteous woman-folly. 

XXVII

Only fifty miles from a great city, the little station seemed like thetypical lodge in a wilderness; as far as one could see up or down thetrack, on either side were wooded hills. A vast silence seemed to begathering from unseen fastnesses, to halt in this spot. 

There were no houses and no lights to be seen anywhere, except that oneswinging on the pole above, and the moon which was just rising. It was, in fact, one of those places which consist of the far, back-lying acresof the great country-owners, and which seem to the casual travelerforgotten or unknown in their extent and apparently primitive condition. 

To the women sitting on the bench, wrapped around by the loneliness andthe intense stillness of the oncoming night, the whole expeditionappeared at last, unveiled in all its grim betrayal. 

For the first time since Lois had left home, a wild, seething anxietyfor Justin possessed her. How could she have left him? She must get backto him at once!

"Oh, Dosia, we must get home again; we must get home!" she cried, starting up so vehemently that the baby in her arms screamed, and Loiswalked up and down distractedly hushing him, and then, as he stillwailed, sat down once more and bared her white bosom to quiet him. "Weshall have to get back; Dosia, we must start at once. "

"We shall have to walk to Haledon, " said Dosia. 

"Yes, yes. Perhaps we may come to some farm-house where they will let ushave a wagon. It is seven miles to Haledon--that isn't very far! I oftenwalked five miles with Justin before I was married, and a mile or twomore is nothing. There are plenty of trains from Haledon. "

"Oh, we can do it easily enough, " said Dosia, though her heart was aslead within her breast. "You had better eat some of these biscuitsbefore we start, " she advised, taking them out of the bag; and Loismunched them obediently, and drank some tepid water from a pitcher whichDosia had found inside. As she put it back again in its place, sheslipped to the side of the platform and looked down the moon-filled, narrow valley. 

Through all this journey Dosia had carried double thoughts; her voicecalled where none might hear. It spoke now as she whispered, with handsoutspread:

"Oh, _why_ weren't you in when I went for you? Why didn't you come andtake care of us, when I needed you so much? Why did you let us go offthis way? You might have known! Why _don't_ you come and take care ofus? There's no one to take care of us but you! _You_ could!" A dry sobstopped the words--the deep, inherent cry of womankind to man for help, for succor. She stooped over and picked up an oakleaf that had lain onthe ground since the winter, and pressed it to her bosom, and sent itfluttering off on a gust of wind down the incline, as if it could indeedtake her message with it, before she went back to Lois. 

After some hesitation as to the path, --one led across the rails fromwhere they were sitting, --they finally took that behind the station, which broadened out into a road that lay along the wooded slope above, from which they could look down at intervals and see the track below. One side of that road was bordered by a high wire fencing inclosingpieces of woodland, sometimes so thick as to be impenetrable, whilealong other stretches there would be glimpsed through the trees somefarther, open field. To the right, toward the railway there were onlywoods and no fencing. 

They two walked off briskly at first, but the road was of a heavy, loose, shelving soil in which the foot sank at each step; the grass atthe edge was wet with dew and intersected by the ridged, branching rootsof trees; the pace grew, perforce, slower and slower still. They tookturns in carrying the baby, whose small bundled form began to seem as ifweighted with lead. 

[Illustration: "LOIS STOLE INTO THE ROOM"]

Far over on what must have been the other side of the track, theyoccasionally saw the light of a house; at one place there seemed to be alittle hamlet, from the number of lights. They were clearly on the wrongbank; they should have crossed over at the station. The only house theycame to was the skeleton of one, the walls blackened and charred withfire. There was only that endless line of wire fencing along which theypushed forward painfully, with dragging step; instead of passing anygiven point, the road seemed to keep on with them, as if they couldnever get farther on. Wire fencing, and moonlight, and silence, andtrees. Trees! They became night-marishly oppressive in those dark, solemn ranks and groups--those silent thicknesses; the air grew chillbeneath them; terror lurked in the shadows. Oh, to get out from underthe trees, with only the clear sky overhead! If that road to the houseof Eugene Larue had seemed a part of infinity in the dimness of theunknown, what was this?

They sat down now every little while to rest, Dosia's voice coaxing andcheering, and then got up to shake the earth out of their shoes andstruggle on once more--bending, shivering, leaning against each otherfor support; two silent and puny figures, outside of any connection withother lives, toiling, as it seemed, against the universe, as women dotoil, apparently futile of result. 

Once the loud blare of a horn sent them over to the side of the road, clinging to the wire fencing, as an automobile shot by--a cheerfulmonster that spoke of life in towns, leaving a new and sharp desolationbehind it. Why hadn't they seen it before? Why hadn't they tried to hailit when they _did_ see? To have had such a chance and lost it! Once theywere frightened almost uncontrollably by a group approaching withstrange sounds--Italian laborers, cheerful and unintelligible when Dosiaintrepidly questioned them. They passed on, still jabbering; twobedraggled women and a baby were no novelty to them. Then there was morelong, high fencing, and moonlight, and silence, and shadows, andtrees--and trees----

"Do you suppose we'll _ever_ get out of here?" asked Lois at last, dully. 

