MISS MINK'S SOLDIER

AND OTHER STORIES

[Illustration: Then Miss Mink received a shock]

MISS MINK'S SOLDIER

AND OTHER STORIES

BY

ALICE HEGAN RICE

Author of "MRS. WIGGS OF THE CABBAGE PATCH, " "MR. OPP, " "CALVARY ALLEY, "ETC. 

NEW YORKTHE CENTURY CO. 1918

Copyright, 1905, 1906, 1910, 1918, by THE CENTURY CO. 

Copyright, 1914, by THE CROWELL PUBLISHING COMPANY

_Published, October, 1918_

 TO THE LADY OF THE DECORATION

 A MEMENTO OF MANY HAPPY DAYS SPENT TOGETHER "EAST OF SUEZ"

CONTENTS

 MISS MINK'S SOLDIER

 A DARLING OF MISFORTUNE

 "POP"

 HOODOOED

 A MATTER OF FRIENDSHIP

 THE WILD OATS OF A SPINSTER

 CUPID GOES SLUMMING

 THE SOUL OF O SANA SAN

MISS MINK'S SOLDIER

Miss Mink sat in church with lips compressed and hands tightly claspedin her black alpaca lap, and stubbornly refused to comply with therequest that was being made from the pulpit. She was a small desiccatedperson, with a sharp chin and a sharper nose, and narrow faded eyes thatthrough the making of innumerable buttonholes had come to resemble them. 

For over forty years she had sat in that same pew facing that sameminister, regarding him second only to his Maker, and striving inthought and deed to follow his precepts. But the time had come when MissMink's blind allegiance wavered. 

Ever since the establishment of the big Cantonment near the city, Dr. Morris, in order to encourage church attendance, had been insistent inhis request that every member of his congregation should take a soldierhome to Sunday dinner. 

Now it was no lack of patriotism that made Miss Mink refuse to do herpart. Every ripple in the small flag that fluttered over her humbledwelling sent a corresponding ripple along her spinal column. When sheessayed to sing "My Country, 'Tis of Thee, " in her high, quaveringsoprano, she invariably broke down from sheer excess of emotion. But theAmerican army fighting for right and freedom in France, and the Armyindividually tracking mud into her spotless cottage, were two verydifferent things. Miss Mink had always regarded a man in her house muchas she regarded a gnat in her eye. There was but one course to pursue ineither case--elimination!

But her firm stand in the matter had not been maintained without muchmisgiving. Every Sunday when Dr. Morris made his earnest appeal, something within urged her to comply. She was like an automobile thatgets cranked up and then refuses to go. Church-going instead of beingher greatest joy came to be a nightmare. She no longer lingered in thevestibule, for those highly cherished exchanges of inoffensive gossipthat constituted her social life. Nobody seemed to have time for her. Every one was busy with a soldier. Within the sanctuary it was nobetter. Each khaki-clad figure that dotted the congregation claimed herattention as a possible candidate for hospitality. And each one thatpresented himself to her vision was indignantly repudiated. One was tooold, another too young, one too stylish, another had forgotten to washhis ears. She found a dozen excuses for withholding her invitation. 

But this morning as she sat upright and uncompromising in her short pew, she was suddenly thrown into a state of agitation by the appearance inthe aisle of an un-ushered soldier who, after hesitating beside one ortwo pews, slipped into the seat beside her. It seemed almost as ifProvidence had taken a hand and since she had refused to select asoldier, had prompted a soldier to select her. 

During the service she sat gazing straight at the minister withoutcomprehending a word that he said. Never once did her glance stray tothat khaki-clad figure beside her, but her thoughts played around himlike lightning. What if she should get up her courage and ask him todinner, how would she ever be able to walk out the street with him! Andonce she had got him to her cottage, what on earth would she talk to himabout? Her hands grew cold as she thought about it. Yet something warnedher it was now or never, and that it was only by taking the hated stepand getting it over with, that she could regain the peace of mind thathad of late deserted her. 

The Doxology found her weakening, but the Benediction stiffened herresolve, and when the final Amen sounded, she turned blindly to the manbeside her, and said, hardly above her breath:

"If you ain't got any place to go to dinner, you can come home with me. "

The tall figure turned toward her, and a pair of melancholy brown eyeslooked down into hers:

"You will excuse if I do not quite comprehend your meaning, " he saidpolitely, with a strong foreign accent. 

Miss Mink was plunged into instant panic; suppose he was a German?Suppose she should be convicted for entertaining a spy! Then sheremembered his uniform and was slightly reassured. 

"I said would you come home to dinner with me?" she repeated weakly, with a fervent prayer that he would decline. 

But the soldier had no such intention. He bowed gravely, and picked uphis hat and overcoat. 

Miss Mink, looking like a small tug towing a big steamer, shamefacedlymade her way to the nearest exit, and got him out through theSunday-school room. She would take him home through a side street, feedhim and send him away as soon as possible. It was a horrible ordeal, butMiss Mink was not one to turn back once she had faced a difficultsituation. As they passed down the broad steps into the brilliantOctober sunshine, she noticed with relief that his shoes were notmuddy. Then, before she could make other observations, her mind wasentirely preoccupied with a large, firm hand that grasped her elbow, andseemed to half lift her slight weight from step to step. Miss Mink'selbow was not used to such treatment and it indignantly freed itselfbefore the pavement was reached. The first square was traveled inembarrassed silence, then Miss Mink made a heroic effort to break theice:

"My name is Mink, " she said, "Miss Libby Mink. I do dress-making over onSixth Street. "

"I am Bowinski, " volunteered her tall companion, "first name Alexis. Iam a machinist before I enlist in the army. "

"I knew you were some sort of a Dago, " said Miss Mink. 

"But no, Madame, I am Russian. My home is in Kiev in Ukrania. "

"Why on earth didn't you stay there?" Miss Mink asked from the depths ofher heart. 

The soldier looked at her earnestly. "Because of the persecution, " hesaid. "My father he was in exile. His family was suspect. I come aloneto America when I am but fifteen. "

"Well I guess you're sorry enough now that you came, " Miss Mink said, "Now that you've got drafted. "

They had reached her gate by this time, but Bowinski paused beforeentering: "Madame mistakes!" he said with dignity. "I was _not_ drafted. The day America enter the war, that day I give up my job I have held forfive years, and enlist. America is my country, she take me in when Ihave nowhere to go. It is my proud moment when I fight for her!"

Then it was that Miss Mink took her first real look at him, and if itwas a longer look than she had ever before bestowed upon man, we mustput it down to the fact that he was well worth looking at, with his tallsquare figure, and his serious dark face lit up at the present with asomewhat indignant enthusiasm. 

Miss Mink pushed open the gate and led the way into her narrow yard. Sheusually entered the house by way of the side door which opened into thedining room, which was also her bedroom by night, and her sewing room byday. But this morning, after a moment's hesitation, she turned a key inthe rusty lock of the front door, and let a flood of sunshine dispel thegloom of the room. The parlor had been furnished by Miss Mink's parentssome sixty years ago, and nothing had been changed. A customer had oncesuggested that if the sofa was taken away from the window, and the tableput in its place, the room would be lighter. Miss Mink had regarded theproposition as preposterous. One might as well have asked her to moveher nose around to the back of her head, or to exchange the positions ofher eyes and ears!

You have seen a drop of water caught in a crystal? Well, that was whatMiss Mink was like. She moved in the tiniest possible groove with herhome at one end and her church at the other. Is it any wonder that whenshe beheld a strange young foreigner sitting stiffly on her parlor sofa, and realized that she must entertain him for at least an hour, thatpanic seized her?

"I better be seeing to dinner, " she said hastily. "You can look at thealbum till I get things dished up. "

Private Bowinski, surnamed Alexis, sat with knees awkwardly hunched andobediently turned the leaves of the large album, politely scanning theplacid countenances of departed Minks for several generations. 

Miss Mink, moving about in the inner room, glanced in at him from timeto time. After the first glance she went to the small store room and gotout a jar of sweet pickle, and after the second she produced a glass ofcrab apple jelly. Serving a soldier guest who had voluntarily adoptedher country, was after all not so distasteful, if only she did not haveto talk to him. But already the coming ordeal was casting its balefulshadow. 

When they were seated opposite one another at the small table, her worstfears were realized. They could neither of them think of anything tosay. If she made a move to pass the bread to him he insisted uponpassing it to her. When she rose to serve him, he rose to serve her. Shehad never realized before how oppressive excessive politeness could be. 

The one point of consolation for her lay in the fact that he wasenjoying his dinner. He ate with a relish that would have flattered anyhostess. Sometimes when he put his knife in his mouth she winced withapprehension, but aside from a few such lapses in etiquette he conductedhimself with solemn and punctilious propriety. 

When he had finished his second slice of pie, and pushed back his chair, Miss Mink waited hopefully for him to say good-bye. He was evidentlygetting out his car fare now, searching with thumb and forefinger in hisvest pocket. 

"If it is not to trouble you more, may I ask a match?" he said. 

"A match? What on earth do you want with a match?" demanded Miss Mink. Then a look of apprehension swept over her face. Was this young manactually proposing to profane the virgin air of her domicile with thefumes of tobacco?

"Perhaps you do not like that I should smoke?" Bowinski said instantly. "I beg you excuse, I--"

"Oh! that's all right, " said Miss Mink in a tone that she did notrecognize as her own, "the matches are in that little bisque figure onthe parlor mantel. I'll get you to leave the front door open, if youdon't mind. It's kinder hot in here. "

Five o'clock that afternoon found Miss Mink and Alexis Bowinski stillsitting facing each other in the front parlor. They were mutuallyexhausted, and conversation after having suffered innumerable relapses, seemed about to succumb. 

"If there's any place else you want to go, you mustn't feel that you'vegot to stay here, " Miss Mink had urged some time after dinner. ButAlexis had answered:

"I know only two place. The Camp and the railway depot. I go on lastSunday to the railway depot. The Chaplain at the Camp advise me I go tochurch this morning. Perhaps I make a friend. "

"But what do the other soldiers do on Sunday?" Miss Mink askeddesperately. 

"They promenade. Always promenade. Except they go to photo-plays, anddance hall. It is the hard part of war, the waiting part. "

Miss Mink agreed with him perfectly as she helped him wait. She hadnever spent such a long day in her life. At a quarter past five he roseto go. A skillful word on her part would have expedited matters, butMiss Mink was not versed in the social trick of speeding a departingguest. Fifteen minutes dragged their weary length even after he was onhis feet. Then Miss Mink received a shock from which it took her an evenlonger time to recover. Alexis Bowinski, having at last arrived at themoment of departure, took her hand in his and, bowing awkwardly, raisedit to his lips and kissed it! Then he backed out of the cottage, stalkedinto the twilight and was soon lost to sight beyond the hedge. 

Miss Mink sank limply on the sofa by the window, and regarded her smallwrinkled hand with stern surprise. It was a hand that had never beenkissed before and it was tingling in the strangest and mostunaccountable manner. 

The following week was lived in the afterglow of that eventful Sunday. She described the soldier's visit in detail to the few customers whocame in. She went early to prayer-meeting in order to tell about it. Andin the telling she subordinated everything to the dramatic climax:

"I never was so took back in my life!" she said. "After setting therefor four mortal hours with nothing to say, just boring each other todeath, for him to get up like that and make a regular play-actor bow, and kiss my hand! Well, I never _was_ so took back!"

And judging from the number of times Miss Mink told the story, and theconscious smile with which she concluded it, it was evident that she wasnot averse to being "took back. "

By the time Sunday arrived she had worked herself up to quite a state ofexcitement. Would Bowinski he at church? Would he sit on her side of thecongregation? Would he wait after the service to speak to her? She puton her best bonnet, which was usually reserved for funerals, and pinneda bit of thread lace over the shabby collar of her coat. 

The moment she entered church all doubts were dispelled. There in herpew, quite as if he belonged there, sat the tall young Russian. He evenstepped into the aisle for her to pass in, helped her off with her coat, and found the place for her in the hymn-book. Miss Mink realized with aglow of satisfaction, that many curious heads were craning in herdirection. For the first time since she had gone forward forty years agoto confess her faith, she was an object of interest to the congregation!

When the benediction was pronounced several women came forwardostensibly to speak to her, but in reality to ask Bowinski to go home todinner with them. She waived them all aside. 

"No, he's going with me!" she announced firmly, and Bowinski obedientlypicked up his hat and accompanied her. 

For the following month this scene was enacted each Sunday, with littlechange to outward appearances but with great change to Miss Minkherself. In the mothering of Bowinski she had found the great adventureof her life. She mended his clothes, and made fancy dishes for him, sheknit him everything that could be knitted, including an aviator's helmetfor which he had no possible use. She talked about "my soldier" to anyone who would listen. 

Bowinski accepted her attention with grave politeness. He wore thethings she made for him, he ate the things she cooked for him, heanswered all her questions and kissed her hand at parting. Miss Minkconsidered his behavior perfect. 

One snowy Sunday in late November Miss Mink was thrown into a panic byhis failure to appear on Sunday morning. She confided to Sister Bacon inthe adjoining pew that she was afraid he had been sent to France. SisterBacon promptly whispered to her husband that he _had_ been sent toFrance, and the rumor spread until after church quite a little groupgathered around Miss Mink to hear about it. 

"What was his company?" some one asked. 

"Company C, 47th Infantry, " Miss Mink repeated importantly. 

"Why, that's my boy's company, " said Mrs. Bacon. "_They_ haven't gone toFrance. "

The thought of her soldier being in the trenches even, was moretolerable to Miss Mink than the thought of his being in town and failingto come to her for Sunday dinner. 

"I bet he's sick, " she announced. "I wish I could find out. "

Mrs. Bacon volunteered to ask her Jim about him, and three days laterstopped by Miss Mink's cottage to tell her that Bowinski had broken hisleg over a week before and was in the Base Hospital. 

"Can anybody go out there that wants to?" demanded Miss Mink. 

"Yes, on Sundays and Wednesdays. But you can't count on the cars runningto-day. Jim says everything's snowed under two feet deep. "

Miss Mink held her own counsel but she knew what she was going to do. Her soldier was in trouble, he had no family or friends. She was goingto him. 

With trembling fingers she packed a small basket with some apples, a jarof jelly and a slice of cake. There was no time for her own lunch, soshe hurriedly put on her coat and twisting a faded scarf about her necktrudged out into the blustery afternoon. 

The blizzard of the day before had almost suspended traffic, and whenshe finally succeeded in getting a car, it was only to find that it ranno farther than the city limits. 

"How much farther is it to the Camp?" Miss Mink asked desperately. 

"About a mile, " said the conductor. "I wouldn't try it if I was you, thewalking's fierce. "

But Miss Mink was not to be turned back. Gathering her skirts as high asher sense of propriety would permit, and grasping her basket she setbravely forth. The trip alone to the Camp, under the most auspiciouscircumstances, would have been a trying ordeal for her, but under theexisting conditions it required nothing less than heroism. The snow haddrifted in places as high as her knees, and again and again she stumbledand almost lost her footing as she staggered forward against the forceof the icy wind. 

Before she had gone half a mile she was ready to collapse withnervousness and exhaustion. 

"Looks like I just can't make it, " she whimpered, "and yet I'm goingto!"

The honk of an automobile sent her shying into a snowdrift, and when shecaught her breath and turned around she saw that the machine had stoppedand a hand was beckoning to her from the window. 

"May I give you a lift?" asked a girl's high sweet voice and, lookingup, she saw a sparkling face smiling down at her over an upturned furcollar. 

Without waiting to be urged she climbed into the machine, stumbled overthe rug, and sank exhausted on the cushions. 

"Give me your basket, " commanded the young lady. "Now put your feet onthe heater. Sure you have room?"

Miss Mink, still breathless, nodded emphatically. 

"It's a shame to ask anyone to ride when I'm so cluttered up, " continuedthe girl gaily. "I'm taking these things out to my sick soldier boys. "

Miss Mink, looking down, saw that the floor of the machine was coveredwith boxes and baskets. 

"I'm going to the Hospital, too, " she said. 

"That's good!" exclaimed the girl. "I can take you all the way. Perhapsyou have a son or a grandson out there?"

Miss Mink winced. "No, he ain't any kin to me, " she said, "but I beensort of looking after him. "

"How sweet of you!" said the pouting red lips with embarrassing ardor. "Just think of your walking out here this awful day at your age. Quitesure you are getting warm?"

Yes, Miss Mink was warm, but she felt suddenly old, old and shrivelledbeside this radiant young thing. 

"I perfectly adore going to the hospital, " said the girl, her blue eyesdancing. "Father's one of the medical directors, Major Chalmers, Iexpect you've heard of him. I'm Lois Chalmers. "

But Miss Mink was scarcely listening. She was comparing the big lusciouslooking oranges in the crate, with the hard little apples in her ownbasket. 

"Here we are!" cried Lois, as the car plowed through the snow and mudand stopped in front of a long shed-like building. Two orderlies sprangforward with smiling alacrity and began unloading the boxes. 

"Aren't you the nicest ever?" cried Lois with a skillful smile thatembraced them both. "Those to the medical, those to the surgical, andthese to my little fat-faced Mumpsies. "

Miss Mink got herself and her basket out unassisted, then stood in doubtas to what she should do next. She wanted to thank Miss Chalmers for hercourtesy, but two dapper young officers had joined the group around hermaking a circle of masculine admirers. 

Miss Mink slipped away unnoticed and presented herself at the doormarked "Administration Building. "

"Can you tell me where the broken-legged soldiers are?" she askedtimidly of a man at a desk. 

"Who do you want to see?"

"Alexis Bowinski. He come from Russia. He's got curly hair and big sortof sad eyes, and--"

"Bowinski, " the man repeated, running his finger down a ledger, "A. Bowinski, Surgical Ward 5-C. Through that door, two corridors to theright midway down the second corridor. "

Miss Mink started boldly forth to follow directions, but it was notuntil she had been ejected from the X-ray Room, the Mess Hall, and theOfficers' Quarters, that she succeeded in reaching her destination. Bythat time her courage was at its lowest ebb. On either side of the longwards were cots, on which lay men in various stages of undress. Now MissMink had seen pajamas in shop windows, she had even made a pair once ofsilk for an ambitious groom, but this was the first time she had everseen them, as it were, occupied. 

So acute was her embarrassment that she might have turned back at thelast moment, had her eyes not fallen on the cot nearest the door. There, lying asleep, with his injured leg suspended from a pulley from whichdepended two heavy weights, lay Bowinski. 

Miss Mink slipped into the chair between his cot and the wall. After thefirst glance at his pale unshaven face and the pain-lined brow, sheforgot all about herself. She felt only overwhelming pity for him, andindignation at the treatment to which he was being subjected. 

By and by he stirred and opened his eyes. 

"Oh you came!" he said, "I mean you not to know I be in hospital. Youmust have the kindness not to trouble about me. "

"Trouble nothing, " said Miss Mink, husky with emotion, "I never knew athing about it until to-day. What have they got you harnessed up likethis for?"

Then Alexis with difficulty found the English words to tell her how hisleg had not set straight, had been re-broken and was now being forcedinto proper position. 

"It is like hell, Madame, " he concluded with a trembling lip, then hedrew a sharp breath, "But no, I forget, I am in the army. I beg youexcuse my complain. "

Miss Mink laid herself out to entertain him. She unpacked her basket, and spread her meagre offerings before him. She described in detail allthe surgical operations she had ever had any experience with, followingsome to their direst consequences. Alexis listened apathetically. Nowand then a spasm of pain contracted his face, but he uttered no word ofcomplaint. 

Only once during the afternoon did his eyes brighten. Miss Mink caughtthe sudden change in his expression and, following his glance, saw LoisChalmers coming through the ward. She had thrown aside her heavy furcoat, and her slim graceful little figure as alert as a bird's dartedfrom cart to cot as she tossed packages of cigarettes to right and left. 

"Here you are, Mr. Whiskers!" she was calling out gaily to one. "This isfor you, Colonel Collar Bone. Where's Cadet Limpy? Discharged? Good forhim! Hello, Mr. Strong Man!" For a moment she poised at the foot ofBowinski's cot, then recognizing Miss Mink she nodded:

"So you found your soldier? I'm going back to town in ten minutes, I'lltake you along if you like. "

She flitted out of the ward as quickly as she had come, leaving two longrows of smiling faces in her wake. She had brought no pity, nortenderness, nor understanding, but she had brought her fresh youngbeauty, and her little gift of gayety, and made men forget, at least fora moment, their pain-racked bodies and their weary brains. 

Miss Mink reached her cottage that night weary and depressed. She hadhad nothing to eat since breakfast, and yet was too tired to preparesupper. She made her a cup of tea which she drank standing, and thencrept into bed only to lie staring into the darkness tortured by thethought of those heavy weights on Bowinski's injured leg. 

The result of her weariness and exposure was a sharp attack oftonsilitis that kept her in bed several weeks. The first time she wasable to be up, she began to count the hours until the next visiting dayat the Camp. Her basket was packed the evening before, and placed besidethe box of carnations in which she had extravagantly indulged. It isdoubtful whether Miss Mink was ever so happy in her life as during thathour of pleased expectancy. 