"Why, of course; we can't help getting out, if we keep on, " said Dosia, in a comfortingly matter-of-fact tone. 

It was she who was helper and guide now. 

"Oh, if I had never left Justin! Why, why did I leave him? How far doyou think we have walked, Dosia?"

"It seems so endless, I can't tell; but we must be nearly at Haledon, "said Dosia. "Let's sit down and rest awhile here. Oh, Lois, Lois_dear_!" She had taken off her jacket and spread it on the damp grassfor them both to sit on, huddled close together, and now pressed theolder woman's head down on her shoulder, holding both mother and childin her young arms. 

Lois lay there without stirring. Far off in the stillness, there camethe murmur of the brook they had passed in the train--so long since, itseemed! The moon hung high above now, pouring a flood of light downthrough the arching branches of the trees upon her beautiful face withits closed eyes, and the tiny features of the sleeping child. Somethingin the utter relaxation of the attitude and manner began to alarm thegirl. 

"Lois, we must go on, " she said, with an anxious note in her voice. "Lois! You mustn't give up. We can't stay here!"

"Yes, I know, " said Lois. She struggled to her feet, and began to walkahead slowly. Dosia, behind her, flung out her arms to theshadow-embroidered road over which they had just passed. 

"Oh, why _don't_ you come!" she whispered again intensely, withpassionate reproach; and then, swiftly catching up with Lois, took thechild from her, and again they stumbled on together, haltingly, to theaccompaniment of that far-off brook. 

The wire fencing ceased, but the road became narrower, the walls oftrees darker, closer together, though the soil underfoot grew firmer. They had to stop every few minutes to rest. Lois saw ever before her theone objective point--a dimly lighted room, with Justin stretched outupon the bed, dying, while she could not get there. 

"Hark!" said Dosia suddenly, standing still. The sound of a voicetrolling drunkenly made itself heard, came nearer, while the women stoodterrified. The thing they had both unspeakably dreaded had happened; themoonlight brought into view the unmistakable figure of a tramp, with abundle swung upon his shoulder. No terror of the future could comparewith this one, that neared them with the seconds, swaying unsteadilyfrom side to side of the road, as the tipsy voice alternately mutteredand roared the reiterated words:

 For I have come from Pad-dy land, The land--I do adore!

They had fled, crouching into the bushes at the edge of the path, and hepassed with his eyes on the ground, or he must have seen--a blotched, dark-visaged, leering creature, living in an insane world of his own. They waited until he was far out of sight before creeping, all of atremble, from their shelter, only to hear another footfall unexpectedlynear:--the pad, pad, pad of a runner, a tall figure as one saw itthrough the lights and shadows under the trees, capless and coatless, with sleeves rolled up, arms bent at the elbows, and head held forward. Suddenly the pace slackened, stopped. 

"Great _heavens_!" said the voice of Bailey Girard. 

"Oh, it's you, it's you!" cried Dosia, running to him with an ineffable, revealing gesture, a lovely motion of her upflinging arms, a passion ofjoy in the face upraised to his, that called forth an instantlyflashing, all-embracing light in his. 

In that moment there was an acknowledgment in each of an intimacy thatwent back of all words, back of all action. The arm that upheld hergripped her close to him as one who defends his own, as he said tensely:

"That beast ahead, did he touch you?"

"Oh, no; he didn't see us. We hid!" She tried to explain in hurrying, disconnected sentences. "I've been longing and _praying_ for you tocome! I tried to let you know before we started, and you weren't there. Lois was half crazy about Justin. Come to her now! She wanted to see Mr. Larue, and he was gone. We've walked from Collingswood; we have the babywith us. "

"The _baby_!"

"Yes; she couldn't leave him behind. Oh, it's been so terrible! If youhad only known!"

"Oh, why didn't I?" he groaned. "I ought to have known--I _ought_ tohave known! I was in that motor that must have passed you; it was just achance that I got out to walk. " They had reached the place where Loissat, and he bent over her tenderly. She smiled into his anxious eyes, though her poor face was sunken and wan. 

"I'm glad it's you, " she whispered. "You'll help me to get home!"

"Dear Mrs. Alexander! I want to help you to more than that. I want youto tell me everything. " He pressed her hand, and stood lookingirresolutely down the road. 

"I could go to Haledon, and send back a carriage for you; it's threemiles further on. "

"No, no, no! Don't leave us!" the accents came in terror from both. "Wecan walk with you. Only don't leave us!"