As she moved feebly about putting the house in order, so that she couldmake an early start in the morning, she discovered a letter that thePostman had thrust under the side door earlier in the day. Across theleft hand corner was pictured an American flag, and across the right wasa red triangle in a circle. She hastily tore off the envelop and read:

 Dear Miss Mink:

 I am out the Hospital, getting along fine. Hope you are in the same circumstances. I am sending you a book which I got from a Dear Young Lady, in the Hospital. I really do not know what to call her because I do not know her name, but I know she deserve a nice, nice name for all good She dose to all soldiers. I think she deserve more especially from me than to call her a Sweet Dear Lady, because that I have the discouragement, and she make me to laugh and take heart. I would ask your kind favor to please pass the book back to the Young Lady, and pleas pass my thankful word to her, and if you might be able to send me her name before that I go to France, which I learn is very soon. Excuse all errors if you pleas will. This is goodby from

 Your soldier friend, A. BOWINSKI. 

Miss Mink read the letter through, then she sat down limply in a kitchenchair and stared at the stove. Twice she half rose to get the pen andink on the shelf above the coal box, but each time she changed her mind, folded her arms indignantly, and went back to her stern contemplation ofthe stove. Presently a tear rolled down her cheek, then another, andanother until she dropped her tired old face in her tired old hands, andgave a long silent sob that shook her slight body from head to foot. Then she rose resolutely and sweeping the back of her hand across hereyes, took down her writing materials. On one side of a post card shewrote the address of Alexis Bowinski, and on the other she penned inher cramped neat writing, one line:

"Her name is Lois Chalmers. Hotel LeRoy. "

This done she unpacked her basket, put her half dozen carnations in atumbler of water and carried them into the dark parlor, pulled her chairup to the kitchen table, drew the lamp closer and patiently went back toher buttonholes. 

A DARLING OF MISFORTUNE

A shabby but joyous citizen of the world at large was Mr. PhelanHarrihan, as, with a soul wholly in tune with the finite, he half satand half reclined on a baggage-truck at Lebanon Junction. He wagrelieving the tedium of his waiting moments by entertaining a criticalif not fastidious audience of three. 

Beside him, with head thrust under his ragged sleeve, sat a small andunlovely bull-terrier, who, at each fresh burst of laughter, lifted apair of languishing eyes to the face of his master, and then manifestedhis surplus affection by ardently licking the buttons on the sleeve ofthe arm that encircled him. 

It was a moot question whether Mr. Harrihan resembled his dog, orwhether his dog resembled him. That there was a marked similarityadmitted of no discussion. If Corp's nose had been encouraged and hislower jaw suppressed, if his intensely emotional nature had been underbetter control, and his sentimentality tempered with humor, the analogywould have been more complete. In taste, they were one. By birth, predilection, and instinct both were philosophers of the open, preferring an untrammeled life in Vagabondia to the collars andconventions of society. Both delighted in exquisite leisure, and spentit in pleased acquiescence with things as they are. 

Some twenty-five years before, Phelan had opened his eyes upon ahalf-circle of blue sky, seen through the end of a canvas-covered wagonon a Western prairie, and having first conceived life to be afree-and-easy affair on a long, open road, he thereafter declined toconsider it in any other light. 

The only break in his nomadic existence was when a benevolent oldgentleman found him, a friendless lad in a Nashville hospital, cursedhim through a fever, and elected to educate him. Those were years ofblack captivity for Phelan, and after being crammed and coached for whatseemed an interminable time, he was proudly entered at the University, where he promptly failed in every subject and was dropped at themid-year term. 

The old gentleman, fortunately, was spared all disappointment in regardto his irresponsible protégé, for he died before the catastrophe, leaving Phelan Harrihan a legacy of fifteen dollars a month and thememory of a kind, but misguided, old man who was not quite right in hishead. 

Being thus provided with a sum more than adequate to meet all hisearthly needs, Phelan joyously abandoned the straight and narrow path oflearning, and once more betook himself to the open road. 

The call of blue skies and green fields, the excitement of each day'sencounter, the dramatic possibilities of every passing incident, theopportunity for quick and intimate fellowship, and above all aninherited and chronic disinclination for work, made Phelan an easyvictim to that malady called by the casual tourist "wanderlust, " butknown in Hoboland as "railroad fever. "

Only once a year did he return to civilization, don a stiff collar, andrecognize an institution. During his meteoric career at the Universityhe had been made a member of the Alpha Delta fraternity, in recognitionof his varied accomplishments. Not only could he sing and dance and tella tale with the best, but he was also a mimic and a ventriloquist, giftswhich had proven invaluable in crucial conflicts with the faculty, andhad constituted him a hero in several escapades. Of such material iscollege history made, and the Alpha Delta, recognizing the distinctionof possessing this unique member, refused to accept his resignation, butunanimously demanded his presence at each annual reunion. 

On June second, for five consecutive years, the ends of the earth hadyielded up Phelan Harrihan; by a miracle of grace he had arrived inNashville, decently appareled, ready to respond to his toast, to baskfor his brief hour in the full glare of the calcium, then to departagain into oblivion. 

It was now the first day of June and as Phelan concluded his tale, which was in fact an undress rehearsal of what he intended to tell onthe morrow, he looked forward with modest satisfaction to the triumphthat was sure to be his. For the hundredth time he made certain that thesmall brown purse, so unused to its present obesity, was safe and soundin his inside pocket. 

During the pause that followed his recital, his audience grew restive. 

"Go on, do it again, " urged the ragged boy who sold the sandwiches, "show us how Forty Fathom Dan looked when he thought he was sinking. 

"I don't dare trifle with me features, " said Phelan solemnly. "How muchare those sandwiches. One for five, is it? Two for fifteen, I suppose. Well, here's one for me, and one for Corp, and keep the change, kid. Ain't that the train coming?"

"It's the up train, " said the station-master, rising reluctantly; "itmeets yours here. I've got to be hustling. "

Phelan, left without an audience, strolled up and down the platform, closely followed by Corporal Harrihan. 

As the train slowed up at the little Junction, there was manifestly somecommotion on board. Standing in the doorway of the rear car a small, white-faced woman argued excitedly with the conductor. 

"I didn't have no ticket, I tell you!" she was saying as the train cameto a stop. "I 'lowed I'd pay my way, but I lost my pocket-book. I lostit somewheres on the train here, I don't know where it is!"

"I've seen your kind before, " said the conductor wearily; "what did youget on for when you didn't have anything to pay your fare with?"

"I tell you I lost my pocket-book after I got on!" she said doggedly; "Iain't going to get off, you daren't put me off!"

Phelan, who had sauntered up, grew sympathetic. He, too, had experiencedthe annoyance of being pressed for his fare when it was inconvenient toproduce it. 

"Go ahead, " demanded the conductor firmly, "I don't want to push youoff, but if you don't step down and out right away, I'll have it to do. "

The woman's expression changed from defiance to terror. She clung to thebrake with both hands and looked at him fearfully. 

"No, no, don't touch me!" she cried. "Don't make me get off! I've got toget to Cincinnati. My man's there. He's been hurt in the foundry. He's--maybe he's dying now. "

"I can't help that, maybe it's so and maybe it ain't. You never had anymoney when you got on this train and you know it. Go on, step off!"

"But I did!" she cried wildly; "I did. Oh, God! don't put me off. "

The train began to move, and the conductor seized the woman's arms frombehind and forced her forward. A moment more and she would be pushed offthe lowest step. She turned beseeching eyes on the little group ofspectators, and as she did so Phelan Harrihan sprang forward and withhis hand on the railing, ran along with the slow-moving train. 

With a deft movement he bent forward and apparently snatched somethingfrom the folds of her skirt. 

"Get on to your luck now, " he said with an encouraging smile that playedhavoc with the position of his features; "if here ain't your pocket-bookall the time!"

The hysterical woman looked from the unfamiliar little brown purse inher hand, to the snub-nosed, grimy face of the young man running alongthe track, then she caught her breath. 

"Why, --" she cried unsteadily, "yes--yes, it's my purse. "

Phelan loosened his hold on the railing and had only time to scramblebreathlessly up the bank before the down train, the train for Nashvillewhich was to have been his, whizzed past. 

He watched it regretfully as it slowed up at the station, then almostimmediately pulled out again for the south, carrying his hopes with it. 

"Corporal, " said Phelan, to the dog, who had looked upon the wholeepisode as a physical-culture exercise indulged in for his specialbenefit, "a noble act of charity is never to be regretted, but wasn't Ithe original gun, not to wait for the change?"

His lack of business method seemed to weigh upon him, and he continuedto apologize to Corporal:

"It was so sudden, you know, Corp. Couldn't see a lady ditched, when Ihad a bit of stuffed leather in my pocket. And two hundred miles toNashville! Well I'll--be--jammed!"

He searched in his trousers pockets and found a dime in one and a holein the other. It was an old trick of his to hide a piece of money intime of prosperity, and then discover it in the blackness of adversity. 

He held the dime out ruefully: "That's punk and plaster for supper, butwe'll have to depend on a hand-out for breakfast. And, Corp, " he addedapologetically, "you know I told you we was going to ride regular likegentlemen? Well, I've been compelled to change my plans. We are going toturf it twelve miles down to the watering tank, and sit out a couple ofdances till the midnight freight comes along. If a side door Pullmanain't convenient, I'll have to go on the bumpers, then what'll become ofyou, Mr. Corporal Harrihan?"

The coming ordeal cast no shadow over Corporal. He was declaring hispassionate devotion, by wild tense springs at Phelan's face, seeking invain to overcome the cruel limitation of a physiognomy that made kissingwell-nigh impossible. 

Phelan picked up his small bundle and started down the track with theeasy, regular swing of one who has long since gaged the distance ofrailroad ties. But his step lacked its usual buoyancy, and he forgot towhistle, Mr. Harrihan was undergoing the novel experience of beingworried. Of course he would get to Nashville, --if the train went, _he_could go, --but the prospect of arriving without decent clothes and withno money to pay for a lodging, did not in the least appeal to him. Hethought with regret of his well-laid plans: an early arrival, a Turkishbath, the purchase of a new outfit, instalment at a good hotel, then--presentation at the fraternity headquarters of Mr. PhelanHarrihan, Gentleman for a Night. He could picture it all, the dramaticeffect of his entrance, the yell of welcome, the buzz of questions, andthe evasive, curiosity-enkindling answers which he meant to give. Thenthe banquet, with its innumerable courses of well-served food, thespeeches and toasts, and the personal ovation that always followed Mr. Harrihan's unique contribution. 

Oh! he couldn't miss it! Providence would interfere in his behalf, heknew it would, it always did. "Give me my luck, and keep your lucre!"was a saying of Phelan's, quoted by brother hoboes from Maine to theGulf. 

All the long afternoon he tramped the ties, with Corporal at his heels. As dusk came on the clouds that had been doing picket duty, joined theregiment on the horizon which slowly wheeled and charged across the sky. Phelan scanned the heavens with an experienced weather eye, then beganto look for a possible shelter from the coming shower. On either side, the fields stretched away in undulating lines, with no sign of ahabitation in sight. A dejected old scarecrow, and a tumble-down shed inthe distance were the only objects that presented themselves. 

Turning up his coat-collar Phelan made a dash for the shed, but theshower overtook him half-way. It was not one of your gentle littlesummer showers, that patter on the shingles waking echoes underneath; itwas a large and instantaneous breakage in the celestial plumbing thatlet gallons of water down Phelan's back, filling his pockets, hat brim, and shoes and sending a dashing cascade down Corporal's oblique profile. 

"Float on your back, Corp, and pull for the shore!" laughed Phelan as helanded with a spring under the dilapidated shed. "Cheer up, old pard;you look as if all your past misdeeds had come before you in yourdrowning hour. "

Corporal, shivering and unhappy, crept under cover, and dumbly demandedof Phelan what he intended to do about it. 

"Light a blaze, sure, " said Phelan, "and linger here in the air of thetropics till the midnight freight comes along. "

Scraping together the old wood and débris in the rear of the shed, andextricating with some difficulty a small tin match-box from hissaturated clothes, he knelt before the pile and used all of hispersuasive powers to induce it to ignite. 

At the first feeble blaze Corporal's spirits rose so promptly that hehad to be restrained. 

"Easy there! Corp, " cautioned Phelan. "A fire's like a woman, you can'tbe sure of it too soon. And, dog alive, stop wagging your tail, don'tyou see it makes a draft?"

The fire capriciously would, then it wouldn't. A tiny flame playedtantalizingly along the top of a stick only to go sullenly out when itreached the end. Match after match was sacrificed to the cause, but atlast, down deep under the surface, there was a steady, reassuring, cheerful crackle that made Phelan sit back on his heels, and remarkcomplacently:

"They most generally come around, in the end!"

In five minutes the fire was burning bright, Corporal was dreaming ofmeaty bones in far fence corners, and Phelan, less free from theincumbrances of civilization, was divesting himself of his rain-soakedgarments. 

From one of the innumerable pockets of his old cutaway coat he took acomb and brush and clothes-brush, and carefully deposited them beforethe fire. Then from around his neck he removed a small leather case, hung by a string and holding a razor. His treasured toilet articles thusbeing cared for, he turned his attention to the contents of his drippingbundle. A suit of underwear and a battered old copy of Eli Perkins wereruefully examined, and spread out to dry. 

The fire, while it lasted, was doing admirable service, but the woodsupply was limited, and Phelan saw that he must take immediate advantageof the heat. How to dry the underwear which he wore was the questionwhich puzzled him, and he wrestled with it for several moments before aninspiration came. 

"I'll borrow some duds from the scarecrow!" he said half aloud, andwent forth immediately to execute his idea. 

The rain had ceased, but the fields were still afloat, and Phelan wadedankle deep through the slush grass, to where the scarecrow raised histhreatening arms against the twilight sky. 

"Beggars and borrowers shouldn't be choosers, " said Phelan, as hedivested the figure of its ragged trousers and coat, "but I have astrong feeling in my mind that these habiliments ain't going to becomeme. Who's your tailor, friend?"

The scarecrow, reduced now to an old straw hat and a necktie, maintaineda dignified and oppressive silence. 

"Well, he ain't on to the latest cut, " continued Phelan, wringing thewater out of the coat. "But maybe these here is your pajamas? Don't tellme I disturbed you after you'd retired for the night? Very well then, aurevoy. "

With the clothes under his arm he made his way back to the shed, anddivesting himself of his own raiment he got into his borrowed property. 

By this time the fire had died down, and the place was insemi-darkness. Phelan threw on a handful of sticks and, as the blazeflared up, he caught his first clear sight of his newly acquiredclothes. They were ragged and weather-stained, and circled about withbroad, unmistakable stripes. 

"Well, I'll be spiked!" said Phelan, vastly amused. "I wouldn't 'a'thought it of a nice, friendly scarecrow like that! Buncoed me, didn'the? Well, feathers don't always make the jail-bird. Wonder what poordevil wore 'em last? Peeled out of 'em in this very shed, like as not. Well, they'll serve my purpose all right, all right. "

He took off his shoes, placed them under his head for a pillow, lit ashort cob pipe, threw on fresh wood, and prepared to wait for hisclothes to dry. 

Meanwhile the question of the banquet revolved itself continually in hismind. This time to-morrow night, the preparations would be in fullswing. Instead of being hungry, half naked, and chilled, he might be ina luxurious club-house dallying with caviar, stuffed olives, andBenedictine. All that lay between him and bliss were two hundred milesof railroad ties and a decent suit of clothes!

"Wake up, Corp; for the love of Mike be sociable!" cried Phelan when thesituation became too gloomy to contemplate. "Ain't that like a dog now?Hold your tongue when I'm longing for a word of kindly sympathy an'encouragement, and barking your fool head off once we get on thefreight. Much good it'll be doing us to get to Nashville in this fix, but we'll take our blessings as they come, Corp, and just trust to luckthat somebody will forget to turn 'em off. I know when I get to thebanquet there'll be one other man absent. That's Bell of Terre Haute. Him and me is always in the same boat, he gets ten thousand a year andain't got the nerve to spend it, and I get fifteen a month, and ain'tgot the nerve to keep it! Poor old Bell. "

Corporal, roused from his slumbers, sniffed inquiringly at the manygarments spread about the fire, yawned, turned around several times indog fashion, then curled up beside Phelan, signifying by his boredexpression that he hadn't the slightest interest in the matter underdiscussion. 

Gradually the darkness closed in, and the fire died to embers. It wouldbe four hours before the night freight slowed up at the water tank, andPhelan, tired from his long tramp, and drowsy from the heat and thevapor rising from the drying clothes, shifted the shoe-buttons fromunder his left ear, and drifted into dreamland. 

How long he slept undisturbed, only the scarecrow outside knew. He wasdimly aware, in his dreams, of subdued sounds and, by and by, the soundsformed themselves into whispered words and, still half asleep, helistened. 

"I thought we'd find him along here. This is the road they always take, "a low voice was saying; "you and Sam stand here, John and me'll tacklehim from this side. He'll put up a stiff fight, you bet. "

Phelan opened his eyes, and tried to remember where he was. 

"Gosh! look at that bulldog!" came another whisper, and at the samemoment Corporal jumped to his feet, growling angrily. 

As he did so, four men sprang through the opening of the shed, andseized Phelan by the arms and legs. 

"Look out there, " cried one excitedly; "don't let him escape; here's thehandcuffs. "

"But here, " cried Phelan, "what's up; what you doing to me?"

By this time Corporal, thoroughly roused, made a vicious lunge at thenearest man. The next minute there was a sharp report of a pistol, andthe bull-terrier went yelping and limping out into the night. 

"You coward!" cried Phelan, struggling to rise, "if you killed thatdog--"

"Get those shackles on his legs, " shouted one of the men. "Is the wagonready, Sam? Take his legs there, I've got his head. Leave the truckhere, we've got to drive like sand to catch that train!"

After being dragged to the road and thrown into a spring wagon, Phelanfound himself lying on his back, jolting over a rough country road, histhree vigilant captors sitting beside him with pistols in hand. 

Any effort on his part to explain or seek information was promptly andemphatically discouraged. But in time he gathered, from the bits letfall by his captors, that he was an escaped convict, of a most desperatecharacter, for whom a reward was offered, and that he had been at largetwenty-four hours. 

In vain did he struggle for a hearing. Only once did he get a responseto his oft-repeated plea of innocence. It was when he told how he hadcome by the clothes he had on. For once Phelan got a laugh when he didnot relish it. 

"Got 'em off a scarecrow, did you?" said the man at his head, when thefun had subsided; "say, I want to be 'round when you tell that to theSuperintendent of the Penitentiary--I ain't heard him laugh in tenyears!"

So, in the face of such unbelief, Phelan lapsed into silence and gloom. What became of him concerned him less, at the moment, than the fate ofCorporal, and the thought of the faithful little beast wounded andperhaps dying out there in the fields, made him sick at heart. 

Just as they came in sight of the lights of the station, the whistle ofthe freight was heard down the track and the horses were beaten to agallop. 

Phelan was hurried from the wagon into an empty box car, with his fullguard in attendance. As the train pulled out he heard a little whimperbeside him and there, panting for breath after his long run, and withone ear hanging limp and bloody, cowered Corporal. Phelan's hands werenot at his disposal, but even if they had been it is doubtful if hewould have denied Corp the joy for once of kissing him. 

Through the rest of the night the heavy cars rumbled over the rails, andthe men took turn about sleeping and guarding the prisoner. Only oncedid Phelan venture another question:

"Say, you sports, you don't mind telling me where you are taking me, doyou?"

"Listen at his gaff!" said one. "He'll know all right when he gets toNashville. "

Phelan sent such a radiant smile into the darkness that it threatenedto reveal itself. Then he slipped his encircled wrists about Corporal'sbody and giving him a squeeze whispered:

"It's better'n the bumpers, Corp. "

At the Penitentiary next day there was consternation and dismay wheninstead of the desperate criminal, who two days before had scaled thewalls and dropped to freedom, an innocent little Irishman was presented, whose only offense apparently was in having donned, temporarily, thegarb of crime. 

As the investigation proceeded, Phelan found it expedient, to becomeexcessively indignant. That an American citizen, strolling harmlesslythrough the fields of a summer evening, and being caught in a shower, should attempt to dry his clothes in an unused shed, and find himselfattacked and bound, and hurried away without his belongings to a distantcity, was an inconceivable outrage. If a shadow of doubt remained as tohis identity, a score of prominent gentlemen in the city would be ableto identify him. He named them, and added that he was totally unable tohazard a guess as to what form their resentment of his treatment wouldassume. 

The authorities looked grave. Could Mr. Harrihan remember just whatarticles he had left behind? Mr. Harrihan could. A suit of clothes, apair of shoes, a hat, a toilet set, and a small sum of money; "the lossof which, " added Phelan with a fine air of indifference, "are as nothingcompared to the indignity offered to my person. "

Would the gentleman be satisfied if the cost of these articles, togetherwith the railroad fare back to Lebanon Junction be paid him? Thegentleman, after an injured pause, announced that he would. 

And thus it was that Mr. Phelan Harrihan, in immaculate raiment, presented himself at the Sixth Annual Reunion of the Alpha Deltafraternity and, with a complacent smile encircling a ten-cent cigar, wonfresh laurels by recounting, with many adornments, the adventures of theprevious night. 

"POP"

The gloomy corridor in the big Baltimore hospital was still and desertedsave for a nurse who sat at a flat-topped desk under a green lampmechanically transferring figures from one chart to another. It was theperiod of quiet that usually precedes the first restless stirring of thesick at the breaking of dawn. The silence was intense as only a silencecan be that waits momentarily for an interrupting sound. 

Suddenly it came in a prolonged, imperative ring of the telephone bell. So insistent was the call that the nurse's hand closed over thetransmitter long before the burr ceased. The office was notifying Ward Bthat an emergency case had been brought in and an immediate operationwas necessary. 

With prompt efficiency the well-ordered machinery for saving human lifewas put in motion. Soft-footed nurses emerged from the shadows andmoved quickly about, making necessary arrangements. A trim, comelywoman, straight of feature and clear of eye, gave directions in lowdecisive tones. When the telephone rang the second time she answered it. 

"Yes, Office, " she said, "this is Miss Fletcher. They are not going tooperate? Too late? I see. Very well. Send the patient up to No. 16. Everything is ready. "

Even as she spoke the complaining creak of the elevator could he heard, and presently two orderlies appeared at the end of the corridor bearinga stretcher. 

Beside it, with head erect and jaw set, strode a strangely commandingfigure. Six feet two he loomed in the shadows, a gaunt, raw-boned oldmountaineer. On his head was a tall, wide-brimmed hat and in his righthand he carried a bulky carpet sack. The left sleeve of his long-tailedcoat hung empty to the elbow. The massive head with its white flowingbeard and hawklike face, the beaked nose and fierce, deep-set eyes, might have served as a model for Michael Angelo when he modeled hisimmortal Moses. 

As the orderlies passed through the door of No. 16 and lowered thestretcher, the old man put down his carpet sack and grimly watched thenurse uncover the patient. Under the worn homespun coverlet, stainedwith the dull dyes of barks and berries, lay an emaciated figure, justas it had been brought into the hospital. One long coarse garmentcovered it, and the bare feet with their prominent ankle bones and thelarge work-hardened hands might have belonged to either a boy or a girl. 

"Take that thar head wrappin' off!" ordered the old man peremptorily. 

A nurse carefully unwound the rough woolen scarf and as she did so amass of red hair fell across the pillow, hair that in spite of itsmatted disorder showed flashes of gleaming gold. 

"We'll get her on the bed, " a night nurse said to an assistant. "Putyour arm under her knees. Don't jar the stretcher!"

Before the novice could obey another and a stronger arm was thrustforward. 

"Stand back thar, some of you-uns, " commanded a loud voice, "I'll holpmove Sal myself. "

In vain were protests from nurses and orderlies alike, the oldmountaineer seemed bent on making good use of his one arm and with quickdexterity he helped to lift her on the bed. 

"Now, whar's the doctor?" he demanded, standing with feet far apart andhead thrown back. 

The doctor was at the desk in the corridor, speaking to Miss Fletcher inan undertone:

"We only made a superficial examination down-stairs, " he was saying, "but it is evidently a ruptured appendix. If she's living in a couple ofhours I may be able to operate. But it's ten to one she dies on thetable. "

"Who are they, and where did they come from?" Miss Fletcher askedcuriously. 

"Their name is Hawkins, and they are from somewhere in the Kentuckymountains. Think of his starting with her in that condition! He can'tread or write; it's the first time he has ever been in a city. I amafraid he's going to prove troublesome. You'd better get him out ofthere as soon as possible. "

But anyone, however mighty in authority, who proposed to move JebHawkins when he did not choose to be moved reckoned unknowingly. Alltactics were exhausted from suggestion to positive command, and therules of the hospital were quoted in vain. 

In the remote regions where Jeb lived there were no laws to break. Everyman's home was his stronghold, to be protected at the point of a pistol. He was one of the three million people of good Anglo-Saxon stock who hadbeen stranded in the highlands when the Cumberland Mountains dammed thestream of humanity that swept westward through the level wilderness. Development had been arrested so long in Jeb and his ancestors that theoutside world, its interests and its mode of living, was a matter ofsupreme and profound indifference. A sudden and unprecedented emergencyhad driven him to the "Settlements. " His girl had developed an ailmentthat baffled the skill of the herb doctors; so, following one bit ofadvice after another, he had finally landed in Baltimore. And now thatthe terrible journey was ended and Sal was in the hands of the doctorwho was to work the cure, the wholly preposterous request was made ofhim that he abandon her to her fate!

With dogged determination he sat beside the bed, and chewed silently andstolidly through the argument. 

"You gals mought ez well save yer wind, " he announced at last. "Ef Salstays, I stay. Ef I go, Sal goes. We ain't axin' favors of nobody. "

He was so much in the way during the necessary preparations for thepossible operation that finally Miss Fletcher was appealed to. She was awoman accustomed to giving orders and to having them obeyed; but she wasalso a woman of tact. Ten minutes of valuable time were spent inpropitiating the old man before she suggested that he come with her intothe corridor while the nurses straightened the room. A few minutes latershe returned, smiling:

"I've corralled him in the linen closet, " she whispered; "he isunpacking his carpet sack as if he meant to take up his abode with us. "

"I am afraid, " said the special nurse, glancing toward the bed, "hewon't have long to stay. How do you suppose he ever got her here?"

"I asked him. He said he drove her for three days in an ox-cart alongthe creek bottom until they got to Jackson. Then he told the ticketagent to send them to the best hospital the train ran to. Neither ofthem had ever seen a train before. It's a miracle she's lived thislong. "

"Does he realize her condition?"

"I don't know. I suppose I ought to tell him that the end may come atany time. "

But telling him was not an easy matter as Miss Fletcher found when shejoined him later in the linen closet. He was busy spreading his variedpossessions along the shelves on top of the piles of immaculate linen, stopping now and then to refresh himself with a bite of salt pork andsome corn pone that had been packed for days along with Sally's shoesand sunbonnet and his own scanty wardrobe. 

"I suppose you know, " Miss Fletcher began gently, trying not to show herchagrin at the state of the room, "that your daughter is in a veryserious condition. "

He looked at her sharply. "Shucks! Sal'll pull through, " he said withmingled defiance and alarm. "You ain't saw her afore in one of themspells. Besides, hit meks a difference when a gal's paw and grandpaw andgreat-grandpaw was feud-followers. A feud-follower teks more killin'then ordinary folks. Her maw was subjec' to cramp colic afore her. "

"But this isn't cramp colic, " Miss Fletcher urged, "it's her appendix, and it wasn't taken in time. "

"Well, ain't they goin' to draw it?" he asked irritably. "Ain't thatwhut we're here fer?"

"Yes; but you don't understand. The doctor may decide _not_, tooperate. "

The old man's face wore a puzzled look, then his lips hardened:

"Mebbe hit's the money thet's a-woriyin' him. You go toll him that JebHawkins pays ez he goes! I got pension money sewed in my coat frum thehem clean up to the collar. I hain't askin' none of you to cure my galfer nothin'!"

Miss Fletcher laid her hand on his arm. It was a shapely hand as well asa kindly one. 

"It isn't a question of money, " she said quietly, "it's a question oflife or death. There is only a slight chance that your daughter willlive through the day. "

Someone tapped at the door and Miss Fletcher, after a whisperedconsultation, turned again to the old man:

"They have decided to take the chance, " she said hurriedly. "They arecarrying her up now. You stay here, and I will let you know as soon asit is over. "

"Whar they fetching her to?" he demanded savagely. 

"To the operating-room. "

"You take me thar!"

"But you can't go, Mr. Hawkins. No one but the surgeons and nurses canbe with her. Besides, the nurse who was just here said she had regainedconsciousness, and it might excite her to see you. "

She might as well have tried to stop a mountain torrent. He brushed pasther and was making his way to the elevator before she had ceasedspeaking. At the open door of the operating-room on the fourth floor hepaused. On a long white table lay the patient, a white-clad doctor oneither side of her, and a nurse in the background sorting a handful ofgleaming instruments. With two strides the old man reached the girl'sside. 

"Sal!" he said fiercely, bending over her, "air ye wuss?"

Her dazed eyes cleared slightly. 

"I dunno, Pop, " she murmured feebly. 

"Ye ain't fixin' to die, air ye?" he persisted. 

"I dunno, Pop. "

"Don't you let 'em skeer you, " he commanded sternly. "You keep ona-fightin'. Don't you dare give up. Sal, do you hear me?"

The girl's wavering consciousness steadied, and for a moment thechallenge that the old man flung at death was valiantly answered in herpain-racked eyes. 

For an hour and a half the surgeons worked. The case, critical enough atbest, was greatly complicated by the long delay. Twice further effortseemed useless, and it was only by the prompt administration of oxygenthat the end was averted. During the nerve-racking suspense Pop not onlyrefused to leave the room, he even refused to stand back from the table. With keen, suspicious eyes he followed every movement of the surgeons'hands. Only once did he speak out, and that was in the beginning, to aninterne who was administering the anæsthetic:

"Lift that funnel, you squash-headed fool!" he thundered; "don't you seehit's marking of her cheek?"

When the work was finished and the unconscious patient had been takendown to her ward, Pop still kept his place beside her. With his hand onher pulse he watched her breathing, watched the first faint quivering ofher lids, the restlessness that grew into pain and later into agony. Hour after hour he sat there and passed with her through thatcrucifixion that follows some capital operations. 

On his refusal at luncheon time to leave the bedside Miss Fletcherignored the rules and sent him a tray; but when night came and he stillrefused to go, she became impatient. 

"You can't stay in here to-night, Mr. Hawkins, " she said firmly. "I haveasked one of the orderlies, who lives nearby, to take you home with him. We can send for you if there is any change. I must insist that you gonow. "

"Ain't I made it cl'ar from the start, " cried Pop angrily, "thet I ain'ta-goin' to be druv out? You-uns kin call me muley-headed or whateveryou've a mind to. Sal's always stood by me, and by golly, I'm a-goin' tostand by Sal!"

His raised voice roused the patient, and a feeble summons brought MissFletcher to the bedside. 

"Say, " plead the girl faintly, "don't rile Pop. He's the--fightenestman--in--Breathitt--when his blood's--up. "

"All right, dear, " said Miss Fletcher, with a soothing hand on the hotbrow; "he shall do as he likes. "

During that long night the girl passed from one paroxysm of pain toanother with brief intervals of drug-induced sleep. During the quietmoments the nurse snatched what rest she could; but old Jeb Hawkinsstuck to his post in the straight-backed chair, never nodding, neverrelaxing the vigilance of his watch. For Pop was doing sentry duty, muchas he had done it in the old days of the Civil War, when he had answeredLincoln's first call for volunteers and given his left arm for hiscountry. 

But the enemy to-night was mysterious, crafty, one that might come inthe twinkling of an eye, and a sentry at seventy is not what he was attwenty-two. When the doctor arrived in the morning he found the old manhaggard with fatigue. 

"This won't do, Mr. Hawkins, " he said kindly; "you must get some rest. "

"Be she goin' to die?" Pop demanded, steadying himself by a chair. 

"It is too soon to tell, " the doctor said evasively; "but I'll say thismuch, her pulse is better than I expected. Now, go get some sleep. "

Half an hour later a strange rumbling sound puzzled the nurses in WardB. It came at regular intervals, rising from a monotonous growl to astaccato, then dying away in a plaintive diminuendo. It was not untilone of the nurses needed clean sheets that the mystery was explained. Onthe floor of the linen closet, stretched on his back with his carpetsack under his head and his empty sleeve across his chest, lay Pop!

From that time on the old mountaineer became a daily problem to Ward B. It is true, he agreed in time to go home at night with the orderly; butby six in the morning he was sitting on the hospital steps, impatientlyawaiting admission. The linen closet was still regarded by him as hisprivate apartment, to which he repaired at such times as he could notstay in Sally's room, and refreshed himself with the luncheon he broughtwith him each day. 

During the first week, when the girl's life hung in the balance, he wasgranted privileges which he afterward refused to relinquish. Thehospital confines, after the freedom of the hills, chafed him sorely. Asthe days grew warmer he discarded his coat, collar, and at times hisshoes. 

"I 'low I'm goin' to tek Sal home next week!" became his daily threat. 

But the days and weeks slipped by, and still the girl lay with a low, consuming fever, and still Pop watched by her side, showing her noaffection by word or gesture but serving her and anticipating her everywant with a thoroughness that left little for the nurses to do. 

In some way Miss Fletcher had gained his confidence. To her he intrustedthe bills which he ripped from his coat at the end of each week with theinstruction that she "pay off them boys down in the office fa'r an'squar', but not to 'low 'em to cheat her. " It may have been her growinginterest in the invalid that won his favor, for she came in often tochat awhile with Sally and sometimes brought up a handful of flowers tobrighten the sick room. 

"She's getting better, " she said one morning as she held the girl's bigbony hand and looked down at the thin bright face in its frame ofshining hair. "We'll have her sitting up now before long. "

Pop's whole aspect brightened. 

"Ef Sal onct begins to git well, can't none of 'em beat her, " he saidproudly. 

"Have you any other children?" Miss Fletcher asked. 

"Lord, yes, " said Pop, "heaps of 'em. Thar's Ted an' Larkin, an'Gus, --they wuz all kilt in feud fights. An' Burt an' Jim, --they're injail in Jackson fer moonshinin'. Four more died when they wuz babies. An' they ain't nary a one at home now but jes' Sal. "

"How old is she?"

"Seventeen or eighteen, mebbe. "

"And she tells me she has never been to school. "

"Thar warn't no needcessity, " said Pop complacently, taking a long twistof tobacco from his pocket. "Sal don't need no larnin'. She's pearterthen most gals thet's got book sense. You show me ary one of these galsround here thet kin spin an' weave the cloth to mek ther own dresses, thet kin mold candles, an' mek soap, an' hoe terbaccy, an' handle arifle good ez a man. "

"But, Mr. Hawkins, " insisted Miss Fletcher, "there are better thingsthan those for us to learn. Haven't you ever felt the need of aneducation yourself?"

Pop looked at her suspiciously: "Look a-here, young woman. I'm nigh onto seventy. I never hed a doctor but onct in my life, an' then hechopped my arm off when it might hev got well whar it wuz. I kin plow, an' fell trees, an' haul wood. Thar ain't a log-rollin' ner ahouse-raisin' in our neck of the woods thet Jeb Hawkins ain't sent fer. I kin h'ist a barrel with the best of 'em, and shake up Ole Dan Tuckerez peart ez the next one. Now how about yer scholards? This herehorspittle is full of 'em. Pale-faced, spindly-legged, nerve-jerkingyoung fellows thet has spent ther fust twenty years gittin' larnin', an' ther next twenty gittin' over hit. Me an' Sal will keep to theopen!"

But Sally was not so confident. As her strength began to return she tooka growing interest in all that went on around her, asking eager, intelligent questions and noting with wistful curiosity the speech andmanners of the nurses who served her. She was a raw recruit from Nature, unsophisticated, illiterate. Under a bondage of poverty and drudgery shehad led her starved life in the mountain fastnesses; but now she hadopened her eyes on a new and unexpected world. 

"How do you go about gittin' a larnin'?" she ventured at last to ask oneof the friendly nurses. "Can't you fetch me up some of them thar picterbooks?"

For hours after this she pored over her new treasures, until one dayMiss Fletcher brought her a primer, and the seventeen-year-old girlgrappled for the first time with the alphabet. After that she was loathto have the book out of her hand, going painfully and slowly over thelessons, mastering each in turn with patient perseverance. 

Pop viewed this proceeding with disfavor. He seemed to sense theentering wedge that was to separate her from him. His pride in heraccomplishment was overshadowed by his jealousy, and when she was ableto read a whole page and attempted to explain the intricate process tohim, he was distinctly cast down. He left the hospital that afternoonfor the first time, and was gone until dusk. When he returned he carrieda bunch of faded wild flowers that he had tramped two miles in thecountry to get for his girl. 

May dragged into June, and still they were kept at the hospital. The oldman became as restless as a caged animal; he paced the corridors forhours at a time and his eyes grew furtive and defiant. He, who had livedout of sight of the smoke from his nearest neighbor's chimneys, who hadspent his life in the vast, still solitudes of the hills, was incrediblylonely here among his fellow men. 

"If Pop has to stay here much longer, I'm afraid he'll smash thefurniture, " said the night nurse who, like everybody else in the ward, had grown interested in the old man. "He packs his things every morningbefore the doctor comes, only to unpack them after he leaves. "

"The confinement is telling on him, " said Miss Fletcher. "I wish for hissake they could start home to-day. But I do hate to see Sally go! Thegirl is getting her first taste of civilization, and I've never seenanyone so eager to learn. We have to take the books away from her everyday, and when she can't study she begs to be allowed to roll bandages. The third day she sat up she wanted to help nurse the other patients. 

"I am afraid we have spoiled her for hoeing tobacco, and planting corn, "said the night nurse. 

"I hope so, " Miss Fletcher answered fervently. 

It was nearly the last of June when the doctor dismissed his patient. "This doesn't mean that she is well, " he warned Pop. "You will have tobe careful of her for a long time. She has worked too hard for a growinggirl, and she's not as strong now as she was. "

"She will be!" Pop responded confidently. "That thar gal is made outeniron! Her maw was afore her. Liza wuz my third wife, an' she'd bornedsix or seven children, when she died at thirty-five, an', by Joshuy, she'd never once hed a doctor in all her life!"

Pop's joy over their dismissal was slightly dimmed by Sally's receptionof the news. He saw her draw a long breath and bite her lips; then hesaw what he had never seen since she was a baby, two large tears gatherslowly in her eyes and roll down on the pillow. He watched them inamazement. 

"Sal, whut ails ye?" he asked anxiously, after the doctor was gone. 

"I want to git a larnin'!" she broke out. "I don't want to go back tothe hills. "

Instantly the old man's face, which had been tender, hardened to a maskof fury. 

"That passel of fool women's been workin' on ye, " he cried hoarsely, "larnin', larnin', thet's all they know. Ain't the Fork good enough ferye? Ain't the cabin whar yer paw, an' yer grandpaw, an' yergreat-grandpaw was borned good enough for ye?"

"Yes, Pop, yes!" she gasped, terrified at the storm she had raised. "I'ma-goin' back with you. Don't tek on so, Pop, I'm a-goin'!"

But the tempest was raging, and the old man got up and strode angrily upand down the small room, filling the air with his indignation. 

"I should say you _wuz_ goin' back! I'd like to see any of 'em try tokeep you. They'd like to make one o' them dressed-up doll women outenyou! You're goin' back with me to the Fork, an' ef thar's ever any morenussin' er doctorin' to do, I'm a-goin' to do hit. I've nussed threewomen on their deathbeds, an' when your time comes I 'low I kin handleyou too. "

Then his mood changed suddenly, and he sat down by the bed. 

"Sal, " he said almost persuasively, "you'll git over this herefoolishness. Ag'in' fall you'll be a-cappin corn, an' a-roastin' sweetpertatoes, an' singin' them ole ballarts along with the Hicks gals, an'Cy West, an' Bub Holly. An' I'll tote you behind me on the beast overthe Ridge to the Baptist Meetin' House the very next feet-washin' theyhev. Jes' think how good hit's goin' to be to see the sun a-risin' overOle Baldy, an' to hev room to stretch an' breathe in. Seems ez if Ihain't been able to git my lungs full of wind sense I left Jackson. "

"I know it, Pop, " Sally said miserably. "You growed old in the hillsafore you ever seen the Settlements. But sence I got a sight of whutfolks is a-doin' down here, 'pears like I can't be reconciled to goin'back. 'Tain't the work back home, nor the lonesomeness, tho' the Lordknows the only folks thet ever does pass is when they're totin' deadsdown the creek bottom. Hit's the feelin' of bein' shet off from mychanct. Ef I could git a larnin' I wouldn't ask nothin' better then togo back an' pass it along. When I see these here gals a-larnin' how toholp the sick, an' keer fer babies, an' doctor folks, I lay here an'steddy 'bout all the good I could do back home ef I only knowed how. "

"You do know how, " Pop declared vociferously; "ain't you bin a-lookin'after folks thet's ailin' around the Fork fer a couple of years or more?Ez fer these new-fangled doctorin's, they won't nary one ov 'em do thegood yarbs will. I'd ruther trust bitter-goldenseal root to cure aailment than all the durn physic in this here horspittle. I bena-studyin' these here doctors, an' I don't take much stock in 'em;instid of workin' on a organ thet gets twisted, they ups and draws hit. Now the Lord A'mighty put thet air pertickler thing in you fer some goodreason, an' ther's bound to be a hitch in the machinery when hit's tookout. Hit's a marvel to me some of these here patients ain't a amblin'round on all fours from what's been did to their insides!"

"But think whut the doctor did fer me, " urged Sally. 

"I ain't fergittin', " Pop said suddenly, "an' I've paid 'em fer hit. Butef they calkerlate on yer takin' root here, they're treein' the wrongpossum. You're a-goin' home along o' me to-morrow. "

That afternoon he left the hospital, and several hours later was seenwalking up Monument Street with his arm full of bundles. 