"Very well; we'll try it, then. "

He took the warm bundle that was the sleeping child from Lois, saying, as she half demurred, "It's all right; I've carried 'em in theSpanish-American war in Cuba, " holding it in one arm, while with theother he supported Lois. The dragging march began again, Dosia, stumbling sometimes, trying to keep alongside of him, so that when heturned his head anxiously to look for her she would be there, to meethis eyes with hers, bravely scorning fatigue. 

The trees had disappeared now from the side of the road; long, swelling, wild fields lay on the slopes of the hillside, broken only by solitaryclumps of bushes--fields deserted of life, broad resting-places for themoonlight, which illumined the farthest edge of the scene, although themoon itself was hidden by the crest of a hill. And as they went on, slowly perforce, he questioned Lois gently; and she, with simple words, gradually laid the facts bare. 

"Oh, why didn't Alexander tell me all this?" he asked pitifully, and sheanswered:

"He said it was no use; he said you had no money. "

"No; but I can sometimes get it for other people! I could have gone toRondell Brothers and got it. "

"Rondell Brothers? I thought they were difficult to approach. "

"That depends. I was with Rondell's boy in Cuba when he had the fever, and he's always said--but that's neither here nor there. Apart fromthat, they've had their eye on your husband lately. You can't hide thequality of a man like him, Mrs. Alexander; it shows in a hundred waysthat he doesn't think of. They have had dealings with him, though hedoesn't know it--it's been through agents. Mr. Warren, one of their bestmen, has, it seems, taken a fancy to him. I shouldn't wonder if they'dtake over the typometer as it stands, and work Alexander in with it. IfRondell Brothers really take up any one!"--Girard did not need tofinish. 

Even Lois and Dosia had heard of Rondell Brothers, the great firm thatwas known from one end of the country to the other--a commercial housewhose standing was as firm, as unquestioned, as the Bank of England, andalmost as conservative. Apart from this, their reputation was unique. Itwas more than a commercial house: it was an institution, in which forthree generations the firm known as Rondell Brothers had carried ontheir business to high advantage--on the principles of personal honorand honesty and fair dealing. 

No boy or man of good character, intelligence, and industry was everconnected with Rondell's without its making for his advancement; to geta position there was to be assured of his future. Their young men stayedwith them, and rose steadily higher as they stayed, or went out fromthem strong to labor, backed with a solid backing. The number of youngfirms whom they had started and made, and whose profit also afterwardprofited them, was more than had ever been counted. They were neverdeceived, for they had an unerring faculty for knowing their own kind. No firm was keener. Straight on the nail themselves, they exacted thesame quality in others. What they traded in needed no other guarantythan the name of Rondell. 

If Rondell Brothers took Justin's affairs in hand! Lois felt a hope thatsent life through her veins. 

"Oh, let us hurry home!" she pleaded, and tried to quicken her pace, though it was Girard who supported her, else she must have fallen, whileDosia slipped a little behind, trying to keep her place by his side, sothat when he looked for her she would be there. 

"You're so tired, " he whispered, with a break in his voice, "and I can'thelp you!" and she tried to beat back that dear pity and longing withher comforting "No, no, no! I'm not really tired"; her voice thrilledwith life, though her feet stumbled. 

In that walk beside him, toiling slowly on and on in the bright, farsolitude of those empty fields, where even their hands might not touch, they two were so heart-close--so heavenly, so fulfillingly near!

Once he whispered in a yearning distress, "Why are you crying?" And sheanswered through those welling tears:

"I'm only crying because I'm so glad you're here!"

After a while there was a sound of wheels--wheels! Only a sulky, itproved to be--a mere half-wagon set low down in the springs, and atrotting horse in front, driven by a round-faced boy in a derby hat, theturnout casting long, thin shadows ahead before Girard stopped it. 

"You'll have to take another passenger, " he said, after explainingmatters to the half-unwilling boy, who crowded himself at last to thefarthest edge of the seat, so that Lois might take possession of the sixinches allotted to her. 

She held out her arms hastily. "My boy!" she said, but it was a voicethat had hope in it once more. 

"Oh, yes, I forgot; here's the baby, " said Girard, looking curiously atthe bundle before handing it to her. "We'll meet you at the Haledonstation very soon now. "

In another moment the little vehicle was out of sight, jogging around abend of the road. 

So still was the night! Only that long, curving runnel of the brookagain accompanied the silence. Not a leaf moved on the bushes of thosefar-swelling fields or on the hill that hid their summit; the air waslike the moonlight, so fragrantly cool with the odors of the damp fernand birch. The straight, supple figure of Girard still stood in theroadway, bareheaded, with that powerful effect which he had, even here, of absorbing all the life of the scene. 

Dosia experienced the inexplicable feeling of the girl alone, for thefirst time, with the man who loves her and whom she loves. At thatmoment she loved him so much that she would have fled anywhere in theworld from him. 