"I believe he's been buying clothes to take Sally home in!" said one ofthe nurses, who was watching him from an upper window. "He asked me thismorning if I knew a place where he could buy women's togs. "

"It's a shame he won't let the girl stay, " said Miss Fletcher. "I havebeen talking to the superintendent, and she is quite willing to let herdo light work around the hospital and pick up what training she can. Ishould be glad enough to look after her, and there's a good night schooltwo blocks over. "

"Why don't you talk to the old man?" urged the nurse. "You are the onlyone who has ever been able to do anything with him. Perhaps you couldmake him see what an injustice he is doing the girl. "

"I believe I'll try, " said Miss Fletcher. 

The next morning, when she came on duty, she found Sally's bed therepository of a strange assortment of wearing apparel. A calico dressof pronounced hue, a large lace jabot, and a small pair of yellow kidgloves were spread out for inspection. 

"I knowed they wuz too leetle, " Pop was saying, as he carefully smoothedthe kid fingers, "but I 'lowed you could kerry 'em in yer hand. "

There was an unusual eagerness in his hard face, an evident desire tomake up to Sally in one way for what he was depriving her of in another. He was more talkative than at any time since coming to the hospital, andhe dilated with satisfaction on the joys that awaited their home-coming. 

"May I have a little talk with you before you go?" asked Miss Fletcher. 

He flashed on her a quick look of suspicion, but her calm, impassiveface told him nothing. She was a pretty woman, and Pop had evidentlyrecognized the fact from the start. 

"Wal, I'll come now, " he said, rising reluctantly; "but, Sal, you gityer clothes on an' be ready to start time I git back. I ain't anxious tostay round these here diggin's no longer'n need be. Besides, that tharrailroad car mought take a earlier start. You be ready ag'in I gitback. "

For an hour and a quarter Miss Fletcher was shut up in the linen closetwith the old man. What arguments and persuasions she brought to bear arenot known. Occasionally his voice could be heard in loud and angrydissent, but when at last they emerged he looked like some old king ofthe jungle that has been captured and tamed. His shoulders drooped, hisone arm hung limply by his side, and his usually restless eyes were bentupon the floor. 

Without a word he strode back to the room where Sally in her misfitclothes was waiting for him. 

"Come along o' me, Sal, " he commanded sternly as he picked up his carpetsack. "Leave your things whar they be. "

Silently they passed out of the ward, down the stairway, through thelong vaultlike corridor to the superintendent's room. Once there heflung back his rusty coat and ripped the last bill but one from itshiding place. 

"That thar is fer my gal, " he said defiantly to the superintendent. "She'll git one the fust day of every month. Give her the larnin' she'sso hell-bent on, stuff her plumb full on it. An' ef you let ennythinghappen to her"--his brows lowered threateningly--"I'll come back an'blow yer whole blame' horspittle into eternity!"

"Pop!" Sally pleaded, "Pop!"

But his emotions were at high tide and he did not heed her. Pushing herroughly aside, he strode back to the entrance hall, and was about topick up his carpet sack when his gaze was suddenly arrested by the greatmarble figure that bends its thorn-crowned head in pity over the unhappyand the pain-racked mortals that pass beneath its outstretched hands. 

"You ain't goin' to leave me like this, Pop?" begged Sally. "Ef you takeit so hard, I'll go back, an' I'll go willin'. Jus' say the word, Pop, an' I'll go!"

The old mountaineer's one hand closed on the girl's bony arm in a tightclasp, his shoulders heaved, and his massive features worked, but hisgaze never left the calm, pitying face of the Saviour overhead. He hadfollowed his child without a tremor into the Valley of the Shadow ofDeath, but at the entrance of this new life, where he must let her goalone, his courage failed and his spirit faltered. His dominant will, hitherto the only law he knew, was in mortal combat with a new andunknown force that for the first time had entered his life. 

For several minutes he stood thus, his conflicting passions swaying him, as opposing gales shake a giant forest tree. Then he resolutely loosenedhis grip on the girl's arm and taking up his burden, without a word or abackward glance, set his face toward the hills, leaving an awkward, wistful girl watching him with her tears only half obscuring the visionthat was already dawning for her. 

HOODOOED

Gordon Lee Surrender Jones lay upon what he confidently claimed to behis death-bed. Now and again he glanced furtively at the cabin door andlistened. Being assured that nobody was coming, he cautiously extricateda large black foot from the bedclothes, and, holding it near the candle, laboriously tied a red string about one of his toes. He was a powerfulnegro, with a close-cropped bullet-head, a massive bulldog jaw, and apair of incongruously gentle and credulous eyes. 

According to his own diagnosis, he was suffering from "asmy, bronketers, pneumony, grip, diabeters, and old age. " The last affliction was hardlypossible, as Gordon Lee was probably born during the last days of theCivil War, though he might have been eighty, for all he knew to thecontrary. In addition to his acknowledged ailments, there was one hecherished in secret. It was by far the most mysterious and deadly of thelot, a malady to be pondered on in the dark watches of the night, to betreated with weird rites and ceremonies, and to be cured only by somespecialist versed in the deepest lore of witchcraft; for Gordon Lee knewbeyond the faintest shadow of a doubt that a hoodoo had been laid uponhim. 

Of course, like most of his race, he had had experiences in this linebefore; but this was different. In fact, it was no less a calamity thana cricket in his leg. Just how the cricket got into his leg was a mattertoo deep for human speculation; but the fact that it was there, and thatit hopped with ease from knee to ankle, and made excruciating excursionsinto his five toes, was as patent as the toes themselves. 

What complicated the situation for Gordon Lee was that he could notdiscuss this painful topic with his wife. Amanda Jones had embarked onthe higher education, and had long ago thrown overboard her oldsuperstitions. She was not only Queen Mother of the Sisters of theOrder of the Star, and an officer in various church societies, but shewas also a cook in the house of Mrs. James Bertram, President of theState Federation of Women's Clubs. The crumbs of wisdom that fell fromthe lips of the great Mrs. Bertram were carefully preserved by Amanda, and warmed over, with sundry garnishings of her own, for the variouscolored clubs to which she belonged. 

Gordon Lee had succeeded in adorning only three toes when he heard aquick step on the gravel outside and, hastily getting his foot undercover, he settled back on the pillow, closed his eyes, and beganlaboriously inhaling with a wheeze and exhaling with a groan. 

The candle sputtered as the door was flung open, and a small, energeticmulatto woman, twenty years Gordon Lee's junior, bustled into the room. 

"Good lan'! but it's hot in heah!" she exclaimed, flinging up a window. "I got a good mind to _nail_ this heah window down f'om the top. "

"I done open' de door fer a spell dis mawnin', " said Gordon Lee, sullenly, pulling the bedclothes tighter about his neck. "Lettin' in alldis heah night air meks my eyes sore. "

The bedclothes, having thus been drawn up from the bottom of the bed, left the patient's feet exposed, and Amanda immediately spied thestring-encircled toes. 

"Gordon Lee Surrender Jones, " she exclaimed indignantly, "has that theremeddlin' ol' Aunt Kizzy been here again?"

Gordon Lee's eyes blinked, and his thick, sullen under lip dropped halfan inch lower. 

"Ef you think, " continued Amanda, furiously, "that I'm a-goin' to keepon a-workin' my fingers to the bone, lak I been doin' for the past year, a-payin' doctors' bills, an' buyin' medicines fer you, while you lay upin this here bed listenin' to the fool talk of a passel of igneramuses, you's certainly mistaken. Hit's bad enough to have you steddyin' up newailments ever' day, without folks a-puttin' 'em in yer head. Whut themstrings tied on yer toes fer?"

Gordon Lee's wheezing had ceased under his severe mental strain, and nowhe lay blinking at the ceiling, utterly unable to give a satisfactoryanswer. 

"Aunt Kizzy jes happen' 'long, " he muttered presently. "Ain't no harm ina' ol' frien' passin' de time ob day. "

"Whut them _strings_ tied on yer toes fer?" repeated Amanda with fearfulinsistence. 

Gordon Lee, pushed to the extreme, and knowing by experience that he wasas powerless in the hands of his diminutive wife as an elephant in thoseof his keeper, weakly capitulated. 

"Aunt Kizzy 'low'--I ain't sayin' she's right; I's jes tellin' you whatshe _'low'_--Aunt Kizzy 'low' dat, 'cordin' to de symtems, shesay', --an' I ain't sayin' I b'lieve her, --but she say' hit looks to herlak I's sufferin' f'om a hoodoo. "

"A hoodoo!" Amanda's scorn was unbounded. "Ef it don't beat my time howsome of you niggers hang on to them ol' notions. 'Tain't nothin' 't allbut ignorant superstition. Ain't I tol' you that a hunderd times?"

"Yes, you done tol' me, " said Gordon Lee, putting up a feeble defense. "You all time quoilin' an' runnin' down conjurin' an' bad-luck signsan' all de _nigger_ superstitions; but you's quick 'nough to tek up alldese heah _white_ superstitions. "

"How you mean?" demanded Amanda. 

Gordon Lee, flattered at having any remark of his noticed, proceeded toelaborate. 

"I mean all dis heah talk 'bout hits bein' bad luck to sleep wid dewindows shet, an' bout flies carrying disease, an' 'bout worms gittin'in de milk ef you leave it settin' roun' unkivered. "

"Not worms, " corrected Amanda; "_germs_. That ain't no superstition;that's a scientific fac'. They is so little you don't see 'em; butthey's there all right. Mis' Bertram says they's ever'where--in thewater, in the air, crawlin' up the very walls. "

Gordon Lee looked fearfully at the ceiling, as if he expected animmediate attack from that direction. 

"I ain't sayin' dey ain't, Amanda. Come to think of hit, seems lak I'member 'em scrunchin' 'g'inst my teeth when I eats. I ain't sayin'nothin' 't all 'bout white folks superstitions, --I 'spec' dey's true, ebery one ob 'em, --but hit look' lak you oughtn't to shet yer min'ag'inst de colored signs dat done come down f'om yer maw an' yer paw, an' yer gran'maw an' gran'paw fer back as Adam. I 'spec' Adam hisselfwas conjured. Lak as not de sarpint done tricked him into regalin'hisself wid dat apple. But I s'pose you'd lay hit on de germs whut wasdisportin' deyselves on de apple. But dey ain't no use in 'sputin' datp'int, 'ca'se de fac' remains dat de apple's done et. "

"I ain't astin' you to dispute nothin', " cried Amanda, by this time in ahigh state of indignation. "I'm a-talkin' scientific fac's, an' you'retalkin' nigger foolishness. The ignorance jes nachully oozes outen thepores o' your skin. "

Gordon Lee, thus arraigned, lay with contracted brows and protrudinglips, nursing his wrongs, while Amanda disappeared into the adjoiningroom, there to vent her wrath on the pots and pans about the stove. 

Despite the fact that it was after eight o'clock and she had been on herfeet all day, she set about preparing the evening meal for her husbandwith all the care she had bestowed on the white folks' supper. 

Soon the little cabin was filled with the savory odor of bacon, and whenthe corn battercakes began to sizzle promisingly, and she flipped themover dexterously with a fork, Gordon Lee forgot his ill humor, andthrough the door watched the performance with growing eagerness. 

"Git yerself propped up, " Amanda called when the cakes were encircledwith crisp, brown edges. "I'll git the bread-board to put acrost yerknees. You be eatin' this soup while I dishes up the bacon an' onions. How'd you like to have a little jam along with yer apple-dumplin'?"

Gordon Lee, sitting up in bed with this liberal repast spread on thebread-board across his knees, and his large, bare feet, with their pinkadornments, rising like ebony tombstones at the foot of the bed, forgothis grievance. 

"Jam!" he repeated. "Well, dat dere Sally Ann Slocum's dumplin's mayneed jam, er Maria Johnsing's, but dis heah dumplin' is complete inhitself. Ef dey ever was a pusson dat could assemble a' apple-dumplin'so's you swoller hit 'most afore hit gits to yer mouf, dat pusson isyou. "

Harmony being thus restored, and the patient having emptied all thedishes before him, Amanda proceeded to clear up. Her small, energeticfigure moved briskly from one room to the other, and as she worked shesang in a low, chanting tone:

 "You got a shoe, I got a shoe, All God's children got shoes. When I git to heaben, gwine try on my shoes, Gwine walk all over God's heaben, heaben, heaben. Ever'body's talkin' 'bout heaben ain't gwine to heaben-- Heaben, heaben, gwine walk all over God's heaben. "

But the truce, thus declared, was only temporary. During the long daysthat Amanda was away at her work, Gordon Lee had nothing to do but lieon his back and think of his ailments. For twenty years he had worked inan iron foundry, where his muscles were as active as his brain waspassive. Now that the case was reversed, the result was disastrous. From an attack of rheumatism a year ago he had developed an amazingnumber of complaints, all of which finally fell under the head of thedread hoodoo. 

Aunt Kizzy, the object of Amanda's special scorn, he held in greatreverence. She had been a familiar figure in his mother's chimney-cornerwhen he was a boy, and to doubt her knowledge of charms and conjuringwas to him nothing short of heresy. She knew the value of every herb andsimple that grew in Hurricane Hollow. She was an adept in getting peopleinto the world and getting them out of it. She was constantly consultedabout weaning calves, and planting crops according to the stage of themoon. And for everything in the heavens above and the earth beneath andthe waters under the earth she "had a sign. "

Since Gordon Lee's illness, she had fallen into the habit of dropping into sit with him at such hours as Amanda would not be there. She wouldcrouch over the fire, elbows on knees and pipe in mouth, and regale himwith hair-raising tales of "hants" and "sperrits" and the part she hadplayed in exorcising them. 

"Dis heah case ob yourn, " she said one day, "ain't no ordinary case. Idone worked on lizards in de laigs, but I nebber had no 'casion to treata _cricket_ in de laig. Looks lak de cricket is a more persistent animaldan de lizard. 'Sides, ez I signify afore, dis heah case ob yourn ain'tno ordinary case. "

"Why--why ain't it?" Gordon Lee stammered apprehensively. 

Aunt Kizzy lifted a bony black hand, and shook her turbaned headominously. 

"Dey's two kinds ob hoodoos, " she said, "de libin' an' de daid. De daidones is de easiest to lift, 'ca'se dey answers to charms; but nobody canlift a libin' hoodoo 'ceptin' de one dat laid hit on. I been a-steddyin'an' a-steddyin', an' de signs claim dat dis heah hoodoo ob yourn ain'tno daid hoodoo. "

By this time the whites of Gordon Lee's eyes were largely in evidence, and he raised himself fearfully on his elbow. 

"Aunt Kizzy, " he whispered hoarsely, "how am I gwine to fin' out who 'tis done conjured me?"

"By de sign ob seben, " she answered mysteriously. "I's gwine home an'work hit out, den I come back an' tell yer. Ef my 'spicions am true, datdis heah is a _libin'_ hoodoo, de only power in de earth to tek it offam ter git er bigger trick an' lay on de top ob hit. I'm gwine home now, an' I'll be back inside de hour. "

That night when Amanda returned home she found Gordon Lee preoccupiedand silent. He ate gingerly of the tempting meal she prepared, andrefused to have his bed straightened before he went to sleep. 

"Huccome you put yer pillow on the floor?" she asked. 

"I ain't believin' in feathers, " he answered sullenly; "dey meks me heahthings. "

In vain Amanda tried to cheer him; she recounted the affairs of the day;she gave him all the gossip of the Order of the Sisters of the Star. Helay perfectly stolid, his horizontal profile resembling a mountain-rangethe highest peak of which was his under lip. 

Finally Amanda's patience wore thin. 

"Whut's the matter with you, Gordon Lee Surrender Jones?" she demanded. "Whut you mean by stickin' out yer lip lak a circus camel?"

Now that the opportunity for action had come, he feared to takeadvantage of it. Amanda, small as she was, looked firm and determined, and he knew by experience that he was no match for her. 

"'Tain't fer you to be astin' _me_ whut's de matter, " he begansignificantly. "De glove's on de other han'. "

"Whut you 'sinuatin', nigger?" cried Amanda, now thoroughly roused. 

"I's tired layin' heah under dis heah spell, " complained Gordon Lee. "Iknowed all 'long 'twas a hoodoo, but I neber 'spicioned till to-day whowas 'sponsible fer hit. Aunt Kizzy tried de test, an', 'fore de Lawd, hit p'inted powerful' near home. "

Amanda sank into the one rocking-chair the cabin boasted, and droppedher hands in her lap. Her anger had given place for the moment to sheeramazement. 

"Well, if this ain't the beatenest thing I ever heard tell of in all myborn days! Do you mean to say that that honery old cross-eyed niggerKizzy had the audacity to set up before my fire, in my house, an' tellmy husband I'd laid a spell on him?"

"Dat's whut de signs p'int to, " said Gordon Lee, doggedly. 

Amanda rose, and it seemed to him that she towered to the ceiling. Withhands on hips and head thrown back, she delivered herself, and her voicerang with suppressed passion. 

"Yas, I laid a spell on yer! I laid a spell on yer when I let you quitwork, an' lay up in bed wid nothin' to do but to circulate yer symtems. I put a spell on yer when I nuss you an' feed you an' s'port you an'spile the life plumb outen you. I ain't claimin' 't wasn't rheumatism inthe fust place, but it's a spell now, all right--a spell I did lay onyer, a spell of laziness pure an' simple!"

After this outburst the relations were decidedly strained in the littlecabin at the far end of Hurricane Hollow. Gordon Lee persistentlyrefused to eat anything his wife cooked for him, depending upon thefood that Aunt Kizzy or other neighbors brought in. 

To Amanda the humiliation of this was acute. She used every strategy toconciliate him, and at last succeeded by bringing home some pig's feet. His appetite got the better of his resentment, and he disposed of fourwith evident relish. 

With the approach of winter, however, other and graver troublesdeveloped. The rent of the cabin, which had always been promptly paidout of Gordon Lee's wages, had now to come out of Amanda's limitedearnings. Two years' joint savings had gone to pay the doctor and thedruggist. 

Amanda gave up the joys of club life, and began to take in smallwashings, which she did at night. Gordon Lee, surrounded by every luxurysave that of approbation, continued to lie on his back in the white bedand nurse his hallucinations. 

"'Mandy, " he said one morning as she was going to work, "wished you'dast Marse Jim ef he got a' ol' pair of pants he could spare me. "

Her face brightened. 

"You fixin' to git up, Honey?" she asked hopefully. 

"No, I's jes collectin' ob my grave-clothes, " said Gordon Lee. "Dere's apair ob purple socks in de bottom drawer, an' a b'iled shirt in dewardrobe. But I been layin' heah steddyin' 'bout dat shirt. Hit's gotMarse Jim's name on de tail of it, an' s'pose I git to heaben, an' St. Peter he read de name an' look hit up in de jedgment book. He's 'lowableto come to me an' say, 'Huccome you wearin' dat shirt? Dey ain't but oneJames Bartrum writ down in de book, an' he ain't no colored pusson. ''Co'se I _could_ explain, but I's got 'splainin' 'nough to do when I gitto heaben widout dat. "

Amanda paused with her hand on the doorknob. 

"Marse Jim'll beat you to heaben; that is, ef he don't beat you to thebad place first. You git that idea of dyin' outen yer mind, and you'llgit well. "

"I can't git well till de hoodoo's lifted. Aunt Kizzy 'lows--"

But the door was slammed before he could finish. 

The limit of Amanda's endurance was reached about Christmas-time. Onegloomy Sunday afternoon when she had finished the numerous chores thathad accumulated during the week, she started for the coal-shed to get anarmful of kindling. 

Dusk was coming on, and Hurricane Hollow had never seemed more lonesomeand deserted. The corn-shocks leaned toward one another as if they wereafraid of a common enemy. Somewhere down the road a dog howled dismally. 

Amanda resolutely pushed open the door of the shed, and felt her waytoward the pile of chips. Suddenly she found her progress blocked by astrange and colossal object. It was an oblong affair, and it stood onone end, which was larger than the other. With growing curiosity shefelt its back and sides, and then peered around it to get a front view. What she saw sent her flying back to the cabin with her mouth open andher limbs shaking. 

"Gordon Lee, " she cried, "whose coffin is that settin' in ourcoal-shed?"

The candidate for the next world looked very much embarrassed. 

"Well, 'Mandy, " he began lamely, "I can't say 'zactly ez hit's anypusson's jes yit. But hit's gwine be mine when de summons comes. "

"Where'd you git it at?" demanded his Nemesis. 

His eyes shifted guiltily. 

"De foundry boss done been heah las' week, an' he gimme some money. I'lowed I was layin' hit up fer a rainy day. "

"An' you mean to tell me, " she cried, "that you took that money an'spent it for a coffin, a white one with shiny handles, an' a satinbolster that'll done be wore out, an' et up by moths, 'fore you ever gita chancet to use it?"

"Couldn't you fix hit up in terbaccy er mothballs ag'in' de time I needhit?" Gordon Lee asked helplessly. 

But Amanda was too exasperated this time to argue the matter. Fiftydollars' worth of coffin in the coal-shed and fifty cents' worth of coalin the bin constituted a situation that demanded her entire attention. 

For six months now Gordon Lee had remained in bed, firm in the beliefthat he could not walk on account of the spell that had been laid uponhim. During that time he had come to take a luxurious satisfaction inthe interest his case was exciting in the neighborhood. Being inexcellent physical condition, he could afford the melancholy joy ofplaying with the idea of death. He spent hours discussing the details ofhis funeral, which had assumed in his mind the proportions of a pageant. 

Amanda, on the other hand, overworked and anxious, and compelled toforego her lodges and societies, became more and more irascible anddepressed. In some subtle way she was aware that the sympathy of thecolored community was solidly with Gordon Lee. Nobody now asked her howhe was. Nobody came to the cabin when she was there, though it wasapparent that visitors were frequent during her absence. Aunt Kizzy hadevidently been busy in the neighborhood. 

One night Amanda sat very long over the stove rolling her hair intolittle wads about the length and thickness of her finger, then tightlywrapping each with a stout bit of cord to take out the kink. When GordonLee roused himself now and then to inquire suspiciously what she wasdoing, she answered with ominous calm. 

"Jes steddyin', that's all. "

Her meditations evidently resulted in a plan of action, for the nextnight she came home from her work in a most mysterious and unusual mood. Gordon Lee heard her moving some heavy and cumbersome article across thekitchen floor, then he saw her surreptitiously put something into a tincan before she presented herself at the foot of his bed. 

"'Mandy, " he said, anxious to break the silence, and distrusting thatsubdued look of excitement in her eyes, "did you bring me dat possum, lak you 'lowed you was gwine to?"

Her lips tightened. 

"Yes, I got the possum, an' also some apples fer a dumplin'; but beforeI lays a stick to the fire I'm goin' to say my say. "

Gordon Lee looked at her with consternation. She stood at the foot ofhis bed as if it wore a rostrum, and with an air of detached dignityaddressed him as if he had been the whole Order of the Sisters of theStar. 

"I done arrive' at a decision, " she declared. "I arrive' at it in thewatches of the night. I'm goin' to cure you 'cordin' to yer lights an'knowledge. I'm goin' to lif' that spell ef I has to purge my immortalsoul to do it. "

"'Mandy, " cried Gordon Lee, eagerly, "you mean to say you gwine toremove the hoodoo?"

"I am, " she said solemnly. "I'm goin' to draw out all yer miseries ferthe rest of yer life, _includin' of the cricket in yer leg_. "

"'Mandy, " he cried again fearfully, "you ain't gwine ter hurt me in noway, is you?"

"Not effen you do as I tell you. But fust of all you got to take thepledge of silence. Whatsomever takes place heah in this cabin to-nightain't never to be revealed till the jedgment-day. Do you swear?"

The big negro, fascinated with the mystery, and deeply impressed withhis wife's manner, laid his hand on the Bible and solemnly took theoath. 

"Now, " she continued impressively, "while I go in the kitchen an' gitthe supper started, I want you to ease yerse'f outen the bed on to thefloor, an' lay with yer head to the north an' your han's outspread, an'yer mind on the heabenly kingdom. "

"Air you shore hit ain't gwine hurt me?" again he queried. 

"Not if you do 'zactly like I say. Besides, " she added dryly, "if itcomes to the worst, ain't you ready an' waitin' to go!"

"Yas, " agreed Gordon Lee; "but I ain't fixin' to go till I's sent fer. "

It took not only time, but courage, for him to follow the prescribeddirections. He had for a long time cherished the belief that anyexertion would prove fatal; but the prospect of having the hoodooremoved, together with a lively curiosity as to what means Amanda wouldemploy to remove it, spurred him to persist despite groans, wheezes, and ejaculations. 

Once stretched upon the floor, with his head to the north and his armsextended, he encountered a new difficulty: his mind refused to dwellupon the heavenly kingdom. Anxiety as to the treatment he was about tobe subjected to alternated with satisfaction at the savory odors thatfloated in from the kitchen. If the ordeal was uncertain, the reward atleast was sure. 

After what seemed to him an endless vigil, Amanda appeared in thedoorway. With measured steps and great solemnity of mien, sheapproached, holding in her right hand a piece of white chalk. 

"De hour has come, " she chanted. "With this chalk, an' around this man, I make the mark of his image. " Stooping, she began to trace his outlineon the dull rag-carpet, speaking monotonously as she worked: "Gordon LeeSurrender Jones, I command all the aches an' the pains, all the miseriesan' fool notions, includin' the cricket in yer leg, to pass outen yerreal body into this heah image on the floor. Keep yer head still, nigger! I pass 'em through you into yer symbol, an' from thence I draws'em out to satisfy yer mind now and forever more, amen. Now roll over tothe right an' watch what's about to happen. "

The patient by this time was so interested that he followed instructionsmechanically. He saw Amanda dart into the kitchen and emerge with anobject totally unfamiliar to him. It was a heavy, box-shaped object, attached to a long handle. This she placed on the chalked outline of hisright leg. Then she stood with her eyes fixed on the floor and solemnlychanted:

 "Draw, draw, 'cordin' to the law, Lif' the hoodoo, now I beg, An' draw the cricket F'om this heah leg!"

And Gordon Lee, raised on his elbow, watching with protruding eyes, _heard_ it draw! He heard the heavy, panting breathing as Amanda ran thevacuum cleaner over every inch of the chalked outline, and when shestopped and, kneeling beside the box, removed a small bag of dust andlint, he was not in the least surprised to see a cricket jump from thedébris. 

"Praise be!" he cried in sudden ecstasy. "De pain's done lef me, dospell's done lifted!"

"An' the cricket's done removed, " urged Amanda, skilfully getting themachine out of sight. "You seen it removed with yer own eyes. "

"Wid my own eyes, " echoed Gordon Lee, still in a state of self-hypnosis. 

"An' now, " she said, "I'm goin' to git that supper ready jes as quick ezI kin. "

"Ain't you gwine help me back in bed fust?" he asked from where he stilllay on the floor. 

"What fer?" she exclaimed. "Ain't the spell lifted? I'm goin' to set thetable in the kitchen, an' ef you wants any of that possum an' sweetpertater an' that apple-dumplin' an' hard sass, you got to walk in thereto git em. "

For ten minutes Gordon Lee Surrender Jones lay flat on his back on thefloor, trying to trace the course of human events during the lasthalf-hour. Against the dim suspicion that Amanda had in some wayoutwitted him rose the staggering evidence of that very live cricketthat still hopped about the room, chirping contentedly. 

Twice Amanda spoke to him, but he refused to answer. His silence did notseem to affect her good spirits, for she continued her work, singingsoftly to herself. 

Despite himself, he became aware of the refrain, and before he knew ithe was going over the familiar words with her:

 "Oh, chicken-pie an 'pepper, oh! Chicken-pie is good, I know; So is wattehmillion, too; So is rabbit in a stew; So is dumplin's, b'iled with squab; So is cawn, b'iled on de cob; So is chine an' turkey breast; So is aigs des f'om de nest. "

Gordon Lee rose unsteadily. Holding to a chair, he reached the table, then the door, through which he shambled, and sheepishly took his oldplace at the foot of the table. Amanda outdid herself in serving him, emptying the larder in honor of the occasion; but neither of them spokeuntil the apple-dumpling was reached. Then Gordon Lee turned toward herand said confidentially:

"I wished we knowed some corpse we could sell dat coffin to. "

A MATTER OF FRIENDSHIP

When a jovial young person in irreproachable pongee, and a whollyreproachable brown topi, scrambled up the lifting gang-plank of the bigPacific liner, setting sail from Yokohama, he was welcomed with acclaim. The Captain stopped swearing long enough to megaphone a greeting fromthe bridge, the First Officer slapped him on the back, while the halfdozen sailors, tugging at the ropes, grinned as one man. 

Three months before this good ship _East India_ had carried FrederickReynolds out to the Orient and deposited him on the alien soil, anuntried youth of unimpeachable morals with a fatal facility for makingfriends. 

The temporary transplanting had had a strange and exotic effect. TheEast has a way of developing crops of wild oats that have been neglectedin the West, and by the end of his sojourn Mr. Frederick Reynolds hadseen more, felt more, and lived more than in all of his previoustwenty-four years put together. He had learned the difference between a"straight flush" and a "full house" under the palms at Raffles Hotel inSingapore; he had been instructed in the ways of the wise in Shanghai bya sophisticated attaché of the French Legation, who imparted hisknowledge between sips of absinthe, as he looked down on the passingshow from a teahouse on the Bubbling Well Road; he had rapturouslylistened to every sweet secret that Japan had to tell, and had left awake of smiles from Nagasaki to Yokohama. 

In fact, in three short months he was fully qualified to pass aconnoisseur's judgment on a high-ball, to hold his own in a game ofpoker, and to carry on a fairly coherent flirtation in four differentlanguages. 

With this newly acquired wisdom he was now setting sail for home, havingaccomplished his downward career with such alacrity that he did not atall realize what had happened to him. 

Nor did the return voyage promise much in the way of silent meditationand timely repentance. The Captain placed Reynolds next to him at table, declaring that he was like an electric fan on a sultry day; the Purser, with the elasticity of conscience peculiar to pursers, moved him fromthe inexpensive inside room which he had engaged, to a spaciousstate-room on the promenade deck, where sufficient corks were drawnnightly to make a small life preserver. 

The one person who watched these proceedings with disfavor was a short, attenuated, bow-legged Chinaman, with a face like a grotesque brassknocker, and a taciturnity that enveloped him like a fog. 

On the voyage out, Tsang Foo, the assistant deck steward, had gotteninto a fight with a brother Chinaman, and had been saved from dismissalby Reynolds's timely intercession at headquarters. In dumb gratitude forthis service, he had laid his celestial soul at the feet of the youngAmerican and sworn eternal allegiance. 

From the day Reynolds reëmbarked, Tsang's silken, slippered feetsilently followed him from smoking-room to bar, from bar back tosmoking-room. Whatever emotion troubled the depths of his being, no signof it rose to his ageless, youthless face. But whether he was silentlyperforming his duties on deck, or sitting on the hatchway smoking hisopium, his vigilant eyes from their long, narrow slits kept watch. 

For thirteen days the sun sparkled on the blue waters of the Pacific, and favoring breezes gave every promise of landing the _East India_ inport with the fastest record of the season. Bets went higher and higheron each day's running, and the excitement was intense each evening inthe smoking-room when the numbers most likely to win the next day's poolwere auctioned off to the highest bidder. 

It was the afternoon of the fourteenth day, thirty-six hours out fromSan Francisco, that Mr. Frederick Reynolds, who had bet more, drunkmore, talked more, and laughed more than any man on board, suddenly cameto his full senses. Then it was that he went quietly to his luxuriousstate-room with its brass bed and crimson hangings, and took aforty-two caliber revolver from his steamer trunk. Slipping a cartridgeinto the cylinder, he sat breathing heavily and staring impatientlybefore him. 

From outside above the roar of the ocean, came the tramp of thepassengers on deck, and the trivial scraps of conversation that floatedin kept side-tracking his thoughts, preventing their reaching thedesired destination. 

The world, which he had sternly resolved to leave, seemed determined tostay with him as long as possible. He heard Glass, the actor, inquiringfor him, and in spite of himself he felt flattered; he heard the prettygirl whose steamer chair was next his, make a conditional engagementwith the high-voiced army-officer, and he knew why she left the matteropen; even a plaintive old voice inquiring how long it would be beforetea, caused him to wait for the answer. 

At last, as if to present his misery in embodied form, he produced anote-book and tried to concentrate his attention upon the items thereinrecorded. Line after line of wavering figures danced in impish gleebefore him, defying inspection. But at the foot of the column, likesoldiers waiting to shoot a prisoner, stood four formidable unitsunquestionably pointing his way to doom. 

As be looked at them Reynolds's thoughts got back on the main track andrushed to a conclusion. Tearing the leaf from the book, and crushing itin his hand, he jumped to his feet. Seized with a fury of self-disgust, he pulled off his coat and collar, and with the reckless courage of aboy put the mouth of the revolver to his temple. 

As he did so the room darkened. He involuntarily looked up. Framed inthe circle of the port-hole were the head and shoulders of Tsang Foo. Not a muscle of the yellow face moved, not a tremor of the slantingeyelids showed surprise. The right hand, holding a bit of tow, mechanically continued polishing the brass around the port-hole, but theleft--long, thin, and with claw-like nails, shot stealthily forward andsnatched the pistol. 

For a full minute the polishing continued, then face and figurevanished, and Reynolds was left staring in impotent rage at the emptyport-hole. 

When the room steward appeared in answer to an imperative summons, hewas directed to send Tsang Foo to room No. 7 at once. 

Tsang came almost immediately, bearing tea and anchovy sandwiches, whichhe urbanely placed on a camp-stool. 

"Where's my pistol?" demanded Reynolds hotly, holding to the door tosteady himself. 

Tsang's eyes, earnest as a dog's, were lifted to his:

"He fall overboard, " he explained suavely, "me velly solly. "

Reynolds impulsively lifted his arm to strike, but a second impulse, engulfing the first, made him turn and fling himself upon his berth, struggling to master the heavy sobs that shook him from head to foot. 

The Chinaman softly closed the door and slipped the bolt, then hedropped to a sitting posture on the floor and waited. 

When the squall had passed, Reynolds addressed his companion from thedepths of the pillows in language suited to his comprehension. 

"Me belong large fool, Tsang!" he said savagely. "Have drink too much. No good. You go 'long, I'm all right now. "

Tsang's eye swept the disordered room and returned to the figure on thebed. "Suppose me go, " he said, "you makee one hole in head?"

"That's my business, " said Reynolds, his wrath rekindling. "You go'long, and get my pistol; there's a good chap. "

Tsang did not stir; he sat with his hands clasped about his knees, andcontemplated space with the abstract look of a Buddha gazing intoNirvana. 

Reynolds passed from persuasion to profanity with no satisfactoryresult. His language, whether eloquent or fiery, beat upon anunresponsive ear. But being in that condition that demands sympathy, hefound the mere talking a relief, and presently drifted into a recital ofhis woes. 

"I'm up against it, in the hole, you know, much largee trouble, " heamplified with many gestures, sitting on the side of his berth, andpounding out excited, incoherent phrases to the impassive figureopposite. "Company sent me out to collect money. My have spent all. Nocan go back home. Suppose my lose face, more better die!"

Tsang shifted his position and nodded gravely. Out of much that wasunintelligible, the last statement loomed clear and incontrovertible. 

"I'm a thief!" burst out Reynolds passionately, not to Tsang now, but tothe world at large, "a plain, common thief. And the worst of it is thereisn't a man in that San Francisco office that doesn't trust me down tothe ground. Then there's the Governor. O God! I can't face theGovernor!"

Tsang sat immovable, lost in thought. Stray words and phrases helped, but it was by some subtle working of his own complex brain that he wasarriving at the truth. 

"Father, him no can lend money?" he suggested presently. 

"The Governor? Good heavens, no. There's not enough money in our wholefamily to wad a gun! They put up all they had to give me a start, andlook where I have landed! Do you suppose I'd go back and ask them to putup a thousand more for my rotten foolishness?" He knotted his handstogether until the nails grew white then, seeing the unenlightened facebelow, he added emphatically: "No, no, Tsang, no can askee!"

"How fashion you losee money!" asked Tsang. 

"The money? Oh, belong gamble. Bet on ship's run. First day--win. Secondday--win. Then lose, lose, keep on losing. Didn't know half the timewhat I was doing. To-day my settle up; no can pay office. A thousanddollars out! Lord! All same two thousand Mex', Tsang!"

An invisible calculation was made on the end of the steamer trunk by along, pointed, fingernail, but no change of expression crossed theyellow face. For an incalculable time Tsang sat, lost in thought. Allhis conserved energy went to aid him in solving the problem. At last hereached a decision: this was clearly a case to be laid before the onlygod be knew, the god of Chance. 

"Me gamble too, " he said; "me no lose. "

"But s'pose you _had_ lost? S'pose you lose what no belong you? Whatthing you do?"

"You do all same my talkee you?" asked Tsang, for the first time liftinghis eyes. 

It was a slender straw, to be sure, but Reynolds grasped at it. 

"What thing you mean, Tsang? What can I do?"

"Two more night' to San Flancisco, " said Tsang softly; "one more bet, maybe!"

"Oh, I've thought of that. What's the good of throwing good money afterbad? No use, I no got chance. "

"_My_ have got chance, " announced Tsang emphatically, "you bet howfashion my talkee you, your money come back. "

Reynolds studied the brass knocker of a face, but found no clue to theriddle. "What you mean, Tsang?" he asked. "What do you know? For theLord's sake don't fool with me about it!"

"Me no fool, " declared Tsang. "You le' me talkee number, him win bigheap money. "

"But how do you know?"

"Me savey, " said Tsang enigmatically. 

Again Reynolds studied the impassive face. "It's on the square, Tsang?You don't stand in with anybody below decks? The thing is on the level?"Then finding further elucidation necessary, he added, "No belong cheat!"

Tsang Foo shook his head positively. "No belong cheat, all belongploper. No man savey, only me savey, this side, " and he tapped his headsignificantly. 

Reynolds gave a short, unpleasant laugh. "All right, " he said, thrustinghis hand in his pocket. "I'll give myself one more chance. There'll betime to-morrow to finish my job. I'll make a bargain with you, Tsang!Bet this, and this, and this, on the next run for me. You win, I nomakee shoot; you lose, you promise bring back pistol, then go way. Mycan do what thing my wantchee, see?"

Tsang Foo looked at him cunningly: "I win, you belong good boy? Stopwhisky-soda, maybe?"

Reynolds laughed in spite of himself: "Going to reform me, oh? Allright, it's a bargain. "

Tsang allowed his hand to be shaken, then he carefully counted over theexpress checks that had been given to him. 

"My go now, " he announced as eight bells sounded from the bridge. 

As the door closed Reynolds sighed, then his eyes brightened as theyfell upon the sandwiches. Even a desperate young man on the verge ofsuicide if he is hungry must needs cheer up temporarily at the sight offood. Reynolds had taken an early breakfast after being up all night, and had eaten nothing since. After devouring the sandwiches and tea withrelish, he ordered a hot bath, and in less than an hour was wrapped inhis berth sleeping the sleep that is not confined to the righteous. 

It was high noon the next day when he awoke. His first feeling was oneof exhilaration: the long sleep, the fresh sea air pouring in at theport-hole, and a sense of perfect physical well-being had made himforget, for a moment, the serious business the day might have in storefor him. 

As he lay, half dozing, he became dimly aware that something was wrong. The throb of the engines had ceased, and an ominous stillness prevailed. He sat up in bed and listened, then he thrust his head out of theport-hole, only to see a deserted deck. The passage was likewisedeserted save for a hurried stewardess, who called back, over hershoulder, "It's a man overboard, sir, on the starboard side--"

Reynolds flung on his clothes. The boy in him was keen for excitement, and in five minutes he was on deck, and had joined the crowd ofpassengers that thronged the railing. 

The life-boat was being lowered, groaning and protesting as it clearedthe davits and swung away from the ship's side. Far behind, in the stillshining wake of the steamer, a small black object bobbed helplessly inthe gray expanse of waters. 

"What's the matter?" "Did he fall overboard!" "Did he jump in?" "Was itsuicide?" The air buzzed with questions. The sentimental contingentclung to the theory that it was some poor stoker who could no longerstand the heat, or a foreign refugee afraid to come into port. The morepractical argued that it was probably one of the seamen who, while doingoutside painting, had lost his balance and fallen into the sea. 

A smug, well-dressed man, with close-cropped gray beard, and a detachedgaze that seemed to go no further than his rimless glasses, turned andspoke to Reynolds:

"It has gotten to be quite the fashion for somebody in the steerage tocreate this sort of sensation. It happened as I went over. If a man seesfit to jump overboard, all well and good; in nine cases out of ten it'sa good riddance to the community. But why in Heaven's name should thesteamer put back? Why should several hundred people be delayed an houror so for the sake of an inconsiderate, useless fool?"

Reynolds turned away sickened. From a point, apart from the rest, hestrained his eyes to keep in sight the small black object now hidden, now revealed, by the waves. A fierce sense of kinship for that man inthe water seized him. He, too, perhaps had grappled with someunendurable situation and been overcome. What if he was an utterlyworthless asset on the great human ledger? He was a fellow-being, suffering, tempted, vanquished. Was it kind to bring him back, to gothrough with it all again?

For answer Reynolds's muscles strained with those of the sailors rowingbelow: all the life and youth in him rose in rebellion againstunnecessary death. He watched with teeth hard set as the small boatclimbed to the crest of a wave, then plunged into the trough again, crawling by imperceptible inches toward the bobbing spot in the water. He longed to be in the boat, in the water even, helping to save thathuman life that only on the verge of extinction had gained significance. What if the man wished to die? No matter, he must be saved, saved fromhimself, given another chance, made to face it out, whatever it was. Not until then did Reynolds remember another life that be had dared tothreaten, that even now he meant to take if the wheel of chance swungagainst him. Suddenly he faced the awful judgment of his own act, andshuddered back as one who, standing upon a precipice, trembles in terrorbefore the mad desire to leap. 

"I'll stick it out!" he said half aloud as if in promise. "Whatevercomes, I'll take my medicine, I'll--"

An eager murmur swept through the crowd. A sailor with a rope about himwas being lowered from the life-boat. 

For five tense minutes the two men rose and fell at the mercy of thehigh waves, and the distance between them did not lessen by an inch. 

Then a passenger with a binocular announced that the sailor was swimmingaround to the far side to get the man between him and the boat. 