The next moment he said in a matter-of-fact tone:

"Sit down on that stone, and let me shake out your shoes before we goon; they're full of sand. "

She obeyed with an open-eyed gaze that dwelt on him, while he kneltdown and loosened the bows, and took off the little clumpy low shoes, shaking them out carefully, and then put them on once more, retying thebows neatly with long, slowly accomplishing fingers. 

"They'll get full of earth again, " she protested, her voice half lost inthe silence. 

"Then I'll take them off and shake them out over again. "

He stood up, brushing the earth from his palms, smiling down at her asshe stood up also. "I've always dreamed of doing that, " he said simply. "I've dreamed of taking you in my arms and carrying you off through thenight--as I couldn't that first time! I've longed so to do it, therehave been times when I couldn't _stand_ it to see you, because youweren't mine. " Then--her hands were in his, his dear, protecting hands, the hands she loved, with their thrilling, long-familiar touch, claimingas well as giving. 

"Oh--_Dosia_!" he said below his breath. 

As their eyes dwelt on each other in that long look, all that had hurtlove rose up between them, and passed away, forgiven. She previsioned atime when all her life before he came into it would have dropped out ofremembrance as a tale that is told. And now----

It seemed that he was going to be a very splendid lover!

XXVIII

The summer was nearly at an end--a summer that had broughtrehabilitation to the Typometer Company, yet rehabilitation under strictrule, strict economy, endless work. Nominally the same thing, thetypometer was now but one factor of trade among a dozen other patentedinventions under the control of Rondell Brothers. 

If there was not quite the same personal flavor as yet in Justin'srelation to the business which had seemed so inspiringly his own, therewas a larger relation to greater interests, a wider field, a greatersense of security, and a sense of justice in the change; he felt that hehad much to learn. There was something in him that could not profitwhere other men profited--that could not take advantage when thatadvantage meant loss to another. He was not great enough alone toreconcile the narrowing factors of trade with that warring law withinhim. The stumbling of Cater would have been another stumbling-block ifit had not been that one. That for which Leverich, with Martin alwaysbehind him, had chosen Justin first, had been the very thing that hadfought against them. 

The summer was far spent. Justin had been working hard. It was longafter midnight. Lois slept, but Justin could not; he rose and went intothe adjoining room, and sat down by her open window. The night had beenvery close, but now a faint breath stirred from somewhere out of thedarkness. It was just before the dawn. Justin looked out into a gloom inwhich the darkness of trees wavered uncertainly and brought with it avague remembrance. He had done all this before. When? Suddenly herecollected the night he had sat at this same window, at the beginningof this terrible journey; and his thoughts and feelings then, his deeploneliness of soul, the prevision of the pain even of fulfilment--anendless, endless arid waste, with the welling forth of that black spiritof evil in his own nature, as the only vital thing to bear him secretcompany--a moment that was wolfish to his better nature. Almost with theremembrance came the same mood, but only as reflected in the surface ofhis saner nature, not arising from it. 

As he gazed, wrapped in self-communing, on the vague formlessness of thenight, it began gradually to dissolve mysteriously, and the outlines ofthe trees and the surrounding objects melted into view. A bird sang fromsomewhere near by, a heavenly, clear, full-throated call that brought ashaft of light from across the world, broadening, as the eye leaped toit, into a great and spreading glory of flame. 

It had rained just before; the drops still hung on bush and tree; and asthe dazzling radiance of the sun touched them, every drop also radiatedlight, prismatic, and scintillating an almost audibly tinkling joy. Soindescribably wonderful and beautiful, yet so tender, seemed thisscene--as of a mighty light informing the least atom of this tearfulhuman existence--that the profoundest depths of Justin's nature openedto the illumination. 

In that moment, with calm eyes, and lips firmly pressed together, histhoughts reached upward, far, far upward. For the first time, he felt inaccordance with something divine and beyond--an accordance that seemedto solve the meaning of life, what had gone and what was to come. Allthe hopes, the planning, the seeking and slaving, whatever theyaccomplished or did not accomplish, they fashioned us ourselves. As ithad been, so it still would be. But for what had gone before, he had nothad this hour. 

It was the journey itself that counted--the dear joys by the way, thatcome even through suffering and through pain: the joy of the red dawn, of the summer breeze, of the winter sun; the joy of children; the joy ofcompanionship. 

He held out his arm unconsciously as Lois stole into the room. 

THE END

THE CATHEDRAL

BY FLORENCE WILKINSON

 The streaming glitter of the avenue, The jewelled women holding parasols, The lathered horses fretting at delay, The customary afternoon blockade, The babel and the babble, the brilliant show-- And then the dusky quiet of the nave. The pillared space, an organ strain that throbs Mysteriously somewhere, a rainbow shaft Shed from a saint's robe, powdering the spectral air, A workman with hard hands who bows his head, And there before the shrine of Virgin Mary A lonely servant girl who kneels and sobs. 