With long, steady, overhand strokes, the sailor was gaining his way, andwhen at last he reached the apparently motionless object and got a ropeunder its arms, and the two were hauled into the life-boat, a rousingcheer went up from the big steamer above. 

Reynolds drew in his breath sharply and turned away from the railing. Ashe did so he was hailed by a group of friends who were returning totheir cards, waiting face downward on the small tables in thesmoking-room. 

"Behold His Nibs!" shouted Glass, the actor, "the luckiest duffer thatever hit a high-ball!"

"How did you happen to do it?" cried another. 

Reynolds lifted his hand to his bewildered head. "Do what?" he askeddully. "I'm not on. "

"Oh, come!" said Glass, shaking him by the shoulder; "that bet you sentin last night! When the Chink said you wanted to buy the low field forall six pools, and to bet five hundred to boot that you'd win, I thoughtyou were either drunk or crazy. Yesterday's run was four-fifty-one, aregular corker, and yet with even better weather conditions, you tookonly the numbers below four-thirty-one. I argued with the Chinaman 'tilI was blue in the face, but he stood pat, said, you were all right, andhad told him what to do. Nothing but an accident could have saved you, and it arrived. You've won the biggest pool of the crossing, don't youthink it's about time for you to set 'em up? Say Martini cocktails forthe crowd, eh?"

Reynolds was jostled about in congratulation and good-humored banter. Everybody was glad of the boy's success, he was an all round favorite, and some of the men who had won his money felt relieved to return it. 

"Here's your cocktail, Freddy, " cried Glass, "and here's to you!"

Reynolds stood in the midst of the crowd, his face flushed, his hairtumbled. With a quick movement he sent the glass and its contentsspinning out of a near-by port-hole. 

"Not for Frederick!" he said with emphasis, "I've been that particularkind of a fool for the last time. "

Some hours later when the crowd went below to dress for dinner, Reynoldsdropped behind to ask the Second Officer about the man who had beenrescued. 

"He is still pretty full of salt water, " said the Officer, "but he isbeing bailed out. "

"How did it happen?" asked Reynolds. 

"Give it up. He hasn't spoken yet. It looks as if he were getting readyto do some outside cleaning, for he had on a life-preserver. Funny thingabout it, though, that's not his work. He's not even on duty during thestarboard watch. The man in the lookout saw him climb out on the bow, shout something up to him, then fall backward into the water. I'll behanged if I can make it out. Tsang Foo is one of the steadiest sailorson board. "

"Tsang Foo!" shouted Reynolds. "You don't mean that man was Tsang?"

With headlong haste he seized the bewildered officer and made him pilothim below decks. Stumbling down the ladders and through dark passages, he at last reached the bunk where Tsang Foo lay with the ship's surgeonand a steward in attendance. 

The Chinaman's lips were drawn tightly back over his prominent teeth, and his breath came in irregular gasps. Across the pillow in a straightblack line lay his dripping queque. As his eyelids fluttered feebly, thedoctor straightened his own tired back. 

"He'll come round now, all right, " he said to the steward. "Give himthose drops and don't talk to him. He's had a close call. I'll be backin ten minutes. "

Reynolds crowded into the narrow apace the doctor had left. The factthat he was saved from disgrace was utterly blotted out by the biggerfact that this ignorant, uncouth, foreign sailor had fearlessly riskedhis life to save him from facing a merited punishment. Reynolds's verysoul seemed to grow bigger to accommodate the thought. 

"Tsang!" he whispered, seizing the yellow hand, "You are a brick! Numberone good man. But my no can take money, --I--"

The steward in attendance, who had stepped aside, made a warning gestureand laid his finger on his lips. 

For five minutes the man in the bunk and the one beside it lookedsilently into each other's eyes, then the drawn lips moved, andReynolds, bending his head to listen, heard the broken question:

"You--no--blake--bargain?"

Reynolds's mind dashed at two conclusions and recoiled from each. Shouldbe follow his impulse to explain the whole affair, serious consequenceswould result for Tsang, while the other alternative of accepting thesituation made him a party, albeit an innocent one, to a mostreprehensible proceeding. It was to his credit, that of the two coursesthe latter was infinitely the more intolerable. He got up nervously, then sat down again. 

"No--blake--bargain!" repeated Tsang anxiously. 

Still Reynolds waited for some prompting from a conscience unaccustomedto being rusty. Any course that would involve the loyal little Chinaman, who had played the game according to the rules as he knew them, was outof the question. The money must be paid back, of course, but how, andwhen? If he cleared himself at the office it might be years before hecould settle this new debt, but he could do it in time, he must do it. Then at last, light came to him. He would accept Tsang's sacrifice butit should stand for more than the mere material good it had purchased. It should pledge him to a fresh start, a clean life. He would justifythe present by the future. He drew a deep breath of relief and leanedforward:

"Tsang, " he said, and his voice trembled with the earnestness of hisresolve, "I no break bargain. From now on my behave all same proper. Itwasn't right, old fellow, you oughtn't--" then he gave it up and smiledhelplessly, "you belong my good friend Tsang, what thing you wantchee?"

A slow smile broke the brass-like stillness of Tsang Foo's face:

"Pipe, " he gasped softly, "opium velly good, --make land and sea--allsame--by an' by!"

THE WILD OATS OF A SPINSTER

Judging from appearances Miss Lucinda Perkins was justifying her reasonfor being by conforming absolutely to her environment. She apparentlyfitted as perfectly into her little niche in the Locustwood Seminary foryoung ladies as Miss Joe Hill fitted into hers. The only difference wasthat Miss Joe Hill did not confine herself to a niche; she filled theseminary, as a plump hand does a tight glove. 

It was the year after Miss Lucinda had come to the seminary to teachelocution that Miss Joe Hill discovered in her an affinity. Asprincipal, Miss Joe Hill's word was never questioned, and Miss Lucinda, with pleased obedience, accepted the honor that was thrust upon her, andmeekly moved her few belongings into Miss Joe Hill's apartment. 

For four years they had lived in the rarified atmosphere of celestialfriendship. They clothed their bodies in the same raiment, and theirminds in the same thoughts, and when one was cold the other shivered. 

If Miss Lucinda, in those early days found it difficult to live up toMiss Joe Hill's transcendental code she gave no sign of it. She laidaside her mildly adorned garments and enveloped her small angular personin a garb of sombre severity. Even the modest bird that adorned her hatwas replaced by an uncompromising band. She foreswore meat and became avegetarian. She stopped reading novels and devoted her spare time toessays and biography. In fact she and Miss Joe Hill became one and thatone was Miss Joe Hill. 

It was not until Floss Speckert entered the senior class at LocustwoodSeminary that this sublimated friendship suffered a jar. 

Floss's father lived in Chicago, and it was due to his unerringdiscernment in the buying and selling of live stock that Floss was being"finished" in all branches without regard to the cost. 

"Learn her all you want to, " he said magnanimously to Miss Lucinda, whonegotiated the arrangement. "I ain't got but two children, her and Tom. He's just like me--don't know a blame thing but business; but Floss--"his bosom swelled under his checked vest--"she's on to it all. I pay foreverything you get into her head. Dancin', singin', French--all themextries goes. "

Miss Lucinda had consequently undertaken the management of FlossSpeckert, and the result had been far-reaching in its consequences. 

Floss was a person whose thoughts did not dwell upon the highestdevelopment of the spiritual life. Her mind was given over to thepursuit of worldly amusements, her only serious thought being a burningambition to win histrionic honors. The road to this led naturallythrough the elocution classes, and Floss accepted Miss Lucinda as theonly means toward the desired end. 

A drop of water in a bottle of ink produces no visible result, but adrop of ink in a glass of water contaminates it at once. Miss Lucindatook increasing interest in her frivolous young pupil; she listenedwith half-suppressed eagerness to unlimited gossip about stage-land, andeven sank to the regular perusal of certain bold theatrical papers. Shewas unmistakably becoming contaminated. 

Meanwhile Miss Joe Hill, quite blind to the situation, condoned thefriendship. "You are developing your own character, " she told MissLucinda. "You are exercising self-control and forbearance in dealingwith that crude, undisciplined girl. Florence is the natural outcome ofcommon stock and newly acquired riches. It is your noble aspiration totake this vulgar clay and mold it into something higher. Your motive islaudable, Lucinda; your self-sacrifice in giving up our evening hourtogether is heroic. I read you like an open book, dear. "

And Miss Lucinda listened and trembled. They were standing togetherbefore the window of their rigid little sitting room, the chastenedseverity of which banished all ideas of comfort. "What purpose do youserve?" Miss Joe Hill demanded of every article that went into herapartment, and many of the comforts of life failed to pass theexamination. 

After Miss Joe Hill had gone out, Miss Lucinda remained at the windowand restlessly tapped her knuckles against the sill. The insidiousspring sunshine, the laughter of the girls in the court below, thefoolish happy birds telling their secrets under the new, green leaves, all worked together to disturb her peace of mind. 

She resolutely turned her back to the window and took breathingexercises. That was one of Miss Joe Hill's sternestrequirements--fifteen minutes three times a day and two pints of waterbetween meals. Then she sat down in a straight-back chair and tried toread "The Power Through Poise. " Her body was doing its duty, but it didnot deceive her mind. She knew that she was living a life of blackdeception; evidences of her guilt were on every hand. Behind the bookson her little shelf was a paper of chocolate creams; in the music rack, back to back with Grieg and Brahms, was an impertinent sheet of ragtimewhich Floss had persuaded her to learn as an accompaniment. And deeperand darker and falser than all was a plan which had been fermenting inher mind for days. 

In a fortnight the school term would be over. Following the usualcustom, Miss Lucinda was to go to her brother in the country and MissJoe Hill to her sister for a week. This obligation to their respectivefamilies being discharged, they would repair to the seclusion of aCatskill farmhouse, there to hang upon each other's souls for the restof the summer. 

Miss Lucinda's visits to her brother were reminiscent of a multiplicityof children and a scarcity of room. To her the Inferno presented no moredisquieting prospect than the necessity of sharing her bedroom. Shealways returned from these sojourns in the country with impaireddigestion, and shattered nerves. She looked forward to them with dreadand looked back on them with horror. Was it any wonder that when abrilliant alternative presented itself she was eager to accept it?

Floss Speckert had gained her father's consent to spend her first weekout of school in New York provided she could find a suitable chaperon. She had fallen upon the first and most harmless person in sight andbesieged her with entreaties. 

Miss Lucinda would have flared to the project had not a forbiddingpresence loomed between her and the alluring invitation. She knew onlytoo well that Miss Joe Hill would never countenance the proposition. 

As she sat trying vainly to concentrate on her "Power Through Poise, "she was startled by a noise at the window, followed immediately by adishevelled figure that scrambled laughingly over the sill. 

"I came down the fire escape!" whispered the invader breathlessly, "MissJoe Hill caught us making fudge in the linen closet, and I gave her theslip. "

"But Florence!" Miss Lucinda began reproachfully, but Floss interruptedher:

"Don't 'Florence' me, Miss Lucy! You're just pretending to be madanyhow. You are a perfect darling and Miss Joe Hill is an old bear!"

Miss Lucinda was aghast at this irreverence but her halting protestshad no effect on the torrent of Floss's eloquence. 

"I am going to take you to New York, " the girl declared "and I am goingto give you the time of your life! Dad's got to put us up in style--aroom and a bath apiece and maybe a sitting room. He likes me to splurgearound a bit, says he'd hate to have a daughter that acted like shewasn't used to money. "

Miss Lucinda glanced apprehensively at the door and then back at thesparkling face before her. 

"I can't go, " she insisted miserably, trying to free her hand fromFloss's plump grasp. "My brother is expecting me and Miss Hill--"

"Oh, bother Miss Joe Hill! You don't have to tell her anything about it!You can pretend you are going to your brother's and meet me some placeon the road instead. "

Miss Lucinda looked horrified, but she listened. A material kept plasticby years of manipulation does not harden to a new hand. Her objectionsto Floss's plan grew fainter and fainter. 

"Think of the theaters, " went on the temptress, putting an arm aroundher neck, and ignoring the fact that caresses embarrassed Miss Lucindaalmost to the point of tears; "think of it! A new show every night, andoperas and pictures. There will be three Shakspere plays that week, 'Merchant of Venice, ' 'Twelfth Night, ' and 'Hamlet. '"

Miss Lucinda's heart fluttered in her bosom. Although she had spent agreat part of her life interpreting the Bard of Avon, she had never seenone of his plays produced. In her secret soul she believed that her ownrendition of "The quality of mercy, " was not to be excelled. 

"I--I haven't any clothes, " she urged feebly, putting up her lastdefense. 

"I have, " declared Floss in triumph--"two trunks full, and we are almostthe same size. It's just for a week, Miss Lucy; won't you come?"

Miss Lucinda, sitting rigid, felt a warm cheek pressed against her own, and a stray curl touched her lips. She sat for a moment with her eyesclosed. It was more than disconcerting to be so close to youth and joyand life; it was infectious. The blood surged suddenly through herveins, and an exultation seized her. 

"I'm going to do it, " she cried recklessly; "I never had a real goodtime in my life. "

Floss threw her arms about her and waltzed her across the room, but astep in the hall brought them to a halt. 

"It's Miss Joe Hill, " whispered Floss, with trepidation; "I am going outthe way I came. Don't you forget; you have promised. "

When Miss Joe Hill entered, she smiled complacently at finding MissLucinda in the straight-back chair, absorbed in the second volume of the"Power Through Poise. "

At the Union Depot in Chicago, two weeks later, a small, nervous ladyfluttered uncertainly from one door to another. She wore a short, browncoat suit of classic severity, and a felt hat which was fastened underher smoothly braided hair by a narrow elastic band. 

On her fourth trip to the main entrance she stopped a train-boy. "Canyou tell me where I can get a drink?" she asked, fanning her flushedface. He looked surprised. "Third door to the left, " he answered. MissLucinda, carrying a hand-bag, a suit-case, and an umbrella, followeddirections. When she pushed open the heavy door she was confronted by along counter with shining glasses and a smiling bartender. Beating aconfused retreat, she fled back to the main entrance, and stood theretrembling. For the hundredth time that day she wished she had not come. 

The arrangements, so glibly planned by Floss, had not been adhered to inany particular. At the last moment that mercurial young person haddecided to go on two days in advance and visit a friend in Philadelphia. She wrote Miss Lucinda to come on to Chicago, where Tom would meet herand give her her ticket, and that she would meet her in New York. 

With many misgivings and grievous twinges of conscience, Miss Lucindahad bade Miss Joe Hill a guilty farewell, and started ostensibly for herbrother's home. At the Junction she changed cars for Chicago, missed twoconnections, and lost her lunch-box. Now that she had arrived InChicago, three hours late, nervous and excited over her experiences, there was no one to meet her. 

A sense of homesickness rushed over her, and she decided to return toLocustwood. It was the same motive that might prompt a newly hatchedchicken, embarrassed by its sudden liberty, to return to its shell. Justas she was going in search of a time-table, a round-faced young man cameup. 

"Miss Perkins?" he asked, and when she nodded, he went on: "Been lookingfor you for half an hour. Sis told me what you looked like, but Icouldn't find you. " He failed to observe that Floss's comparison hadbeen a squirrel. 

"Isn't it nearly time to start?" asked Miss Lucinda, nervously. 

"Just five minutes; but I want to explain something to you first. " Helooked through the papers in his pocket and selected one. "This is apass, " he explained; "the governor can get them over this road. I gotthere late, so I could only get one that had been made out for somebodyelse and not been used. It's all right, you know; you won't have a bitof trouble. "

Miss Lucinda took the bit of paper, put on her glasses, and read, "Mrs. Lura Doring. "

"Yes, " said Tom; "that's the lady it was made out for. Nine chances outof ten they won't mention it; but if anything comes up, you just sayyes, you are Mrs. Doring, and it will be all right. "

"But, " protested Miss Lucinda, ready to weep, "I cannot tell afalsehood. "

"I don't think you'll have to, " said Tom, somewhat impatiently; "but ifyou deny it, you'll get us both into no end of a scrape. Hello! there'sthe call for your train. I'll bring your bag. "

In the confusion of getting settled in her section, and of expressingher gratitude to Tom, Miss Lucinda forgot for the time the deadlyweight of guilt that rested upon her. It was not until the conductorcalled for her ticket that her heart grew cold, and a look ofconsternation swept over her face. It seemed to her that he eyed thepass suspiciously and when he did not return it a terror seized her. Sheknew he was coming back to ask her name, and what was her name? Mrs. Dora Luring, or Mrs. Dura Loring, or Mrs. Lura Doring?

In despair she fled to the dressing room and stood there concealed bythe curtains. In a few moments the conductor passed, and she peeped athis retreating figure. He stopped in the narrow passage by the windowand studied her pass, then he compared it with a telegram which he heldin his hand. Just then the porter joined him, and she flattened herselfagainst the wall and held her breath. 

"It's the same name, " she heard the conductor say in an undertone. "I'llwire back to headquarters at the next stop. "

If ever retribution followed an erring soul, it followed Miss Lucinda onthat trip. No one spoke to her, and nothing happened, but she sat interrified suspense, looking neither to right nor left, her heart beatingfrantically at every approach, and the whirring wheels repeating thequestioning refrain, "Dora Luring? Dura Loring? Lura Doring?"

In New York, Floss met her as she stepped off the train, fairlyenveloping her in her enthusiasm. 

"Here you are, you old darling! I have been having a fit a minute forfear you wouldn't come. This is my Cousin May. She is going to stay withus the whole week. New York is simply heavenly, Miss Lucy. We have madefour engagements already. Matinée this afternoon, a dinnerto-night--What's the matter? Did you leave anything on the train?"

"No, no, " stammered Miss Lucinda, still casting furtive glances backwardat the conductor. "Was he talking to a policeman?" she askedsuspiciously. 

"Who?"

"The conductor. "

The girls laughed. 

"I don't wonder you were scared, " said Floss; "a policeman always doesremind me of Miss Joe Hill. "

They called a cab and, to Miss Lucinda's vast relief, were soon rollingaway from the scene of danger. 

 * * * * *

It needed only one glance into a handsome suite of an up-town hotel oneweek later to prove the rapid moral deterioration of the prodigal. 

Arrayed in a shell-pink kimono, she was having her nails manicured. Hergaily figured garment was sufficient in itself to give her an unusualappearance; but there was a more startling reason. 

Miss Lucinda's hair, hitherto a pale drab smoothly drawn into a braidedcoil at the back, had undergone a startling metamorphosis. It wasFloss's suggestion that Miss Lucinda wash it in "Golden Glow, " apreparation guaranteed to restore luster and beauty to faded locks. MissLucinda had been over-zealous, and the result was that of copper insunshine. 

These outward manifestations, however, were insignificant compared withthe evidences of Miss Lucinda's inner guilt. She was taking the keenestinterest in the manicure's progress, only lifting her eyes occasionallyto survey herself with satisfaction in the mirror opposite. 

At first her sense of propriety had been deeply offended by her changedappearance. She wept so bitterly that the girls, seeking to console her, had overdone the matter. 

"I never thought you _could_ look so pretty, " Floss had declared; "youlook ten years younger. It makes your eyes brighter and your skinclearer. Of course this awfully bright color will wear off, and then itwill be just dear. "

Miss Lucinda began to feel better; she even allowed May to arrange herchanged locks in a modest pompadour. 

The week she had spent in New York was a riotous round of dissipation. May's fiancé had prepared a whirlwind of pleasures, and Miss Lucinda wascaught up and revolved at a pace that made her dizzy. Dances, dinners, plays, roof-gardens, coaching parties, were all held together by a lineof candy, telegrams, and roses. 

There was only one time in the day when Miss Lucinda came down to earth. Every evening, no matter how exhausted she might he from the frivolitiesof the day, she conscientiously penned an affectionate letter to hercelestial affinity, expressing her undying devotion, and incidentallymentioning the health and doings of her brother's family. These she sentunder separate cover to her brother to be mailed. 

Her conscience assured her that the reckoning would come, that sooner orlater she would face the bar of justice and receive the verdict ofguilty; but while one day of grace remained, she would still "in thefire of spring, her winter garments of repentance fling. "

As the manicure put the finishing touch to her nails, Floss came rushingin:

"Hurry up, Miss Lucy dear! Dick Benson has just 'phoned that he is goingto take us for a farewell frolic. We leave here at five, have dinnersomewhere, then do all sorts of stunts. You are going to wear my tancoat-suit and light blue waist. Yes, you are, too! That's allfoolishness; everybody wears elbow-sleeves. Blue's your color, and I'vegot the hat to match. May says she'll fix your hair, and you can wearher French-heel Oxfords again. They pitch you over? Oh, nonsense! youjust tripped along the other day like a nice little jay-bird. Hurry, hurry!"

Even Miss Lucinda's week of strenuous living had not prepared her forwhat followed. First, there was a short trip on the train, during whichshe conscientiously studied a map. Then followed a dinner at a large andostentatious hotel. The decorations were more brilliant, the musiclouder, and the dresses gayer, than at any place Miss Lucinda had yetbeen. She viewed the passing show through her glasses, and experienced apleasant thrill of sophistication. This, she assured herself, wassociety; henceforth she was in a position to rail at its follies as onehaving authority. 