THE NEW GOSPEL IN CRIMINOLOGY

BY

JUDGE McKENZIE CLELAND

The Municipal Court of Chicago began its existence December 3rd, 1906. Besides transacting civil business, it is the trial court for allmisdemeanors as well as for all violations of city ordinances. TheMaxwell Street criminal branch, where I presided for thirteen months, ison the West Side, about a mile from the City Hall, in what is known asthe Ghetto District. This district--not more than a mile square--hasbetween two and three hundred thousand inhabitants, of thirty differentnationalities, many of them from the poorest laboring class. In oneschool district near the court, three and one-half blocks long and twoblocks wide, there are fourteen hundred public school children, besideshundreds who attend parochial schools, and many who attend none. 

It is the Maxwell Street district of which a leading Chicago newspaper, afterward quoted in MCCLURE'S MAGAZINE, said: "In this territorymurderers, robbers, and thieves of the worst kind are born, reared, andgrown to maturity in numbers which exceed the record of any similardistrict anywhere on the face of the globe; murders by the score, shooting and stabbing affrays by the hundred, assaults, burglaries, androbberies by the thousand--such is the crime record each year for thisfestering place of evil which lies a scant mile from the heart ofChicago. "

Within a few days from my going into this court, I was confronted withthe problem of what to do with violators of the city laws who had othersdependent upon them for support. To impose a fine upon such personswould, if the fine were paid, ordinarily deprive the family of some ofthe necessaries of life. On the other hand, if the fine were not paidand the offender were committed to the House of Correction to work itout at the rate of fifty cents a day, not only would the family bedeprived of their means of support during his imprisonment, but thedefendant, when released, would be without employment or the abilitythen to provide for his family. I observed that frequently women whosehusbands had been fined for beating them would go out and borrow moneywith which to pay the fine. 

It was very apparent that such proceedings operated most harshly uponthe poor. A person able to pay a fine had comparatively little to fearif he violated the city laws, while inability to pay meant the loss ofliberty twenty-four hours for each fifty cents of the fine and costs, which was nothing more or less than imprisonment for debt. 

_In the Homes of the "Repeaters"_

Persons were often brought before me who had been imprisoned many timesand who were no better but obviously much worse as a result of suchtreatment. I found upon investigation that the city contained a verylarge number of these persons, who were known as "repeaters, " and thatthe time of the police and the courts was much occupied in re-arrestingand recommitting them to the House of Correction. Upon examining therecords of this institution, I found that of the nine thousand personsimprisoned the previous year because of their inability to pay the finesimposed, _nearly one-half had been there from two to two hundred and onetimes each_. _Eighteen women had each served one hundred terms. _ I wastherefore convinced that this method of "correction" was not only harshand unjust to the families of such persons, but was of no value as acorrective to the defendants themselves. 

Startled by such disclosures, I resolved to study conditions at closerange and went into the homes of some of these offenders against thelaw, taking with me interpreters, for the great majority of them wereforeigners. In many of these homes poverty had done its worst. Everysurrounding influence favored undesirable citizenship; every turnpresented flagrant violations of the law; the tumble-down stairways, thedefective plumbing, the overflowing garbage boxes, the uncleaned streetsand alleys, all suggested that laws were not made to be enforced. Manyof the unfortunates whom I saw there regarded the law as a revengefulmonster, a sort of Juggernaut that would work fearful ruin upon any onewho got in its way, but otherwise was not a matter of concern. When Iexplained to them that the law was their friend and not their enemy, they did not appear to comprehend. 

In one place there was a broken-down woman with six children. Two of thechildren had been arrested for stealing coal from a car. The motherexplained that her "man" was in the Bridewell sobering up from one ofhis frequent drunks and that they had no money to buy coal, which wasplainly apparent. Here were children forced to become criminals becausethe law was helpless to correct their father. 

"_The House of Corruption_"

In substantially every case that I investigated, I found that, notwithstanding the efficient management of our work-house, the offenderhad come out a less desirable member of society than when he went in;his employment was gone, his reputation was injured, his will weakened, his knowledge of crime and criminal practices greatly increased. As oneyoung girl expressed it: "It is not a House of Correction, but a Houseof Corruption. "

I decided, therefore, to try the plan of suspending over such offendersthe maximum sentence permitted by law, and allow them to determine bytheir subsequent conduct whether they should lose or retain theirliberty, with the full knowledge that further delinquency meant, notanother trial with its possibility of acquittal or brief sentence, butsummary and severe punishment. As a condition precedent to allowing suchan offender his liberty, I required him to promise that he would notagain indulge in the thing which was responsible for his wrong-doing. Inthe great majority of cases this was the use of intoxicating liquor; insome, the use of drugs or cigarettes, the patronizing of cheap theaters, or evil associates. I also required him for a time to report to me atregular intervals, usually every two weeks, when a night session of thecourt was held for such purpose, and to bring with him his wife or otherwitness who could testify to his subsequent conduct. 