In the midst of these complacent reflections she choked on a crumb, and, after groping with closed eyes for her tumbler, gulped down thecontents. A strange, delicious tingle filled her mouth; she forgot shewas choking, and opened her eyes. To her horror, she found that she hademptied her glass of champagne. 

"Spirituous liquor!" she thought in dismay, as the shade of Miss JoeHill rose before her. 

Total abstinence was such a firm plank in the platform of the celestialaffinity that, even in the chafing-dish, alcohol had been tabooed. Theutter iniquity of having deliberately swallowed a glass of champagne wasappalling to Miss Lucinda. She sat silent during the rest of the dinner, eating little, and plucking nervously at the ruffles about her elbows. The fear of rheumatism in her wrists which had assailed her earlier inthe evening gave way to a deeper and more disturbing discomfort. 

When the dinner was over, the party started forth on a hilarious roundof sight-seeing. Miss Lucinda limped after them, vaguely aware that shewas in a giant electric cage filled with swarming humanity, that bandswere playing, drums beating, and that at every turn disagreeable menwith loud voices were imploring her to "step this way. "

"Come on!" cried Dick. "We are going on the scenic railway. "

But the worm turned. "I--I'm not going, " she protested. "I will waithere. All of you go; I will wait right here. "

With a sigh of relief she slipped into a vacant corner, and gave herselfup to the luxury of being miserable. She longed for solitude in which toface the full enormity of her misdeed, and to plan an immediatereformation. She would throw herself bodily upon the mercy of Miss JoeHill, she would spare herself nothing; penance of any kind would bewelcome, bodily pain even--

She shifted her weight to the slender support of one high-heeled shoewhile she rested the other foot. Her hair, unused to its newarrangement, pulled cruelly upon every restraining hair-pin, and herhead was beginning to ache. 

"I deny the slavery of sense. I repudiate the bondage of matter. Iaffirm spirit and freedom, " she quoted to herself, but the thoughtfailed to have any effect. 

A two-ringed circus was in progress at her right while at her left aprocession of camels and Egyptians was followed by a noisy crowd ofurchins. People were thronging in every direction, and she realized thatshe was occasionally the recipient of a curious glance. She began towatch rather anxiously for the return of her party. Ten minutes passed, and still they did not come. 

Suddenly the awful possibility presented itself that they might havelost her. She had no money, and even with it, she knew she could notfind her way back to the hotel alone. Anxiety gained upon her in leaps. In bitter remorse she upbraided herself for ever having strayed from theblessed protection of Miss Joe Hill's authority. Gulfs of hideouspossibility yawned at her feet; imagination faltered at the things thatmight befall a lone and unprotected lady in this bedlam of frivolity. 

Just as her fear was turning to terror the party returned. 

"Oh, here you are!" cried Floss. "We thought we had lost you. It wasjust dandy, Miss Lucy; you ought to have gone. It makes you feel likeyour feet are growing right out of the top of your head. Come on; we aregoing to have our tintypes taken. "

Strengthened by the fear of being left alone again, Miss Lucinda ralliedher courage, and once more followed in their wake. She was faint andexhausted, but the one grain of comfort she extracted from the situationwas that through her present suffering she was atoning for her sins. 

At midnight Dick said: "There's only one other thing to do. It's morefun than all the rest put together. Come this way. "

Miss Lucinda followed blindly. She had ceased to think; there were onlytwo realities left in the world, French-heels and hair-pins. 

At the foot of a flight of steps the party paused to buy tickets. 

"You can wait for us here, Miss Lucy, " said Floss. 

Miss Lucinda protested eagerly that she was not too tired to go withthem. The prospect of being left alone again nerved her to climb to anyheight. 

"But, " cried Floss, "if you get up there, there's only one way to comedown. You have to--"

"Let her come!" interrupted the others in laughing chorus, and, to MissLucinda's great relief, she was allowed to pass through the little gate. 

When she reached the top of the long stairs, she looked about for theattraction. A wide inclined plane slanted down to the ground floor, andon it were bumps of various sizes and shapes, all of a shiningsmoothness. She had a vague idea that it was a mammoth map for theblind, until she saw Dick and Floss sit down at the top and go slidingto the bottom. 

"Come on, Miss Lucinda!" cried May. "You can't get down any other way, you know. Look out! Here I go!"

One by one the others followed, and Miss Lucinda could not distinguishthem as they merged in the laughing crowd at the base. 

Delay was fatal; they would lose her again if she hesitated. Indesperation she gathered her skirts about her, and let herselfcautiously down on the floor. For one awful moment terror paralyzed her, then, grasping her skirts with one hand and her hat with the other andclosing her eyes, she slid. 

Miss Lucinda did not "hump the bumps"; she slid gracefully around them, describing fanciful curves and loops in her airy flight. When shearrived in a confused bunch on the cushioned platform below, she wasgreeted with a burst of applause. 

"Ain't it great?" cried Floss, straightening Miss Lucinda's hat andtrying to get her to open her eyes. "Dick says you are the gamestchaperon he ever saw. Sit up and let me pin your collar straight. "

But Miss Lucinda's sense of direction had evidently been disturbed, forshe did not yet know which was up, and which was down. She leaned limplyagainst Floss and tried to get her breath. 

"Excuse me, " said a man's voice above her, "but are either of youladies Mrs. Lura Doring?"

The effect was electrical. Miss Lucinda sat bolt upright and staredmadly about. Tom Speckert had told her to be sure to answer to thatname. It would get him into trouble if she failed to do so. 

"Yes, yes, " she gasped; "I am Mrs. Lura Doring. "

The members of her little party looked at her anxiously and ceased tolaugh. The slide had evidently unsettled her mind. 

"Why, this is Miss Perkins--Miss Lucinda Perkins of Locustwood, Ohio, "explained Dick Benson to the officer, "She's rather upset by hertobogganing, and didn't understand you. "

"I did, " declared Miss Lucinda, making mysterious signs to Dick to besilent. "It's all right; I am Mrs. Doring. "

The officer looked suspiciously from one to the other, then consultedhis memorandum: "Small, slender woman, yellow hair, gray eyes, answersto name of Mrs. Lura Doring. Left Chicago on June 10. "

"When did she get to New York?" asked the officer. 

"A week ago to-morrow, on the eleventh, " said Floss. 

"Then I guess I'll have to take her up, " said the officer; "she answersall the requirements. I've got a warrant for her arrest. "

"Arrest!" gasped Benson. "What for?"

"For forging her husband's name, and defrauding two hotels in Chicago. "

"My husband--" Miss Lucinda staggered to her feet, then, catching sightof the crowd that had collected, she gave a fluttering cry and faintedaway in the arms of the law. 

 * * * * *

When Miss Joe Hill arrived in New York, in answer to an urgent telegram, she went directly to work with her usual executive ability to unravelthe mystery. After obtaining the full facts in the case, she was able tomake a satisfactory explanation to the officers at headquarters. Thenshe sent the girls to their respective homes, and turned her fullattention upon Miss Lucinda. 

"The barber will be here in half an hour to cut your hair, " sheannounced on the eve of their departure for the Catskills. 

"You ought not to be so good to me!" sobbed Miss Lucinda, who was lyinglimply on a couch. 

Miss Joe Hill took her hand firmly and said: "Lucinda, error and illnessand disorder are man-made perversions. Let the past week be wiped fromour memories. Once we are in the mountains we will turn the formativepower of our thoughts upon things invisible, and yield ourselves to thehigher harmonies. "

The next morning, Miss Lucinda, shorn and penitent, was led forth fromthe scene of her recent profligacy. It was her final exit from a worldwhich for a little space she had loved not wisely but too well. 

CUPID GOES SLUMMING

It is a debatable question whether love is a cause or an effect, whetherAdam discovered a heart in the recesses of his anatomy before or afterthe appearance of Eve. In the case of Joe Ridder it was distinctly theformer. 

At nineteen his knowledge of the tender passion consisted of dynamicimpressions received across the footlights at an angle of forty-fivedegrees. Love was something that hovered with the calcium light aboutbeauty in distress, something that brought the hero from the uttermostparts of the earth to hurl defiance at the villain and clasp theswooning maiden in his arms; it was something that sent a fellow downfrom his perch in the peanut gallery with his head hot and his handscold, and a sort of blissful misery rioting in his soul. 

Joe lived in what was known by courtesy as Rear Ninth Street. "RearNinth Street" has a sound of exclusive aristocracy, and the name was amatter of some pride to the dwellers in the narrow, unpaved alley thatwrithed its watery way between two rows of tumble-down cottages, Joe'sfamily consisted of his father, whose vocation was plumbing, and whoseavocation was driving either in the ambulance or the patrol wagon; hismother, who had discharged her entire debt to society when she bestowednine healthy young citizens upon it; eight young Ridders, and Joehimself, who had stopped school at twelve to assume the financialresponsibilities of a rapidly increasing family. 

Lack of time and the limited opportunities of Rear Ninth Street, together with an uncontrollable shyness, had brought Joe to hisnineteenth year of broad-shouldered, muscular manhood, with noacquaintance whatever among the girls. But where a shrine is built forCupid and the tapers are kept burning, the devotee is seldomdisappointed. 

One morning in October, as Joe was guiding his rickety wheel around themud puddles on his way to the cooper shops, he saw a new sign on thefirst cottage after he left the alley--"Mrs. R. Beaver, Modiste & DressMaker. " In the yard and on the steps were a confusion of householdeffects, and in their midst a girl with a pink shawl over her head. 

So absorbed was Joe in open-mouthed wonder over the "Modiste, " that hefailed to see the girl, until a laughing exclamation made him look up. 

"Watch out!"

"What's the matter?" asked Joe, coming to a halt. 

"I thought maybe you didn't know your wheels was going 'round!" the girlsaid audaciously, then fled into the house and slammed the door. 

All day at the shops Joe worked as in a trance. Every iron rivet that hedrove into a wooden hoop was duly informed of the romantic occurrence ofthe morning, and as some four thousand rivets are fastened into fourthousand hoops in the course of one day, it will be seen that the matterwas duly considered. The stray spark from a feminine eye had kindledsuch a fierce fire in his heart that by the time the six o'clockwhistle blew the conflagration threw a rosy glow over the entirelandscape. 

As he rode home, the girl was sitting on the steps, but she would notlook at him. Joe had formulated a definite course of action, and thoughthe utter boldness of it nearly cost him his balance, he adhered to itstrictly. When just opposite her gate, without turning his head or hiseyes, he lifted his hat, then rode at a furious pace around the corner. 

"What you tidying up so fer, Joe?" asked his mother that night; "yougoin' out?"

"No, " said Joe evasively, as he endeavoured in vain to coax back theshine to an old pair of shoes. 

"Well, I'm right glad you ain't. Berney and Dick ain't got up the coal, and there's all them dishes to wash, and the baby she's got a misery inher year. "

"Has paw turned up?" asked Joe. 

"Yes, " answered Mrs. Ridder indifferently. "He looked in 'bout threeo'clock. He was tolerable full then, and I 'spec he's been took up bynow. He said he was goin' to buy me a bird-cage with a bird in it, but Isurely hope he won't. Them white mice he brought me on his last spreechewed a hole in Berney's stocking; besides, I never did care much forbirds. Good lands! what are you goin' to wash yer head for?"

Joe was substituting a basin of water for a small girl in the nearestkitchen chair, and a howl ensued. 

"Shut up, Lottie!" admonished Mrs. Ridder, "you ain't any too good toset on the floor. It's a good thing this is pay-day, Joe, for the rent'sdue and four of the children's got their feet on the ground. You paid upthe grocery last week, didn't you!"

Joe nodded a dripping head. 

"Well, I'll jes' git yer money out of yer coat while I think about it, "she went on as she rummaged in his pocket and brought out nine dollars. 

"Leave me a quarter, " demanded Joe, gasping beneath his soap-suds. 

"All right, " said Mrs. Ridder accommodatingly; "now that Bob and Ikeare gitting fifty cents a day, it ain't so hard to make out. I'll begittin' a new dress first thing, you know. "

"I seen one up at the corner!" said Joe. 

"A new dress?"

"Naw, a dressmaker. She's got out her sign. "

"What's her name?" asked Mrs. Ridder, keen with interest. 

"Mrs. R. Beaver, Modiste, " repeated Joe from the sign that floated inletters of gold in his memory. 

"I knowed a Mrs. Beaver wunst, up on Eleventh Street--a big, fat womanthat got in a fuss with the preacher and smacked his jaws. "

"Did she have any children?" asked Joe. 

"Seems like there was one, a pretty little tow-headed girl. "

"That's her, " announced Joe conclusively. "What was her name?"

"Lawsee, I don't know. I never would 'a' ricollected Mrs. Beaver 'ceptenshe was such a tarnashious woman, always a-tearin' up stumps, and neverhappy unless she was rippitin' 'bout somethin'. _What_ you want? Aneedle and thread to mend your coat? Why, what struck you? You beenwearin' it that a-way for a month. You better leave it be 'til I gittime to fix it. "

But Joe had determined to work out the salvation of his own wardrobe. Late in the evening after the family had retired, he sat before thestove with back humped and knees drawn up trying to coax a coarse threadthrough a small needle. Surely no rich man need have any fear aboutentering the kingdom of heaven since Joe Ridder managed to get thatparticular thread through the eye of that particular needle!

But when a boy is put at a work-bench at twelve years of age and doesthe same thing day in and day out for seven long years, he may have lostall of the things that youth holds dear, but one thing he is apt to havelearned, a dogged, plodding, unquestioning patience that shoves silentlyalong at the appointed task until the work is done. 

By midnight all the rents were mended and a large new patch adornedeach elbow. The patches, to be sure, were blue, and the coat was black, but the stitches were set with mechanical regularity. Joe straightenedhis aching shoulders and held the garment at arm's length with a smile. It was his first votive offering at the shrine of love. 

The effect of Joe's efforts were prompt and satisfactory. The next daybeing Sunday, he spent the major part of it in passing and repassing thehouse on the corner, only going home between times to remove the mudfrom his shoes and give an extra brush to his hair. The girl, meanwhile, was devoting her day to sweeping off the front pavement, a scant threefeet of pathway from her steps to the wooden gate. Every time Joe passedshe looked up and smiled, and every time she smiled Joe suffered all thesymptoms of locomotor ataxia!

By afternoon his emotional nature had reached the saturation point. Without any conscious volition on his part, his feet carried him to thegate and refused to carry him farther. His voice then decided to speakfor itself, and in strange, hollow tones he heard himself saying--

"Say, do you wanter go to the show with me?"

"Sure, " said the pink fascinator. "When?"

"I don't care, " said Joe, too much embarrassed to remember the days ofthe week. 

"To-morrer night?" prompted the girl. 

"I don't care, " said Joe, and the conversation seeming to lauguish, hemoved on. 

After countless eons of time the next night arrived. It found Joe andhis girl cosily squeezed in between two fat women in the gallery of thePeople's Theatre. Joe had to sit sideways and double his feet up, but hewould willingly have endured a rack of torture for the privilege oflooking down on that fluffy, blond pompadour under its large bow, and ofreceiving the sparkling glances that were flashed up at him from time totime. 

"I ain't ever gone with a feller that I didn't know his name before!"she confided before the curtain rose. 

"It's Joe, " he said, "Joe Ridder, What's your front name?"

"Miss Beaver, " she said mischievously. "What do you think it is?"

Joe could not guess. 

"Say, " she went on, "I knew who you was all right even if I didn't knowyer name. I seen you over to the hall when they had the boxin' match. "

"The last one?"

"Yes, when you and Ben Schenk was fightin'. Say, you didn't do a thingto him!"

The surest of all antidotes to masculine shyness was not without itsimmediate effect. Joe straightened his shoulders and smiledcomplacently. 

"Didn't I massacre him?" he said. "That there was a half-Nelson holt Igive him. It put him out of business all right, all right. Say, I neverknowed you was there!"

"You bet I was, " said his companion in honest admiration; "that was whenI got stuck on you!"

Before he could fully comprehend the significance of this confession, the curtain rose, and love itself had to make way for the tragic andabsorbing career of "The Widowed Bride. " By the end of the third actJoe's emotions were so wrought upon by the unhappy fate of the heroine, that he rose abruptly and, muttering something about "gittin' some gum, "fled to the rear. When he returned and squeezed his way back to his seathe found "Miss Beaver" with red eyes and a dejected mien. 

"What's the matter with you?" he asked banteringly. 

"My shoe hurts me, " said Miss Beaver evasively. 

"What you givin' me?" asked Joe, with fine superiority. "These herekinds of play never hurts my feelin's none. Catch me cryin' at a show!"

But Miss Beaver was too much moved to recover herself at once. She satin limp dejection and surreptitiously dabbed her eyes with her moistball of a handkerchief. 

Joe was at a loss to know how to meet the situation until his hand, quite by chance, touched hers as it lay on the arm of her chair. Hewithdrew it as quickly as if he had received an electric shock, but thenext moment, like a lodestone following a magnet, it traveled slowlyback to hers. 

From that time on Joe sat staring straight ahead of him in embarrassedecstasy, while Miss Beaver, thus comforted, was able to pass through thetragic finale of the last act with remarkable composure. 

When the time came to say "Good night" at the Beavers' door, all Joe'sreticence and awkwardness returned. He watched her let herself in andwaited until she lit a candle. Then he found himself out on the pavementin the dark feeling as if the curtain had gone down on the best show behad ever seen. Suddenly a side window was raised cautiously and he heardhis name called softly. He had turned the corner, but he went back tothe fence. 

"Say!" whispered the voice at the window, "I forgot to tell you--It'sMittie. "

The course of true love thus auspiciously started might have flowed onto blissful fulfilment had it not encountered the inevitable barrier inthe formidable person of Mrs. Beaver. Not that she disapproved of Mittiereceiving attention; on the contrary, it was her oft-repeated boast that"Mittie had been keepin' company with the boys ever since she was six, and she 'spected she'd keep right on till she was sixty. " It was notattention in the abstract that she objected to, it was rather thethreatening of "a steady, " and that steady, the big, awkward, shy JoeRidder. With serpentine wisdom she instituted a counter-attraction. 

Under her skilful manipulation, Ben Schenk, the son of thesaloon-keeper, soon developed into a rival suitor. Ben was engaged at adown-town pool-room, and wore collars on a weekday without any apparentdiscomfort. The style of his garments, together with his easy air ofsophistication, entirely captivated Mrs. Beaver, while Ben on his partfound it increasingly pleasant to lounge in the Beavers' best parlourchair and recount to a credulous audience the prominent part which hewas taking in all the affairs of the day. 

Matters reached a climax one night when, after some close financing, Joe Ridder took Mittie to the Skating Rink. An unexpected run on the tinsavings bank at the Ridders' had caused a temporary embarrassment, andby the closest calculation Joe could do no better than pay for twoentrance-tickets and hire one pair of skates. He therefore found itnecessary to develop a sprained ankle, which grew rapidly worse as theyneared the rink. 

"I don't think you orter skate on it, Joe!" said Mittie sympathetically. 

"Oh, I reckon I kin manage it all O. K. , " said Joe. 

"But I ain't agoin' to let you!" she declared with divine authority. "Wecan just set down and rubber at the rest of them. "

"Naw, you don't, " said Joe; "you kin go on an' skate, and I'll watchyou. "

The arrangement proved entirely satisfactory so long as Mittie paused onevery other round to rest or to get him to adjust a strap, or to holdher hat, but when Ben Schenk arrived on the scene, the situation wasmaterially changed. 

It was sufficiently irritating to see Ben go through an exhaustiveexhibition of his accomplishments under the admiring glances of Mittie, but when he condescended to ask her to skate, and even offered to teachher some new figures, Joe's irritation rose to ire. In vain he tried tocatch her eye; she was laughing and clinging to Ben and giving all herattention to his instructions. 

Joe sat sullen and indignant, savagely biting his nails. He would haveparted with everything he had in the world at that moment for threepaltry nickels!

On and on went the skaters, and on and on went the music, and Joe turnedhis face to the wall and doggedly waited. When at last Mittie came tohim flushed and radiant, he had no word of greeting for her. 

"Did you see all the new steps Mr. Ben learnt me?" she asked. 

"Naw, " said Joe. 

"Does yer foot hurt you, Joe?"

"Naw, " said Joe. 

Mittie was too versed in masculine moods to press the subject. Shewaited until they were out under the starlight in the clear stretch ofcommon near home. Then she slipped her hand through his arm and saidcoaxingly--

"Say now, Joe, what you kickin' 'bout?"

"Him, " said Joe comprehensively. 

"Mr. Ben? Why, he's one of our best friends. Maw likes him better'nanybody I ever kept company with. What have all you fellers got againsthim?"

"He was black marveled at the hall all right, " said Joe grimly. 

"What for?"

"It ain't none of my business to tell what for, " said Joe, though hislips ached to tell what he knew. 

"Maw says all you fellows are jealous 'cause he talks so pretty andwears such stylish clothes. "

"We might, too, if we got 'em like he done, " Joe began, then checkedhimself. "Say, Mittie, why don't yer maw like me?"

"She says you haven't got any school education and don't talk goodgrammar. "

"Don't I talk good grammar?" asked Joe anxiously. 

"I don't know, " said Mittie; "that's what she says. How long did you goto school?"

"Me? Oh, off and on 'bout two year. The old man was always poorly, andMaw, she had to work out, till me an' the boys done got big enough towork. 'Fore that I had to stay home and mind the kids. Don't I talk likeother fellers, Mittie?"