_Four Hundred Able Probation Officers_

A serious difficulty then presented itself. I saw that as their numbersincreased, it would become impossible for me to keep in personal touchwith all these offenders. No parole law for adults, with its paidprobation officers, exists in Illinois, and no funds for this purposewere available. I determined, therefore, to appeal to the business menof the district to serve as volunteer probation officers. Through thelawyers who practised in my court, I secured a list of nearly onehundred business and professional men who gladly consented to visit oneor more defendants each month and report to me in writing upon blankswhich I furnished them. The number of probation officers wassubsequently increased to about four hundred, and their monthly reportswere entered upon our special docket, which contained the necessarymemoranda and history of the case made at the trial. 

Certainly no more valuable object lesson was ever presented to hustling, bustling, money-loving, pleasure-hunting Chicago than these doctors, lawyers, manufacturers, and merchants going into the homes of their poorand unfortunate neighbors and taking a genuine interest in theirwelfare. Here was the ideal probation officer, whose feeling for hisward was something more than chilly professional solicitude; andsplendidly did these men do their work. Many of them did more than showa passing interest in the offenders assigned to them. They often gavethem employment and encouraged them by increasing their wages from timeto time. It was a common thing for substantial business men to appear incourt and offer employment to persons whom they wished placed onprobation, agreeing at the same time to report regularly as to theirsubsequent conduct. 

A typical illustration of this was shown in the case of a young man whohad an old mother to support, and who had fallen into bad company whichhad led him astray. The gang had rented a flat where they caroused farinto the night and were then wont to prey upon their neighbors'hen-roosts. Upon his promise to reform, he was placed on probation andgiven employment by Mr. S. Franklin, one of the largest manufacturers inthe district, who not only afterwards raised his wages, but sent, withhis compliments, a dozen handsome pictures to decorate the court-room. That was a year ago, and the other day this young fellow came to mydowntown court room to exhibit, proudly, a new suit of clothes purchasedwith money withdrawn from his savings-bank account. 

_Liquor Dealers Vote to Coöperate_

Soon after inaugurating my parole system, I invited the four hundredliquor dealers of the district to a conference in my court-room. Myfirst appearance in the Maxwell Street Court had called forth violentopposition from many of the liquor dealers, who declared that my recordas a teetotaler disqualified me from administering justice in thatdistrict. I was in some doubt, therefore, as to how my invitation wouldbe received; but it was unanimously accepted, and the court-room was notlarge enough to accommodate the number that responded, so that it wasnecessary to hold three sessions. The audiences were picturesque andincluded men not entirely sober, but the great majority listenedattentively while I explained my plan and requested that they coöperatewith me to the extent of refusing to sell their wares to any person uponmy parole list. I promised to furnish each saloon-keeper with such alist for his private reference only; and I gave warning that thereaftersales made knowingly to such persons would subject the seller to summarypunishment. 

A number of the liquor dealers followed my address with remarks highlycomplimentary to the work being done, and a resolution pledging me theirsupport was unanimously adopted. The same day, by a curious coincidence, the Women's Christian Temperance Union passed a similar resolution inanother part of the city. 

All of the liquor dealers, with a very few exceptions, subsequentlyacted in entire harmony with the resolution. One, who caused theintoxication of a paroled defendant, was fined $50, which he paid; andno further trouble occurred. 

It must not, of course, be supposed that this parole plan was originalwith me in all its features. A number of States have passed laws for theprobation of adult offenders, providing for official probation officersto visit and report upon the persons paroled; but no other court hasadopted the plan of holding night parole sessions or has enlisted to solarge an extent the services of the business men of the district. Thesewere the two features which in my experience proved most effective inreclaiming the offenders. 

_Record of Success Ninety-two Per Cent_

During my thirteen months' term in the Maxwell Street Court, I triedupwards of eight thousand cases and placed upon probation 1, 231 persons. The results were as gratifying as they were surprising, and won for theplan the sincere support and coöperation of the police department in thedistrict, many of the officers assuring me that it had reduced crimeone-half. Eleven hundred and thirty-four of the paroled offenders, orabout ninety-two per cent. , faithfully kept the terms of their parole, and became sober, industrious citizens. Substantially all of those wholapsed did so because they violated their pledge of total abstinence. None, with one or two trivial exceptions, afterward committed anyoffense against the law. 

At one time a number of young men were brought in charged withburglary, but after the evidence was heard the complaints were amendedto petit larceny, and the defendants were given their liberty uponpromising to go to work and obey the law. When I left the Maxwell StreetCourt on January 11, 1908, to try civil cases, the suspended sentencesin all cases were set aside and the defendants discharged, and I feltsome apprehension lest these young men, as well as many others, should, after all restraint was removed, return to their former ways. This fearhas proved groundless, the percentage of lapses since January 11 beinglittle, if any, greater than before. A report from the PoliceDepartment, covering the young men above referred to, has just beenreceived by me. It reads as follows:

 "Driving team, O. K. , habits good"; "driving team, sister says he is doing fine"; "driving express wagon for his father, doing fine"; "driving team, stays home nights and brings his money home"; "laboring for $2. 00 per day. Mother says he is doing better"; "laboring for $2. 00 per day, doing fairly well"; "drives buggy for ---- Teaming Co. , O. K. "; "works for the ---- R. R. , steady ever since paroled. "

Because of the absence of express statutory authority, no person chargedwith a misdemeanor was released on parole except with the approval ofthe police and the State's attorney; but there were many cases where aparole was not given, in which I felt satisfied that it would haveyielded good results. There were, however, upon our special docket, persons charged with larceny, embezzlement, wife abandonment, sellingliquor to minors, malicious mischief, assault and battery, and othersimilar offenses; and except in the one or two cases referred to, whichwere of a minor nature, the defendants have shown their sincerity bytheir actions, and their conduct has in every case been exemplary andsatisfactory. 

In one case, where the charge was larceny, the police assured me thatthe defendant had been arrested fifty times. It seemed such a desperatecase that I gave him the longest term allowed by the law. After he hadbeen in jail a few days, I discovered that his aged father and motherwere sick and helpless, and needed his support. I set aside the judgmentand allowed him his liberty upon the understanding that if he againviolated the law he would be required to serve out the remainder of theterm. He has since worked steadily and faithfully, although, when I wentinto his home one day upon learning that he had met with an accident, Ifound poverty and dirt enough to drive anybody to commit crime. 

In addition to the support of the police officers, the plan ofreleasing offenders on parole has had the influential backing of themembers of the bar, including the assistant State's attorney, and alsoof the citizens of the district, who were practically unanimous in itsendorsement. The manager of a large department-store assured me thatshoplifting had practically ceased since a number of petty thieves hadbeen put on probation under maximum suspended sentences. It would beimpossible for me adequately to describe the gratifying surprises thatcame almost daily in my experience with these supposedly irreclaimablemen and women. I found that they invariably grasped with desperateeagerness at a chance to reform, and the joy which they exhibited at thenight sessions was oftentimes very pathetic. "We are happier than foryears, " and "We're having our honeymoon over" were the reports madeagain and again. 

Intense gratitude to the law for giving them "another chance" was thecharacteristic sentiment in nearly every case, and this feeling provedmore powerful in bringing about their reformation than the fear ofpunishment. 

_The Story of Jim the Engineer_

One day I was hearing a robbery case, when Jim ---- entered and modestlyseated himself at the rear of the court-room. Jim was running alocomotive on the Burlington Road, and although he had recently married, was voluntarily laying off two days in the week in order that afellow-engineer, who had a family to support, might have a show duringthe hard times. I motioned to my bailiff, and a minute later Jim wasseated beside me on the bench, listening to the evidence in the robberycase. I well knew what was passing through his mind, for it was only tenmonths before that he had stood before the same bar, charged with crime, and it was then that he had promised me, whom he had never seen before, that if I would give him "another chance" he would turn over a new leafand eschew crime and the society of criminals forever. 

This resolution followed a brief talk in my chambers after his trial. His record was not in his favor, and his picture hung in the rogues'gallery. His brother was then serving time, and he had two sistersdependent upon him for support. After I had briefly pointed out to himthe folly of such a life as he was then leading, he quietly remarked:"No one ever talked to me that way before; my father is dead and mymother is dead, and I haven't a friend in this town. " "Well, " I replied, "you probably don't deserve one, the way you have lived, but if you willcut out liquor and go to work" (he had not worked for four months) "andtake care of your sisters, you will have friends. " He finally agreedthat he would do this. "Now, " I said, "if you don't keep your promise tome, you will get me into trouble with the officers. " He said: "I willshow you I can make good. " He could not get a bondsman, and I let him goafter he had signed his own bond. 

He went to work at a dollar a day at the first place he struck, and hiswages have been raised four times. One day I had a letter from hissister saying that he had met with an accident. As soon as I adjournedcourt, I went to the hospital to see him. He said to me: "I will nevertake chloroform again. " I asked, "Why not, Jim?" and he replied: "Duringthis operation, while I was under the influence of chloroform, it seemedto me as if I was going from one saloon to another, and they tell me Ididn't do a thing except holler for beer. You bet I will never touchchloroform again. " After five weeks in the hospital, Jim, thanks to hisfine constitution, pulled through, but the first day he went out on thestreet he was "picked up" by a vigilant "plain-clothes" man on suspicionof being implicated in a robbery, and spent several hours in jail. Trulythe way of the transgressor is hard--not only while he is atransgressor, but for some time afterwards. 