"You talk better than some, " said Mittie loyally. 

After he left her, Joe reviewed the matter carefully. He thought of thefew educated people he knew--the boss at the shops, the preacher up onTwelfth Street, the doctor who sewed up his head after he stopped arunaway team, even Ben Schenk, who had gone through the eighth grade. Yes, there was a difference. Being clean and wearing good clothes werenot the only things. 

When he got home, he tiptoed into the front room, and picking his wayaround the various beds and pallets, took Berney's school satchel fromthe top of the wardrobe. Retracing his steps, he returned to thekitchen, and with his hat still on and his coat collar turned up, hebegan to take an inventory of his mental stock. 

One after another of the dog-eared, grimy books he pondered over, andone after another he laid aside, with a puzzled, distressed lookdeepening in his face. 

"Berney she ain't but fourteen an' she gits on to 'em, " he said tohimself; "looks like I orter. "

Once more he seized the nearest book, and with the courage of despairrepeated the sentences again and again to himself. 

"That you, Joe?" asked Mrs. Ridder from the next room an hour later. "Ididn't know you'd come. Yer paw sent word by old man Jackson that he wasat Hank's Exchange way down on Market Street, and fer you to come githim. "

"It's twelve o'clock, " remonstrated Joe. 

"I know it, " said Mrs. Ridder, yawning, "but I reckon you better go. Theold man always gits the rheumatiz when he lays out all night, and thatthere rheumatiz medicine cost sixty-five cents a bottle!"

"All right, " said Joe with a resignation born of experience, "but don'tyou go and put no more of the kids in my bed. Jack and Gus kick thestuffin' out of me now. "

And with this parting injunction he went wearily out into the night, giving up his struggle with Minerva, only to begin the next round withBacchus. 

The seeds of ambition, though sown late, grew steadily, and Joe becameso desirous of proving worthy of the consideration of Mrs. Beaver thathe took the boss of the shops partially into his confidence. 

"It's a first-rate idea, Joe, " said the boss, a big, capable fellow whohad worked his way up from the bottom. "I could move you right along theline if you had a better education. I have a good offer up in Chicagonext year; if you can get more book sense in your head, I will take youalong. "

"Where can I get it at?" asked Joe, somewhat dubious of his own powerof achievement. 

"Night school, " said the boss. "I know a man that teaches in theSettlement over on Burk Street. I'll put you in there if you like. "

Now, the prospect of going to school to a man who had been head of afamily for seven years, who had been the champion scrapper of the SouthEnd, who was in the midst of a critical love affair, was treblyhumiliating. But Joe was game, and while he determined to keep thematter as secret as possible, he agreed to the boss's proposition. 

"You're mighty stingy with yourself these days!" said Mittie Beaver onenight a month later, when he stopped on his way to school. 

Joe grinned somewhat foolishly. "I come every evenin', " he said. 

"For 'bout ten minutes, " said Mittie, with a toss of her voluminouspompadour; "there's some wants more'n ten minutes. "

"Ben Schenk?" asked Joe, alert with jealousy. 

"I ain't sayin', " went on Mittie. "What do you do of nights, hang aroundthe hall?"

"Naw, " said Joe indignantly. "There ain't nobody can say they've sawnme around the hall sence I've went with you!"

"Well, where do you go?"

"I'm trainin', " said Joe evasively. 

"I don't believe you like me as much as you used to, " said Mittieplaintively. 

Joe looked at her dumbly. His one thought from the time he cooked hisown early breakfast, down to the moment when he undressed in the coldand dropped into his place in bed between Gussie and Dick, was of her. The love of her made his back stop aching as he bent hour after hourover the machine; it made all the problems and hard words and new ideasat night school come straight at last; it made the whole sordid, uglyday swing round the glorious ten minutes that they spent together in thetwilight. 

"Yes, I like you all right, " he said, twisting his big, grease-stainedhands in embarrassment. "You're the onliest girl I ever could careabout. Besides, I couldn't go with no other girl if I wanted to, 'causeI don't know none. "

Is it small wonder that Ben Schenk's glib protestations, reinforced byMrs. Beaver's own zealous approval, should have in time outclassed thehumble Joe? The blow fell just when the second term of night school wasover, and Joe was looking forward to long summer evenings of unlimitedjoy. 

He had bought two tickets for a river excursion, and was hurrying intothe Beavers' when he encountered a stolid bulwark in the form of Mrs. Beaver, whose portly person seemed permanently wedged into the narrowaperture of the front door. She sat in silent majesty, her hands justsucceeding in clasping each other around her ample waist. Had she closedher eyes, she might have passed for a placid, amiable person, whoseangles of disposition had also become curves. But Mrs. Beaver did notclose her eyes. She opened them as widely as the geography of her facewould permit, and coldly surveyed Joe Ridder. 

Mrs. Beaver was a born manager; she had managed her husband into anuntimely grave, she had managed her daughter from the hour she wasborn, she had dismissed three preachers, induced two women to leavetheir husbands, and now dogmatically announced herself arbiter offashions and conduct in Rear Ninth Street. 

"No, she can't see you, " she said firmly in reply to Joe's question. "She's going out to a dance party with Mr. Schenk. "

"Where at?" demanded Joe, who still trembled in her presence. 

"Somewheres down town, " said Mrs. Beaver, "to a real swell party. "

"He oughtn't to take her to no down-town dance, " said Joe, hisindignation getting the better of his shyness. "I don't want her to go, and I'm going to tell her so. "

"In-deed!" said Mrs. Beaver in scorn. "And what have you got to sayabout it? I guess Mr. Schenk's got the right to take her anywhere hewants to!"

"What right?" demanded Joe, getting suddenly a bit dizzy. 

"'Cause he's got engaged to her. He's going to give her a real handsometurquoise ring, fourteen-carat gold. "

"Didn't Mittie send me no word?" faltered Joe. 

"No, " said Mrs. Beaver unhesitatingly, though she had in her pocket anote for him from the unhappy Mittie. 

Joe fumbled for his hat. "I guess I better be goin', " he said, a lumprising ominously in his throat. He got the gate open and made his wayhalf dazed around the corner. As he did so, he saw a procession of smallRidders bearing joyously down upon him. 

"Joe!" shrieked Lottie, arriving first, "Maw says hurry on home; we gotanother new baby to our house. "

During the weeks that followed, Rear Ninth Street was greatly thrilledover the unusual event of a home wedding. The reticence of the groom wasmore than made up for by the bulletins of news issued daily by Mrs. Beaver. To use that worthy lady's own words, "she was in her elements!"She organised various committees--on decoration, on refreshment, andeven on the bride's trousseau, tactfully permitting each assistant tocontribute in some way to the general grandeur of the occasion. 

"I am going to have this a real showy wedding, " she said from her pointof vantage by the parlour window, where she sat like a field-marshal andissued her orders. "Those paper fringes want to go clean across everyone of the shelves, and you all must make enough paper roses to pin'round the edges of all the curtains. Ever'thing's got to look gay andfestive. "

"Mittie don't look very gay, " ventured one of the assistants. "I seenher in the kitchen cryin' a minute ago. "

"Mittie's a fool!" announced Mrs. Beaver calmly. "She don't know a goodthing when she sees it! Get them draperies up a little higher in themiddle; I'm going to hang a silver horseshoe on to the loop. "

The wedding night arrived, and the Beaver cottage was filled tosuffocation with the _élite_ of Rear Ninth Street. The guests found itdifficult to circulate freely in the room on account of the elaborateand aggressive decorations, so they stood in silent rows awaiting theapproaching ceremony. As the appointed hour drew near, and none of thegroom's family arrived, a few whispered comments were exchanged. 

"It's 'most time to begin, " whispered the preacher to Mrs. Beaver, whosekeen black eyes had been watching the door with growing impatience. 

"Well, we won't wait on nobody, " she said positively, as she rose andleft the room to give the signal. 

In the kitchen she found great consternation: the bride, pale anddejected in all her finery, sat on the table, all the chairs being inthe parlour. 

"What's the matter?" demanded Mrs. Beaver. 

"He ain't come!" announced one of the women in tragic tones. 

"Ben Schenk ain't here?" asked Mrs. Beaver in accents so awful that herlisteners quaked. "Well, I'll see the reason why!"

Out into the night she sallied, picking her way around the puddles untilshe reached the saloon at the corner. 

"Where's Ben Schenk?" she demanded sternly of the men around the bar. 

There was an ominous silence, broken only by the embarrassed shufflingof feet. 

Drawing herself up, Mrs. Beaver thumped the counter. 

"Where's he at?" she repeated, glaring at the most embarrassed of thelot. 

"He don't know where he's at, " said the man. "I rickon he cilebrated alittle too much fer the weddin'. "

"Can he stand up?" demanded Mrs. Beaver. 

"Not without starchin', " said the man, and amid the titter thatfollowed, Mrs. Beaver made her exit. 

On the corner she paused to reconnoitre. Across the street was her gailylighted cottage, where all the guests were waiting. She thought of theignominy that would follow their abrupt dismissal, she thought of therefreshments that must be used to-night or never, she thought of thelittle bride sitting disconsolate on the kitchen table. 

With a sudden determination she decided to lead a forlorn hope. Facingabout, she marched weightily around to the rear of the saloon and beganlaboriously to climb the steps that lead to the hall. At the door shepaused and made a rapid survey of the room until she found what she waslooking for. 

"Joe Ridder!" she called peremptorily. 

Joe, haggard and listless, put down his billiard-cue and came to thedoor. 

Five minutes later a breathless figure presented himself at the Beaverkitchen. He had on a clean shirt and his Sunday clothes, and while hewore no collar, a clean handkerchief was neatly pinned about his neck. 

"Everybody but the bride and groom come into the parlour, " commandedMrs. Beaver. "I'm a-going to make a speech, and tell 'em that the bridehas done changed her mind. "

Joe and Mittie, left alone, looked at each other in dazed rapture. Shewas the first to recover. 

"Joe!" she cried, moving timidly towards him, "ain't you mad? Do youstill want me?"

Joe, with both hands entangled in her veil and his feet lost in hertrain, looked down at her through swimming eyes. 

"Want yer?" he repeated, and his lips trembled, "gee whiz! I feel like Idone ribbeted a hoop round the hull world!"

The signal was given for them to enter the parlour, and without furtherinterruption the ceremony proceeded, if not in exact accordance with theplans of Mrs. Beaver, at least in obedience to the mandate of a certainlittle autocrat who sometimes takes a hand in the affairs of man even inRear Ninth Street. 

THE SOUL OF O SANA SAN

O Sana San stood in the heart of a joyous world, as much a part of theradiant, throbbing, irresponsible spring as the golden butterfly whichfluttered in her hand. Through the close-stemmed bamboos she could seethe sparkling river racing away to the Inland Sea, while slow-movingjunks, with their sixfold sails, glided with almost imperceptible motiontoward a far-distant port. From below, across the rice-fields, came theshouts and laughter of naked bronze babies who played at the water'sedge, and from above, high up on the ferny cliff, a mellow-throatedtemple bell answered the call of each vagrant breeze. Far away, shuttingout the strange, big world, the luminous mountains hung in the purplemists of May. 

And every note of color in the varied landscape, from the purple iriseswhose royal reflection stained the water below, to the rosy-tippedclover at the foot of the hill, was repeated in the kimono and _obi_ ofthe child who flitted about in the grasses, catching butterflies in herlong-handled net. 

It was in the days of the Japanese-Russian War, but the constant echo ofthe great conflict that sounded around her disturbed her no more than itdid the birds overhead. All day long the bugles sounded from theparade-grounds, and always and always the soldiers went marching away tothe front. Around the bend in the river were miniature fortificationswhere recruits learned to make forts and trenches, and to shoot throughtiny holes in a wall at imaginary Russian troopers. Down in the townbelow were long white hospitals where twenty thousand sick and woundedsoldiers lay. No thought of the horror of it came to trouble O Sana San. The cherry-trees gladly and freely gave up their blossoms to the wind, and so much the country give up its men for the Emperor. Her father hadmarched away, then one brother, then another, and she had held up herhands and shouted, "Banzai!" and smiled because her mother smiled. Everything was vague and uncertain, and no imagined catastrophe troubledher serenity. It was all the will of the Emperor, and it was well. 

Life was a very simple matter to O Sana San. She rose when the sunclimbed over the mountain, bathed her face and hands in the shallowcopper basin in the garden, ate her breakfast of bean-curd and pickledfish and warm yellow tea. Then she hung the quilts over poles to sun, dusted the screens, and placed an offering of rice on the steps of thetiny shrine to Inari, where the little foxes kept guard. These simpleduties being accomplished, she tied a bit of bean-cake in her gailycolored handkerchief, and stepping into her _geta_, went pattering offto school. 

It was an English school, where she sat with hands folded through thelong mornings, passively permitting the lessons to filter through herbrain, and listening in smiling patience while the kind foreign ladiesspoke incomprehensible things. Sometimes she helped pass the hours bywatching the shadows of the dancing leaves outside; sometimes she toldherself stories about "The Old Man Who Made Withered Trees to Blossom, "or about "Momotaro, the Little Peach Boy. " Again she would repeat thestrange English words and phrases that she heard, and would puzzle outtheir meaning. 

But the sum of her lore consisted in being happy; and when the shadow ofthe mountains began to slip across the valley, she would dance backalong the homeward way, singing with the birds, laughing with therippling water, and adding her share of brightness to the sunshine ofthe world. 

As she stood on this particular morning with her net poised over abutterfly, she heard the tramping of many feet. A slow cavalcade wascoming around the road, --a long line of coolies bearing bamboostretchers, --and in the rear, in a jinrikisha, was a foreign man with ared cross on his sleeve. 

O Sana San scrambled up the bank and watched with smiling curiosity asthe men halted to rest. On the stretcher nearest her lay a youngRussian prisoner with the fair skin and blond hair that are sounfamiliar to Japanese eyes. His blanket was drawn tight around hisshoulders, and he lay very still, with lips set, gazing straight upthrough the bamboo leaves to the blue beyond. 

Then it was that O Sana San, gazing in frank inquisitiveness at thesoldier, saw a strange thing happen. A tear formed on his lashes andtrickled slowly across his temple; then another and another, until theyformed a tiny rivulet. More and more curious, she drew yet nearer, andwatched the tears creep unheeded down the man's face. She was sure hewas not crying, because soldiers never cry; it could not be the pain, because his face was very smooth and calm. What made the tears drop, drop on the hard pillow, and why did he not brush them away?

A vague trouble dawned in the breast of O Sana San. Running back to thefield, she gathered a handful of wild flowers and returned to thesoldier. The tears no longer fell, but his lips quivered and his facewas distorted with pain. She looked about her in dismay. The coolieswere down by the river, drinking from their hands and calling to oneanother; the only person to whom she could appeal was the foreigner withthe red cross on his arm who was adjusting a bandage for a patient atthe end of the line. 

With halting steps and many misgivings, she timidly made her way to hisside; then placing her hands on her knees, she bowed low before him. Theembarrassment of speaking to a stranger and a foreigner almostoverwhelmed her, but she mustered her bravest array of English, andpointing to the stretcher, faltered out her message:

"Soldier not happy very much is. I sink soldier heart sorry. "

The Red Cross orderly looked up from his work, and his eyes followed hergesture. 

"He is hurt bad, " he said shortly; "no legs, no arms. "

"_So--deska_?" she said politely, then repeated his words in puzzledincomprehension: "Nowarms? Nowarms?"

When she returned to the soldier she gathered up the flowers which shehad dropped by the wayside, and timidly offered them to him. For a longmoment she waited, then her smile faded mid her hand dropped. With achild's quick sensitiveness to rebuff, she was turning away when anexclamation recalled her. 

The prisoner was looking at her in a strange, distressed way; hisdeep-set gray eyes glanced down first at one bandaged shoulder, then atthe other, then he shook his head. 

As O Sana San followed his glance, a startled look of comprehensionsprang into her face. "Nowarms!" she repeated softly as the meaningdawned upon her, then with a little cry of sympathy she ran forward andgently laid her flowers on his breast. 

The cavalcade moved on, under the warm spring sun, over the smooth whiteroad, under the arching cryptomerias; but little O Sana Sun stood withher butterfly net over her shoulder and watched it with troubled eyes. A dreadful something was stirring in her breast, something clutched ather throat, and she no longer saw the sunshine and the flowers. Kneelingby the roadside, she loosened the little basket which was tied to her_obi_ and gently lifted the lid. Slowly at first, and then with eagerwings, a dozen captive butterflies fluttered back to freedom. 

 * * * * *

Along the banks of the Upper Flowing River, in a rudely improvisedhospital, lay the wounded Russian prisoners. To one of the small roomsat the end of the ward reserved for fatally wounded patients aself-appointed nurse came daily, and rendered her tiny service in theonly way she knew. 

O Sana San's heart had been so wrought upon by the sad plight of hersoldier friend that she had begged to be taken to see him and to beallowed to carry him flowers with her own hand. Her mother, in whomsmoldered the fires of dead samurai, was quick to be gracious to afallen foe, and it was with her consent that O Sana San went day afterday to the hospital. 

The nurses humored her childish whim, thinking each day would be thelast; but as the days grew into weeks and the weeks into months, hervisits became a matter of course. 

And the young Russian, lying on his rack of pain, learned to watch forher coming as the one hour of brightness in an interminable night ofgloom. He made a sort of sun-dial of the cracks in the floor, and whenthe shadows reached a certain spot his tired eyes grew eager, and heturned his head to listen for the patter of the little _tabi_ that wassure to sound along the hall. 

Sometimes she would bring her picture-books and read him wonderfulstories in words he did not understand, and show him the pictures ofMomotaro, who was born out of a peach and who grew up to be so strongand brave that he went to the Ogres' Island and carried off all theirtreasures, --caps and coats that made their wearers invisible, jewelswhich made the tide come or go, coral and amber and tortoise-shell, --andall these things the little Peach Boy took back to his kind old fostermother and father, and they all lived happily forever after. And in thetelling O Sana Man's voice would thrill, and her almond eyes growbright, while her slender brown finger pointed out the figures on thegaily colored pages. 

Sometimes she would sing to him, in soft minor strains, of the beauty ofthe snow on the pine-trees, or the wonders of Fuji-San. 

And he would pucker his white lips and try to whistle the accompaniment, to her great amusement and delight. 

Many were the treasures she brought forth from the depths of her longsleeves, and many were the devices she contrived to amuse him. The mostambitious achievement was a miniature garden in a wooden box--awonderful garden where grasses stood for tall bamboo, and a saucer ofwater, surrounded by moss and pebbles, made a shining lake across whicha bridge led through a _torii_ to a diminutive shrine above. 

He would watch her deft fingers fashioning the minute objects, andlisten to her endless prattle in her soft, unknown tongue, and for alittle space the pain-racked body would relax and the cruel furrowsvanish from between his brows. 

But there were days in which the story and the song and the play had nopart. At such times O Sana San slipped in on tiptoe and took her placeat the head of the cot where he could not see her. Sitting on her heels, with hand folded in hand, she watched patiently for hours, alert toadjust the covers or smooth the pillow, but turning her eyes away whenthe spasms of pain contorted his face. All the latent maternity in thechild rose to succor his helplessness. The same instinct that hadprompted her to strap her doll upon her back when yet a mere babyherself, made her accept the burden of his suffering, and mother himwith a very passion of tenderness. 

Longer and sultrier grew the days; the wistaria, hanging in featheryfestoons from many a trellis, gave way to the flaming azalea, and theazalea in turn vanished with the coming of the lotus that floatedsleepily in the old castle moat. 

Still the soul of the young Russian was held a prisoner in his shatteredbody, and the spirit in him grew restive at the delay. Months passedbefore the doctor told him his release was at hand. It was early in themorning, and the sun fell in long, level rays across his cot. He turnedhis head and looked wistfully at the distance it would have to travelbefore it would be afternoon. 

The nurse brought the screen and placed it about the bed--the lastservice she could render. For hours the end was expected, but moment bymoment he held death at bay, refusing to accept the freedom that he soearnestly longed for. At noon the sky became overcast and the slowfalling of rain was heard on the low wooden roof. But still his ferventeyes watched the sun-dial. 

At last the sound of _geta_ was heard without, and in a moment O SanaSan slipped past the screen and dropped on her knees beside him. Underone arm was tightly held a small white kitten, her final offering at theshrine of love. 

When he saw her quaint little figure, a look of peace came over his faceand he closed his eyes. An interpreter, knowing that a prisoner wasabout to die, came to the bedside and asked if he wanted to leave anymessage. He stirred slightly then, in a scarcely audible voice, asked inRussian what the Japanese word was for "good-by. " A long pause followed, during which the spirit seemed to hover irresolute upon the brink ofeternity. 

O Sana San sat motionless, her lips parted, her face full of the awe andmystery of death. Presently he stirred and turned his head slowly untilhis eyes were on a level with her own. 

"_Sayonara_, " he whispered faintly, and tried to smile; and O Sana San, summoning all her courage to restrain the tears, smiled bravely back andwhispered, "Sayonara. "

It was scarcely said before the spirit of the prisoner started forthupon his final journey, but he went not alone. The soul of a child wentwith him, leaving in its place the tender, newborn soul of a woman.