_Suspended Sentence versus the Gold Cure_

Prejudice against any new method, no matter how successful, was not theonly thing I had to contend with in carrying out my plan. Many membersof the medical profession assured me that a habitual drunkard could notvoluntarily leave liquor alone; that his stomach was in such a conditionfrom the use of alcohol that he must first be given medical treatmentbefore any hope of his reform could be entertained. "Gold Cure"specialists haunted me day and night with offers of free treatment forthose on my parole list, all of which I respectfully declined for thereason that several persons who had taken such "cures" without effecthad, under the influence of a suspended sentence, become entirely soberand remained so. Many, in fact, were upon the verge of delirium tremenswhen brought into court, but none were too far gone to be restored. 

_The Effect on the Children_

The proper operation of adult probation will, in my judgment, abolish toa considerable extent the necessity for the Juvenile Court, which hasbecome a new and efficient though expensive institution in a number ofStates. 

Several months ago a man was brought into my court charged withabandoning his family. I investigated and found that there were fivechildren; that a petition was pending in the Juvenile Court to take themaway from their mother and father; that the mother was a confirmeddrunkard, spending her time in saloons and dance-halls; and that thefather, although himself an habitual drunkard and loafer, refused toassociate longer with his wife or to live with her. I put them both uponprobation, giving them clearly to understand that a single infraction oftheir promise meant six months in the Bridewell. The man went to workand he is now making $13. 50 a week. They have moved out of the basementthey occupied into a comfortable flat. The petition in the JuvenileCourt has been dismissed, and the children are clean andwholesome-looking and go to school. 

A few months ago the Chicago newspapers reported that the Juvenile Courthad taken six children from a filthy basement and had distributed themamong the charitable institutions. The report stated that their motherwas dead and that their drunken father had deserted them. I handed thisclipping to a police officer and asked him to bring the man in. Theofficer found him in a saloon and made a complaint charging him withdisorderly conduct. I sent him to the Bridewell to sober up and receivetreatment for alcoholism, and after he had been there four weeks I setaside the order and put him on parole upon his promise to stop drinkingand go to work. I told him that as soon as he satisfied me that he couldmake good, I would ask Judge Tuthill of the Juvenile Court to restorehis children to him; and when I last heard from him he was hard at work, keeping his promise and fixing up a home for his children. 

_The Criminal's "Debt" to Society Overpaid_

That a suspended sentence should be of greater value in bringing aboutthe reformation of a criminal than a prison term is, I believe, reasonable and logical. When the criminal has served his sentence, hissupposed debt to society is paid. If he commits another crime, he doesso with the chance, in his favor, of a possible acquittal, a "hung"jury, a light sentence, or a reversal upon appeal. He is consequentlywilling to take risks which he would not take were the consequences sureand severe. The most important element in the defendant's reformation, however, is his avoidance of the physical, mental, and moral injurywhich he would suffer by serving his prison sentence. In these days, when practically every applicant for a position must present referencesof previous service, a prison term means ruin. If at the end of his termhe is reformed, his reformation is of no value in obtaining employment. Prison sentences did not have this effect a hundred years ago, but timeshave changed. Every released convict is a shrinking coward, fearful thateach person he meets knows his record. The new, plain suit of clothes heis given upon leaving prison is worn only until he can find a secondhandclothing store where it may be exchanged for something less good, butclothed in which he will have a trifle less fear of identification. Ifhe succeeds in getting employment by changing his name and concealinghis past, he lives in mortal terror lest his deception be discovered. 

It is a fundamental principle of the law that no man can be punishedmore than once for the same offense. His "debt" to society is presumedto be conclusively paid when his term of imprisonment expires; and yetunder present conditions his real punishment is then only beginning. Ihave just finished reading a twenty-three-page letter from anex-convict, who eighteen years ago completed a seven months' term. Hetells in a simple and pathetic fashion of his efforts to escape from hisprison record, but time and time again, just as he had won theconfidence of his employer, some one happened along who "gave him away, "and then he was obliged to move and try it again. Never, during all thistime, has he dared to attempt to vote, or take any part in public orsocial affairs. Surely a fearful penance for one violation of the law, especially when we know that thousands of wealthy and influentiallawbreakers are never punished!

If an ex-convict has a family, he returns from prison to find themimpoverished, shunned by their neighbors, his children scorned andsneered at by their schoolmates--everything worse, more helpless, thanwhen he left them. All of this, and much more, is escaped by the manunder a suspended sentence; his capital is unimpaired, and by "makinggood" his record will be cleared. 

That many, perhaps a majority, of criminals can be wholly reformedwithout imprisonment, through the means of a suspended maximum sentence, with little or no expense to the State, I am satisfied beyond a doubt;and this will be done when we can eliminate from the treatment ofcriminals the desire for revenge and look only to the good of theindividual and of society.